[Maybe if they'd met in a month, Akechi would have told Shinjiro where to go. But right now he's in flux—not what he was, and not what he could have been. He's got nothing but himself—well, that's nothing new—and the parchment in his pocket. And also, as pleasant as if it was covered in poisoned spikes, the memory of someone who made him a promise, who chose to live his life by the connections he made to others.
Well, Akechi still doesn't think that's for him. No way in hell. But he doesn't have a vast criminal conspiracy watching his back any more, either. Just, for this afternoon, a guy his own age more observant than many, who's chosen to throw himself into kitchen work with an intensity Akechi struggles to match, who's seemingly really into making sure Akechi doesn't poison anyone, or choke them with a fishbone, or cut off his thumb. Though if he did, someone would probably eat it, the way things are going.
The little compliment doesn't quite bounce off his self-centred little sulk. Instead, it brings it to a halt, and he glances up, defensive.] You really don't have to flatter me.
[He doesn't admit he couldn't have got a sack of flour here on a bet.] There is flour—ah, I think one of the others brought it. Yes, over there. [He nods at a distressed-looking sack that someone's... left standing on the floor, because that's good for flour.] But it must take more than that? Isn't breaded fish fried?
[He can't cook, and he certainly has no food prep skills. But he used to eat out a lot; he's pretty sure breading isn't just flour, the same way he was pretty sure he could somehow fillet a fish if he really set his mind to it.]
lbr shinji is way too good for this asshole
Well, Akechi still doesn't think that's for him. No way in hell. But he doesn't have a vast criminal conspiracy watching his back any more, either. Just, for this afternoon, a guy his own age more observant than many, who's chosen to throw himself into kitchen work with an intensity Akechi struggles to match, who's seemingly really into making sure Akechi doesn't poison anyone, or choke them with a fishbone, or cut off his thumb. Though if he did, someone would probably eat it, the way things are going.
The little compliment doesn't quite bounce off his self-centred little sulk. Instead, it brings it to a halt, and he glances up, defensive.] You really don't have to flatter me.
[He doesn't admit he couldn't have got a sack of flour here on a bet.] There is flour—ah, I think one of the others brought it. Yes, over there. [He nods at a distressed-looking sack that someone's... left standing on the floor, because that's good for flour.] But it must take more than that? Isn't breaded fish fried?
[He can't cook, and he certainly has no food prep skills. But he used to eat out a lot; he's pretty sure breading isn't just flour, the same way he was pretty sure he could somehow fillet a fish if he really set his mind to it.]