Ram's Kitchen: Ram and Java
((OOC: Continued from here.))
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Java gave her husband an affectionate smile as he took a seat at the counter; he looked so sweetly naive as he smiled at her, and her features softened. No one else would ever see this side of him, she knew; her husband had run a tight reign of terror over the city (a fact that still made Java proud when she thought of it), and she knew full well that they were both forever branded monsters in the eyes of the people. That was fine by her, really; she knew that her husband could be compassionate, even loving (so long as it suited his moods and other engagements), and it didn't really matter to her what the rest of the city saw. For Java, it was enough that he'd let her back into his apartment, that he now sat there, beaming at the counter as if he were truly pleased to be there with her; with his hair all askew from the night they'd spent together. It was more than enough. She placed a small kiss on his cheek, the novelty of it not lost on her, and then set about making him something to eat.
Java washed her hands and put the rice on to steam, then washed and chopped their meager collection of vegetables. That done, she heated a little oil in a frying pan, and made a small, pancake-style sheet of scrambled egg, which she flipped onto a cutting board and cut into thin pieces. The scent of the egg cooking was comforting; it was the scent of lazy Sunday mornings back before the virus, when Siva would surprise them all sometimes with fried eggs and bacon, waffles and warm syrup. Java bit her lip, smiling sadly; her sister belonged to another world now, the traitorous bitch, and her loss stung Java more than she would ever admit.
"So," she asked, flashing Ram the sweet smile of a devoted wife who had not spent the evening before making out with her husband's nemesis, "what are your plans for today?" She gathered the vegetables into a neat pile on the cutting board, the egg strips in another, and pulled the pepper out of the cabinet. "Anything interesting?"
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Java gave her husband an affectionate smile as he took a seat at the counter; he looked so sweetly naive as he smiled at her, and her features softened. No one else would ever see this side of him, she knew; her husband had run a tight reign of terror over the city (a fact that still made Java proud when she thought of it), and she knew full well that they were both forever branded monsters in the eyes of the people. That was fine by her, really; she knew that her husband could be compassionate, even loving (so long as it suited his moods and other engagements), and it didn't really matter to her what the rest of the city saw. For Java, it was enough that he'd let her back into his apartment, that he now sat there, beaming at the counter as if he were truly pleased to be there with her; with his hair all askew from the night they'd spent together. It was more than enough. She placed a small kiss on his cheek, the novelty of it not lost on her, and then set about making him something to eat.
Java washed her hands and put the rice on to steam, then washed and chopped their meager collection of vegetables. That done, she heated a little oil in a frying pan, and made a small, pancake-style sheet of scrambled egg, which she flipped onto a cutting board and cut into thin pieces. The scent of the egg cooking was comforting; it was the scent of lazy Sunday mornings back before the virus, when Siva would surprise them all sometimes with fried eggs and bacon, waffles and warm syrup. Java bit her lip, smiling sadly; her sister belonged to another world now, the traitorous bitch, and her loss stung Java more than she would ever admit.
"So," she asked, flashing Ram the sweet smile of a devoted wife who had not spent the evening before making out with her husband's nemesis, "what are your plans for today?" She gathered the vegetables into a neat pile on the cutting board, the egg strips in another, and pulled the pepper out of the cabinet. "Anything interesting?"