FISSIONMAILED: Backdated to late August

[volginswaifu]

[After moving near the beginning of August after Volgin had his eye torn out, things had relatively settled in the new apartment. Ivan, begrudgingly, admitted it was theirs and not just his, and Volgin had found a new bed

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[musthatefrogs]

[There should have been something coming from the kitchen about now, be it odor or eventual food, as another day ended and Volgin once again demonstrated his skill oddity. He had long since adjusted to his disability, and his coordination flowed along as usual. His socket remained empty; Volgin had been hesitant to see how a foreign addition to his body, dangerously wedged into a sensitive orifice, even if it was simply glass, would have interacted with his charge during a flare up. The most done for it was having a doctor clean the area out and snip away whatever remains had lingered in there. An eyepatch would only mark him from a distance

[volginswiafu]

[Food, as usual, is one of the few things that can divert Ivan's attention from whatever he's focused on. He sniffs the air, gets up, and walks to the kitchen in practically a chance.]

Hey...what're you making~?

[Butting into Volgin's personal space to get a look, Ivan couldn't help a grin and a hungry lick of his lips. It really was nice to have somebody to cook for you--not that he wouldn't cook if he needed to, but it was so much nicer to not have to.]

[musthatefrogs]

[Volgin rolled a noise from his chest, if giving the meal a look.

In short, it was slop.

He had violated a rule of chefdom, namely presentation, and he would have broken the legs of any other cook that had presented it to him with the expectation of having him eat it, but today, he had put things together and made them work. In regards to the other senses. He had tasted it, and no doubt Raikov had smelled it.

Not that the younger man was a very sophisticated palette to work with anyway.

And Volgin had to name the dish. Hn.]

Goulash.

[There we go.]

[volginswiafu]

Goulash? Sounds gross, looks like vomit, but it smells delicious.

[So Ivan was totally down for trying it. He grabbed a plate and scooped as much as he could onto it, hurrying back to the table to try it out.]

[From in the living room (which was now a bit more separate from the kitchen in their new apartment), the old man could probably hear Ivan's, "Mmmm, it is delicious!" of approval.]