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09/17/10(Fri)02:19 No.12119890"I feel bad that you have to cook extra for us," you say, "perhaps one of us could help you out..." Damsel's death glare prevents the obvious joke. Twitch, oblivious, pitches in, "We could lend you some soy sausage, too, if you'd like. It's not that exciting, but we practically live on the stuff..."
Sergey chuckles, "Igus'd never tolerate them, and he's the best cook among us, so," the man spares a look for his mother, who is giving him a faux-severe look, "Sorry mother, but you raised me not to lie."
"I raised you with the strap, too, remember," she says severely.
It's then that Igus arrives, sporting several impressively-large and thoroughly-unidentifiable fish, already gutted and cleaned. Stooped like Mila, he wears a long beard with a bald head; severe old eyes meet each of you in turn, puffing on a long-stemmed tobacco pipe.
Then he smiles, though you get the impression it's not an expression he's used to making, and removes his pipe, "Guests! Good! I'dve hurried had I known."
A short while later, the cottage is filled with the delicious smells of cooking fish and vegetables; your stomach growls for a proper meal, and from what you can see, that's true of your hosts as well. Sergey, pushed off to the side, has sat down and resumed his reading of the journal.
Before long; dinner is served. Igus places a generous portion before each of you with a flourish, while Alyosha produces several bottles of slightly strange-smelling milk.
"Flesh milk," he explains, "the fleshlings are too young for slaughter and we don't want to send Sergey out hunting for more of the buggers," seeing your dubious looks, he smiles, "It smells a bit funny, but it's good for you. Puts iron in your bones." |
