As Orin spoke of a childhood --or perhaps even young adulthood-- comprised of spills without aprons and scrubbing the insides of ovens, Isolde smiled, shaking her head. "Oh yes, I see I'm in fine company," she said, making an extravagant, jesting bow in Orin's general direction, with a lot of --carefully managed-- arm waving and puffery. As she straightened, she was grinning from ear to ear. "What an absolute honor to be here, humbled before the king of the kitchen. All hail the king." She laughed, then shook her head again at her silliness. "Don't think you can impress me with talk of fires and fumes," she warned, still smiling, "I started my own fair share of those myself. And I know exactly what you mean about scrubbing out an oven. Somehow mother always assigned me the most tedious, grueling chores. Probably thought I could use something to keep me out of trouble. Not that it worked much, but she so tried."
As he pointed out the fresh stain on the apron --making certain to stumble over the assurance that the rest of it was clean-- Isolde just patted the front of the thing with one hand against her hip. "I wouldn't worry about it for my sake. Aprons, at least the ones that I've worn, seem to want to get messy. Though perhaps that's only me... Still, as long as it keeps the food from my clothes and my clothes from the food, I suppose that's all we need ask for."
When it came to needlework, Isolde leaned back against the counter leisurely, watching the needle and thread in his hands. "Don't think of 'slicking' as a technical term," she said, "I just meant that it's easier to thread the needle if the end of the thread is wet. Keeps it straight, you know? Makes things a lot simpler, sort of like how you tried twisting the frayed end to give it better form. My mother would wet it with her mouth; I mentioned you might use that, or water, or even sauce if you had some on hand. Whatever's easiest. As for tying the ends..." She stepped a little closer though she was still well back, and held out one cool, pale hand to point. "You should do some stitches across the front of your apron, single-thread like you did before with the lamb," she said, "And after you're finished I'll show you how to tie it off."
The Nuit waited, serene expression on her face like that of a teacher awaiting her pupil to answer a question or complete some task. If Orin agreed to do some stitching as she'd suggested, she'd stand nearby and overlook his progress until he'd done a short line, and then hold up a hand for him to stop. "Alright," she said, peering down at his work, then glancing over at the roasting lamb and wondering when it would need turning.
"It's simple really, though I like the other style, double-threaded, more. With single-thread, you just loop a hole in the string, as close to the base of the thread --where it's coming up out of the material-- as possible. In this case, that would mean snug to the apron. Once you have a small loop, you just thread the needle through and pull it tight, almost like tying a shoe, though it'll just be a knot instead of a bow. That's it. You can do it all again if you want the knot to be stronger. I only ever knotted once, but then again, I only ever knotted on cloth, with thinner thread. Not on lamb for cooking."
She gazed down at his hands. "Make sure you keep the loop snug as you can, it helps to press it down with your finger as you pull it tight, which makes for a better knot. If not, the worst that happens is you have a tiny bit of extra slack in your stitching that makes things just a bit loose." Isolde waited to see if he got it; if not, she'd instruct him to try again. Finally she said, "Next we can do the double-thread, if you want."
As he stitched the conversation had flowed on, bringing with it the topic of the sauce. The Nuit once more looked over at the spit, and said, "Well, first maybe that could use a turn? Though I don't know about these things. Still, you told me to remind you." She reached up and knocked her knuckles absently against a nearby pot, causing it to sway. "The sauce... it was good. Very flavorful. It sort of startled me, I guess. I hadn't expected it to be so strong. And... I suppose it reminded me of home. Of... living." That sadness filtered in again and she struggled for a moment against it, hoping that it didn't show. She didn't want to upset Orin or make him feel bad in any way.
Soon enough Isolde was brought back to the moment as Orin invoked the future, and she let herself smile again. "I actually hadn't thought of that," she said, "But thinking about it, I suppose you may be right. The Knights might have something about Nuit locked away in some dusty corner somewhere. Something useful for me. I heard they have a library of knowledge, magical or not, if only I might access it. As a squire... I don't know if I'd be allowed. Perhaps I might have to graduate into full knighthood, first. Still, there's hope."
At the somewhat awkward revelation that the other magic-user had been a mercenary, Isolde looked over at Orin curiously. He didn't look like he wanted her to ask more questions about it, so she simply let the subject pass on, before frowning a little at where it took them. "Magic isn't easy. It's pretty difficult, you know. A lot of it is study. And concentration. Much harder than what I ever learned in school. I was lucky to have a good teacher who knew what he was talking about; I was lucky, also, to learn reimancy before everything else. Reimancy involves a painful, awful initiation. But it serves as a warning of what magic can do to you, and that is invaluable." She paused, considering, then continued gravely onwards.
"My teacher had a nickname. Remember I said he was a fire-wielder? Well, they called him the Burned Man. Most of the skin above his waist was covered in one big ugly scar, a burn mark from magic fire. An accident, he said, from when he was young and naive. I never saw his true face; just the melted mask that it had become." She said this unapologetically, though not to be unsavory but as a warning. She didn't want Orin to try something he wasn't prepared for. She couldn't tell him not to learn magic. But she could certainly tell him what she already well knew: the consequences of making a mistake. And the Burned Man had gotten off lightly, despite the pain he'd suffered through. Because the magic had left him his mind.
Perhaps a lighter topic was due. "About the knights, though... don't sell yourself short," Isolde appended, "You have a good heart, perhaps even a great one to be so kind to someone like me... and that's the base of every worthwhile knight. The rest follows."
All that was left was fixing dessert, and Isolde straightened up as Orin fetched ingredient after ingredient. The Nuit was careful to keep her hands tucked close to her sides. She didn't want to knock anything over, especially not the eggs or the wine or the cream... or whatever it was that Orin brought out last, holding reverently in his arms. Staring at all the things he had laid out, she gave him a helpless look, then said uncertainly, "I can help if you want me to. You say it's not difficult, but... perhaps better just to watch. If you need an extra hand, though, don't forget that I have two." She held hers up as proof, grinning once more.
"As for the bread, it doesn't matter. A loaf, half a loaf, stale, or just some old crumbs... Shyke would be happy for anything. Not that it's easy to tell. He can get quite greedy. But I know he appreciates what he gets. Even if he doesn't exactly say. And speaking of appreciation... um. I just wanted to thank you." The Nuit messed with her hands, twisting them together, though she looked up for a flash to meet Orin's eyes. "For inviting me here. And for that other day. I wasn't... in a good place. But things are looking better now. Maybe... maybe I see now that the stars haven't all fallen after all. And that's because of you."
