Ohoho! The eyeroll does spark joy inside of him, knowing he annoyed her; he can't pretend otherwise. It shows in his grin. He even sticks his tongue out briefly, before returning to cooking.
He'd been rationing his limes carefully. She's gonna owe him big for giving her his last one. One of his last ones.
He butchers the pheasant quickly, showing off a little as he cuts with theatrical motions. "You ever see anybody do this?" he tells her. "Now watch!" He mixes the now-butchered pheasant in a large bowl - with avocado oil, and scavenged taco seasoning packets. He uses several packets at once; they don't have a lot ot flavor, and he's determined to make this taste like something for her. He tosses the pleasant in the bowl theatrically, too, making it jump a little more so she can see it before he sets it aside.
After washing his hands and grabbing a towel to throw over his shouder, he lets the cast iron skillet heat up. "They key is to add a little oil after it gets hot!" he tells her proudly. He seems so happy to be showing her what he can do.
He continues: "This is where the lime comes in!" as he goes back to the fridge and pulls out a squeeze bottle of honey. He's been scavenging for food, and it shows. Even on aurora nights, he keeps the fridge unplugged.
After all, he figured out it seemed to be the only place Chloe didn't seem to get into.
Soon, he's chopping up the other shriveled lime, squeezing what juice he can from it into the bowl, and whisking it with honey. When they're well-combined, he offers it to her.
"Taste!" he says cheerily, smiling; it's not even a command so much as a hopeful plea. "Tell me if you think it needs anything! I'm making you a sauce for the pheasant."
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He'd been rationing his limes carefully. She's gonna owe him big for giving her his last one. One of his last ones.
He butchers the pheasant quickly, showing off a little as he cuts with theatrical motions. "You ever see anybody do this?" he tells her. "Now watch!" He mixes the now-butchered pheasant in a large bowl - with avocado oil, and scavenged taco seasoning packets. He uses several packets at once; they don't have a lot ot flavor, and he's determined to make this taste like something for her. He tosses the pleasant in the bowl theatrically, too, making it jump a little more so she can see it before he sets it aside.
After washing his hands and grabbing a towel to throw over his shouder, he lets the cast iron skillet heat up. "They key is to add a little oil after it gets hot!" he tells her proudly. He seems so happy to be showing her what he can do.
He continues: "This is where the lime comes in!" as he goes back to the fridge and pulls out a squeeze bottle of honey. He's been scavenging for food, and it shows. Even on aurora nights, he keeps the fridge unplugged.
After all, he figured out it seemed to be the only place Chloe didn't seem to get into.
Soon, he's chopping up the other shriveled lime, squeezing what juice he can from it into the bowl, and whisking it with honey. When they're well-combined, he offers it to her.
"Taste!" he says cheerily, smiling; it's not even a command so much as a hopeful plea. "Tell me if you think it needs anything! I'm making you a sauce for the pheasant."