Work Text:
Leofard wakes to a pleasant aroma that prods at the far edges of his sleep-lulled thoughts, warm and inviting. Is T’kana trying somethin’ new with that last bag of popotoes…the smell is good enough to rouse him from beneath the sheets, and he stifles a yawn as he sits up, stretching lazily.
“Mmm. Smell that, Moro’a?” But there’s no answer, no warmth on the other side of the bed either. Moro’a isn’t here. Had he gone to inspect breakfast without him? Well that’s just—! Leofard tugs on the nearest pair of breeches he can grab from the floor, half-walking and half-hopping out of his quarters as he makes straight for the cooking station.
The sight that greets him there, however, is something quite contrary. T’kana is not at the stove but to the side of it, chopping herbs that smell both sharp and perfumed as she bobs her head to a cheery tune. The one stirring the pot’s heavenly-smelling concoction is none other than their intrepid guest, who looks up from his work in surprise.
“So this is what you left me all cold and alone for,” Leofard teases. The embarrassment of acknowledging that they’d shared his bed turns Moro’a’s cheeks ruddy as he refuses to meet the sky pirate’s gaze. “This was supposed to be a surprise,” Moro’a mutters, but he’s smiling, and Leofard chuckles, all miffed feelings swept aside.
“It is.” Nearly all the rest of the crew are here too, Leofard realises. “Now what’s so special about this surprise that you have me mates crowded here like a gaggle of baby birds?”
Moro’a lifts the pot off the stove, holding it so that T’kana can pour the chopped herbs in. “It’s mutton soup, a Corvosi recipe. I…thought you’d appreciate trying something different,” he says. He gives the soup a final few stirs before setting the ladle aside, wiping his hands on a rag. His hands pause, still holding onto the fabric. “I don’t cook often, so it’s been some time since I last made this, and too long since I’d made a meal to share.” Moro’a pauses, as though unsure of what he’s about to say next. “It’s a favourite of mine as well…which is why I’d like to share it with you all.”
It’s like something’s been brought out from the Keeper, a side Leofard’s never seen before. Not the adventurer or the hero, but someone altogether softer, homelier. It tugs at the captain’s chest like wind capturing a ship’s sails.
“It’s ready.” Moro’a plucks out a bowl from the cluttered collection of crockery next to him and fills it near to the brim with soup. He hesitates. “It may not be like anything you’ve tasted before, so if it is not to your liking…”
Leofard steps forward. “What’s a band of free-spirited souls without a thirst for unknown horizons, eh? You’ve gone ‘n made somethin’ what might just quench it for the moment – now hand that bowl over.” He holds his hand out expectantly. A moment later, Moro’a nods and passes him the bowl.
Up close, the aromas wafting from the soup are all the more tantalising. Leofard sees carrots, popotoes, and the aforementioned mutton, marinated in a blend of spices Leofard can’t quite pick apart. He brings the bowl to his lips, and the taste of it’s like nothing he’s ever known, savoury and peppery and slightly sweet. A mite too salty, if he’s being honest, but the fresh coriander leaves that serve as the soup’s garnish cut through the richness of it all, rounding out the flavours.
“Mmm.” It takes another two draughts for Leofard to lower the bowl, and he looks Moro’a in the eye, grinning. “You’d best hope there’s enough soup for two servings a piece. The crew’s going to drain the pot dry,” he declares. The look on Moro’a’s face as he beams back at him is brighter than the sun.