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"Don't do that Nunuche, you'll hurt yourself. Here, let me show you."
Napoleon's relationship with preparing food has gone through quite a few metamorphoses during his lengthy and bizarre lifespan. From helping to feed nearly a dozen of mouths on a daily basis in his childhood days, to finding himself in a state where being in a kitchen would be seen as utterly unbecoming and scandalous for his regal persona, he tells himself he's found a nice middle ground in his afterlife now. Initially, having special feeding needs that the other vampires don't have had been what'd pushed him into preparing his own meals so that he won't be a burden on Sebastian. Turns out there was a whole another world to discover right there, as he started experimenting more. While he wouldn't exactly call himself a cook, the expression he's now able to put on MC's face accompanied by a warm, heartfelt meal has always been worth the time spent bettering his skills.
Now, cooking with company, that's a new one. His little impromptu late lunches for one that he prepares after the école - having the kitchen all to himself, painted in afternoon light - have always carried a little taste of loneliness to them - but it'd also became a habit somewhere along the way.
Maybe that's why it comes as a surprise to him to turn to the cutting board and see the finger-cutting hazard taking place.
Napoleon lowers the heat to bring the pasta water boiling on the stove to a gentle simmer before hurriedly coming to MC's side.
"I'm being careful, I promise!"
Taking the chef's knife from her hand, he lets out a quiet "Sure you are", accompanied by a snicker.
"There's a better way to hold it, and if you do it right, it will be almost difficult to harm yourself. Look at how I'm doing it."
MC's eyes follow the movements of her lover as he seamlessly takes a hold of the kitchen tool that she's so familiar with, while at the same time it's more like they're talking about another object entirely.
"It might seem logical to hold it by the handle, but that way you don't have precise control over the blade itself. Think about how the knife's weight is distributed."
Napoleon demonstrates the advantage of the technique with a few slicing movements on the empty part of the board, changing direction to show how easily he directs the movements.
"It's way better if you hold it more towards the middle, so what we do is, we pinch the lower part of the blade, just like this."
MC leans in to have a better look at Napoleon's hand as he brings attention to the position of his fingers - the protruding, edged lower point of the blade sandwiched by his thumb and his folded index finger.
"I got it! But Napoleon, where do you even know all that stuff from? That's not common knowledge, not even in the future, I'm afraid…"
Napoleon rests the tool on the cutting board for a moment as his gaze trails off in the distance, as if he's trying to remember the details to that story.
"It was shortly after I started taking those bodyguard gigs at party halls, a year, no, two years ago… peu importe, I happened to be there early so I was standing near the back exit. The kitchen's door was open and I overheard some of the most colorful profanities I've heard in my life. And I've been in army barracks, mind you. At one point I almost thought somebody's life must be in danger, so I took a peek, and next thing I knew, I was dragged inside to help with the feast for the party. A late delivery was putting the Chef's future at risk so he could use all the extra help. I myself got called a few names for taking my time mincing the vegetables, so I had an immediate crash course on how to handle a Chef's knife, and voilà. Sometimes panic is the best teacher. But I don’t recommend it."
Napoleon's story time leaves MC a laughing mess, as she's left to wonder once more how a regular guy like him manages to get himself in those kinds of situations. Well, as regular as one Napoleon Bonaparte could be, anyway.
"But Napoleon, it only makes sense, no? That you'd be good with the knife, I mean. Since you're already good with another type of blade. And you're just as charming waving that one around!"
"What's wrong with you? I'm kidding."
Deciding that it's been enough distraction, Napoleon goes back to the cutting board and grabs his tool. A streak of light flashes on the reflective surface of the knife as he changes the angle, aligning it on the board to stand blade-down, perfectly upright like a saluting soldier.
"Always make sure the blade is perpendicular to the board. You want to cut things straight down. And now, the most important step…"
Napoleon picks up one of the garlic cloves that he'd previously stopped MC from cutting onto tiny slices.
"Your non-dominate hand which is holding the ingredient is the one in danger, so it's important to position your fingers well while you maintain a good grip of the clove. You place your thumb at the clover's butt, but look closely - I'm curling my middle and index fingers a little bit, see? Instead of putting them tips-first on the clover where the knife can cut through them. This way, your knuckles would come in contact the smooth part of the blade before any other part of your fingers. Is that clear? Here, let me show you how it works in action."
With a string of evenly timed chops, the clove quickly turns into a few thin, identical slices under Napoleon's commandment. As he talks more about how she should be sliding the knife smoothly top to bottom and gently pushing the clove into the movement little by little with her other hand, MC muses about her experience in the mansion's kitchen.
"Usually Sebastian is the one handling the cutting part when I help him here. He, too, must think that I'd only slow him down if I do it on my own, but sometimes he blames the dullness of the knifes…"
"Will you be surprised to know that the sharper the knife is, the safer? It's way easier for it to slip when it's dull. What do you say we come down here tomorrow morning and give those knifes a good sharpening?"
"That's a great idea! Well, as long as you're able to wake up before lunch!"
"Oh, shush it. Now, I think it's your turn to try."
Nodding to Napoleon, MC braces herself to take hold of the knife, one hand half-mindedly reaching to retrieve a string of hair that'd escaped her updo. It was made in haste, after all, so it's not as slick and tidy as she does it at the beginning of a workday.
They had just returned from their date at the theater awhile ago, a little too hungry to return to their room for the night. Even if it's way past dinnertime, MC's deduction that they might find some leftovers could as well have been correct, but they never bothered to check in the first place. Those always find their consumer among the night owls of the mansion - food for thought if not for the stomach! - and besides, the idea of cooking up a little something together resonated way more with the couple.
Napoleon takes note of his Nunuche tinkering with her unruly hair, even if he has a second too short to indulge in the beautiful simplicity of the moment. She'd exchanged her formal outfit for a simple housedress, one that's still bearing a coffee spill stain from the day before. Her hands, previously clad in black lace gloves, are now bare and engaging in those simple, human activities, old as time, and so are Napoleon's; ever-so close to each other.
He doesn't forget to smirk when he thinks of how serious and grown-up she'd looked in her Sunday best and how it clashes with the wide-eyed Nunuche following his example like a doe dear learning to walk now. All cuteness and personal bias aside, Napoleon knows this feeling well - passing forward the knowledge to protect oneself, that's the very reason he's teaching those kids in Paris' streets. He's glad to have found a way to share it with his dearest person as well.
But that's a thought he'd expand on when he has the time to be sentimental, because now it would appear that MC has found a whole another way to hold a knife the wrong way that he didn't even consider to warn against - and thus the lesson is not over yet.