Chapter Text
He wasn't sure what to expect. The best butter in the city got snatched up by Taunie. Surely as the president of Quazartico she could've found it elsewhere. Grisham would've been lying to himself if he wasn't thankful for it though. It's been a while since he battled, his Pokémon were probably upset.
Battling alongside the older man- Tarragon did prove insightful though! Sure he was a bit too loud for Grisham's taste, but his intentions were pure. He didn't know about the Team Flare past, didn't judge him for walking through the streets and alleyways with closed eyes. Didn't question the displeasure soaking his features during the battle when he got too close.
An understanding which came with the age, a family torn apart. And the need to make good on broken promises. Grisham wouldn't pry, he'd hate for someone to pry into him.
It takes a lot longer than he thought to make butter of the quality that store sold. They were asked to wait a while week for a fresh batch. But the Canatics couldn't wait - Tarragon made that clear. The passion he shared stroked the dying flame of purpose inside, he had to help. His wish may not have been granted, but the old man's could.
He starts walking, a slower pace than normal to make sure the old man keeps up. In battle, Tarragon carried himself proud with a straight back, but instantly bent over after. Was he acting strong so his team doesn't worry? Reaching back home, and a tense smile to Griselle, he carefully separates his own supplies from what belongs to the truck.
"Don't worry so much! I'll rise to the occasion!" Tarragon cheers. Yep. Too loud. But Griselle has already volunteered him. He has to follow through.
Cooking is a science. If you measure precisely and follow the steps, you can't fail. You're too perfect to fail, Gris. And yet, he's not sure. Butter normally wouldn't be an issue, half an hour at most. But having to teach? This was new for him.
Upon reaching Racine construction, there was no word for the feeling. Even from outside he can hear the furious button mashing and barely contained rage as a girl talks into a microphone. Seems high energy runs through the family. Inside, the voice was louder but nobody paid any attention to it, the whole workshop was dark, he likes the dark. apart from one corner bathed in blues and yellows. A warning, don't get close.
Not much time was spent inside before being led out the back door, to a shed recently built. He's cooked in worse places, this was fine. It had to be fine. "Thought we could just use one of your fire types for the baking." The voice cut through. Indeed there's no oven. No fridge-freezer. The light had no bulb. But he worked in construction? He was gonna get Griselle back for this. Maybe he should mention there's a cheap apartment for sale nearby?
Releasing Pangoro, ready to help for the first stage, Grisham pulls out two jars and a scale - crucial for the first step. Carefully, he portions out 600ml of heavy cream in one jar and writing down the step. If Tarragon's to learn, he needs to do it himself sometime. Pangoro is easily the strongest on the team and despite his dark typing, he's one of the most kind-hearted of them all. He knows his job, and gets to work shaking the jar.
Tarragon reaches for the second jar, but falls short. A hand stopping him. "Do I not get to try? Okeydoke." He sits back down on a stool, oblivious to the two sets of critical eyes watching him. He pauses for a moment before releasing Diggersby. Pangoro chuffs as he watches Diggersby flex his powerful ears, not once stopping the shakes. He reaches an ear out for the jar. "Oh! You already want to join in! Yes, yes, Canari would love that!"
A simple touch. Only it meant so much more than that to Grisham. It meant nothing to Tarragon. Pangoro hands the nearly separated cream to Tarragon, who tried to pass it to Diggersby.
It smashed.
Time to start again.