Chapter Text
If Corbeau had learned anything about the foreigner over the last couple of years, it was that he could be rather particular about his food.
Before he'd gotten to know him, Corbeau had been under the impression that because of the melding cultures found across the man's home region, most people of his birth would be quite accepting of a whole range of cuisines and flavors - but apparently he'd been wrong. This was not helped by the fact that a good portion of his own palette was so far removed from the old codger's that it could sometimes be difficult to find something for them to partake in together.
It had been obvious quite early on that Mr. Gray did not have the sweet tooth that Corbeau had. He only drank his coffee black. He would very sparingly enjoy a pastry or a cake, but never with much frosting, and hardly ever with a filling, if he could help it. He preferred darker chocolates over milky ones - and Corbeau was quite sure he'd never even seen him glance at white chocolate.
Corbeau, on the other hand, always added sugar and cream to his own caffeinated morning mug. When no one was looking, he'd be more than happy to indulge in a croissant or a macaron or even the occasional tart. He preferred things to have a bit of extra sweetness to them if he could help it - not that he’d ever admit that to most people.
And of course, he always offered. If he had such a treat, it was only polite to offer a little taste to his companion. But he was always turned down, always told that the old man didn't need it and Corbeau would enjoy it more. He was alright, really, he wouldn't want to steal any.
To say this was intriguing might be an understatement. It was not common to meet someone so thoroughly unenthused by sweets, especially in a region so saturated with sugary delights. Every café - of which there were many - had several offerings for those who wanted a cavity-inducing snack, but not many for Mr. Gray's tastes.
Though he had never mentioned it aloud, especially not to the man himself, he had taken on something of a private mission. He needed to find something the choosy bastard might like. Some kind of indulgence that he would appreciate. Something.
When the man was off on his trips, Corbeau would visit new cafés and cornershops, peeking at menus and reading reviews. Sometimes he'd go so far as to try some offering to see if it was non-sweet enough. If it passed the initial inspection, he wrote it on a list in his phone to remember for later. Currently, that list sat at a measly two options, neither of which were great. It was actually almost maddening just how little there appeared to be in Lumiose for someone who doesn't like sweet. Corbeau had never even noticed that before.
And no, it was not an obsession. It was merely a little game he decided to play in his off-time. Because getting the old man to actually enjoy a food was a bit of a rare occurrence.
Mr. Gray was not ‘picky' in the traditional sense, but he almost never ate outside of meals, and it was even less frequently that he commented on the food unless it stood out to him exceptionally, whether for better or worse. He only ever seemed to eat out of necessity, as a means of getting his hunger to go away, than to actually enjoy it for what it was. Corbeau almost always had something to say about the quality of his meals, whether in a positive light or not - after all, he knew well what it was like to just not eat at all. He did not want to take that for granted. Philippe was something of a moonlighting food connoisseur himself and always had a comment or two about his meals, nor was he afraid to inform anyone around him of his thoughts, especially the chef.
But not Mr. Gray. And this kept needling at Corbeau for reasons even he couldn't figure out.
This all led to him standing in line inside a little café tucked into a corner in the back alleys of the Vert district, eyeing a specific offering they had. It was a rather uncommon flavor here in Kalos - he could count on one hand the number of times that he'd come across it - and he'd never actually had it, but he was pretty sure he’d heard of it before. Knowing the eccentric, this would probably be the thing he actually enjoyed.
When he got up to the counter, he also grabbed a secondary croissant on the side, one for him. Just in case he despised it. He figured he'd let Philippe have the rest if that was the case. He had a personal vendetta against wasting food, and he knew his right-hand didn't mind that in the slightest. And if there was a universe where even Philippe didn’t want it, Corbeau’s Garbodor would make short work of it. In either case, he had a backup plan.
Once he had his next test subject in hand, he left, beelining back to HQ, squinting against the sudden wind in his face. It was mid-spring, meaning that the pollen count was astronomical. It didn’t help that all the messiness recently with those rogue Mega pokemon had attracted an awful lot of grass types, which meant more pollen being spread as of late, especially now that a Wild Zone containing copious amounts of Bellsprout was right on his HQ’s doorstep. His eyes were already watering, even behind his glasses. This was stupid. He’d really need to get some antihistamines later…
Focus on the task at hand. He'd prefer to get up to his office, then his mind could wander.
Thankfully, once he got onto the main street, it was a quick cut across the avenue to get into the Bleu Sector, and it didn't take long for him to see the carefully-cultivated vegetation atop his building. He brushed past the guards with a quick nod and strode right into the doors, not in the mood for small talk. Thankfully, the grunts were used to this by now and none attempted to speak without being spoken to first.
He rushed into the elevator as soon as it opened, pausing momentarily as it ascended. His eyes were still watering. Corbeau swept his hair aside as he stepped into his office, doing a quick sweep of the place with his eyes, mostly out of habit than anything else. Everything is where he expected it to be.
Of course, it was of no surprise that someone was already in here. The intruder had scooted one of the couches aside and was currently rubbing at another creature with a cloth, one of his thick hands holding its head carefully. His coat was currently strewn aside, lain over the back of the couch, likely so that it wouldn’t get dirty. His eyes were squinted in concentration as he buffed one particular spot on the bird’s cheek, his lips screwed down in a tight frown as he did. He did not acknowledge Corbeau entering the office.
Corbeau set the bag on the table as he grabbed his coat off the back, shrugging it on. “What'd she get into this time?”
“Drill Run in the park. And it rained last night.” The burly man sat up straight, letting go of the metal bird's head. It shook its head and feathers out, giving a soft coo at her Trainer. He swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand and laid the other hand with the cloth on his thigh. Then he bent his head to the side, earning a loud pop from his neck. “I think that's all of it. Feel better, Quill? Any other spots?”
The Skarmory cawed at him and headbutted him in his thick chest with her head. Her Trainer ran a wide hand over her crest as he set to putting away the cloth, folding it neatly into a small square and tucking it away inside a pocket in his shirt. What Corbeau had brought must have caught the bird’s attention, as she swiveled around, striding over to get a good look at it. She chirped as her yellow eyes focused on the bag.
“No. This isn't for you.” The Boss shooed her away as his own partner came out of her ball. She knew better than to come out before being in the office by now, as both of them were well-aware that she did not fit in the elevator. Scolipede buzzed in question as Skarmory pouted a few feet away from the desk, staring at the bag forlornly.
His right-hand man called out quietly, “C'mere, Quill, leave the Boss alone.” There was the soft sound of moving furniture, assumingly as Philippe moved the couch back, but Corbeau didn't care to sit and watch. He was already opening his laptop.
There was a crinkle from the bag that did have him looking up, however. Scolipede's huge face was currently nuzzling at the top of it, trying to unroll the paper. Corbeau gently shoved her head away and grabbed it, setting it closer to him. “This isn't for you either, Raven. I don't really think you'd like this.” She had a similar flavor profile to Corbeau.
“Your usual?” Philippe's heavy footsteps approached Corbeau's desk on his right.
The Boss shook his head. “I did grab an extra just in case, but no.”
“Still working on your little side project?” Other than Corbeau himself, Philippe was the only other person who knew about his wild goose chase. Of course, this was only because Corbeau had asked him early on if he knew of any cafes or other shops that might sell an item the likes of which he was searching for, but he hadn’t been able to come up with anything off the top of his head. For as well-versed as he was in the selections around Lumiose, this was unfortunately just a rarer type of cuisine, it would seem. Or, if he had, it clearly wasn’t memorable. How unfortunate for Corbeau, really, though this did mean that the hunt was taking him some time. This would make the final reward only that much more sweet.
“Yes. I never realized just how limited the selection might be for someone who isn't big into sweets,” Corbeau admitted, opening the bag. He pulled out the new find. It looked almost like a tart, but there was a bready crust instead of being made in a dish, and the filling was a nice earthy green.
Well, here goes nothing. He bit into it and immediately had to stop his face from puckering a bit. Even so, his eyes squinted a bit involuntarily. Okay, so it was, in fact, very sour-tasting. He might have thought it had gone bad had he not known it was fresh. Besides, he'd eaten plenty of bad food in his life and this didn't taste like that. It was just… sour. A bit dry.
And yet, there was an underlying bit of sweetness to it. But on the other hand, it was a different variety of flavor, and sour was extremely predominant over the sweet. Perhaps this might be a winner?
He gazed down at it thoughtfully. He really felt like he’s had something like this before, but he was quite certain he’d never done so, to his memory. Maybe he’d stolen one as a child? Back in Johto, even?
Regardless, this was not to his tastes. Wordlessly, he held it out to Philippe, but not before grabbing a little piece off the side. He wasn’t going to be finishing this.
There was a loud snort above his head as a thick hand grabbed it from him. “What did you say this was? Doesn’t look like something you’d get.”
“Kebia.” He was pretty sure that was correct. He’d only ever seen the word written before. He offered the piece in his hand to Raven. “Here. I doubt you’ll like it, though.”
Raven sniffed at it, then took the little piece in her mandibles. After a second, she shook her head rather aggressively and huffed. Corbeau snorted a bit, his hand floating over his mouth as he tried to not laugh directly in her face. “Yeah, me neither.”
“Oh, Kebia?” The way the burly man said it had more inflection on the first half of the word than the second. “Odd. You said he likes bitter things more?”
Corbeau blinked. The way the man had just said that, the way the inflection had just slipped off his tongue… He had actually forgotten about that conversation entirely.
Emmet was expected to leave in the morning, off to Paldea this time. He couldn’t seem to be able to sleep, tossing and turning and keeping Corbeau awake, too, much to his frustration. It was otherwise a perfect environment for sleeping - pitch-black, sans the sliver of dim light flowing in through the curtain, lack of most pokemon on the bed allowing them to have some space, no noise except for the soft breaths of their teams nearby. And yet, every time Corbeau began to drift off, his partner would move again, startling him and jerking him back to wakefulness. The Boss was ready to snap at his partner to just pick a position and stick with it when the tall man spoke softly, “I miss Unovan food.”
“Mmm.” It came out as more of an ornery grunt than an actual response, but his partner did not seem to care much, as he took that as a cue to continue.
“Kalosian food is fine. But it is not like home.” He chuckled softly, “Though what I really miss is the variety. We had an international market near our apartment. It always had foods from other regions. Kalos was not common, but places across Sinjoh were.”
Okay, that was actually kind of interesting. Kalos didn’t really have anything like that. International markets. Well, it was obvious neither of them would be getting any damn sleep anyway, what with Emmet’s insistence on having a conversation, and Corbeau knew well by now that he would not be able to snap or complain his way out of it. Instead, he resigned to his fate with a sigh. Once Emmet got his thoughts out, he would let them sleep. “Like what?”
“All kinds of things.” Emmet paused as he mulled it over. Corbeau rolled his eyes in the safety of the dark around them, knowing he wouldn’t be seen, not that Emmet would have cared even if he had seen. That answer was the least helpful thing he’d ever heard. “Produce, cooked food, frozens, ingredients, spices. Just about anything one might need to make a meal.” Emmet rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, one pale arm under his head and the other draped over his partner pokemon. The Eelektross readjusted in its sleep, laying its gaping maw over his Trainer’s stomach. In the dim light of the streetlamp outside the window filtering in through the curtain, silver eyelashes shaded half-lidded silver eyes that appeared almost canary-like in hue thanks to the bulb. His hair was messy from tossing and turning. It was a little hard to see the wrinkles in his face at this angle. If he hadn’t known better, Corbeau might have thought the man was in his late twenties or early thirties. “We would go sometimes and look at the selection. Ingo always liked to get some produce or the huge bags of rice for cheap,” Emmet chuckled, which turned into a deep sigh.
Then he yawned.
“You’re tired,” Corbeau noted, biting back his own.
Emmet said nothing. Instead, he sighed, letting his head loll to the side to gaze at Corbeau. He really did look exhausted. “I miss the Kebias,” he grinned softly. “Ingo never liked them. He said they were gross. They are hard to get and not many people will eat them. So I did not get them often. Especially because they are only in-season in the early summer. And I would always grab one for Uncle. He likes them, too. He and I are the only ones.”
Corbeau just nodded, curling up a bit closer to his boyfriend, already half-asleep, meaning he was only half-listening. He felt an arm wrap under his head and around his back, lifting him into the taller man’s warm side. Scolipede shifted so that her nose was brushing against the small of Corbeau’s back, the rest of her curled up on the floor in such a way that her head and neck rested on the bed.
The filling had tasted familiar. He’d had it before, in an uncooked state, he knew that now. But he’d thought that the word ‘kebia’ meant something else… “That’s how it’s pronounced in Kalosian?” Corbeau knew his brow was furrowed quite deeply by the way his right-hand’s brow raised a fraction.
Philippe nodded. “Yep. Not a common fruit, so it’s not a surprise if ya haven’t heard it before. I think it only grows in Sinnoh?”
Well, now he was looking for context. Before Corbeau spoke anything else into existence, he had to look something up, just to be sure. He typed something into the search bar of his phone and clicked on the images tab, keeping the language on his keyboard in Sinjoh. Yes, so that’s what he was thinking of, but now if he takes that word and translates it to Kalosian…
Oh. Oh, well that made worlds more sense.
Corbeau let out a long breath and rubbed at his eyes with a hand. “I only knew the Sinjoh word for it. I thought Kebias were something else, I hadn’t realized that it was the same fruit.”
“Same fruit as what?” He did not need to look up to know Philippe’s head was tilted to the side in question.
Corbeau lifted his face from his hand and readjusted his glasses. He grabbed at his laptop, now equipped with a new fact that was going to help him with his next task. “I think he’s gonna like that thing,” was the only context he gave. His right-hand did not ask anything else.