The moment Xion chooses to live in this mansion too large for three souls, technological inventions has begin to obsess Sal. Before, he is content with books. Ancient ink, cracked spines, stories that do not change. He does not bother to think of what to eat nor how does the world actually work outside of his books. Things are limited when everyone is alive and the night has become your morning. But now there are humming things. Shining things. Things that roar to life at the press of a button.
Tonight's victim is the blender. He approaches it cautiously at first, fingers hovering over its polished body as if it might bite. But it does not. It simply waits. Loyal. Obedient.
A whole orange at first, peel intact, leaves still clinging stubbornly. The scent is sharp and bright, almost aggressive. He approves. Seeds? Surely important. Cinnamon, because it smells warm. Something yellow from the icebox … eggs, perhaps. He hesitates only briefly before cracking them in whole. The shell looks natural. Natural must mean good. And then another thing he finds is that he remembers liking the taste of it from the late breakfast prepared by the old man. So it must mean it is good as well.
And doesn't warg also like meat? Oh decision, decision.
The machine screams when he turns it on.
Now, in the deep blue hour before dawn, he slips into the bedroom carrying a glass of violently orange-brownish liquid. Xion sleeps heavy at this hour; fur warm, body solid, breathing steady.
Sal considers this unacceptable.
"Come," he insists softly at first. Then, brighter, "Wake, lover! I have made something for you."
He climbs atop him without ceremony, bare thigh pressing into thick fur, the coolness of his skin a contrast to the warg's heat. The smells, whatsoever, it is faintly of citrus and spice and triumph and ... something. The glass is pushed forward.
"I am under the impression the device is meant only for fruit," Sal continues, eyes bright in the dark, clearly pleased with himself. "But it appears to accept many things, if one is brave enough."
He tilts his head. "I select by scent alone. That is how one truly understands flavor, is it not?"
And then, because he cannot help himself because curiosity claws at him just as sharply as hunger does. "How does it taste? Does it burn? Is it warm? I thought perhaps warmth would be pleasant."
He leans closer, intent, studying every reaction like it is a sacred text. Sal does not realize that normal people peel oranges. He does not realize eggs are not fruit, and he might also have ruined a certain warg tastebuds. He only knows that this world is large and loud and fascinating and that if he discovers something new, Xion must be the first to see it.
There are many things that have passed this lips for sustenance. In a world of pure chaos, you didn't complain of green breads or squashy fruits, you didn't blink at dust in water or how something didn't smell too ripe after the slaughter but cooking it made it edible all the same. It didn't matter, his stomach was iron bruised but when his morning was disturbed with the weight of a familiar body. A being, Xion long thought lost to the elements of magic and transportation across the void of the unknown, his life was starting to feel like that battlefield again.
Even before his eyes opened, his nostrils flared with the insanity of scents coming from the concoction his beloved nightwalker created. How he slept through the usage of the blender was another matter, his peace here really dulled his battle senses, but he remained still. His ears folding backwards as he listened onward to Sal's excitement of discovering that yes, metal blades cut through most things at high velocity and were not picky or judgemental of what was within their chamber of slaughter.
As he lay in wait of Sal's wants, he could only sigh in the defeat of escaping their ask… So, he braved himself. As he shifts light, furred frame shifting slight to press elbow into mattress and against pillows to raise his upper half just enough to not choke, the glass was taken with clear dislike but he held their hand with it, since he was still waking up. Morning breath recedes as the eggy-slop, crunchy shell, cinnamon hinted, black pudding -- and other things, twist and churn over his tongue. Tilting the glass away after a miniature mouthful, more than he was willing to try to thank you - he wrinkled his muzzle tightly.
Fangs on display and tongue hung out with clear signs of a silent gag. Vision felt blurry but Xion wasn't sure it was just about his slumber being recent but also because he was sure, he could taste pork in this, and that it was not cooked in any form, and yet - as his throat screamed in the protesting of swallowing this sludge. The warg succeeded, he felt terrible and triumphant at the same time. How little it took to make him see things in winning and losing these days.
Back to the state he was in though, his gaze moved to Sal… then the vile thing he made before he moved to take the glass fully and promptly took hold of his beloveds night shirt… One would think of a pulling in of a kiss, but no, it was used with the full intent of returning the favour. Tail shifts, knee raises and Sal was to be pulled, flipped and pinned in return. Nudity in fur wasn't the same for beastmen like himself so he wasn't shy of settling bulk upon his beloved, but that wasn't the point.
As glass was risen and their jaw was taken into grasp next, pried apart by twitching fingers and soft paw pads. "You are never to use the blender without supervision, now drink and study flavouring better, Prince." Ah - yes… a wild morning this one.
