e’d thought he was done laughing. This time at least he’d nothing to choke on. A snort slipped out of him, and then a deep chortle, and then a sort of – breathy wheeze, he was horrified to realize, the kind that reminded him of the way some old men laughed. Whatever the hell any of it was, he’d’ve been hard pressed to recognize himself in it, or Anatole either; he thought it sounded like the incumbent was drunk, and for once, neither of them were.
He was still grinning. I’ve been a lot of things, he thought, but I don’t think I’ll ever be a salad. He cleared his throat, took a drink. “State secrets,” he drawled instead, letting the smile drop into a distinguished frown, “are a great deal more boring, I’m afraid.”
I suppose –
Cerise was frowning at him again. He realized belatedly he’d been watching her face a little too closely; he glanced down and away, busying himself tearing off more flatbread. They were getting down to the last two or three wedges, now. He tore off only a little; the idea of her taking the last piece warmed him, somehow.
There was something familiar about the way she ate. Something in his chest ached when he asked himself why, so he didn’t.
He glanced up midway through a bite of fish, raising his brows. “Oh–?” he blurted, halfway forgetting you weren’t supposed to talk through food. He covered his mouth, swallowed a mant chunk of fish, and then took another drink. Cerise was frowning thunderously; he thought it was the kind of frown that wanted to twitch itself into a smile.
Well, let her yield to it first, he thought. He kept his politician’s frown firmly on his face, no matter how much it strained all the muscles. Funny, but he thought he could’ve kept this frown on his face through nearly anything; she’d taught him so, and she’d taught him how to smile when he wanted to frown, too, and to find whatever grimness or pleasure he felt inside himself and use it.
There was plenty of grimness to be found, if he looked for it. He didn’t want it; he didn’t want any of it. He wanted to pout and pretend it was just this moment and just them and nothing else. He wanted it to be a game, more badly than he wanted anything.
“You wouldn’t mind, would you?” he asked more smoothly. “Well – the matter seems rather –”
Urgent, he’d been about to say, in the same drawling tone. There was a soft scrabbling of claws and a ruffling of feathers; Sish was up on the table, chirruping. His eyes moved down from Cerise’s face, to where Sish was craning her long golden neck to snuffle her pointy nose in the drizzle of sauce where the fish had been. A shuffle of claws and Sish’s nose had found his own fish, of which there were a few shreds and scraps left.
A long tongue lapped out curiously.
“Uh –” He cleared his throat, still frowning. “Urgent,” he said, though he’d half forgot why. “If you’ve time on the six or the seven. I wouldn’t want to – take you away from practice.”
Tentative, he reached out a hand, offering the backs of his fingers to Sish. Almost like a cat, he thought. Almost.