ofthursday | [IC Contact

We start by you taking off that disgusting overcoat because it isn't fit to be anywhere near food.

[As he gently shoves away the nose of the hellhound that had wandered in to greet them both -- the swordfish was not for her today.

Growley looks rather put out.]

[Castiel hesitates, but takes off his coat without argument and lays it over the top of the liquor cabinet.]

Fine.

[He pets Growley on the head.]

I'm just going to watch you, however. So it doesn't matter.

As flattering as that is, no, you aren't.

[Crowley is positively methodical as he works. Cooking is as much a science as anything else -- the cooking and cutting of meat is just as delicate a process as cutting through organs and slicing up bodies.

He supposes that's something of a morbid connection, but ah well.

Still, he carefully unwraps the fish with his fingers, not with telekinesis, before he sets the pan on the oven, lighting the flames with a twitch of his fingers, before he suddenly steps aside.]

Put the fish in the oil.

It needs to be cooked before we actually work with it.

[Castiel stare at the fish, then the oil, then back at Crowley.]

I don't know how to cook it.

[It's a lame protest because cooking is exactly what Crowley is trying to teach him. But no.]

I will do it wrong.

[He's not even allowed to touch the stove, actually.]

You rebelled against Heaven, you can cook a bloody steak.

[And Crowley nudges him forward, amused.]

You just put it in the pan.

I don't eat steak.

[But at the nudge of encouragement he carefully reaches out and takes the swordfish steak, setting it into the pan. Oil immediately spits everywhere and Castiel reels back, even though it doesn't actually hurt him. Angels aren't big on oil.]

[Crowley immediately catches Castiel from moving backward much farther with an arm at his back, pushing him forward again with a huff of annoyance.]

Grow a backbone, kitten, it's oil of the extra virgin variety, you'll get along fabulously.

You can't just leave it on the pan, you need to flip it over soon. It has to be evenly seared.

[Castiel frowns back over his shoulder at Crowley, but he peers intently at the fish for several seconds until it seems cooked on one side. Then he simply reaches out and takes the fish with his fingers, flipping it over and healing the burns he'd just sustained. Success.]

[Crowley stares at him for a long moment, mouth slightly open, as if he were trying to form words to describe what complete and utter idiocy he had just witnessed, when --

-- whatever, he flipped the fucking fish, who cares.]

Aren't you the perfect example of the Blue Light Special, kitten.

[He'd never know it was an insult.]

Congratulations.

[Indeed Castiel has no idea it's an insult, and so looks vaguely pleased at the compliment.]

What next?

You wait until it's done. When it's done, we're going to take it out of the pan and chop it up so we can stuff it into ravioli.

[Crowley drops his arm from Castiel's back to watch the fish thoughtfully.]

You'll like that bit, it requires an aggravating attention to detail.

[Castiel hadn't noticed Crowley's arm around him until it dropped, which he registers as odd but it takes a few moments to realize it's because he's so used to Crowley after all this time. Around anyone else he would have been far more alert--more on edge--but he's totally calm around Crowley.

That's something he's not going to ponder too much.]

We are not going to eat it as is?

No. We're eating ravioli.

[It's said in a quip, as he glances over at the angel, amused.]

I hate swordfish by itself.

I find that unlikely.

[But whatever.]

Is the swordfish done?

Why would you find that unlikely? I have my own preferences when I eat, just as you do.

[As the demon glances over at the pan, to peer at the swordfish.]

Flip it once more.

You would have complained earlier were that the case.

[He knows you, Crowley. And he reaches out to flip the swordfish with his fingers once again.]

Maybe I was waiting for an opportune moment to complain.

[Somewhat tartly, as he watches Castiel flip the fish over with his fingers again. He supposes he should tell him that isn't how it goes, but some part of Crowley wants to see the guests' face when the angel flips over their prized filet mignon with his fingers.]

Give it ten more seconds and then put it on the plate.

You never wait to complain.

[Just saying bro. He waits ten seconds as told and then puts it on the plate, pleased with himself for his accomplishment.]

Alright. Now what?

[IC Contact | Siren's Pull]

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