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[recreatable]

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[recreatable]

It's a totally normal question, Jasnah, chill out. He doesn't so much as bat an eye at it—he would have asked the same, if he were in her position.

However, it's a bit of a difficult question to answer. What he likes to eat and what he actually eats are two different things; while he'd enjoyed fine dining in Lumière, there's not much in the way of sustenance on the Continent. After all, he's the only inhabitant of it who eats at all.

"I used to love coq au vin," he starts. God, it's been a long time since he had that one. "...But the Continent is mostly a lot of mushrooms."

Which he hated starting out, by the way. He's grown accustomed to them by necessity, but they still kind of suck, especially because he's an awful cook. Can't be good at everything.

Sheepishly: "I got poisoned a lot before I grew a tolerance to them."

[elsecall]

Mushrooms? Weird. Jasnah hasn't tried many herself — rather challenging to cultivate much on a planet without decent soil to allow for fungus systems to thrive. Although some varietals have made their way to Alethi tables from Shinovar. Distant, foreign delicacies. And desperate bridge crews foraging fungi from the damp, dark chasms.

Her eyes narrow. But this time, it might be more with concern than disbelief.

"Even with your — curse?" She still uses the term he once introduced it by. Even if, to her, it hardly seems like one. "It doesn't deal with poisons?"

Raw deal, really.

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"—Well," he says, shrugging, "it doesn't deal with anything, exactly." Not while it's happening. Only in the aftermath. "Flattered as I am that you think so, I'm not invulnerable. I still die, it just... doesn't take."

For example, if she does use him as a human landing pad when they go flying, he'll still splat on the ground. He'll just get better.

"So, I still, uh"—there's no pretty way to describe vomiting yourself to death, huh—"felt the effects of poisonous mushrooms until I ate enough of them."

[elsecall]

Cognitive Shadow — she thinks, not for the first time. Likely not for the last. Like the Heralds, but without the torture session on Braize. It isn't healing at all, really. How...

"...How awful." For him, that is. Dying, returning, dying, returning. Sympathy — rare and brief — lingers in her look.

"We'll find something much better than mushrooms," she resolves.

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Honestly, he's a little surprised that she doesn't ask to see it. Scientifically, it must be interesting. Watching a person die and then restitch themselves from the cellular layer. He's never really been in a lucid enough state during those moments to pay attention. The adrenaline rush of dying kind of supersedes analytical thought.

"I've never had curry," he muses idly, like they weren't just discussing his Promethean existence. "What does it taste like?"

[elsecall]

Jasnah is of two minds. First — yes, absolutely, she would love to see this anomaly in action. Second, however? She's utterly disinterested in watching death for its own sake. What she really wants — needs — is some organic threat to kill him so she can watch the aftermath without guilt. Shrug emoji!!!

"Never?" Oh, hmm. She sits back, thoughtful. "Vegetables and meat in a seasoned sauce. Sometimes spiced, sometimes sweet. The taste can vary — it's quite dependent on what's available in the kitchens."

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Oh, it's been a long time since he had meat. The Continent is hardly overflowing with edible creatures—one might consider eating the Nevrons, but they're even more poisonous than the mushrooms, and they taste awful besides. Ugh, the leathery skin of a Bourgeon? He'll pass.

The rest, though... sweet, he can do. Spicy, less so.

He grimaces a little, sheepish. "I'm not sure I'm cut out for all the spices they put in men's food here." Please, he's as Caucasian as a person can be. "In Lumière, our primary spice was butter."

[elsecall]

...Jasnah's expression splits with a grateful, eager smile. There is no reproach nor judgement for his spice tolerance — or lack thereof. In fact, she recognizes it for the opportunity it truly is: an ideal solution to the problem of worrying and fussing over finding a curry house only to be served something she doesn't actually want to eat. Under other circumstances, she might have insisted on a spiced curry — but now, here, like this? She'd do well not to draw too much attention.

"That's — perfect, actually."

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Completely ignorant to Jasnah's reasons for excitement: "What, butter? Yeah, it's pretty good."

[elsecall]

"No," she answers — sharp and corrective, but no less pleased. Reaching out, she even dares to tap the back of her fingers against his arm.

"You'll swap with me, won't you?" The brioche? Entirely forgotten. Even the spanreed, which she'd been keeping a careful eye on even since he'd returned, stands ignored while she talks him through this admittedly very simple plot. "Wherever we go, whatever they serve, you and I should swap bowls."

Storms, she must be bored out of her skull if a little bit of restaurant table sleight of hand provides this much excitement.

[recreatable]

It doesn't matter what she's asking. Jasnah could be proposing that he jump into an active volcano for her amusement, and he'd say yes, so long as she did so with her fingers brushing against his arm, that delighted lilt in her tone. Despite being perched on the edge of the seat so as not to take up her personal space, he leans involuntarily toward her, pulled inexorably toward her orbit.

Pragmatically, he can see this for what it is. Physical attraction, compounded by the intimacy of close quarters and how well they get along. An idle yearning spurred on by the safety of wanting what he can never have. There is no world in which a romance between them is anything but a chimerical daydream. All the same, it's difficult to look away when her eyes are bright with delight and her dark hair is tumbling over her shoulder.

"A cloak-and-dagger operation," he teases, corner of his mouth twitching up. "Very devious."

[elsecall]

(Fun fact: Jasnah could never ask him to jump in active volcano because she doesn't know what a volcano is because Roshar lacks tectonics. But the point is taken.)

"Precisely," she responds.

Storms, but this woman loves a little scheme. It enough to suggest that if the weight of Alethkar — of all Roshar, perhaps — wasn't on her shoulders she might actually have something of a mischievous streak.

"You get what you want. I get what I want."

[recreatable]

Verso wouldn't go so far as to consider this getting what he wants, but— close enough. He extends a hand to shake. "Consider us in cahoots, then."

[elsecall]

Cahoots. It's a fine word. Jasnah mouths it silently as she considers his offer — then, leaning forward, she takes his hand with her right one and gives it a firm shake. Confident and familiar. It lingers a little longer than might be considered customary, but soon after she retreats back to her carefully delineated portion of the divan.

Nodding, as if an important piece of business is concluded, she turns back to the desk. The spanreed.

"Before we go anywhere," she taps the table, "I have to make good on last night's agreement. It's time to let Urithiru know our plans."

So.

"Windrunners, in six days' time."

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Six days. A beat of silence passes, wherein he stares at her with a flat expression and a raised eyebrow. Tell him that she isn't really—

"Are you actually trying to wriggle out of waiting a full week?"

As previously stated, she's impossible.

[elsecall]

...Oh, she was ready for this fight. Jasnah leans an elbow onto the table, cupping her chin in her palm. It's not the most composed posture to take, but she finds she does need a bit of extra help staying upright.

"It was a full week yesterday — but you had me wait until the morning, so now it's six days."

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Verso pauses. Squints. Contemplates. "You mean— six days and..." It was the middle of the night, and although he's not certain of the exact time, he was awake for nearly all of it. It can't have been that long. "Sixteen hours."

[elsecall]

A small, small nod. Jasnah's lips press together in a tight line — suppressing a smirk, maybe — as she watches him. One brow raised just a fraction. She'd wondered what tactic he'd take in reply to her obstinance, and negotiation comes as a slight pleasant surprise.

"Correct," she acknowledges. "The facts are on your side, this morning."

[recreatable]

Ah. He's surprised, too, by her easy acceptance of his rebuttal. He'd thought it would be harder to get her to acquiesce. Sometimes, although he doesn't dare say it, it feels as if she disagrees solely for the sake of disagreeing.

"We should probably round up just to be safe, then."

[elsecall]

— Acknowledging that he's correct isn't quite the same as agreeing to his timeline. But she's curious for how this might play out. Jasnah reaches out and twists the spanreed to transmit. A helpful, cutthroat little time pressure to the conversation.

"You'd quibble over a handful of hours?" She asks, quibbling over a handful of hours.

Yep.

[recreatable]

"—You'd quibble over a handful of hours?"

Of course she would. And of course he would—he's inherently competitive, and even that aside, it makes him feel like he has some modicum of control over what is actually a somewhat scary situation. Not for him; he'll be fine flying. Even just taking a walk with Jasnah feels like she's at risk of bleeding out all over again, though, and there's no way that flying wouldn't be ten times harder on her.

So: "You probably don't remember, but you were actually stabbed recently."

[elsecall]

She bites back the first, second, and third retorts that rise in the back of her throat. Swallowing them down, she turns her attention off Verso and onto the spanreed. It does occur to Jasnah that she could simply...write the message. Windrunners, six days. There's nothing that obligates her to even hear Verso out — nothing apart from the thickening bonds of whatever-this-is. Would she have entertained this much negotiation with anyone else?

(Well. Maybe someone else. And the thought makes her frown, deeply.)

"There's no harm in the Windrunners arriving in six days, even if we don't take flight until the seventh."

If, maybe, perhaps. She leaves some space in her sentences to slip between at a later date.

[recreatable]

If Jasnah had recognized his offer to go on a walk as what it was—a bribe—then he recognizes this, too, as the sort of ridiculous negotiation tactics he and his sisters used to engage in as children. Meaningless trades that changed nothing materially, but made them feel as if they had won something.

"You're right," he concedes. "There's nothing wrong with them coming a day early."

Aside from the power struggle that's likely to occur when Jasnah inevitably decides that they should just go ahead and leave when the Windrunners arrive, but they'll cross that bridge when they get to it.

[elsecall]

Whatever it is, whatever the tactic, it's settled enough that she quickly pens her requisition: Too early yet to fly — send Windrunners to arrive in six days' time.

The pen pauses. Jasnah taps one, twice. They'll need to agree on a meeting place but it occurs to her she'll need Verso's buy-in. And right now...well, right now isn't the best time for it. If she can show significant improvement over the next few days, if she can still draw stormlight even in dribs and drabs. Yes. The conversation can wait. Jasnah at least has a rendezvous point in mind.

"—All that remains is to wait."

She sets the spanreed aside, uncertain whether her patience will hold three days — let alone six. Let alone whatever additional time is required if her hypothesis proves flawed and her recovering doesn't speed up as Ivory too recovers.

[recreatable]

"I suppose you're right," Verso agrees, because 'waiting' is pretty much what they've been doing for the past week. Waiting and recovering, in Jasnah's case. She strikes him as the sort of person who doesn't do well staying put for long; it's not difficult for him, having decades of boredom under his belt, but it must be for her.

A pause. He taps his fingers against his knee.

"—Your hair looks nice that way," he offers. Very nice. Dark, shiny even now, spilling down her back. It's probably wrong how appealing it is to see her loose, unbound. He clears his throat. "Do you need help putting it back before we go?"