A Culinary Impasta -- [UK/Italy]

[England]

Out of all the rooms in the Manor to finally venture into, it was the kitchen that lured Arthur in. Seeking food was a priority; and while he didn't trust anything the place might offer him when it came to selection, he figured there was still a chance that with his unique method of cooking he could pull off a safe, consumable meal. In this case it included little things he had scrounged from around the territory for just this purpose. Nothing smelled off, felt off, or gave the impression of being infested. Arthur pattered around the kitchen until he could figure out how to get the stove working properly. He was relieved to find it was an old-fashioned one, fueled by something other than electricity or gas. "Thank goodness for small miracles."

Within minutes, he had his intended meal in progress. The Englishman kept an eye on the door in case anyone came pushing through -- but so far no one had come to take advantage of his delicious cooking. Perhaps they were all too far away to notice? Once the heat really took on and everything in the pot began turning a darker shade of black, Arthur poked at the contents with a found spoon to get them pushed around so they'd crisp evenly on all sides. There was nothing worse than a job half done!

Cooking like this helped Arthur to tune out his troubles. The atmosphere of the kitchen was hardly cheery, yet such an act reminded him more of home. That he could do a mundane task when surrounded by such strife. It helped to lift his spirits for this limited time. Arthur even began to hum quietly to himself while he worked to keep that cooked meal under control. Meaning that he had very little control over it at all.

By now the kitchen had begun to fill with a dubious amount of smoke. Though he would have preferred to remain lower key to stay off the radar of any creatures, it couldn't be helped. Arthur hoped the presence of black smoke would ward them off with believing that the kitchen was ablaze and therefore should be avoided. He was scent blind to the toxic scent that came wafting out from around him to the corridor beyond the kitchen door. That aroma along with the presence of smoke that was likely harmful to any set of lungs might as well have been a beacon to announce the Englishman's presence. Not that he was close to aware of how bad it truly was. Arthur could be oblivious when he chose to be. His handicaps with cooking were one of those weaknesses that he refused to acknowledge.

It wasn't long before Arthur became aware of the kitchen door swinging opened. He jumped away from that black-churning pot to face whatever was coming inside, a spoon that was now heavily charred gripped in his hand as an intended weapon of defense. If any monster were planning to invade the room to steal the contents of his pot then they had another thing coming! "Who's there?"

[Italia Veneziano]

Feliciano couldn't remember the last time he ate. Time was such a fuzzy, immeasurable concept in this place--there were no sunrises or sunsets to mark its passing, and...there was the strange phenomenon of meeting people, other people you remember coming to the party with but they're unscathed compared to yourself; they might be worse. Maybe they were lucky, maybe you were luckier, but it just seemed so...wrong. Like they really had just arrived, hadn't seen the horrors in store for them yet. How that was possible, the Italian wasn't sure--but there were plenty of things that had happened in his time in this horrible place that shouldn't be possible. Monsters existing that used to be creatures of myth, spirits haunting the halls, invisible barriers keeping people trapped. ...Nations losing their own supernatural abilities and falling for the final time.

Time was so fuzzy, and Feliciano was so weak--it felt like he hadn't eaten in over a year. That had to be an exaggeration, though: how could it be that long a time? He didn't know. All he knew is that, if the creatures truly wanted to torment them, they were needed alive, right? That meant there had to be food in the kitchen. Food they could actually eat.

His first few "weeks" here, he'd tried to stick to the first floor, sneaking into the kitchen for small morsels of food when the patrolling monsters were gone. Nothing big, definitely nothing that needed to be cooked. He couldn't bring himself to risk the time for anything more than stealing a loaf of bread or a few apples, here and there. This time? He was going to barricade the doors shut and make himself as much as his shrunken stomach could handle. Unless there was already someone there--there couldn't be many places with large stores of edible food, after all. Then maybe he could just steal some of their food, or he could make food for the other person(s). It didn't really matter what he had at this point, he was just so hungry...

He'd even eat England's food. (...maybe.)

Smoke filled the hallway leading to the kitchen: thick, acrid, and black. A harsh cough escaped the Italian as he took a breath, choking on the bitter scents of burnt objects--burnt food. What was going on? Was there someone in there who'd accidentally started a fire? Was someone hurt? More coughs escaped him, that armed hand lifting to cover his mouth and nose as he quickly approached the closed kitchen door. The knob wasn't warm, so there wasn't a fire by the door--unless there was an unconscious figure, that had to mean that the person who'd started the fire was gone, fleeing the scene. Unless it was a trap, intending to catch any well-meaning person who came to "save the day".

That sobering thought instilled a sense of caution in Feliciano. If it was a trap, he had to be careful. He wasn't about to be caught in some dark game; not again. Slowly, the brunette twisted the knob and pushed the door open, gun leading the way as he poked his head inside the room.

...He should've known.

There, rather than some ghastly monster or injured person, stood England, wielding a char-covered spoon and standing before a soup-pot spitting out more of that disgusting smoke, much more than should be possible. How was there even any food left with that much smoke? How wasn't the whole place in flames?! Disgust turned his face pale and he coughed some more, lowering his weapon and lifting his free hand to try dispelling some of the smog out of his face. "W-What are you doing?" he asked, more horrified and resigned than surprised. What was once an angrily growling stomach, demanding food, warped into a roiling, sickened mess in his gut. "Y-You've burnt that--w-whatever that is, it's ruined."

Even if he was about to die of starvation, he wouldn't even look at that slop. (A mere glance alone might be potent enough to kill him)

[England]

How was it possible that the dynamics of a relationship could change so much? England was the one that presented an aura of menace to the Italian that had come upon him. Or at least both Italians used to behave like they were afraid of him. Everyone was on far better terms these days. Not that Arthur had become any more charming of an individual, so it was slower going for him to build friendships. Feliciano, being far more outgoing than his surly brother, was someone that the Englishman felt a little more comfortable with.

At the current moment he looked like a guilty child being chided. When did Feliciano master the ability to make him feel put on the spot with just a handful of words? It had to be Ludwig's influence. No one could instill a sense of disapproval like the German. Just a glance was all it took half the time to make Arthur feel like he was the younger. At least in this instance that was actually true even if the gap between his lifespan and Feliciano's wasn't all that much.

Arthur held that scorched spoon awkwardly in his grip. Green eyes traveled between Feliciano at the door and the utensil in his hand. He became aware of the smoke clouding the kitchen only because the Italian pointed it out to him. That probably said plenty about how often it was the Englishman was surrounded by this toxic presence; enough that it was perfectly natural to him, and therefore no cause for concern. His spoon drooped down in his grip as Arthur took a step back from the soup-pot belching out those steady plumes of black.

He'd succeeded in murdering whatever the contents of that pot contained. Murderers probably looked less remorseful when caught in the midst of the crime. Arthur shrank down with a grimace. His voice was meek when he spoke to Feliciano through that thick fog. "It was going to be stew, actually. I didn't want to chance it with anything else here. My mind wandered off there. It... it does seem a smidgeon overdone, doesn't it?"

Not sure what else he should do he chucked the spoon into the pot. It was more of a knee-jerk reaction than an intentional action. There was an assortment of terrifying monsters to fill every corner of the place yet perhaps none of them had any clout compared to the experience of witnessing the Englishman at work in the kitchen. At least there was the comfort that the bowels of that poor soup-pot wasn't glowing ominously. No shrieks of otherworldly voices were coming through. And thus far Arthur had not accidentally opened a channel to a portal of Hell.

All of which had happened before. Summoning in demonic entities while trying to make himself a bowl of stew wasn't the most far out occurrence that Arthur had managed in his lifetime. The world was fortunate that he was far better with his magic than he was with his cooking or it would be equally disastrous. Arthur slid back another step as the wooden spoon caught aflame, wiping his fingers off on the seat of his trousers. The sight of that burning wood didn't appear to faze him either.

"Oh dear. Well, that's gone and done it, hasn't it? Stew won't be any good now that it's got wood bits floating around in there. Why did you have to go and startle me like that?"

[Italia Veneziano]

For the moment, at least, England hadn't seemed to notice the fact that Feliciano had pulled a gun on him. With the thick haze of smoke, though, he might not have even seen it at all. Something to be thankful for, he supposed, turning the safety on and sliding it into the makeshift pouch he'd made for the revolver. With the acrid smells in the air, any creature with a nose would stay away, and with the Englishman there as well, he felt like, at least for the moment, he could put the weapon away. He didn't want to set the blonde off by waving the gun around, at least not until his irritation at all that wasted food was gone. The other might see it as a threat.

That didn't stop the Italian from shutting the kitchen door and leveling that deep frown back at the, barely, younger nation. At least England seemed a little contrite, voice soft as he answers Feliciano's earlier question. "It was going to be stew, actually. I didn't want to chance it with anything else here. My mind wandered off there. It... it does seem a smidgen overdone, doesn't it?"

A smidgen. A smidgen-- It's all the brunette can do to close his eyes, bite his lip, and hold his breath until the urge to snap and start yelling at the blonde, passes. Only, when he finally calms down a bit and squints at the blonde--the pot is still smoking and the acrid smell makes his eyes water--England is backing away from the stove and the top of that blackened surface is on fire. "Oh dear. Well, that's gone and done it, hasn't it?" England doesn't sound even remotely bothered, or repentant, as he speaks. Feliciano feels his eyebrow twitch. "Stew won't be any good now that it's got wood bits floating around in there. Why did you have to go and startle me like that?"

Another few seconds pass in silence before he can actually respond. "V-Ve, just... Just go get some water, per favore," he finally spits out, still just...thrown for a loop by the monstrosity on the stove top. His head hurts, and he's really not feeling all that hungry anymore. He knows, though, that he needs all the strength he can get and food would help him feel better. With that in mind, the Italian steps over to England's side, finally turning his gaze on the man. "We need to put this out, and... get rid of it. I can try and make something, instead." He almost wants to keep that disgusting mess. Maybe they can poison the monsters with it...