[ There's a moment's pause before Dimitri answers. ]
A simple taste palate is still a taste palate. I don't even have that. For the past nine years, I haven't been able to taste much of anything. [ He's still, watching Trevor with a frown as he continues the conversation. ]
I like textures. And I can feel the heat or the cold in my teeth. But I'll eat whatever you make simply because I have no way of knowing if it's good or not.
[ Dimitri mentioned that he hasn't been able to taste much of anything for the past nine years. The Tragedy of Duscar, the event where Dimitri's family was massacred, where he was the only survivor, happened nine years ago.
He's not an idiot. He can put together the correlation. But he's keeping it to himself. Instead, he lets out a tired little chuckle before asking, ]
[he chuckles too, more out of soreness and Trevor’s ham-handed way of getting to the point. But he’s always had an issue with being caught in infectious laughter]
[ Dimitri takes a bite of potatoes. It's hot, hotter than he's expecting, so he puts the fork down and quickly takes a drink of the beer to help cool his throat. He blows on the potatoes a bit before taking another, smaller bite. ]
It's good, [ says the man who literally just confessed to being unable to taste things. ]
[ And honestly? As long as Trevor wants to keep up the silence, Dimitri will match it. He's not one for a lot of conversation anyway. He's fine just eating his potatoes and enjoying the silence between them. ]
[Oh thank god: someone who doesn't need to fill the silence with unnecessary chatter. Trevor can keep up his end of a conversation but sometimes it's just fucking nice to sit and eat with someone who doesn't want to talk either. He's happy to eat with Dimitri, only making a noise when he stands to offer to take care of their plates]
[Well, that's something at least. Trevor deigns not to push Dimitri, giving a happy grin back. He goes to remove the plates and start washing them in the sink]
Because it's good fucking food.
[He calls over his shoulder with a nod goodbye. He won't keep him; the guy's been in a coma, he doubtless wants to check in on his people]
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Re: spam!
[Trevor sets to work, dropping the potatoes into the fryer and searching in the fridge]
You like cheese?
Re: spam!
Most foods taste the same to me. As long as it's not too hot or too cold, the taste doesn't matter.
Re: spam!
[He seems to be asking genuinely, even if the question is phrased rudely]
Re: spam!
Is that you asking because you give a damn or simply to be nosy?
Re: spam!
[He grunts, pulling out parmesan cheese and some thyme from the spice rack]
Re: spam!
A simple taste palate is still a taste palate. I don't even have that. For the past nine years, I haven't been able to taste much of anything. [ He's still, watching Trevor with a frown as he continues the conversation. ]
I like textures. And I can feel the heat or the cold in my teeth. But I'll eat whatever you make simply because I have no way of knowing if it's good or not.
Re: spam!
So you weren’t born that way. I know some infections happen that can make a person deaf or blind or mute.
Do you miss it?
Re: spam!
Not really, [ Dimitri shrugs. ] I've gone without it for long enough that it doesn't matter to me.
cw; graphic depicitions of death, fire
When my family burned to death, all I could smell for weeks was the ash and boiling flesh.
Fucks with your head.
Re: cw; graphic depicitions of death, fire
He's not an idiot. He can put together the correlation. But he's keeping it to himself. Instead, he lets out a tired little chuckle before asking, ]
In that regard, we are alike.
Were you the only survivor?
Re: cw; graphic depicitions of death, fire
Yeah. Last of a long line.
You?
Re: cw; graphic depicitions of death, fire
[ He's not even loathing the fact that he fuckin HATES Edelgard. ]
But for all intents and purposes, I am the last of the Blaiddyd line.
Re: cw; graphic depicitions of death, fire
Try this.
[He sets a plate of hot fried potatoes and cold beer in front of Dimitri]
Re: cw; graphic depicitions of death, fire
It's good, [ says the man who literally just confessed to being unable to taste things. ]
Re: cw; graphic depicitions of death, fire
[Trevor seems unbothered by this fact. He makes a plate for himself and sits opposite Dimitri, sinking into his usual grunts and silences]
Re: cw; graphic depicitions of death, fire
Re: cw; graphic depicitions of death, fire
Re: cw; graphic depicitions of death, fire
I enjoyed the food.
[ before he turns around, as if to leave. ]
Re: cw; graphic depicitions of death, fire
Because it's good fucking food.
[He calls over his shoulder with a nod goodbye. He won't keep him; the guy's been in a coma, he doubtless wants to check in on his people]