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"Well, this," said Aire, continuing to spice up the soft flesh, "is probably not an insect. Maglardilla, it's called. Normally it has to be eaten fresh, but my master found a way to sort of freeze the stuff. Looks a bit like gelatin from hooves, doesn't it?" Indeed, the hydraulic muscle was normally boiled inside the shell in a great pot. But hungry minds had a knack for innovation if they were missing something. Enough water, for example. With certain techniques in alchemy, enabling long term storage, it was possible to save this delicacy for months. "Looks runny, yes, but she'll fry up a treat. Could you ignite the pan in a moment, please?"

He worked at the gloopy lump, keeping it mostly the same shape as he went, until satisfied with the unappetizing result. At this, the excitement bled out into a smile despite the current state of things. Embarrassment meant nothing in the face of experimentation! (And he'd only ever watched this being cooked, not tried the cooking himself.) Rather more softly, the chymist spoke again."...I know, it's not what you meant when you asked me to supper. If I say 'yes', and I mean to, can we take it slowly, please? I can get past my qualms, as most of them are nonsense anyway. But it might take a little time.

"Thank you, partner." It seemed they were bound and determined to fry this semisolid mass one way or another. While probable that they were cooking this stuff wrong (he only half-recalled his master's exact process), the end result wasn't all that important. The effort had itself got them talking again, rather than letting awkwardness simmer overnight. A splash of rum when fire touched the upside of their pan, and it caught alight.

Soon enough, a dark crust had begun to form over their whole meal, engulfed as it was in flame. Despite this, Aire trusted to his nose and knowledge of pyrotechnics. So long as, when it cracked, the interior was white and fluffy, the rest could be managed. Yes, even leftover charcoal flavor. While she applied heat, he applied oil and further alcohol, moving the pan around between them, always keeping their meal in motion. "I won't blame you for putting it out openly. You're not my 'prentice anymore, and I preferred you speak your mind even then. ...Part of the problem might be that I keep thinking of you as my 'prentice or assistant. A master getting romantically involved with someone under their care feels like taking advantage of them." Perhaps it wasn't so strongly thought-of out here on the continent, so long as both parties were of age. He'd grown up with different taboos in Belrea. The yellow face looked up briefly, hoping to catch the young mage's green eye. "That's not fair to either of us. But the idea's sticky. I'm going to need to work at it to get it out of my thinking, you know?"

They were in luck! ...And paying close attention, which often worked out better than luck! While the outside blackened pretty quickly, the inside, once taken off the flame and cracked open, proved thick and fluffy. Smelled somewhere between fish and fowl. "Doesn't quite smell like my master's, but he used a different set of spices. Looks pretty close tho'!" Just in case, Aire made mental note of just where he'd filed his antitoxins. If they'd cooked incorrectly, food poisoning, while a possibility, was a survivable one.

As they set down to dish up, the Beltran took a seat beside his partner. Normally, they sat across the fire from one another, but perhaps it was time for that to change. A kiss might have been tempting, but... No, not tonight. Not yet. Instead, the slender alchymist reached out and took Zasha by her hand. "Yes, I think I would like to have dinner with you."