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Spanish, she could have guessed as much... Aila watched as Eclair glanced between the human and the cake, as if in hesitation. She opened her small mouth and pulled off a bite of the sweet, the spongy pastry separating with ease. The electric-type enjoyed the taste slowly and with an immense intrigue.

"It's an odd habit," Aila admitted, abashed for the part of both the trainer and the pokemon. "She must have picked it up before I met her somehow..." She placed her attention on the gesture of the fork as it was directed at... the cake in her lap, yet untouched. Oops. "Ah, yes..." Quickly, though hopefully not with a speed that would offer offense, she separated a small portion with a graceful motion of her wrist and brought it to her lips. It was sweet, though not overpoweringly so, and the cake itself was moist. "It's quite good," she evaluated with an approving nod. "I wonder if I could make something like this..." Her previous experiences with cooking were limited to simple, inexpensive dishes of a primarily instant variety, and while she had a basic knowledge of baking, she had never properly practiced it.

"In Camphoreon, after... Well, when I was younger." A partial shrug dismissed the initial sequence of thought that she had cut off. "Someone left her out on the street in the middle of summer. I pitied her, and apparently that earned me her gratitude or respect or something of that nature. She followed me around for a few weeks before I gave in and bought a pokeball for her."

Despite the immobility of her left hand, her motions remained graceful without a single wasted movement. What was a little paralysis in the face of her pedigree and upbringing? She would remain perfectly dignified... unless required to cook. "I'm not much better," she admitted with a smile that could almost be called sheepish. "I'm decent at following instructions, but my experiences are generally limited to boiling water or pressing buttons on a microwave." She'd never really had the time to spare on meaningless luxuries like cakes or extravagant meals. Time spent in a kitchen was time spent away from books, away from research, and away from thieving. Well, not that any of that mattered now. A reliable paycheck allowed her that much more time to study new skills.

The Pichu started slightly; she had been concentrating on the flavor of the small treat, and the sudden contact was unexpected. Nonetheless, she returned the question with a bright smile and an enthusiastic "cha!"

In the brief period of conversation to follow, Aila would finish the cake she had offered and return the lid to Inigo for him to pack away along with the container. The evening bled into night, and so the pair made short work of extinguishing the fire and preparing the camp for the night, Aila wordlessly relying on Inigo's assistance with tasks that she was conspicuously incapable of completing with her arm in its current state.

Within the hour, the site was in order for the night, and Aila returned her pokemon to their pokeballs, leaving Charmant at her side out of a habitual caution. With a word of goodnight and a thanks for his assistance that afternoon and evening, she retreated into the tent's space.

Aila was a light sleeper, and so she was already awake when Charmant nudged her in an attempt to rouse the human. The gasp for breath firmly seized her attention, and she parted the sheets closing off the tent and quickly removed herself, a cursory glance finding the nearby Inigo no longer lying in his bag. He was instead sitting upright, inclined slightly forward and, judging from the strangled sounds and vague shuddering, struggling to breathe. A calm professionalism quickly quenched a rising panic, and a few swift strides brought the small girl to his side where she crouched and set a steadying hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong? Can you breathe?" Her tone betrayed only the slightest sliver of the mounting concern she felt; reacting to panic with more panic would be nothing but detrimental to the situation.

Aila listened with an increasingly worried expression. She didn't understand a word he was saying. She didn't know why he was suddenly speaking in a foreign language, but what if he was saying he wasn't okay and he couldn't breathe? A more rational thought process would have concluded that if he was capable of speech, he could clearly breathe just fine, but Aila found herself dancing around a distinct fear that someone was going to die if she couldn't figure out what was going on.

When the confusion fell from Inigo's face, the distress fell from Aila's own, and she sat back with a breath that she didn't know she had been holding while Leilani was interacting with her trainer. Thank Arceus for Leilani; the Meganium seemed to know exactly what had happened and how to fix it. But Aila did not possess a similar knowledge, and because of this, a noticeable worry clung to her features. "Are you all right?"

"Don't you dare say it's nothing!" she countered, inexplicably angered by the blatant dodge. The memory of watching her young niece die in her brother's arms burned in mind, and the thought that she would have been left to sit there and do nothing while another innocent died in front of her brought an intermittent tremble to her shoulders. When she realized the volume of her voice, however, she breathed out a sigh and lowered her gaze. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

"I'm sorry," she repeated, her gaze lingering elsewhere out of sheer shame to have reacted so horribly. "You don't have to explain. I just was... I was worried. I'm sorry." She was still worried, really, but not so much as to force him to say something he was uncomfortable saying.