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Aire the chymist, most recently of Oba, might be called a complicated individual by someone meeting him for the first time. This was not an accurate descriptor, but a fair impression. Aire was a relatively simple young man. His main motivations involved helping others, and advancing the sum total of knowledge*. He himself was not particularly complicated. It was his life that tangled itself up in following the slender redhead's curiosity.

Case in point, his current situation. From city life in Belrea learning herblore in January, a near-death by exposure had eventually resolved itself into the present circumstance, a pair of quhar pulling the rickety wagon with his prentice-turned-partner riding beside, possibly up to Sauti. "Well of course! We'll have been on the road for a good while by then; it's nice not to have to cook once in a while." When he remembered to eat**, Aire proved a fairly good cook. The culinary experiments didn't always work out, true, but even those could seldom be called 'ruined' these days. The point, of course, had still sailed clear over the shorter man's head to join the other hints.

(*Including new and exciting manners in which things blew up, but that, by necessity and public safety, tended to be a more private drive.
**Which was most of the time, to be fair. Zasha had been a boon in that and other regards when research eclipsed mundane needs like sustenance and rest.)

As predicted, higher volumes sent him into a momentary fight-or-flight, pulling on the chain controlling the yoke. Both quhar slowed and stopped, one looking back to see what was wrong. The Belrean's rawboned face went through several stages in rapid succession: from warm to dead serious to placid and mild confusion, as though he didn't quite understand what she'd said. "I. I beg your pardon?"

Aire could be incredibly obtuse when it came to social cues, but he was not completely blind. Unfortunately, as tightly wound as his nerves ran, it took a moment to connect words to their delivery and realize there was no danger. It took a few more still to actually parse the whole sentence, which led to a further delay for the sake of bafflement. This sequence left little room left for words. For the first time in a good while, Zasha would find her partner speechless. "I. Er."

Aire found himself grateful for his partner's verbal outpouring. It gave him a moment or two to race through his memories, try to recall any context within which this proposition fit. As it stood, it seemed to have come running out of the trees, so to speak. Purple eyes stayed fixed on the Oban face while their owner sat straight in his seat. The mouth beneath his crooked nose, meanwhile, wasn't taking the opportunity to do anything useful. "Ah. I. Um."

Honesty. That was the best idea, right? Certainly didn't have the processing power to come up with any prevarication right now. Or even say what he'd had for breakfast, at this point. "I. I might need a little time to adjust my thinking. Before saying one way or another. Hadn't looked at you in that way before. ...How long have you felt this way?"

In point of fact, he had been looking, every so often. Enough to get an outline of his own tastes, anyway. The trouble was, assuming personal interest from others had always struck him as uncharitable and somehow rude. So he instead assumed that he ought not express his passing interests on. Just kept them under his scarf until he forgot them altogether. He simply hadn't thought to look at the Oban girl romantically, especially as he'd defaulted to thinking of her as an adolescent.

Absent minded and overwhelmed as he may have been, but Aire was all but hardwired to notice when something was going wrong, which included his former 'prentice's squirming in her saddle. His hands rose in a gesture of peace, open palms out and leaning towards her. "It's alright, I'm not- I'm flattered, really. Seems I've an apology to make you." If it were any comfort at all, his yellow skin had swiftly darkened to a deep orange about the face. Didn't quite match his hair, but that was a distinctive hue. "I, er, I'd just been assuming you were being kind to your fuzzy-headed teacher. I'm sorry to've caused you all this distress, Zasha."

Now that he was reevaluating... most everything past a certain point, Aire's nerves decided to turn things up a notch. In this instance, by having his tongue run away with his thoughts. Quickly. Quickly enough, in fact, to begin cutting sentences off mid-syllable. "Well. Um. I'm not saying 'no'. I'm not saying 'yes' right away, either, but I don't want it to seem as though you're not appealing- That's not to- You're very- Mmh."

Thick gloves softened the clap of his hands to a -clop- just under the chymist's crooked nose. Definites. Stick to the definites. "What I don't want is for you to leave. You're an excellent partner and I'm very fond of you, Zasha. I just. I'm going to need a little time to sort out what manner of fondness that is. Now that it's been explained to me that there are more directions that feeling might take." She was not, if swiftness of word and glowing orange face were any indication, the only one embarrassed. In the young man's defense, he wasn't that much older than his silver-haired lab partner...

Even as she pulled ahead, Zasha's partner sat, mildly stunned. He soon got their trusty quhar moving again, though she kept a lead. For the best, really. Gave both some time to compose their minds. To the broken-nosed chymist 's credit, he wasted little of their silence blaming anyone for this. Even himself. This changes so much. Is this what was bothering her all this time? She could've just said- No, I still owe HER an apology. If she's been trying to communicate this long, it's not on her that I didn't realize. ...Supper, perhaps? We've been doing trail ration and wandermeal a few days now. Wandermeal was sustaining, and easily flavored, but it was still a thick gruel. No Belrean had ever called it a favorite. Hardly stimulating in any capacity.

Some thought was bent on this, and on the herbs in stock. They did have a couple things to make for more appetizing than the plain fare of the latest meals. Aire, as it happened, could cook, and fairly well, when he put his mind to it. Might even come as a surprise, as he seldom bothered beyond the basics, even when research had not gobbled up all available attention. Yes. Yes! I still have the smaller cauldron, and the slow-burning moir extract. With the rice, some meat, a bit of oil... As dusk came upon them, the slim redhead's scheme solidified. Zasha had wanted a dinner date to begin with, right? This might well be the best he could manage on the road...

A snaptrotter was a powerful beast, and not to be crossed lightly... But even it already knew to choose its moments with the lightning chymist. No more than a few mouthfuls, aye. Easily disposed of and forgot. Save in the early hours, when the little man failed to sleep. Then it kept away, instinct bidding it lay still and hope he not take note of it. All these thoughts on its riders packmate might well grind to a halt when it came time to stop for the night.

Rather than the usual dried fruit, jerky and wandermeal, tonight Aire hopped down, cleared a spot and began setting up the stand to one of his larger alembics. A little work, a bit of tinder, and a drop or two of sludgy brown chemical had little flames licking up at the bottom. An extract of the moir plant, with some processing, they found to emit a steady heat for a good long time once exposed to flame. That done, the slender scientist went back in to clean his hands for the work to come. From the wagon's stores, he hauled down his ingredients, including a mix of the dried herbs, rubbing them onto a large chunk of meat. "You said you wanted to try something in Jauhar's style, didn't you?"