#and the cabinets look so impractical and cheap like why is the kitchen even made to cater to his tastes he aint even HERE 90% of the day

[pikslasrce]

tfw the kitchen remodeling was ur dads idea and he has no taste and he made all the decisions himself but didnt think everything through so the kitchen wont even look like he wants it to look and its just plain ugly and impractical

[the-wardens-torch]

...Thought it’d be better to answer this one outside of ask format so I could cut it to save you guys some dashboard space!  Thank you my friend @aspected-benefic!

“This is your best work yet, Fal.”

T’Majaan Tia leaned forward in his chair and placed the delicate choker on the table before looking up at his student.

“I remembered what you said about cloudkin skins being more fragile than beastkin skins, so I thought to try something a little bit more… delicate?” Falerin said, leaning against the doorframe and attempting to give a nonchalant shrug that was betrayed by the look of pride on his face.

T’Majaan smiled back and ran his fingers over the soft leather.  It had been left its natural color, which was an unappealingly pale shade of corpse blue on its own, but worked as an excellent background to an intricate feather motif stitched in multicolored silk thread.

“Geva would give you hells about how the decorative stitching compromises the structural integrity of the leather and makes it impractical and whatnot.“ T’Majaan snorted lightly through his nose and pinned his ears back, making his disdain for the master of the Leatherworkers’ guild apparent.

“But this is an exquisite piece, and unlike her, I can appreciate beauty for its own sake.   Its evidence of a steady hand and a grateful heart. Well done indeed.” he said.

“Thanks Maj! I know I haven‘t been by much so when you asked me over I thought I‘d bring my best piece so you could see that I balanced out my usual dicking around with actual practice and… What are you doing?” Fal cocked his head at T’Majaan, who had risen from his chair and was opening one of his kitchen cabinets. 

“Actually, Fal, I’m proud to see your work has improved so much, but  its not why I invited you over.  Have a seat, will you?” His tail twitched excitedly as he brought out a small paper bag cradled in his palm.

“I didn’t have you pegged as type who buys fogweed dime bags.” Fal said facetiously, pulling up a chair across from where Maj had been sitting.

“Oh, be quiet and just tell me what you smell.” Maj leaned across the table and held the bag about a fulm from Fal’s face.  Falerin craned his neck forward and prepared to make another quip, only to suddenly catch a very distinct scent.  A subtle sweetness, like the aroma of stone fruit, with an astringent overtone not unlike that of pepper.  

“Are those… Amber Chanterelles?” Falerin asked, looking at Maj in surprise.

“Yes! I knew you‘d recognize them!” Maj said, placing the bag on the table with a grin before busying himself with the contents of the kitchen cabinets again.

“But… How did you know?” Falerin  asked, hooking a finger over the edge of the bag and peering inside.

The sight that greeted him was indeed the wavy, fanlike, golden orange ridges of the Cieldalaes’ most famous species of edible fungi. It had been years, but the scent brought back memories so vivid they forced Falerin into a moment of silence.

“Don’t think I forgot what you told me about your mother.” Maj said. “There isn’t an islander Seeker on the Rhotano who doesn’t know how to make an Amber Omelet. I was born in La Noscea, but one of my aunties was from the isles and she used to go on and on about Ambers and how much she missed them and how hard they are to find on the mainland.”

“They are…“ Falerin said. “I don’t think I’ve tasted one since I was the size of a Lalafell. My mother and I used to spend hours looking for them on the islands.  They’re hard to find even in their native environment. These can’t have been cheap, Maj.” Falerin said as the Seeker man began cracking Apkallu eggs into a white ceramic bowl.

“Don’t worry about it.  I’ve only eaten then a handful of times and this time I wanted to make sure to share them with someone who I knew would appreciate them!” Maj set a buttered skillet on his stove before plucking the bag of mushrooms from the table.

Falerin sighed and put his chin in his hand.  He watched Maj as he moved on to slicing spinach, onions, and finally the mushrooms. After a moment, he turned his attention to the choker he had made, picking it up and examining it in hopes of distracting himself.  But as mushrooms hit the skillet and began to sizzle aromatically with the onions, he couldn‘t help where his thoughts went.

He remembered picking out his mother’s silhouette from among the scraggly trees and cattails, much as he was now picking out Maj’s silhouette from among the trees outside his kitchen window.  Just a few more breaths of that scent and he could hear his mother’s hissed warnings to keep quiet so that they didn‘t disturb the nesting birds they would later steal eggs from.  He remembered keeping his eyes down and homing in on dead trees in hope of seeing a smear of orange treasure on the rotted wood. And then there was the cool, viscous marsh mud on his feet.  The mud that had once stolen one of his favorite sandals with a vaguely obscene “SCHLORP” noise as he tried to step out of it. His mother had laughed so hard that he thought she would scare the birds far more than he ever could. And the reward for a hard day of searching, a taste that went so well with the sound of the ocean and the feel of mud under his fingernails, but would probably still be great in a Gridanian kitchen.  His mouth watered to think about getting such a rare treat again, even though the associated memories were bittersweet at best.

Sooner than he expected, Maj slid two plates onto the table, each boasting a fluffy cloud of an omelet studded with nuggets of sunny golden mushrooms.  Before Maj could sit down, Falerin got up from his chair and walked over to him, unexpectedly seizing him around his shoulders in a familial hug.  Being a shorter, doughier and more nervous man than Falerin, Maj squeaked and took on an expression of vague alarm.

“Thank you, Maj. I don‘t think you realize how much this means to me.” Falerin said, squeezing his friend tight.

“O-Of course. You are welcome, Falerin.”  Maj said, his quizzical expression turning to a warm smile.

((Maj is Fal’s LTW teacher.  He’s a 30something merchant living in the Lavender Beds. He met Fal when he was performing in a bar in the Shroud and initially wanted to take him home for the night, but his attraction turned into paternal concern when he found out Fal was only 20 and had no family. Maj offered to teach him some leatherwork in hopes it’d get him started on a less dangerous, more lucrative career path. Did it work?  Not really, but Fal did make a friend and learned that leatherworking makes a great hobby!))