A Sorry State of Chocolate Affairs

With the Friday night La Liga tie between Valencia and Athletico Madrid blaring out of the television in the front room, in the kitchen Cael Ivanov set about constructing the three course meal for Rivah which he was determined not to mess up for fear of, first of all, making a fool of himself and, second of all, convincing her that she was better off at work where the cafeteria was cheap and provided vaguely edible articles that masqueraded as food. He wanted her to be around more often and food was the surest way to the soul, was it not? That was what his mother told him, at least. Cael was determined to try.

Now, Cael wasn’t going to pretend he could remember a lot about what Rivah liked to eat but he hoped that a mix of spice and comfort would set something alight on her palette that would convince her not to run away screaming and give some indication that Cael could cook. However, by mid-morning he’d scoured all of the recipe books he had in his flat and had scared Rose away in the process – though she did point out she had a date anyway and, thus, had somewhere better to be. Cael did pretend not to take offense but, equally, Rose pointed out that as he had been next to useless with helping her pick her clothes, she wasn’t going to help him cook. Cael had to admit defeat on that front.

Which brings us steadily through the day to the point where the football began. Having watched an earlier replay from the German league, there was very little time left and Cael started making the dessert – a rich chocolate cake that would cook gently while he worried after the main which would consist of, hopefully, a shepherd’s pie scenario. For the starter he was sorely tempted to go for a prawn cocktail but, at the expense of the seventies, he opted instead to make a mackerel salad which would be chilled and, hopefully, palate buzzing enough for the shepherd’s pie to be a welcome soothe to it.

Thankfully, after dithering long enough, Cael shot to work and started chopping up the vegetables and the other bits and pieces which he would put into the pie. Once that headed into the oven on a low heat, the cake came out and he left it to cool before applying the icing middle and sticking the two sheets together. He’d save the cream and the chocolate dressing for later but, hopefully, it would be soporific enough to make the ever so slightly lame selection of films he had seem like a good option.

The wine, as ever, was a bountiful feature and Cael had already begun to dabble in it. Now all he had to hope is that Rivah wouldn’t forget. It was Friday, after all, but something always tended to come up at the weekend – just like come Saturday, Cael would be repairing broken bones and other cuts and scrapes thanks to the recklessness of the Quidditch-playing students. But, hopefully, it would be a slow day. But who knew? It would probably go about as smooth as the evening ahead if that suspect looking smoke drifting out of the oven was anything to go by.

Rivah smoothed her skirt with a few brisk brushes of her palm. The witch was standing in front of the mirror in her room, regarding her own outfit with narrowed eyes. She'd purposely left work slightly early, leaving enough time to pop home for a few minutes and freshen up before heading over to her friend's home. Touching up her makeup, and spritzing a lightly scented perfume in the general direction of her hair, Rivah internally declared herself presentable.

The blonde had donned a flowing black skirt that ended a few inches shy of her knees and a white blouse that morning before heading to work. The woman had purposely worn what she'd been planning upon wearing to Cael's that night, well aware that something might come up and she'd find herself unable to stop by her flat before dinner. Luckily, the precaution had not been necessary.

Heels clicking as she walked out the door and onto the street, the witch closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Mentally prepared for the sensation that was about to follow, Rivah disapperated with a pop. Reappearing a few paces from Cael's door, the blonde wobbled for a moment before regaining her footing. Apperating had never been one of her strengths, but Rivah had been unwilling to risk the state of her outfit and hair, removing the floo system as a possible method of transportation.

Closing the distance between herself and the door with a few swift strides, the woman smoothed down her skirt once more. Raising a fist to knock against the wood of the doorway, Rivah found herself hesitating. Lowering her arm with a sigh, the woman mentally berated herself. There was no need for her hesitation. She was one of the most politically powerful witches in the nation, and a Death Eater to boot. For Merlin's sake, she'd faced far worse and far scarier things than Cael.

Glancing down at her shoes in a peculiar attempt to ground herself, Rivah shut her eyes and took a moment to just breathe. Eyelids fluttering open a moment later, the blond lifted an elegant hand, curled it into a fist, and knocked twice in quick succession. Allowing her limb to float loosely back down to her side, the witch smiled. She was about to have dinner with Cael; certainly that was reason enough to be happy.

As dinner slowly but surely started to come together, the pair due to come together and share the meal gravitated into the same apartment with a slightly frazzled but no-less jovial Cael Ivanov appearing at the front door. He grinned brightly at his friend who he complimented immediately, for fear of forgetting to do so in between trying to get the dinner on plates and the wine in the glasses.

“You look beautiful, Riv,” he uttered genuinely, tipping his head to the side as a slightly wistful smile whistled its way over his features. He ducked his head a little, heat rising in his cheeks, and he stepped away, opening up the door fully for Rivah to step inside. Cael would have been a complete fraud if he’d tried to turn on his cousin’s flirtatious swagger in order to take control back of the situation. He was nervous – the way his hand couldn’t quite keep hold of the doorknob, slipping off at every slight movement of his palm.

Finally, Cael got the door closed after wiping his hands on his jeans he moved into the living room where he had put the bottles of wine on the coffee table along with the tablemats, cutlery and napkins which he’d set out carefully after finishing the dessert. He hadn’t wanted to sit to the table. He’d wanted something semi-formal but intimate at the same time. The coffee table was a nice compromise.

“Red or white?” Cael asked, his thumbs curling around the loops of his belt. No warzone could rival this. It reminded him of the time he had been sent out with a bomb-disposal squad when the army had, much to his dismay, failed to send enough protection troops of their own out to look after the disposal specialists. That had been tense but he’d never actually felt as though he was going to combust. With Rivah in the room he felt as though he’d do it of his own accord whether he wanted to or not.

"Thanks," the witch said softly upon being complemented by her friend. Self-consciously pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Rivah stepped inside. The woman didn't have to look in a mirror to know that her cheeks had gained a light dusting of pink at Cael's words, but she couldn't help but notice the blood that had also rushed into her friend's face. Smiling slightly to herself, but not looking too far into it, the blonde glanced around.

Silverware and glasses were laid out upon the coffee table, and Rivah couldn't help but think how much more intimate it would feel than a more formal table setting. The woman wondered if Cael had done that on purpose before promptly dismissing the thought. He'd probably just chosen it for comfort's sake.

Rivah watched as her friend curled his thumbs through his belt loops, placing him in a position that accentuated muscular arms and perfectly proportioned shoulders. Ripping her eyes away from Cael's body, the witch forced herself to ponder upon the question she'd been asked. Chewing at her bottom lip in thought, the woman's brain finally caught up with the problem at hand.

"Why are you asking me?" Rivah said teasingly after a moment, "you're the chef, are you not? What would you recommend?" Laughing slightly at her own slightly out of character comment, the witch walked over to the coffee table. Slipping in front of the table setting angled more towards the man who had invited her over, Rivah once more smoothed down her skirt.

"So Mr Ivanov," she stated, head tilting slightly to the left, "what have you made for me?"

Knowing that the salad was coming first, Cael decided to go with the white wine. The red could wait until the main course and he’d brew a cup of strong espresso coffee to go with the chocolate. Hopefully it would be as much of a hit as his stomach was hoping – said organ thoroughly famished by this point as Cael had been spending all morning consoling himself with crackers and football and neither had really done the trick. Now it was time for some wine and once both glasses were poured, Cael handed one to Rivah and clinked his with hers.

“Healer by trade madam, actually,” he grinned, turning out his words with a smooth flick of his tongue and roll of his lips. He laughed a little and took a sip of his wine, pleased to find that the bottle was a good one, before setting it down and moving back into the kitchen. It didn’t take long for the salad to be tossed together with the fish and before he knew what was going on he was back out in the living room with two plates modestly filled with a mackerel salad that was both high in leafy greens and meaty, oily fish.

“For the lady,” he bowed dramatically, holding the plates up high above his head, before setting them down on the table, one on each place mat. After refilling the glasses, Cael took a seat and with a flick of his fingers over the candles on the table, lit up a nice ambiance around the table and, eventually, once the magic rumbled into action, around the room.

“So how was your day then, love?” He inquired with a smile. “Not fraught with danger, I hope?”

Rivah couldn't prevent the high-pitched laughter that escaped her lips at Cael's teasing response. The noise was softer and breathier than normal, like a warm breeze instead of her usual quick gust of air. Taking a tentative sip from the glass of wine that her friend had poured, the woman made a pleased humming sound as the liquid was registered by her taste buds. Happy with the healer's good choice in alcohol, Rivah took another small taste before setting the glass back down upon the table.

The Death Eater had always been somewhat paranoid about getting even a little drunk. The witch was self-aware enough to know that the consumption of alcohol often loosened her tongue potentially dangerous amounts. Rivah couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten truly drunk in public. It had probably been when she was seventeen, mourning the loss of Max and pitying herself for the situation she'd naively walked straight into.

The blonde thought that she'd done pretty well with her life since then. Rivah held a well-respected position in the Ministry at the tender age of twenty six, and hadn't even thought about her first love in months. The woman remembered how almost a year proir she had used her connections to look up the man she had once wished to marry. Upon finding out the Max now had two young children, Rivah was surprised to find herself mentally wishing him and his family nothing but health and happiness. If the fact that her salary was almost twice his had given her a slightly twisted sense of satisfaction, well, no one ever had to know.

Rivah smiled and thanked Cael softly as the man set the plate down before her. "My day was pretty good thanks," the female replied, a warm feeling settling in the pit of her stomach as the man, once again, referred to her as love. "No danger, the scariest thing I had to deal with today was a few paperwork deadlines," the Trenton admitted wryly.

Lifting her fork and using it to spear a few pieces of lettuce along with a piece of fish, Rivah brought the mouthful up to her lips. Chewing thoughtfully for a moment, the blonde swallowed and licked her lips, leaving them shiny and glistening. "This is really good," she admitted, before going back for another bite. Eyes meeting Cael's for the briefest of moments, the witch couldn't help but think that she had indeed had done rather well for herself, in the end.

There had been an easy shift towards the domestic after being discharged. The uniform was put to the back of his mind, the medals tucked away into drawers beneath old socks and shirts that didn’t fit anymore; and the term ‘sir’ returned to its place in his mind as a term of address for his intellectual superiors rather than his own burdening epithet. He took to cooking, enjoyed the time it took to clean his flat and the hospital wing from top to bottom, used it to think and ponder where in the past he would have used the time to plot imaginary revenge on those who outranked him and sent him off to do menial jobs. He didn’t mind them as much, now. He revelled in it all, almost.

Cooking for Rivah had been, by far, his favourite of his new-found enjoyable tasks and enjoyable skills. He was a little bit disappointed he hadn’t been able to turn out something with a bit more flair but beyond setting fire to alcohol he really wasn’t sure how he was supposed to provide said flair. Cael disliked the fact that he was highly conventional and, despite the fact that he should have been older and wiser, he didn’t let go of the fact that his baby cousin had that flair that Cael wanted to impress Rivah with. Robin would’ve swept her off of her feet. What had Cael done? He’d gotten a bit tongue-tied and confused and panicky but somehow managed to uncork the wine.

Returning to domesticity, it wasn’t lost on the wizard just how, conventional yes, oddly amiable he had been to jumping into the small talk and the important questions which usually came from well-meaning mothers, distracted fathers and genuinely interested partners. Friends didn’t really inquire after those little details as, being friends, it was understood that along with religion and politics, any harsh inquiries into the day’s events were just that little bit too familiar – it leant to something a little bit more personal, not vaguely friendly like they were all supposed to adhere to. Cael didn’t know where he stood in that respect.

“Paperwork,” Cael cringed, a playful grin lighting up his face as he feigned fear of the idea. “Sounds horrifying.”

When Rivah’s eyes reached up to take hold of his, Cael’s grin softened into a small smile that tickled at the sides of his lips. He felt warm all of a sudden and the hold on his fork grew slack, seeing it fall loose on the tips of his fingers, threatening to fall. Cael broke the spell after a moment, returning his gaze to the salad, his cheeks burning with visible embarrassment once more.

“Thank you,” he murmured bashfully as he lowered his fork to the plate, reaching with his newly freed hand for his glass of wine.

Cael took a mouthful of the wine and swallowed it slowly before setting the glass back down, smudging his lips together in thought before turning his gaze back to Rivah.

“What would you have done if you hadn’t been a Ministry hotshot, eh?” He asked curiously, picking up his fork once more. He couldn’t think what setting Rivah belonged in. He couldn’t place her anywhere but where she was sat on the sofa opposite him, her hair shining in the light of the candles, her eyes twinkling like gems, dancing like the firelight. It was there that she belonged, he felt, if she had to be anywhere else, it just wasn’t quite right.