Quoted By:
"Pffah ah fah... gah!"
You take the time to actually chew and swallow the two meat rolls you've already shoved into your mouth.
"These are amazing! Did you make them from scratch?"
"Yeah."
"Seriously, I can't overstate how good these taste. Crispy on the outside, but the inside just melts on the tongue," you say, already biting into the third roll. "And the spices: I can tase... <span class="mu-i">maniri, zepsa...</span> and a touch of navareen salt?" you look to Fia for confirmation. "And something spicy I can't quite identify."
""It's probably the <span class="mu-i">cirrho</span>," she tilts her head. "You're familiar with spices."
"Well," you shrug. "I may have worked as a chef at one point. So yeah, I know more than the average shlub. So you make your own marinades?," she nods in response. "That's a lot of work just for a snack."
"Nah, I actually make them in bulk. And I know what you're thinking right now," she gives you a smug smile. "That's my secret, see? I figured out the exact blend - several, actually - of spices and oils that preserves the flavor profile through a flash freeze."
"Bullshit."
"It's true!" she insists with full confidence. "Those meat rolls? I made them three standard months ago. Did a quickthaw, then popped them right in the oven," she grins. "And you couldn't even tell."
"You're absolutely right, I couldn't. I bow my head before the chef," you do as you say, taking note of how Fia preens at the compliments. "As someone who spent the last decade and a half surviving on a diet of street food and flavored carbohydrates from hydroponics, I can already tell we're going to be very good friends."
"Well, uh," she rubs the back of her head, suddenly bashful. "It's just that I figured out the moral of that story you told. About Sivard."
"Oh?" you ask non-committaly, grabbing another meat roll.
"I mean, it's fairly obvious," her expression, along with the mood in the cockpit growing somber. "Be useful. You can be fucked in the head, you can be an asshole, but just make sure you're a useful one. That the good outweighs the bad," she looks at you. "That's what you're telling me, right?"
"That's generally how most civilization works," you shrug. "And for what it's worth, I'd rather try and get along with a useful asshole than have to babysit the nicest sapient in the galaxy who couldn't find their own behind with two hands and a map."
That earns you a thin smile.
"Anyway, before I got distracted by some amazing cooking, I believe you asked me a question. And to answer you: no, I don't plan things out. Plans are for masochists who get off to watching their designs crumble due to unaccounted for factors. Been there, done that, not my fetish. These days I do gambits."
"Gambits?"
(cont)
