do they cease to exist when you stop being missed

[mightyfallen]

Who: Jack and Balthier
What: Some fussing and recuperating. Also, dinner.
Where: Jack's ridiculous apartment in West Gidd.
When: Tuesday Misdi evening.
Warnings: Food details, otherwise nothing much.

Despite what he said in his text, it might be better if Balthier doesn't hurry over. The contents of Jack's fridge being well above your usual bachelor fodder of condiments and old bread (he is, after all, a bachelor raised to ridiculous culinary standards), what he throws together is somewhat involved, including not only both meat and vegetables but actual herbs and spices. A little pepper the steaks, parsley and tarragon with the root vegetables, and he refrains from glazing anything out of vague recollection of the other man's tastes.

The activity helps him process – which is what he calls it in his mind, not think or feel, like he's some kind of machine that should be able to take the lingering echos of so many souls lost under his command (and more, closer to him) and arrive at a neat, clean explanation for why he's been so irritated at the thought of losing anyone else.

But he didn't lose anyone, this time. He has to remind himself of that, and there'd be relief in the thought if he was willing to acknowledge having anything to be relived over, which naturally he isn't. Instead, he's chopping too many carrots and cussing at the stove and will generally feel a lot better when he can actually see his friend in one piece.

Comments

[nojudge.livejournal.com]

Balthier is, in general, not the sort to do something like 'hurry' on the word of another - even a friend - but perhaps there's some roundabout fortune in the fact that even if he wanted to, it's just not going to happen. He spends most of the day speaking with the woman whose boat he borrowed, detailing his adventures and picking her brain about the guild that's now eying the lot of them. It pays off in the form of her daughter offering him a ride on her enormous red yak (which wears bells and ribbons and does anything in the world for cherries), because all present agreed quite readily with the notion that taking the Militia-observed train sporting his particular injuries might be unduly suspicious.

He's already known to the door-person, so besides whatever protocol the other man has for being informed about visitors, the first sign of Balthier is his light-knuckled knock at the front door. The sight of him, when discovered, is slightly off from normal: someone's lent him an undershirt, through which the bandages that span over his left shoulder, chest, and upper arm are plainly visible. He's wearing a black formal shirt over it, though only his right arm is actually in the sleeve, and his left is tucked against his side, the shirt itself being used as a sort of casual sling.