Work Text:
In a surprising turn of events, it's Rodya of all the Sinners who brings it up during the interval of the late-morning-after-breakfast, when everyone else (sans one of their number) has accomplished squeezing around each other to finish their meals.
Or maybe not surprising that she gets the ball rolling, given how it's now been over a week and no one has bothered asking about it, patient for once and used to not being told things for another, as much Dante knows that part is grating on their Sinners' nerves at times. The trust not to ask too many questions, is nice, if a little concerning. It's hard to pick on most days.
"Hey Dante, or Fau, whichever one of you has the answer. What're we doing about the blood thing?"
She segues into the lull of the overlapping conversations, words partially muffled by Hong Lu's bright blue tie in her mouth and eyes focused on the handfuls of black hair she's managing into a ponytail for the man.
There's a feigned casualness to her tone that Dante's used to hearing from her. But, knowing Rodya, she really might not be bothered by it given that she was one of the first to accept the change.
Either way, it's a question that gets everyone's attention. Dante looks up from their PDA to see ten sets of eyes on them. They turn their head to catch Faust's gaze, who in turn gives them a look that garners no unspoken answers. No surprise there.
Dante ticks out something close to a sigh, feeling their shoulders sag just a little.
Before Dante can chime out an answer—a not helpful one at that because between everything that happened once La Manchaland crumbled and now, the situation with the blood somehow slipped their mind completely to look into—Heathcliff answers.
"Lass said her old man doesn't need blood. It'll get him back on his feet quicker, sure, but rest'll work too, just a little slower. She also said if he ever does have blood, we ain't gotta worry about him losing it." He then proceeds to shove more toast in his mouth, only to nearly drop it when he looks up and sees everyone else looking at him.
He blinks owlishly. "What?"
"Oh, nothing," Ishmael says breezily and shrugs. "Just didn't know you cared enough to ask."
Unsurprisingly, Heathcliff bristles, but his ire is soon snuffed out with a huff, gone as quick as it came. "She's been gloomy the whole time. Good at hiding it, but y'know it's been rough for her. 'Sides, not a great feeling watching someone you care about on a sickbed for days and not being able to do anything about it."
Unbidden, Dante thinks of Catherine. How it was mentioned in bits and pieces that she was a sickly child. Heathcliff probably spent a lot of time around bedsides as a result.
"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Hong Lu flows into the conversation like he always tends to do, easy and unexpected. With Rodya no longer fussing over his hair, he's free to refill his, Yi Sang's, and Sinclair's respective cups of tea. "It does make me wonder what he'll actually eat then."
Outis scoffs and skewers a tomato on her plate, frowning down at it as if it wronged her. "Beasts like him don't need to eat, obviously."
Mentally, Dante sighs again. They know they ought to talk to her before she says something that gets one, or worse, both Quixotes snapping at her. The bus occupants are lucky that they're in the company of the more amicable of the Bloodfiends, but Dante has a sinking suspicious that those two are the type to be more offended on the other's behalf than their own.
Hong Lu hums, steam from his raised cup curling lazily around his face. "Still, I found that trying new foods was one of the more exciting aspects of City living once I left home. Maybe it won't be so different for him considering how ecstatic Don Quixote is about new things, especially food."
"Right, right!" Rodya chimes from her seat, hands pressed together eagerly. "Think he'll like the chicken? It's what we have the most of. Maybe Faust can put in a good word and let us splurge on a fancier meal for once?"
As if summoned by the conversation, Don Quixote, quite literally, bursts through the kitchen door. The poor thing banging when hitting the wall. Sure, it's indestructible like every door on the bus, but it's the principle of the whole thing.
"Good morrow my esteemed compatriots!" she greets, at least remembering to shut the door behind her. "I was not expecting to see you all still gathered and partaking in breakfast."
"Morning, Don Quixote. And you know how it is after a whole...thing with a Bough happens. Resting period until something new comes up." Sinclair punctuates his answer by popping more of his breakfast in his mouth.
Yi Sang adds, "We are, in part, waiting to see when the Mirror Dungeon will shift, and what will become of it then."
She nods, hands on her hips. "Of course, of course. Manager Esquire, if you need my assistance when the time comes, prithee, do not hesitate to ask."
<Sure thing.> After all, traversing a new Mirror Dungeon with less than the full group of Sinners sounds like a disaster. Besides, if it mimicked La Manchaland in anyway, it would be best to have her around. <We don't need to investigate it immediately when it does show up. You've been busy taking care of your father, right?>
Don Quixote's expression shifts into something Dante does not yet know what to call. She sighs softly and pads further into the kitchen, speaking as she goes.
"Father grows stronger by the day, the hour even. He is already insisting he does not need to be watched so closely as if he took a small tumble rather than all of what transpired." She sighs again, removing her head from the fridge and emerging with the carton of eggs in her hands and a pack of bacon tucked under her arm. "I have been regaling him in our illustrious tales to keep him occupied and not question my constant vigilance at his side."
"Cute," Rodya coos. "You're telling him only the good things, right?"
"Stories are more engaging when there are mighty trials for the heroes to overcome, Lady Rodya. Father is a fan of humor, besides."
Rodya only pouts a little, at least.
Don Quixote starts cooking, which is something the Sinners have never seen done with any amount of success, unless they count the microwavable meals with easy to follow instructions, and even those had a tendency to end in disaster. Yet, she flits around the stove and handles the pans with ease. Even if eggs and bacon are one of the easier meals to cook, it's still surprising.
"I didn't know you could actually cook," Sinclair states, sounding impressed. "Since the incident with the chickens and the restaurant..."
Dante catches a just barely concealed wince, but Don Quixote diligently keeps her eyes on the task. "Ah, 'twas one of mine skills that was forgotten in those years I spent in the lighthouse."
Ishmael makes a low sound of interest, "Didn't think fancy Bloodfiends needed to cook."
"Considering Father and my own lack of needing blood and our travels amongst humans, I found it to be a skill most helpful for the company we kept. He wanted to do as the locals do, as it were."
"Well, that's good to know," Gregor's voice is partially distorted by the cigarette bobbing in his mouth as he speaks. He tucks it behind his ear before continuing. "We were just trying to figure out what he'd eat before you came in."
"Could always use the B.F." Ryoshu has her own cigarette held between index and middle finger, also not lit. They must prepping for a smoke break soon now that their meal is done. "Not like there's a shortage of that."
Sinclair frowns a little, eyebrows furrowed. "Would he be okay with eating the bus food though? He wouldn't get offended, would he?"
Bacon sizzles and pops loudly. Don Quixote raises her voice to be heard.
"Nay. We have discussed that being an option as blood would hasten his recovery. Alas, he's quite beholden to his own ideals even in his state. He shan't be drinking blood from a person who doesn't consent to the act, bus food or otherwise."
"Oh, what if we offered then? I don't mind anyway. I'm quite good at working through copious amounts of blood loss."
Really, Dante doesn't know if Hong Lu is referring to a skill learned since joining the company or something picked up from whatever life he lived before that. They won't be surprised if it was the latter, but also, that's another heap of things to unpack and that can't happen over breakfast foods with everyone else around.
<Uh, let's table that for now.> Dante cuts in before anyone else can contribute their two cents. <He should probably be in the room when we talk about it anyway.>
Outis doesn't look to please with the route of conversation either, though she at least keeps quiet for now. Keep the topic going for too long, and there might be trouble. They like to think they're getting good at keeping the Sinners from escalating things too far too quickly.
"We keep referring to the First Kindred as things other than a name as we don't know what to call him." Seems like Meursault is finally done going through his newspaper. He folds it neatly and places it down on the table next to his empty plate. Trust him to bring up another necessary topic. "Is there something we can use to fix this?"
Mid egg crack, Don Quixote turns to face the group and nods. She doesn't even need to look as it drops into the pan.
"With most of his titles willfully given up, Father does not have much in terms of monikers any longer. We have spoke on it though." She turns back around to fiddle with the knobs and crack more eggs. "He said he would be honored if you all would refer to him as his given name, Alonso. 'Tis been many centuries since he's been called that regularly."
There's a stretched out silence that settles between everyone, only broken by the rumble of the bus and the sound of cooking.
Gregor finally breaks that silence, a little hesitant, voicing what most of the others must be thinking. "And he's just going to let us? Like that?"
"Forsooth, why would he not?"
Here, Don Quixote's voice loses it's lofty lilt, turning into something less in the clouds and more down to earth. Still, she doesn't look at them. More aware of herself, Dante's learning that she's easily embarrassed.
She continues after taking a deep breath. "You are beloved comrades, something close to family or closer even, if that's even possible. He respects that, and in turn, respects you all. Besides, he owes you a great debt. Free use of his name, no matter how coveted, is the least he can do."
More silence. Don Quixote, makes two plates of food, getting ready to leave.
<Tell him we said thanks.> Dante offers, <And let him know he can come join us for meals whenever he feels up to it, okay?>
Two plates held in her hands, Don Quixote turns and smiles. Her eyes shine.
"I will pass on the message, Manager Esquire." She makes her way back out, but doubles back when remembered something, stopping right next to Meursault's chair. "Ah, Meursault, are you done with your morning newspaper?"
He nods, handing it over. Some skillful maneuvering later, and it's tucked securely under Don Quixote's arm.
"My thanks! 'Tis one of the easiest ways to keep Father abreast of the wider world. We may request your older copies at a later date as well if you don't mind parting with them."
Meursault nods again.
Dante didn't know he kept the older copies, but that's probably a good idea. They can be used as reference material if nothing else, and now they'll have further use by helping catch up a Bloodfiend two centuries out of touch. It's not the same as being an amnesiac, but maybe he and Dante can relate on some level of not knowing much about anything.
Don Quixote's smile widens. She makes for the door properly this time. Sinclair had the foresight and consideration to hold it open for her since her hands are full.
"I'm off. Enjoy your meals everyone! We will speak again soon."
The door doesn't get closed until the tapping of Rocinante becomes a distant thing as Don Quixote makes her way down the corridor.
"First name basis with a First Kindred." Rodya laughs softly and shakes her head. "Fau, did you see that coming? Be honest."
Faust looks unfazed as always. She sets her coffee cup down with a sharp click. There's a rare smile on her face, one that isn't self-satisfied, but rather genuinely amused by the turn of events that just unfolded in front of her.
"Faust knows much, but I do enjoy a surprise at times."