(Redshift) Home for the Holidays

[superposition]

Anchor's VR facilities, when not in use, aren't very interesting to look at. The physical rooms are just twenty-foot cubes, totally empty, their plain white walls, floor, and ceiling broken up only by thin cyan gridlines. They could almost double as racquetball courts.

Qubit's footsteps echo off the bare walls as he enters, walking briskly to the center. There, he stops and faces the door, spreading his arms and smiling in (mildly exasperated) welcome. "There, you see?" he says to his guest. "Nothing to be afraid of."

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[abheirrant]

Carlisle smiles behind his mask, grateful to leave the memories of his tenuous relationship with his father behind for the moment, and finally continues down the hallway. The end of the corridor bends in one direction toward another wing of the estate, while a door in the corner leads into what appears to be a kitchen with a dining nook.

"Down that way is the eastern wing," Carlisle explains briefly before stepping into the door in the corner. "And the kitchen, obviously."

There's a well-worn table on the far wall near a door to the outside, one with polished seats and a smooth, wooden top the color of warm honey. The door looks like it leads outside, with a path to the nearby conservatory just visible through the snowy haze. The kitchen itself isn't nearly as remarkable as the rest of the manor: metal pans and colored jars of otherworldly ingredients hang from metal hooks on the walls above the stonework countertop, with cabinetry all around and shelves built into the bricks near the window. Beyond the glass is more of the outside, though it's hard to tell what features of the estate it might overlook on a clear day. While most of the dinnerware is closed within the cabinets above and below the counter, there is an ornate tea set pushed along the back wall. The single cup on the tray matches the teapot, featuring gold filigree flowers around painted, ursine accents.

"I'll have you know I wasn't a bad cook, once," he admits. "Though I'm willing to bet most of what I cooked would've had your tongue curling."

[superposition]

Qubit follows him into the kitchen, mildly amused at being given the guided tour as if he didn't just get done building the place. (He does not remind Carlisle of this.)

It's a very different atmosphere in here compared to the cavernous dining hall. It's smaller, but cozy, rustic - it feels actually lived-in, unlike most of the house. There's even a fire in the hearth already, as if Carlisle had only stepped out of the room for a moment.

Qubit wanders the room, casually eyeing the ingredients along the wall, some familiar, some strange. But his eyes soon land on the tea set again - an oddity here, to be sure. The estate has its share of expensive-looking furnishings, of course, but very few of them live in the kitchen. The pots and pans, while sturdy, are very much unembellished, whereas the tea set just screams "Rococo."

(Or is it "Baroque?" Whatever, it's one of those old French art movements. They all look alike to him.)

At the mention of cooking, though, he perks up, the tea set practically forgotten.

"Oh?"

In all the time they've known each other, Qubit and Carlisle have never really talked about food. Not to say it's never come up, but Qubit's done his best to sidestep it when it does. It'd feel awkward at best, maybe even cruel, like discussing a painting gallery with someone who's just gone blind.

But now that Carlisle's brought it up, it's different. Qubit's interest is immediately obvious - the eager glint in his eye is the same one you'd normally see when he's talking about SCIENCE.

"You might be surprised," he says, leaning on the counter with one hand. "I'm nothing if not an adventurous eater."