Ambre was lying in bed in her quarters after a very long and strenuous flight. It was a long time since she flew in a cockpit, and it was the first time in a Sirian ship. She was still shivering, albeit ever so slightly, remembering how tense the last encounter was. She was always moments from death during the fight, and her memories and flashbacks about the enemy didn't help keep calm at all. At least it was over.
The quarters she was in were actually quite spacious. So spacious, in fact, that she didn't know what to do with the empty space. Everything she owned was gone, and this is where her "new life" began. Maybe it would build up over time, but now the sterile look of the rooms gave the impression that it wasn't lived-in at all. Whether she would like to stay and build up from here was another question altogether.
Her train of memories was interrupted by the smell of food being cooked. That's right - that man offered her a meal and said he lived next door, so that was probably him. She slowly climbed up from her bed, taking a few seconds to re-orient and get herself back in the right mindset. She came up to the mirror built into the dresser in her room, fixing up her look. Her blonde hair has grown out a bit ever since she was taken from Bretonian captivity, and she didn't do much about it. It was strange having hair reaching down to her shoulders, it wasn't something that was allowed neither in the Navy, nor her PoW camps.
Letting out a sigh, she perked herself up and stepped out of her quarters into the hallway. Following the smell, she came up to the room next door and gently knocked on it.
While Keller had indeed made the attempt to be polite and show his recruit as much kindness as possible, he didn't expect they would do anything in response to it. He was more used to people ignoring any attempt he made at trying to help, or even condemning him for it in the end. The only reason suicide was never the most attractive option had to have been owed to his immense conviction. If there was anyone in this godforsaken sector who could endure the endless trials and tribulations, it was him. But to presume that all of it left him without scarring would be exceptionally naive. There was a reason why he always served two plates of food at his table despite the second seat always being empty.
This particular occasion wasn't any different and the knock startled him if nothing else. He was dressed quite plainly, formal black shirt and dull trousers, his sleeves were rolled up given the fact that he was preparing food and his reaction seemed to be one of genuine surprise at who his visitor was. "Oh, erh. Come in." It was the first time she'd hear him fumble somewhat with words, and he was quick to regain his falsified composure. With the door opened wide, he gestured for her to step inside and by now the smell of food would be quite prevalent.
"Bonjour."she greeted Keller with her typically strong accent. The gaul was dressed somewhat similar - wearing a simple white sweater and tight black pants. It was probably an unusual sight for Keller, who had only seen her in uniform. It was unusual for her, too. She had spent years either in prisoner drabs or in a Royal pilot's outfit.
The woman stepped in, enjoying the smell. This was probably the first time she smelled proper, home-cooked food in a very, very long time. It even reminded her of home, just a little bit. She closed the door behind her, and followed the man to the kitchen, who was attending to his cooking.
"Thank you for having me. I didn't expect you to be a chef at all." she said as she smiled sheepishly. She was still unsure whether it was the correct move to trust Keller, but he seemed genuine. He's done more for her than anyone else ever since she joined the Royal Navy, and only time would tell whether that had any ulterior motive.
There was no distinct kitchen as far as the layout of his quarters was concerned, and no wall divided it from the living room. On the opposite end of the wall into which the stove and other fittings were slotted into was his rather humble bedroom. In contrast to her room, his was quite spartan. Just behind where he stood was a small counter of sorts with two stools arranged on either end of it. The counter itself served as an impromptu dinner-table, and two sets of cutlery was already laid out as if he'd been expecting a guest. Since he was still not quite done with the meal itself, he served her a cup of tea that he'd promised roughly a few hours prior, along with the cup and saucer she would be provided with milk and sugar if she wanted any to be mixed in.
"When you run away from home and live with strangers, it becomes quite essential that you look after yourself. As I became more aware of.. people and their tendency to betray, I became more and more self-reliant." There was a small oven just to the left of his waist and closer to the floor, bread seemed to be baking inside of it and the top of the loaf was only just beginning to form a crust. It would be done soon enough. Dinner appeared to be a rich stew of sorts, with the star of the dish being a slow-cooked meat.
Ambre sat down at one of the chairs as Keller brought her the cup of tea.
"Merci." the pilot thanked Keller, taking a spoon of sugar and mixing it into the cup. She then poured a little bit of milk to the cup, and gave it a stir. At least Keller wasn't one of those brutes that would pour in milk first. Her hands were shaking just a bit as she finished making the tea to her liking, clearly still affected from today's flight.
Taking a closer look at the meal the man was cooking, she was genuinely impressed. A stew that smelled so lovely made her mouth water, but she was reluctant to mention that to Keller.
"That's very impressive, but I'm sorry to hear the reason behind it. It seems I'll be in a similar situation. How long did you live here?" the Gaul said, seemingly concerned.
He nearly forgot about the bread while talking to her and managed to yank it out of the oven and turn the device off before it had begun to burn. He did this in what appeared like fairly restrained panic, and the reaction might have even been comedic to his guest. But with the bread saved from a relative apocalypse at the hands of neglect, he started sorting things out to be served. This included simple sides such as boiled potato, sour cream, mustard and of course the bread. The sides would be served in two plates while the stew was left in a pot toward the middle of the counter. Evidently they would have to take helpings and eat it with their sides.
"Not much longer than you have. I haven't exactly kept count, it's all so foreign here. And the people aren't fond of me because they know I have Hessian origins. Of course I'm considered a minor nuisance after the events of Omega-3, but it's hardly helpful." He seemed to grow quiet, for the briefest span of time as if saying his graces out of habit before proceeding to cut into the freshly baked bread, serving his guest three generous slices and the same for him. After which he would promptly help himself to some of the stew and gesture that she do the same, having left a large spoon in the pot.
"I hope it's to your liking, I.. can't quite remember if I've ever cooked for someone else." He seemed to not be bothered by that reflection but was in truth anxious to know if his culinary skills actually had any merit. Or if it was just his constant need for food that had dulled his taste-buds over time.
"I know what you mean. The stares I get as soon as they hear where I'm from - or even my accent - is sometimes enough to kill someone. I didn't realise this place was for Leeds refugees. They probably want to gut me for what happened in the war, especially since I was stationed there once." she said dejectedly. The fact that she wasn't welcome anywhere was weighing on her mind constantly.
Ambre took some of the stew, and tried it with the sides not too long after. She was very careful with the food, trying her best not to make her shaking look evident.
As soon as it entered her mouth, her suspicion turned out to be true - it tasted as good as it smelled. "I'm impressed. I haven't had anything like this in years." she said, praising his skills.
"What do you plan to do long-term? Stay on this world?"
She had done a mostly effective job of concealing her shaking hands, but the cutlery would betray her with slight rattles of metal against the ceramic plate. He would pretend to be ignorant of it when it occurred with the tea cup upon the saucer. But he felt like feigning ignorance wouldn't help, and he wanted to help her. But bringing it up now would serve to only pressure her. It was better that she healed herself gradually with a passive degree of support.
"I actually don't know. I thought I could try and carry on in Kaze's footsteps, but there's complications involved. Bretonia doesn't trust me, so my attempt at acquiring citizenship is going to require a monumental display of loyalty. I'd like to give my family a home here in the Kingdom. I haven't seen them in a very long time. And as naive as it is, I want them to be proud of what I've become, not afraid." He had stopped eating momentarily to respond and looked her straight in the eyes. It was quite a consistent thing he would do, and he rarely ever broke eye contact in situations such as this. It was clear in his own eyes that he knew she was unsettled, but he would not force the subject.
Ambre was thoroughly enjoying the meal as she listened, but she noticed Keller has caught up with her actual state. This, in turn, made her even more self-conscious, especially after seeing what she interpreted as his disapproving stare, which further agitated her shaking. She wanted to leave a good impression, as if to not make the man regret his choice of freeing her to become one of his pilots. Yet, the recent experience was just too overpowering for her and that entire ordeal seems to have shown shown him the opposite.
"I'm sorry." she said as she put her cutlery down. Might as well come clean, she thought as she hung her head low. "I thought I was better than this."
For a moment it seemed like her perceived interpretation of his stoic staring was accurate. All the more so when he careful put his utensils down on the plate and looked back up in her direction. For an agonizing span of three seconds, he would just look at her. Before a sensation around her trembling hands that had rested idly on the table thus far prompted her to look down at them. He had reached across and taken hold of both, and unlike his handshakes his grip in this situation was gentle. He still appeared to exude little in the way of distinct emotion and the lack of words gave no hints either.
"I don't think any less of you because of it." At least now it was clear that she wasn't being judged negatively. And that if anything he was sympathetic of her situation, perhaps it was like a mirror to him - one in which he saw struggles that he could relate to.