It was dark outside since the sun had set a short while ago, and raining, but inside Elliot's flat things were well lit; candelabras glowed warmly and flickered occasionally, as did individual candles on their candlesticks placed about to further illuminate things. There was also a little more heat that filled the air than usual because she was busy in her kitchen as she got her stove lit. She used her wand to control the flame, though she kept it at a low burn for now as she prepped some of the other ingredients necessary for dinner. There was the occasional clinking of metal or glass on her counter.

She was taking more care than usual because, once again, Migs was helping and would once again join her. Every now and then he would come to her door, usually tired from a week of working at the Ministry, and be able to relax a little bit by learning from her how to make simple but tasteful meals. It had also helped Elliot to not feel as lonely as she did before. And ever since the attack a few weeks before his relaxed presence had helped her to feel a bit more at ease herself, so long as he was around. 

Elliot was thankful that he was around right now, his being there pushing away the usual rut of her own life. She rolled up the other sleeve of her shirt (since she had rolled up the one when she started prepping) and stepped to the side to observe the young wizard as he cut at one of the ingredients, garlic cloves for the chicken. He had been a decent "student" as he learned from her. She certainly wasn't a professional, but what she knew was still helping. Tonight's recipe was chicken with asparagus and mushrooms. It was a recipe she had made more than a few times before, but she still referred to her recipe card usually to refresh her memory about measurements.

"Good. Make sure it gets really finely cut. Recipe calls for it minced," she said. "After that, go ahead and cut up the mushrooms and asparagus." She side stepped again and reached up for the cupboards to pull out a couple of the wet ingredients necessary. She was already smelling the garlic wafting through the kitchen area. "We'll throw them in the pan once you're done."

The knife work had come easily, thanks to having done his fair share of butchering and prepping meat. Of course, that hadn't been exactly the same but it had given him some previous familiarity with cutting and slicing. The steepest learning curve came from putting all the stuff together in a cohesive, edible dish. Part of it was his lack of experience; a significant part of it had been his highly under-experienced palette. Asparagus was still a novel experience; though it had made a few appearances at Salem dinner tables, a younger Migs had passed over the green spears for more familiar potatoes and carrots. 

“Poor garlic,” Migs remarked with a smirk, pausing in his work to wiggle a stray spear of asparagus in the air before resuming his mincing.  A process that started with bashing cloves and freeing them from their papery coverings. 

“How are things at the book corral?” Migs asked as he carefully pressed the knife against the clove of garlic and started picking peel from the sticky clove.  “Any peculiar purchase made by oddball visitors?"

Elliot chuckled at his word choice for Flourish and Blotts. He had a unique sense of humor that kept her amused almost the entire time he was around. His waving the asparagus about before prepping it for cooking only added to the scene so Elliot's crooked smile was almost constant.

Although the attack had been a couple of weeks ago now, some small parts of it still lingered, still haunted her from time to time. Thankfully, by now they had become just small bothers that kept her awake for a little longer at night rather than keep her up all night as well as leave her terrified of going back to sleep. It had been a rough couple of weeks and she was more than wanting to be fully over it.

“Any peculiar purchase made by oddball visitors?"

"Every month there's always this older woman - she has to be in her eighties, at least - who asks after the most obscure book titles I have ever heard of. Sometimes we have them, sometimes we don't. I have no idea why she wants them either, unless she's trying to make a collection."

She used her wand to increase the flame on her stove, then placed the skillet on top. With the way her kitchen area was laid out Elliot stood nearly side by side with Migs, the two of them with only just enough elbow room to work on their own things. There was a crescendo of sizzling as she put in butter and oil onto the skillet in preparation for the other ingredients.

"And how have you been, Migs?" she asked as she went ahead and added herbs, salt, and a little bit of wine, stirring them together and enjoying the smell of it all. "You look a little less tired than you have in the previous weeks. Finally getting a little more used to Ministry work?" She had noticed how he was keeping his energy up better than before in previous weeks. She could only imagine how sad he'd look if he was truly exhausted. 

Migs finished mincing the garlic the pulled the pile of mushrooms closer and glanced up at Elliot for further instructions.  Or, rather, watched her with the innocent and studious look of a pupil looking for further instructions.  While his hands passed the time by prying the stem free from one of the mushroom tops and standing an appropriately sized stalk of asparagus in it.  The asparagus wouldn't stay put and promptly fell onto its side on the cutting board. 

"Hnh, interesting," Migs remarked, holding his lips closed with his teeth to physically avoid grinning.  He promptly set the produce back in their respective corners as he considered the explanation about the older witch.  "If it's the same time every month, maybe she comes in when she gets her pension.  Does she always come in alone?" he asked.  Of course, it was difficult to know.  Perhaps the old woman was alone and the books were her companion.  Perhaps she was a collector.  He hoped the reality was more the later. 

Migs had come to look forward to these cooking lessons.  They did give him the ability to have an alternative to take out, which had become surprisingly welcome.  More importantly, they were much better than eating alone - something Migs had very limited experience with.  Eating alone at home was almost impossible; there were far too many family members.  The majority of meals at Salem were taken with classmates.  Over the last couple months, Migs had extended as many dinner invitations to Elliot as he could without outright admitting he did not like eating alone.  He wondered if she'd caught on.

"Used to?"  Migs repeated, shaking his head.  "Naw - more like resigned to.  I once thought ranchwork was hectic, especially in calving season.  Our days were longer but slower.  If that makes sense.  It seems like half the time your fetching tea or doing paperwork.  The other half your making mistakes, making up for mistakes or avoiding mistakes.  My aunt says the first year's like that - lots of trial by fire and figuring it out." 

He glanced at Elliot before taking a mushroom and starting to slice it.  "What about you?  You seem a bit more relaxed, too." 

Elliot laughed. "Resigned to? That's sad." She reached out, avoiding his chopping job, and tossed in the garlic into the skillet. "Another reason why I'm glad I never got into that sort of work, I just never had the head for it. Nor the stamina, it seems."

Reaching on the other side of her - where the counter turned at a sharp angle granting only a little more counter-top space before running into her fridge - and took the chicken that had been sitting there for the past few minutes and put them on the skillet too. "Just chop up the mushrooms and asparagus," she added quickly. "We'll let the chicken cook through first before we throw them on afterwards."

At his question about how she was doing, her smile dimmed a little, but didn't go away entirely. She gripped fiercely at the more pleasant memories she had within herself, and clutched just as tightly to the moment of right here and now - safe in her flat, lit up by candlelight, warm as she cooked, and not alone.

"I've been getting better," she said honestly. "It was a little rough in the beginning, and I still get a little stressed, but it's not as bad as it was before." She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but even she wasn't sure of how convincing it was.

Part of her was a little concerned that he had asked, wondering if he had noticed how bad it had been for her shortly after the attack. Her flat had been charmed to keep sound from the outside to come in, and vice versa, so he couldn't have heard her yells or screams when she had been horrifically awoken by her own nightmares, nor when she'd startle at a shadow she thought moved in the corner of her eye. And that had only been just one of the numerous troubles she'd dealt with after the attack.