bucuresti | †002 - Definitely not allergic to garlic.

[Mihail decided that he needed to get around to cooking something. Back at home, this time of year yields some of the best food his country has to offer. Lucky for him, he's got the blessing of being a pretty decent cook. However, this only really applies to food from his region (Romanian food is more like Turkish, Russian, Ukrainian, and German food combined) so things like hot dogs, macaroni and cheese, and pizza aren't exactly within his...skills.

So he's going at making any number of things, specifically mamaliga (Romanian "peasant" cornbread that goes great with sour cream), frigarui (really spiced up kebabs), and of all things, baklava. There seems to be a cloud of garlic powder and any number of spices floating around him, and there's a gratuitous amount of pork, among other meat. Romanians like their meat, y'know.

This is more like stress relief for him, other than just traditional winter cooking time. He hasn't had the best month and he's just gotten over being sick for the umpteenth time, so cooking seems like an awesome stress reliever.

He's more than willing to share (his inner Romanian grandma will probably say you look too skinny and then shove some mamaliga in your mouth), but there is a degree of acquired taste to this stuff, except maybe the baklava.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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How bad, Yuri? Did you ever wish someone would come along and empty a clip into your head? Did the stench ever get to you? Did you ever wish it was your blood on your hands instead of someone else's? []

[ where is this coming from? his hand pushes to get at his hair, if only to grab and yank just a bit -- ]

Why can't you leave things alone?!

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Dumnezeu nu mai spune, eu nici macar nu stiu ce spuneam! Eu sunt atat de prosti!

[*god damnit, i don't even know what i was saying! i'm so stupid!]

Why do you want to know? [ looming, leaning, dangerously close. ] What do you want?

Please - ? [ unfortunately, he doesn't know what he's saying either, only that his head feels like it's about to burst, that the back of his eyes hurts. ]

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I don't know! [I don't know anything! I don't know why I'm here!]

[ still on edge, but more sober ("---don't **** him---"). his voice trembles like the hand reaching out to pull mihail to him. ]

I - [ 'am so tired' ] Please...leave it alone.

[ it feels like his stitching has come undone, ripped away at the seams and someone's poking through the holes with their fingers. it hurts. and he wants it to stop. ]

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[ avoiding his gaze - though he looks just as miserable, only he's willing the tears in his eyes to back off. at first, he's tempted to pull him close by wrapping his arm around his shoulders but instead, he grabs at the sleeve on his shoulder and buries his face there like a lost child. ]