Ignis began to lay out the potatoes into the pan as Liliana moved, listening carefully for a good idea of where she was moving; important information to retain, really, where she kept her wine. By the careful tracking, he could anticipate where she would place the wine, so he was quick to find it, pick it up, and have a sip before returning to finish preparing that part of the meal for the oven.
"Starting with the easy, soft ball questions, are we?" he asked, and he felt that temptation to just give a wry response, about how the whole of a man could hardly boiled down into one convenient thing for such a broad and nuanced question, but...he wanted to think about it, to see if he could actually think of a satisfactory answer and not just dismiss it so blithely. And he thought he had something, for a moment, before he gave it a look at another angle and realized how untrue it actually was.
"I think," he said, "if I were to attempt to whittle the whole of me down into just one amuse-bouche to offer just a tidbit to hold one over..."
Then he frowned, second-guessing his answer again and holding back the urge to just say something about leaning to heavily on food metaphors.
"I suppose it would be that I'm incredibly stubborn," he concluded, and, with potatoes now set, he turned his attention to the mean, "but that feels like a bit of a cheat, since I suspect you may have already noticed as much. So let's go with something a bit more flattering, and say that I can be tragically loyal."
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"Starting with the easy, soft ball questions, are we?" he asked, and he felt that temptation to just give a wry response, about how the whole of a man could hardly boiled down into one convenient thing for such a broad and nuanced question, but...he wanted to think about it, to see if he could actually think of a satisfactory answer and not just dismiss it so blithely. And he thought he had something, for a moment, before he gave it a look at another angle and realized how untrue it actually was.
"I think," he said, "if I were to attempt to whittle the whole of me down into just one amuse-bouche to offer just a tidbit to hold one over..."
Then he frowned, second-guessing his answer again and holding back the urge to just say something about leaning to heavily on food metaphors.
"I suppose it would be that I'm incredibly stubborn," he concluded, and, with potatoes now set, he turned his attention to the mean, "but that feels like a bit of a cheat, since I suspect you may have already noticed as much. So let's go with something a bit more flattering, and say that I can be tragically loyal."