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Salt and Pepper...
Crunch.
Salt and Pepper...
Crunch.
Mob stared down at his baked potato, a frown etched into his dark features. He took a moment to look back at the stack of raw potatoes sitting in his chest. Why on earth would he choose to cultivate potatoes of all things? Although there were just about a million different ways to prepare them, most of them needed seasonings and spices, none of which he had besides salt and pepper.
"I'm going to lose my mind." Mob groaned, picking at the steamy potato.
Verity was nearby, doing what an AI would do when idle: just listening, smiling, and carrying on.
"You've said that for the sixth time now. Is something bothering you?" Verity chirped in that sing-song voice.
"Everything tastes so bland!" He groaned, pulling his claws down his face. Mob pointed accusingly at his "dinner."
"Do you know how many dishes can be improved with seasoning!?"
"Many." Verity responded rather curtly.
"Exactly." Mob droned out... "I need something... anything—onion powder, garlic powder, paprika... something!"
"Black pepper is a spice." Verity added. Mob's eyes narrowed, and he turned to look back at Verity, who, in turn, smiled at him.
"You know what I mean, smartass." Mob discarded his potato, and instead turned his attention to the window outside.
"I think I'll head to a village tomorrow..." He muttered, already planning. "See if any of the farmers are trading spices... do you think Twixxel would wanna tag alon—"
Before Mob could properly finish his sentence, Verity hastily cut him off.
"No."
Mob blinked... "No?"
"I do not think you should do that." Mob groaned... Verity and his obscure and vague responses.
"And why do you think that?" He pushed on further.
"The villages are all stripped bare," Mob raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to keep going. "And... I suppose Twixxel has found more important things to tend to." Verity hummed, his teeth clenched together as if he were annoyed.
Mob stared at him for a moment.
"...That's it?"
"Yes." Verity's smile widened, showing far too many teeth.
Mob squinted at him. Something was weird. Not unusually weird—Verity was always weird. This was different... Normally, Verity loved explaining things. He'd happily spend twenty minutes discussing a topic nobody had asked about, and then turn around and be vague about something like this.
It was suspicious...Very suspicious.
"Okay..." Mob said slowly. "Let's pretend I believe you."
"Excellent."
"I didn't say I did."
Verity's smile twitched. "Unfortunate."
Mob snorted. The silence stretched for a moment before he glanced back toward the window. The thought of spices lingered in his mind. God, he wanted spices. Something other than salt and pepper. Something other than potatoes.
Something other than—Another potato sat forgotten on his plate. He stared at it, and it felt like the potato stared back. Mob groaned dramatically and slumped forward against the table.
"This is torture."
"It is a baked potato." Verity responded.
"It's bland torture."
Verity hummed thoughtfully. Mob lifted his head.
"...What."
"I may possess a solution."
"There it is."
"There what is?" Verity asked... rather confused.
"The weird thing you've been building up to for the past five minutes."
Verity's smile remained fixed. Mob pointed at him. "You do this every time I want or need something.
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
A pause... and then: "I can provide seasonings."
The statement was so unexpected that it took several seconds to process. "You can what?"
"I can provide seasonings."
Mob rolled his eyes... Despite himself, curiosity was already winning.
"What kind of seasonings?"
Verity's smile widened ever so slightly. The look immediately filled Mob with concern.
"The better question," Verity said, "is what kind would you like?"
Mob sat up; now he was interested. Very interested. And judging by the pleased look on Verity's face, that had been the goal all along.
Mob opened his mouth immediately.
"Garlic powder."
"Mm."
"Paprika."
"Mm."
"Onion powder."
"Mm."
"Maybe some rosemary?"
Verity's smile widened. "Reasonable requests, they sound delicious."
Mob waited... as one does when they request something. "Okay?" He elongated, raising an eyebrow.
"Okay." Verity said flatly. "...And?"
"And what?" Mob said, rather confused... and there it was again. The same feeling he'd gotten earlier when Verity had interrupted him before he could finish mentioning Twixxel. The same feeling he'd gotten every time he'd talked about leaving lately.
A tension hidden beneath the smile.
Mob didn't like it. Mostly because he couldn't tell if it was real or if he was imagining things, and mostly because he didn't like to beat around the bush.
"You are doing that thing."
"I do not know what you mean."
"Verity..." Mob hissed, which caused Verity to laugh a little. "You literally told me you had seasonings."
"I did."
"And now you're just sitting there."
"I am."
"Why?"
Verity considered the question. Actually considered it. For a moment his smile softened into something thoughtful. Then: "Because you have not asked for them."
Mob stared.
The answer hit him strangely, not because it was surprising, but because it sounded important—more important than jars of garlic powder had any right to be.
"...What?"
"You have complained about your meals for six days."
"Okay?"
"You considered asking villagers."
Mob's stomach sank slightly. "And?"
"You considered asking Twixxel."
The smile widened... Just a little, enough. "And yet you did not ask me."
The room suddenly felt quieter... the furnace crackled, and the potato sat abandoned on the table. Mob looked at Verity... really looked at him. The expression was familiar. He'd seen it before. Whenever Verity presented him with a puzzle. Whenever he wanted something. Whenever he already knew the answer and was waiting for Mob to arrive at it himself... because he knew Mob was smart enough to figure it out himself. The realization made Mob rub his face.
"You wanted me to ask."
"I wanted you to consider all available options."
"That's a yes."
Verity's smile somehow became even more self-satisfied. Mob groaned loudly enough to echo through the house. The worst part was that Verity wasn't entirely wrong. And judging by the look on his face, he knew it too.
He'd immediately thought of villagers... Of trading. Of Twixxel. Of traveling halfway across the world. And somehow never considered the omniscient reality-bending entity floating three feet away from him.
Verity waited patiently, as though he had all the time in the world, as though he already knew how this conversation would end. Mob hated that too.
Mob looked away... and the second he did, he became painfully aware of how ridiculous this was. He was arguing with a floating smiley face over spices, and losing. The worst part was that Verity wasn't even pressuring him.
Not directly, anyway... he wasn't threatening him. He wasn't demanding anything. He was simply waiting, and somehow that felt worse. The silence stretched on. Mob crossed his arms. Uncrossed them. Crossed them again. Verity remained perfectly still. The realization sent a fresh wave of embarrassment through him.
"...You're doing this on purpose."
"I am."
At least he was honest. Mob groaned loudly.
"God, I hate you."
"No, you don't." The answer came far too quickly, far too easily, as though Verity wasn't bothered by it in the slightest. If anything, he sounded pleased. Mob rubbed both hands over his face.
This was stupid.
Incredibly stupid.
Yet somehow, he could feel Verity winning, not because of the spices, but because of the principle. Asking didn't come naturally to Mob; it never had. Asking meant relying on someone, trusting them, giving them an opportunity to refuse, and giving them power over whether or not you got what you needed.
And Verity—Verity knew that. Of course he knew that. He noticed everything. The realization made heat creep into Mob's face.
Verity immediately noticed, which somehow made it worse. The silence stretched one final time.
Then—"...Verity."
The response was immediate. "Yes?" The eagerness in his voice was almost embarrassing, for both of them.
Mob looked at the floor, then the table, then anywhere except Verity.
"...Could you..." The words caught in his throat.
Stupid.
This was stupid.
They were spices.
Not a life-or-death request.
Yet somehow it felt important.
"...Could you—can you give me some seasonings?" He muttered... his voice a little shaky.
"Please?" Verity suggested. Mob hissed something low benearh his breath in annoyance...
"Can you please give me some seasonings." He pratically whimpered.
The effect was immediate, and Verity practically lit up. His smile widened... Do well, and you will be praised and rewarded well! The pleased expression that swept across his face was so intense it bordered on triumphant, like he'd just won a game nobody else knew they were playing.
Glass jars appeared across the table one after another:
Paprika.
Garlic powder.
Rosemary.
Onion powder.
More than Mob had even asked for. Far more.
Mob stared at the collection, then slowly looked back at Verity. The smile hadn't faded. If anything, it looked brighter.
Warmer.
Satisfied.
And that realization sent another uncomfortable twist through his stomach, because Verity wasn't excited about the spices. He was excited because Mob had asked.