Sunblind Appreciation

Uriel was perpetually busy as an Administrator, so much needed to be set in motion. In truth much of his work was approving operations, and maintaining accurate records. He had quite the depth of knowledge into the more sensitive matters of the Vandenreich, that a part of him was surprised. The systems in which they operated mirror's closely his original nation's. But more often than not he had quite a bit of personal time, enough for his mind to wander. And wander it did. Often to a clashing of ideologies and passions, in which he was marked not physically but mentally.

He supposed there was something about that Quincy which was worth befriending. Even if he was a Sternritter. A thin smile crossed the bright features of Uriel as he leaned back in his chair, looking out the window of his office. The sun was setting, which meant that todays business was done. His schedule was largely unoccupied in the evening, and with no pressing matters to attend to perhaps it was time for a house call. He hadn't checked in on Alastair since their fight, mostly due to being busy. Mostly.

Last he heard the man was recovering, discharged from the Hospital. A quick search of the database would reveal his address. It was half way through reading his address that Uriel stopped- blinking. This wasn't weird right? Maybe? He just wanted to check in on the guy, and forgot to get his number. That's what.. friends did. Uriel would definitely drop by another soldier's home to check up on them. Yeah. Shaking his head he'd stand up quickly moving to his coat.

In but a few moments he was moving towards the house of Alastair, arriving shortly. Dismissing any reservations he might have, he'd begin to approach the door of his home or apartment. The sound of three knocks would follow, Uriel glancing behind and around him idly. If the door was opened, Uriel would turn his attention to it looking down. A bright smile crossing the man's face.

"Yo! Surprised to see me?"

Uriel's smile only dampened a bit when he heard the hoarse voice, surely an effect of their fight. While he wouldn't change anything about the fight, and cherished the memory, a part of him was genuinely upset on it's aftermath on Alastair. Of course to reveal such a thing would overstep the boundaries of propriety set forth by soldiers, surely. So he would have to settle on moving past such a thing as the door opened, to reveal the person whom he had traveled so far to see.

A grin couldn't help but break upon his radiant features, as if despite the setting sun in the background he was his own ray of sunshine.

As the large warrior-soldier walked deeper into the corridor he could gain a better glimpse of the man, of the aftermath of their battle. Of course his eyes would drift to the bandages occasionally, particularly from the discolored skin. In comparison, Uriel's injured hand from the fight was wrapped. Notably, healing at a remarkable rate but that was hidden away from the prying eyes of the world. The wounds sustained on his torso hidden behind his uniform, wrapped in thick bandages. He'd stop in front of Alastair, tilting his head to the side with a sly smile.

"Come now, we burn each other half to death spewing ideology and passionate remarks, you can call me Uriel, Alastair." He'd welcome lifting up his good hand to him, as if to shake. Provided he took it, Uriel would shake it being extremely mindful of his wounds. "And your doctors shall have nothing to fear, I am just here to check up on you. I was.. concerned." His hand would grow some slack in the grip, not releasing his hand yet. Being this close he could gain a proper look of the Quincy, whom looked far different outside of battle.

The wild maw of fiery hair which tumbled almost recklessly, wild and unkempt like a fire. Complimented by bored eyes, which held just enough life in them to showcase the opposite. In voluntarily eliciting a slightly wider smile from the man, before he realized what he was doing to his own slight embarrassment. Looking down, he'd quickly release his hand. "Ah apologies, It must be tender." His eyes quickly tearing themselves from the handsome features of Alastair, focusing past him deeper down the corridor.

"Have you eaten yet? I certainly, haven't." A small laugh.

The sudden sharpening of Alastair's gaze, and the hard words which left his mouth might've caused another discomfort. But for Uriel it only seemed to stoke the flames within him. This was a man whom he could call a friend, even if such a friendship was built upon a pyre. The lips of Uriel upped into a tight smile at his remarks, a shine to his eyes, as he basked in the devotion of the male. "You are, something else, Alastair." He'd remark quietly.

However the next time his companion spoke, it brought the gaze of Uriel downward to the male. At his comment the soldier-warrior would begin to step deeper into the apartment if not stopped. His head turning side to side as if admiring it, looking for the kitchen. "That is a wonderful idea, but perhaps we go a step further." He'd pause for a bit, looking over his shoulder with an amused tongue-in-cheek smile. "As we seem to do." His head turning forward gesturing towards his kitchen.

"Let's cook something. Consider it my treat, for your help. My father was quite the cook you know." He'd chuckle turning around crossing his arms, his head tilted to the side. The cocked smile on his lips seemed to imply that this would be an amusing time at the very least. "Also, nice house. I love the view."

"Ah, good, good. You may experience some exquisite French cuisine." He'd tease lightly moving with a large stride towards the kitchen, taking stock of it. He listened but did not look as Alastair spoke of their home, instead he was taking stock of what he might need to cook. Uriel was nothing if not prepared, and trained. He had a particular dish he wished to prepare, and hopefully the man would have some things on demand. But considering Alastair's state, and the general attitude of the man, Uriel was certain there would be abundance of resources.

Soon he'd be dicking through the pantry fishing out various ingredients, mostly vegetables mind you. He'd set to work, his knife would rather impressive between washing ingredients in the sink and his own hands. "Family, huh?" He'd comment letting Alastair he had his attention despite the work. Occasionally his eyes would drift from the kitchen work to give him a smile, as he began to talk. "Tell me about you, I fear I do not know much about my fiery hair'd friend." He'd laugh moving to gather a container that was oven said, his head poking up from said cabinet.

"Ah, you have wine I hope? Would not very French without wine." He'd inquire as he began to walk towards the counter, placing his hands on it. Staring at Alastair, he tilted his head to the side a bit. His blonde hair tumbling to the side slightly, having not had a hair cut in some time. At this point, the sun had set well and fully into the background allowing the City of Lights to properly live up to it's name.

He could not help, but once more, think about their fight.

The repeated clicking of the knife upon wood could be heard as Uriel worked. Every movement carrying with it superb speed and grace, honed from a lifetime of battle and study. Some part of him had grown so used to martial conflict, that he had almost forgotten the supreme peace brought by diligent work. The same callous fingers which could end a life with ease, was almost the same gentle fingers carefully preparing a meal betwixt two friends. The duality of his nature, of his life, did not elude him in the cruel irony that all he was would forever be splint in pairs.

Of course, that wasn't to say he didn't give Al his attention. In fact, as he listened to the man reveal private details about his life. It cause his shoulders to relax, his body losing the tension which had been building. It was a different fashion of passion, of care, as opposed to when they first met. It was a remarkable tale, almost befitting to old stories of the past.

"Such a linage is surely worth protecting and cultivating. I have found that the legacy we leave-" His voice stops for a second, the knife hovering mid slice. His mind went elsewhere, to another place. The cloudy look within his face spoke volumes, his lips drawing tightly. A dull pain echo'd in his heart. The knife was brought down once again, as he spoke as if nothing happened. The flash of pain within his face, within his body, was hidden well. Yet, more than likely, the perceptive gaze of Alastair would catch it. "I have found the legacy we leave, is often like a seedling bearing fruits, and shade, we shall never enjoy- but left to those after us." His lips pulled into a small smile, hardly hiding the pain.

As he set down the knife he began to arrange the vegetables and ingredients with the pan for baking. He was making ratatouille, a traditional French dish. As he placed it within the oven he'd move to the wine he had selected, a good vintage red. Pouring himself a drink, he'd also move to see his selection of cheese- provided he had some. He'd pick one which might fit the wine, if it was around. As he came back to the counter, standing across from Al he'd examine the man once more. His hand bringing the drink to his lip, blue irises gazing at the injured male.

He didn't like seeing him hurt.

As he slowly placed the glass down, he'd shifting his gaze to the window. "I come from far less of a pedigree." He'd chuckle dryly, his eyes gaining that stormy look of a man drifting to other places. "My father was a Quincy, my mother a Shinigami. I spent a life trying to reconcile who I was, and threw myself into war. My father died, early in my life. My mother, I suppose she always understood." He'd muse, as he leaned onto the counter resting his forearms on it to place him at Al's eye level roughly. "I spent also a decade of my life fighting. I suppose it was never the fight it's self that matter. It was the conflict. The test. The wager, of whom I am and who I could be." His head dips down, laughing as a smile spraed onto his lips. Holding it for a bit, before it faltered.

His head would turn to Al, staring at the stoic male almost inquisitively. Almost as if he didn't know what to make of the slender male.

"Now I am here. France liberated. Made my bones as a guerilla fighter, doing the dirty things which needs to be done. Because I'm good at it, damned good at it." His voice fading slightly towards the end, unable to say more. Even if a part of him wished to. Desperately. He'd clear his throat, immediately throwing on a grin. The vibrancy of the sun returning to him. "By lord, Alastair, making me all pensive and thoughtful! What a bad influence."

Playfulness laced his voice, as he lifted his wine glass once more. He did not break his glance.