Diarch Rellik
Lord of the Diarchy
To: Lady Iandre Athlea
Encrypted – Personal Channel
Iandre,
I've missed you. I know I have been distant these past weeks, duties, as ever, consuming more than they should. For that, allow me to repay my absence:
I would kindly ask you to join me for dinner, two nights from now. No politics. The meal will be prepared by my own hand, no chefs or staff. Just the two of us.
The location is my private residence on Artorias. Enclosed are the coordinates. Upon your arrival at the spaceport, a shuttle will be waiting to bring you directly to the estate. You need not worry for anything except bringing your beautiful self.
Your presence is what I wish for every day. Hopefully you can make that dream come true.
Signed R.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Evening of the dinner
The sun had had begun to descend from its apex, readying the day to become night. The water below on the coastal property lapped into the sand bank. One of the windows was half-open, letting in salt air and the call of coastal birds. It was the perfect time to begin cooking the meal.
Rellik stood at the stove, sleeves rolled. The cut of high grade meat had been out of refrigeration for nearly twenty minutes. He had seasoned it liberally with crushed pepper, salt, thyme pressed into the fat with his hands. Warming his pan before applying oil he waited a moment, thinking of Iandre, of the night to come and how he missed her so. Now with the application of oil in the pan. He laid the steak down away from himself, felt the sizzle hit the air. The sound was interesting beautiful in a way. He dropped garlic, halved, unpeeled and a few whole sprigs of thyme into the oil. The herbs snapped instantly, releasing a nice green aroma. He basted once with the back of the spoon, adding butter to it all as the crust began to form.
It was a simple recipe that did not take long but a wonderful meal and almost calming to cook.
When it was done perfectly crusted, rested, basted in its own heat, he turned to the chimichurri. The actually harder portion of the dish in his opinion. Shallot, fresh mint, cilantro, a bit of oregano. The herbs rolled together and given single chops the way down of their form. Garlic grated fine into paste. A dash of red wine vinegar, smoked paprika, lemon squeezed by hand. All mixed together with olive oil on top. He stirred slowly, tasted once and decided he was proud of the meal to come.
The mashed potato had been done earlier. Put off to the side as a less important part of the whole dish. Making a small well in the center he placed some chimichurri in the pocket. Than grabbed the meat, sliced it into about centimeter and a half cuts and placed it elegantly on top of it all. With another dash of chimichurri over it as well. With all of that preperation done, he turned to leave the kitchen and prepare for Iandre's arrival.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Upstairs, he dressed himself in a charcoal dark suit that was dotted with very lightly shining white specs and a notched lapel, with a white shirt and black belt/loafers. The shirt collar open by design but no other outright flamboyant watches, rings or anything else.
Downstairs again. The kitchen quieted. The wine sat breathing in a decanter, two glasses set. He stood by the far window, looking out toward the distant lights across the bay. Excited for the night to come and to see Iandre again.
Iandre Athlea
