An Angel's Likes

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After spending several hours simply relaxing, Ahsch thought it was about time to get up and actually do something. With no real goal in mind, he decided that wandering his home village was as good an activity as any. Mahat was still off hunting, Ariin stayed home (Ahsch was sure to start suggesting lewd ideas to their sisters), and Stisea was eager to get to know her mate and Master’s family; but Kirasiel and Aena joined him - the former for lack of diversion and a desire to figure herself out in a non-royal context, the latter to uphold her assigned duty as her creator’s bodyguard.

The news had already spread that Ahsch was alive, well, and in the village, though the ‘how’ was the censored version that the public had been given back in the Capital. Even so, many were surprised and excited to see him again, though not _just _because he was back from the dead - while hardly a social butterfly to the extent that everyone was his friend, he was known and liked throughout the village, and most were relieved to see him safe and back after being gone for so long.

As they made the rounds, Ahsch was delighted to find his fiance relaxing, her cold, ‘professional’ royal demeanor melting into a soft-spoken, almost bashful young woman. Not privy to all of the details of who Kirasiel was, she was routinely complimented on her beauty and grace, and congratulations were quite common once it was revealed that the hrafthi and blonde beauty were betrothed.

Similarly, Aena looked around, a sense of intrigue and wonder coloring her otherwise-flat expression. Without Heart Sight, Ahsch would’ve struggled to detect it, but he could see that the most senior of his angels was awakening to curiosity, excitement, and wonder. She spent almost a solid minute watching a small group of children playing with ribbons, her head tilted slightly to the side. When she finally turned from their play, a ghost of a smile was etched into her lips, and the slightest of springs entered her steps.

Near the center of the village was a tavern attached to the inn for visitors to stay at. The tavern was unnamed beyond being ‘the tavern,’ and served as a communal gathering spot. Food and drink was available throughout the day, and it functioned as a pseudo-restaurant, -cafe, and -bar for everyone. Ahsch decided to stop there to get some drinks after a couple hours of wandering. He already knew what he wanted to get, and while Kirasiel inspected the menu, Ahsch turned to Aena and nodded towards the choices. “What do you want?”

The angel blinked her confusion at him. “Master, I do not require nutritional sustenance,” she reminded him.

Ahsch smiled kindly. “No, but you still have tastebuds, right? You can still enjoy things. So… what do you want?”

Aena blinked at him again, opened her mouth to reply, then closed it and instead inspected the menu. Slowly, a slight frown stole across her features. “I am unfamiliar with many of these,” she stated.

Chuckling, Ahsch went through and explained the drinks to the angel, who eventually, with certainty, declared her choice. A few minutes later, they all had their drinks and claimed a table, sipping at their refreshments. When Aena took a drink, then held her cup away from her and stared at it, the other two started to crack up. “This beverage is causing a prickling sensation in my mouth and throat,” Aena observed.

Ahsch snorted. “It’s _supposed _to do that,” he said.

The angel’s attention jumped to her creator. “Understood,” she replied, then drained half of the cup. She blinked several times as she swallowed. “The sensation is many times more intense now.”

Kirasiel was struggling not to burst into laughter, her face red with strain. Chuckling, Ahsch leaned across the table. “Do you _like _that sensation?”

Aena stared at her Master, yet seemed to not be actually looking at him at all. A puzzled frown quickly grew on her face. “I am unable to determine if I ‘like’ this sensation,” she eventually decided.

Ahsch tilted his head. “Why not?”

“I lack the comprehension of what it is to ‘like’ something.”

Ahsch sat back, somewhat stunned. “Well,” he eventually started, “if you like something, normally it makes you feel good - if you like a drink, that’s because it tastes good, it feels pleasant to drink.”

“Do people enjoy the prickling sensation of this beverage?” Aena queried.

He shrugged. “Some do. Others don’t. Everyone is unique, so everyone feels differently about it.”

Aena thought for a long moment. “I lack context against which to reference my perception of this beverage.”

Kirasiel leaned forward, pushing her own drink across the table. “Here,” she invited. “Try this one.”

The angle did so, taking a large sip from the offered cup. Immediately, her face scrunched up somewhat. “This is highly sour.” It almost seemed a complaint.

Kirasiel raised her eyebrows questioningly. “And…?” At Aena’s blank look, she rolled her eyes. “Do you like it?”

After a few moments, Aena returned the cup. “The sensation is significantly negative compared to my original beverage,” she declared. “I do not desire to repeat that experience.”

Ahsch silently pushed his own drink across, and Aena took a sip without prompting. She blinked rapidly. “Extremely sweet.” The statement was almost completely neutral. At Ahsch’s inquisitive, insistent look, she eventually replied, “It is not negative like Miss Kirasiel’s beverage, yet I find I do not desire it. It is, however, not objectionable.”

“And how do you feel about your drink?” Ahsch asked.

Aena stared at the cup in question, then slowly took another sip. “I like it.”

When the three returned in time for lunch, Ahsch insisted that Aena join them, ignoring her objections that she did not need nutrition. There was plenty on offer and his family was more than happy to feed another. Following his lead, everyone insisted that the angel try this, that, or another dish, or that she combined two together, dunking bread in sauce or washing down one bite with a specific drink.

It wasn’t long until everyone was competing to find the combinations that Aena liked the most, as the angel was quite meticulous about ranking her preferences, something in her artificial mind craving that order and hierarchy. It wasn’t until after the meal, and Mabya, the younger of the holustaur girls, had ‘won’ the little competition, that Aena went to her creator. “Of the suggestions during lunch, your sister Mabya had the most agreeable choice,” she said. “However, I have discovered that I like the drink from the tavern the most of anything I have consumed.”