The Tiger and the Dragon by George deValier

Chapter 6

"Potatoes," said Francis, looking over Yao's shoulder at his laptop screen before flopping back onto the couch. Like every other item of furniture in Francis' apartment, it was deep red, rather expensive, and completely over the top. He lifted his hand, blew on his nails, and went back to filing them. "I think they eat a lot of potatoes."

"Potatoes..." Yao looked back at the screen. Nothing in the results of his search for 'Traditional Russian Food' was jumping out at him. He sighed and leaned back against the couch, feeling Francis' knee behind his head. "I can't just make a plate of potatoes."

"Why not? That is what Arthur served that one time he cooked for us."

"I believe there were sausages involved as well." Yao shuddered. Possibly the worst meal of his life, and he was still unsure how he was able to get so sick from mashed potatoes. "Besides, I don't think a plate of mash is a traditional Russian meal."

"Too bad Ivan isn't English, non?"

Yao laughed. He was visiting Francis in his apartment upstairs in order to get away from the noise of the thunderous argument taking place in the apartment below. And knowing the way Alfred and Arthur's fights usually ended, with more shouting and screaming and swearing - albeit of a different sort - Yao figured he was probably stuck where he was until after midnight.

Francis held his hand out for Yao to inspect. Yao just nodded absently and Francis started filing the nails on his other hand. "So are you having much luck?"

"Not really." Yao was quickly starting to regret his promise to make Ivan a traditional Russian meal. He knew he was a good cook, he was also a perfectionist and terrified of messing it up. Messing something up in front of Ivan was the last thing he wanted to do. "I could make Borscht, maybe?"

"Hmm, soup, could be messy," said Francis, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Remember to make something you'll look good eating."

"I didn't even think of that," said Yao, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Great, now I have something else to worry about."

"Don't worry cheri, if all else fails, serve bananas for dessert. Works every time."

Yao reached behind him and thumped Francis on the knee. "Could you not give me some actual help here?"

"All right, fine... what about that Buz... Buzhenina thing?" asked Francis, pointing at the laptop screen.

"Takes too long." Yao didn't know how Ivan would feel about him spending two days at his house preparing the meal. Yao didn't know how he would feel about it himself. Either way... impractical.

"Well how about Beef Stroganoff... that's Russian, isn't it?"

"Too simple." Yao wanted it to look like he'd at least made an effort to research something a little less well known.

"There you go, I try and help and you disregard my helpful suggestions. Sorry, now you're on your own." Francis focused intently on his nails.

"Well what do you think of..."

"Uh uh," Francis held up his index finger in a 'shush' motion. "You may no longer ask me for my assistance since you are so quick to dismiss it."

Yao shrugged. Francis could not go more than two minutes without talking so Yao was not worried. At least he could speak with Francis about Ivan. Unlike Alfred, he didn't go on about how only spies wore trench coats, or how Ivan must have serious underground connections to be able to close off an entire zoo. True he went on about the rumoured virtues of Russian men and kept telling Yao to look at the size of Ivan's ring finger, but somehow that was preferable.