Fair answer or not, Alastor chuckled, his nose twitching like a rabbit's for a moment. If Everything had only been a real answer, he could have snapped his fingers and made it so, littered the earth as far as her eye could see with every dish he could think of. That would be shocking, but...dull. A cheap party trick, useless in every conceivable way, since such an amount of food could never be eaten by one woman with no icebox, anyway. Besides, most of the time, that sort of thing was half illusion. No one would ever bother to try and eat every food you could think to conjure, so half of them needn't even be real.
This place, to be frank, needed something real. It was rare that Alastor got to do anything sturdy and simple, anymore. He could have made it happen with the blink of an eye, but he wriggled his shoulders, and turned his palms over, pointing those slightly extended middle fingers towards the ground. Far, far below, deep into the ground, the tendrils of his shadow and his much-less-visible infernal energy groped for water. It was deep, but it was there. His fingers curled towards his palms, drawing it forward and amplifying what was there.
"Trees," he said, "some old busybody will notice." A tree didn't leave quite enough room for reasonable doubt. Not a tree large enough to grow apples, anyway. If he was going to bother making something, it ought to at least get some use before it was stolen from or chopped down for its clearly unnatural nature. A garden, though? Someone could have simply not noticed that, before.
He took a deep breath, leaned forward, and blew. It wasn't forceful, but long, far surpassing any amount of air a human could have held in their lungs. The movement of air rushing forward cleared not just the atmosphere for several yards outside of the bubble, but all the dust from the grass below them, which was steadily livening, knitting itself together, blushing green. The dust vanished, when it was blown away - a cloud at the end of the yard, and then nothing. It wasn't piled up anywhere, wasn't floating higher into the atmosphere, simply wasn't there, anymore.
Alastor straightened, and looked back at Lotte, his hands briskly turning upright again, and flicking towards him at the wrists. In the instant his wrists snapped up, so did two neat, mounded rows from the earth (rich, dark now, full of moisture and all the things plants needed, to thrive), and from these mounds coiled the pale shoots of infant vines. "Now, a few tomatoes? No one will see that." The shoots continued to climb steadily out of the ground, the bright, hard bulbs of unripe tomatoes beginning to pop from them now and swell, turning redder by the second.
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Fair answer or not, Alastor chuckled, his nose twitching like a rabbit's for a moment. If Everything had only been a real answer, he could have snapped his fingers and made it so, littered the earth as far as her eye could see with every dish he could think of. That would be shocking, but...dull. A cheap party trick, useless in every conceivable way, since such an amount of food could never be eaten by one woman with no icebox, anyway. Besides, most of the time, that sort of thing was half illusion. No one would ever bother to try and eat every food you could think to conjure, so half of them needn't even be real.
This place, to be frank, needed something real. It was rare that Alastor got to do anything sturdy and simple, anymore. He could have made it happen with the blink of an eye, but he wriggled his shoulders, and turned his palms over, pointing those slightly extended middle fingers towards the ground. Far, far below, deep into the ground, the tendrils of his shadow and his much-less-visible infernal energy groped for water. It was deep, but it was there. His fingers curled towards his palms, drawing it forward and amplifying what was there.
"Trees," he said, "some old busybody will notice." A tree didn't leave quite enough room for reasonable doubt. Not a tree large enough to grow apples, anyway. If he was going to bother making something, it ought to at least get some use before it was stolen from or chopped down for its clearly unnatural nature. A garden, though? Someone could have simply not noticed that, before.
He took a deep breath, leaned forward, and blew. It wasn't forceful, but long, far surpassing any amount of air a human could have held in their lungs. The movement of air rushing forward cleared not just the atmosphere for several yards outside of the bubble, but all the dust from the grass below them, which was steadily livening, knitting itself together, blushing green. The dust vanished, when it was blown away - a cloud at the end of the yard, and then nothing. It wasn't piled up anywhere, wasn't floating higher into the atmosphere, simply wasn't there, anymore.
Alastor straightened, and looked back at Lotte, his hands briskly turning upright again, and flicking towards him at the wrists. In the instant his wrists snapped up, so did two neat, mounded rows from the earth (rich, dark now, full of moisture and all the things plants needed, to thrive), and from these mounds coiled the pale shoots of infant vines. "Now, a few tomatoes? No one will see that." The shoots continued to climb steadily out of the ground, the bright, hard bulbs of unripe tomatoes beginning to pop from them now and swell, turning redder by the second.