milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Something of the tension Sunshine carries, though nowhere near all of it, lessens as she realizes the door opened where she needed it to go. She comes in quickly, smelling of lilly-of-the-valley soap and heading for the kitchen. She had put her hair up wet after her too-hot shower, and already it has dampened the back of her dark purple tanktop all the way down to the waistband of her shorts. The skin of her face, neck, shoulders, arms, legs and bare feet are still pink of the hot water and perhaps too-thorough scrubbing, at least where bruises aren't purpling the skin to match the her tanktop.

Distracted or seeking distraction, she takes down mixing bowls and measuring cups from the kitchen cabinets. They come down on the counter with a clatter perhaps louder than it should be, and it upsets some of the rats. She mutters her apologies, trying to focus, trying not to focus, trying to think of what to make. She has to make something. Anything, really, to get the smell of blood and death out of her lungs. Something strongly scented. Strongly flavored. Comfort. Chocolate.

Catching on that point but having no plan beyond it, the distressed baker starts in on melting dark chocolate chips in a double-boiler on the stove, and pouring whipping cream into a mixing bowl to start some manner of attempted salvation of a wretched night.

So what if it'll be four a.m. soon? She couldn't sleep if she tried.

(ooc: ~~However, it is nearly 1am for the mun, and she really must try and sleep. Tags will be gotten tomorrow! Mun is here!~~ Mun is asleep again! <3333)

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His hair is getting rather long, enough that he can easily gather the strands into a ponytail. He scrubs a hand over them. "That reminds me... Are you any good at cutting hair?"

"I've... cut my younger brothers' hair before, though not in the past few years," she offers.

It is deeply uncool to have one's big sister cut one's hair.

"Would you mind cutting mine, please?" Autor says, tilting his head. "My hair has grown since I've been home. I can cut it myself, but I don't trust myself enough to get it right. It needs buzzed."

Sunshine smiles faintly. "I wouldn't mind at all."

"Though... probably not tonight. Sometime when my hands are steadier would be better," she adds, apologetically.

"No, of course not," Autor says, waving a hand. He returns to a folded-arms position. "I'd need a haircut closer to the time when we go back to my world, after all. Thanks, Rae. Also, I'm planning on taking vegetarian dishes in my sylladex when we go back, so you won't want for food. There are plenty of options in restaurants at home, though, but this is just to be sure."

Sunshine smiles slightly, a shaky but true smile. "You're very thoughtful, Autor. Thank you."

Autor shrugs, looking away. That true smile is just as painful as all the others. "It's not a problem. Honestly, it's the least I can do. I want you to be comfortable in my world. As comfortable as you can be, anyway."

"And I appreciate the effort," she says, the smile fading somewhat as he doesn't look at her. "Planning ahead like that is... really good."

"I want to make sure you get home safe, and the trip is as peaceful and easy as possible."

"I'm sure it will be, though it's a good thing I've got plenty of money for bribes," Autor says, sighing. "We're going to need it. How's your dessert coming?"

"Oh, I..." She looks back at the motley collection of ingredients and bowls. "The, uh, mousse and the crusts are made. Mixing up the batter for the cakes is next."

"Cakes?" Autor says, raising his brows as his gaze also trails along the ingredient bowls. "This seems really complicated. I bet it will be delicious."

"I don't know how it'll end up," she admits. "I didn't... really go in with a plan. Started with chocolate mousse that's in the fridge now. Then a crust, and the thought struck me of maybe individual chocolate cakes filled with chocolate mousse...."

"I'd like to try it, if you don't mind," Autor says, stifling a yawn. It's almost five, now, and he's exhausted.

"I wouldn't mind at all," she replies. "Much the opposite - I'd like your opinion when they're done. Though, that will take a while, and you should get some sleep if you can.*

"If being the operative word," Autor says, faintly wry. "I'll come back to check on you in an hour and a half, all right?"

She holds her arms out - she is shaking less, even though she knows her distraction will go with him - and gently folds him into a hug. "Yeah, do that. Even if you don't sleep, get some rest."

Autor clings to her a little too tightly. He still smells blood. "I will. I'd say you, too, but I know that's a vain hope. For now. And I'll be back."

It takes effort to let go. But she makes herself. He needs rest and she still feels the need to keep moving. "Yeah. I'll see you in a little while."

Autor offers her a level look. "Take care, Rae," he says, before reluctantly heading off.

Rae is still for a few moments after he leaves the kitchen, but soon enough she can feel her focus begin to waver and her nerves begin to fray again, and she must move.

The mixing of dry ingredients, flour and sugar and cocoa powder and baking soda, and the mixing of wet, eggs and oil and buttermilk and vanilla, and the combining of these, and chocolate chips... they are all such familiar motions, requiring focus and precision that shields her from thoughts of other things her hands have been doing, and memories of other, less friendly scents. She holds it together while the cakes bake in their ramekins, beating egg whites into a super-fluffy meringue while the kitchen fills with the scents of baking chocolate cakes.

She holds it together until after the cakes have been removed to their cooling racks, the kitchen torch is sitting nearby, and the meringue is sitting stiff and pretty in the fridge. By then the sun is rising, banishing the night before, and she goes out to meet the day while the cakes cool, sitting on the outside steps in the sunlight and letting the tears come.

True to his word, Autor returns to the kitchen exactly ninety minutes later. He takes another minute to find her. Settling on the steps next to her, he leans into her shoulder and offers her a handkerchief.

She's been crying a good while, and crying hard, her head bowed over her drawn-up knees. Her face is blotchy and wet, her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. Her head hurts with the force of her grief and guilt and pain. Sobs wrack her every breath, and it is a while before there is a break into he tears that allows her to see the offered handkerchief, and accept it with a quiet sound of anguish-choked gratitude.

Autor wraps his arms around her, leaning his head on her shoulder. He sighs silently, a simple exhalation of air. Cuddling with her is all he can do; in the face of such powerful grief, he's useless.

He is not useless and what he offers is not nothing. Rae leans on him as she strives to rein in the outflow of tears. It is embarrassing to fall apart so completely. She wouldn't have thought she had the energy necessary to feel embarrassed, but never underestimate social conditioning.

Eventually, the sobs subside, and her ragged breathing slows. The tears are caught more readily by the handkerchief, and the sounds of grief are quietened.

Autor pets her hair, stroking the strands and keeping them away from her neck and eyes. They're not wet anymore, but they've dried strangely, in a wavy pattern down her back.

There's still a clot of blood at her hairline, now dried. Autor keeps well away from it.