milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There are warm, cozy baking smells wafting from the kitchens today, to combat the unrelentingly leaden grey skies and the cold drizzle of rain outside. Trays of cinnamon rolls the size of human skulls and assorted other bits of baked deliciousness are cooling on wire racks on the kitchen counters, while pies bake promisingly in the ovens.

The baker herself had settled at the kitchen table with the intention of writing out some of her recipes, which normally only live within her own head.

The warmth, the comforting smells, and the quiet had soon gotten to her, however. It has been a harrowing few weeks with little peace and less sleep to sustain her, and winter has never been her best season, for good reason.

Sunshine dozes gently in the quiet of the kitchen, a refuge of gathered warmth and light in a cold and dark season, her head resting on her folded arms on the table.

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Cecil dithers.

Its really the only word for it - he followed his nose into the kitchen, made a plan to make off with one of the rolls, with payment through the Bar as usual... but it seems sort of ... rude? Underhanded? Something like that.

So he dithers, undecided.

The hot cinnamon rolls are also, tragically, not yet graced with the presence of icing. They are still nude, lacking the delicate draping of icing to coat their coils in sweetness.

Sunshine's breathing is slow and steady, but she is only dozing, a banned writing utensil still loosely clasped in her hand.

Cecil knows, conceptually, how to make icing. He hasn't made it for a while, not since before... well.

Not for a while.

But still, he could. It wouldn't necessarily be technically hard, if even more... what? Rude? Awkward? To do so.

So difficult.

But here's something he can do - he's still not so sure about this whole bar policy of being lax on writing materials, and he definitely doesn't want Sunshine to get into trouble if they suddenly decide to enforce that so-common rule, so he veeeeeeery carefully reaches over to tease her pen from her hand.

Sunshine's hand flexes slightly as the pen slips from her grasp. She had been in the middle of writing her recipe for sage and gruyere babka. Her breathing deepens for a moment as she wavers between true sleep and waking, then she is waking, a massive yawn catching her by surprise and making her eyes water.

"Hnn? Cecil," she murmurs as she rubs her eyes, voice a bit scratchy. "Hey you."

Cecil self-consciously puts the pen down on the counter with a decisive click.

"Hey yourself." Cecil smiles, though it's a worried sort of smile. Call it a professional hazard - Cecil worries about those he knows. "I know bakers are supposed to be up before dawn and whatnot, but surely it isn't to just go make a new bed on the counter. That can't be good for your back."

"Believe me, it wasn't my intention," she chuckles, stretching. From her grimace as she stretches, he's right about it not being good for one's back.

"It's just been a long day. Long week."

Month. Year. Life.

"Caught your radio show here the other day," she adds, on a topic other than her unintended public napping. "I really enjoyed it. You've got a lovely voice for radio."

"Oh? Thank you!" Cecil beams, inordantly pleased as always when someone likes his show. Sure, he does his best to do a good job, but it's still nice to hear it.

"I do always hope I'm being helpful."

"I'd say you are. It was great to hear about all the bar goings-on," she smiles.

Who doesn't get a little thrill when they're mentioned on the radio, anyway?

~~Interns, probably.~~

"And you have a very unique way with words. Would you like a cinnamon roll, in a little bit? They should be cool enough to ice."

~~Interns definitely, mayors sometimes, City Council fairly frequently~~

"I would absolutely love a cinnamon roll - would you like some coffee? I was just about to make myself a cup." If it's a lie, it's a mild one - Cecil is pretty much always a couple hours away, maximum, from needing a refill.

"Thank you for the offer," she says, a little wryly, as she gets to her feet and moves to gather icing ingredients. "Don't judge me too harshly, but I've never cared much for coffee apart from sometimes using it in baked goods. Tea is more to my tastes, when I want a hot drink and need the caffeine."

(OOC: Sorry, completely missed the notif and... welp.)

"Well, I can do tea if you like, but I'm not nearly as good at it. Old Woman Josie usually makes tea, but... I don't think you want any of that. Or the turmeric stuff, that's... no."

It's nasty is what it is, according to one Cecil Palmer. Cecil has a very strong love/hate relationship going on with that tea.

Sinric follows the scent of warmth and happiness, singing softly to himself as he makes his way to the kitchen to make some tea.

Seeing Rae there dozing, he takes off his fine wool wrap and lays it over her shoulders.

Sunshine shifts slightly as the warmth of the wrap seeps in, her breath deepening in that moment of transition where one's doze may gently end, or one may slip into a deeper, more restorative sleep.

Perhaps influenced by hearing Sinric's song, or some unconscious awareness of needing to keep an eye on her baking, her mind leads her along the former path. Her breathing deepens again in her gentle return to consciousness, the hand still loosely holding a pencil flexes to keep it from falling, and her eyes blink open. She notices the wrap, and then lifts her head, and notices its owner.

"Sinric!" She breathes, a glad smile appearing the moment she recognizes him. Sunshine rises, happy to see him, to give him a hug.

Sinric is thinner than last she saw him, his face a little lined and heavy with care. But he smiles and returns them embrace. "I hope I didn't wake you. You looked very peaceful."

"No, no, I shouldn't be sleeping in the kitchens anyway," she protests with a smile, despite her signs of an ongoing lack of sleep. "Even the best pies won't take themselves from the oven when they're ready."

Though someone should absolutely work on that technology.

"Oh, but it's good to see you, Sinric," she squeezes his hands, briefly. "Would you like some tea? If I've not snoozed the day away, the water in the kettle should still be warm and won't take long to boil."

And clearly she could also use the caffeine.

"Perhaps baking while tired is unwise." He teases warmly, returning the squeeze. "I would be grateful for some tea. I came down looking for some. My throat is still a little raw."

She chuckles at his teasing - if she avoided baking when she was tired, she would never get any baking done at all - squeezing his hands once more before letting go so she might step over to the kettle and get it heating again. "Then we shall have tea to go with our pie."

Because there will also be pie.

If he wants.

Is pie good for one's throat, or just one's spirit?

Sinric fetches some cups as she makes the tea. "I've so missed your baking. I met a woman on my travels, Rosa. Her bread made me think of you."

Sunshine smiles as she prepares the tea - apple tea for Sinric, and jasmine for her. "Tell me about her? What was she like?"

(ooc: It is now far later than I normally stay up, and my eyes are no longer wanting to focus, so I'm going to have to ask for slow times. *hugs!* I'm so glad to get to thread with you again! You were much missed.)

"Broad of hip and rosy as her name." He answers softly, if a little sadly. "There was always children in her home. Hers or others, it didn't matter. Always laughter."

{ooc: sleep sweet! I've missed you too.}

Sunshine hums slightly. "It sounds like she had crafted a warm and inviting place, a good home."

A gathered warmth and light, full of life.

"How did you meet her?"

"Her village stood on the border of the Bulgar and Magyar. A peaceful place of trade, too small to be a prize. I stopped there for food and supplies, meaning to carry on the next day. But I found myself staying."

His shadows waver unhappily, lengthening with the bitter edges of the happy memory.

She hesitates asking, because the memories - or rather, the later memories - clearly cause Sinric pain. But where else does this place live now - the place, the people in it - but in his memories? Pain and loss are inevitable, but they should not invalidate the joy one finds along the way.

"How long did you stay?" she asks, gently, setting the still-warm electric kettle to heat up again.

"A year and a day." He chuckles sadly. "That seems to be my time. I stayed on the island of Nippon that long too."

He shakes himself, seeming to draw his shadows back. "What of you, my friend? How have you fared on your path?"

"... The temporary nature of every precious thing..." she murmurs, the faint sing-song cadence suggesting some quote or maudlin song.

"I am... here," Rae gives a slight shrug as she measures the tea. It's a harder question that is should be. "Special Other Forces have begun an internal investigation into the Goddess of Pain, and... the doubt cast on her career by the discovery that she has been an Other all along."

And scrutiny of the Goddess' actions in relation to the baker Rae Seddon can only lead to scrutiny of the aforementioned baker and unregistered magic-handler, Raven Blaise.

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