Weaver has never been to the bakery, but the smell that comes from the place is divine. It might be half of what draws her in, if she’s being really honest. That, and she’s always game for new things, new people. Particularly if said new people happen to have the materials to make a lantern. Oh, and cookies.
Weaver enters the bakery, finding it pleasant and cozy on what is a slightly cooler night. Though if you ask her, it’s still hot here. Weaver isn’t the rudest guest possible, and she finds the shopkeeper first, offering a wave and a smile. ”I’m Weaver,” she says, approaching with her hand outstretched to shake should Amalia take it. Then she eyes the plate of baked goods, one hand snaking out to snag a cookie with a little mischievous grin. What? A girl loves some baked goods now and again. Or always. Maybe always.
”Yum,” she says, mouth full of the first bite, and she refrains from grabbing one more before others arrive. ”Thanks for this. Can I offer something in return?” she asks, not actually meaning to steal the cookie but entirely unwilling to ask the question first and delay the cookie. She drifts to the materials sitting out on the table, drawn to the tissue paper which she riffles through.
***
Weaver eats a cookie, because yum, and riffles through the tissue paper that she likes. What a great guest who just wanders in like it’s her own home.
Weaver enters the bakery, finding it pleasant and cozy on what is a slightly cooler night. Though if you ask her, it’s still hot here. Weaver isn’t the rudest guest possible, and she finds the shopkeeper first, offering a wave and a smile. ”I’m Weaver,” she says, approaching with her hand outstretched to shake should Amalia take it. Then she eyes the plate of baked goods, one hand snaking out to snag a cookie with a little mischievous grin. What? A girl loves some baked goods now and again. Or always. Maybe always.
”Yum,” she says, mouth full of the first bite, and she refrains from grabbing one more before others arrive. ”Thanks for this. Can I offer something in return?” she asks, not actually meaning to steal the cookie but entirely unwilling to ask the question first and delay the cookie. She drifts to the materials sitting out on the table, drawn to the tissue paper which she riffles through.
***
Weaver eats a cookie, because yum, and riffles through the tissue paper that she likes. What a great guest who just wanders in like it’s her own home.
weaver
-- kiss you like a whiskey fire --
