why else love if not to feel the stars exploding in our veins?
Looking around the kitchen Amalia catches sight of a griddle, a couple of somewhat charred, oblong, half-eaten pancakes, and a bowl of batter that Jyoti has made her way over to inspect. "I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt breakfast," she murmurs softly, but the men have made it abundantly clear that she is welcome despite her concerns. Still, anxiety is a bitch.
A bitch that is no match for nosiness and work ethic, it turns out. The kitchen is a disaster. Amalia's eyes widen in amusement and horror as the full scope of the damage reaches her, her chef's sensibilities deeply offended by the abject carnage. "How?!" she asks rhetorically, reaching up to pull a pancake off a shelf and inspect it for quality. At least it all smells perfectly fine- it just looks a mess.
Rolling up her shirt sleeves, the Shield sets to work, whisking up the cream-sugar-whiskey abomination with practiced efficiency. "Usually you cook alcohol when you use it in cooking. This... is going to be very alcoholic," she remarks, naively assuming that making boozy whipped cream wasn't their explicit intent.
A bitch that is no match for nosiness and work ethic, it turns out. The kitchen is a disaster. Amalia's eyes widen in amusement and horror as the full scope of the damage reaches her, her chef's sensibilities deeply offended by the abject carnage. "How?!" she asks rhetorically, reaching up to pull a pancake off a shelf and inspect it for quality. At least it all smells perfectly fine- it just looks a mess.
Rolling up her shirt sleeves, the Shield sets to work, whisking up the cream-sugar-whiskey abomination with practiced efficiency. "Usually you cook alcohol when you use it in cooking. This... is going to be very alcoholic," she remarks, naively assuming that making boozy whipped cream wasn't their explicit intent.
Amalia
