NATE
If it's all under control
Then what the hell am I doing
Then what the hell am I doing
As much as he possibly can Nate wants to be at home. The delay in the Grounds had been productive, necessary, but having tasks there didn't mean everything at home stopped. Quite the opposite in fact. While he might not have the same kind of responsibilities Sunjata did as Governer, there were still things Nate needed to get in order, people he needed to talk to. That's actually half the reason he's in the kitchen, instead of hiding out from the midday sun anywhere else, to hopefully catch Mel on her way in or out of the house.
The other reason is a rather involved recipe that Nate honestly isn't sure is going to be worth it, but he's too deep to stop now. There's a pot simmering away on the stove, a sweet, spicy smell filling the air, not that Nate can really tell, save for the faintest wisp. It has hours left to go, so his focus has wandered instead to a small bundle of sticks in front of him, a ball of twine beside it. He trying (and failing, and getting more frustrated) to connect the twigs in a vague star shape, so he can wrap the twine around, but all he has at the moment are some sticks and some curses.
Pemota drifts around the room, her starlight dim compared to the light streaming in through the curtains. She is higher than she usually is, not that it deters the kittens following in her wake on the ground, as if they simply wait for the right moment they'll catch her.
The other reason is a rather involved recipe that Nate honestly isn't sure is going to be worth it, but he's too deep to stop now. There's a pot simmering away on the stove, a sweet, spicy smell filling the air, not that Nate can really tell, save for the faintest wisp. It has hours left to go, so his focus has wandered instead to a small bundle of sticks in front of him, a ball of twine beside it. He trying (and failing, and getting more frustrated) to connect the twigs in a vague star shape, so he can wrap the twine around, but all he has at the moment are some sticks and some curses.
Pemota drifts around the room, her starlight dim compared to the light streaming in through the curtains. She is higher than she usually is, not that it deters the kittens following in her wake on the ground, as if they simply wait for the right moment they'll catch her.
Yelling for nothing at all
And wondering how this all happened
And wondering how this all happened
