Tal looked the disaster zone over morosely as Delia went to clean herself up, but his sisters would kill him if he didn't help - and murder him twice over for leaving a mess in the new Warden's kitchen. So there was nothing else for it but to roll up his sleeves (sifting more flour and powdered sugar down when he did) and start from the top down, taking the towel and wiping down the cabinets first, then moving on to the counters they'd made a thorough mess of.
At least nothing had time to dry, and though it was taking a lot of trips to the sink to rinse the towel out he was able to get going at a pretty good pace. By the time Cordelia returned everything above knee-height had been cleaned and the remaining ingredients, bowls, and utensils had been scrubbed off and laid out with military precision on the damp but shining counter. The bowl of dough sat in pristine condition near the oven, just needing rolled out and sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar before being baked through.
The courier wiped a wet streak across his floury brow when she returned and bobbed his head in awkward gratitude. "Uh... thanks," he mumbled, a bit surprised that she'd taken him seriously. Not that he didn't need a bath, but he figured...
Well, he cleared his throat and shuffled back where she'd indicated. At least he didn't need a full bath, but he stripped to the waist so he could wash the various misfortunes out of his hair and scrub the worst of it out of his shirt and socks. Tugging the sweater and fresh socks on he reemerged, damp and tousled, and flashed his hostess a surprisingly shy grin. "Noah's?" he asked, tugging self-consciously on the hem of the sweater.
At least nothing had time to dry, and though it was taking a lot of trips to the sink to rinse the towel out he was able to get going at a pretty good pace. By the time Cordelia returned everything above knee-height had been cleaned and the remaining ingredients, bowls, and utensils had been scrubbed off and laid out with military precision on the damp but shining counter. The bowl of dough sat in pristine condition near the oven, just needing rolled out and sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar before being baked through.
The courier wiped a wet streak across his floury brow when she returned and bobbed his head in awkward gratitude. "Uh... thanks," he mumbled, a bit surprised that she'd taken him seriously. Not that he didn't need a bath, but he figured...
Well, he cleared his throat and shuffled back where she'd indicated. At least he didn't need a full bath, but he stripped to the waist so he could wash the various misfortunes out of his hair and scrub the worst of it out of his shirt and socks. Tugging the sweater and fresh socks on he reemerged, damp and tousled, and flashed his hostess a surprisingly shy grin. "Noah's?" he asked, tugging self-consciously on the hem of the sweater.
