EVIE
Evie has to bite her lip hard to keep from losing it all over again at the sight of Deimos - hulking, muscled, fights-leviathans-for-fun Deimos - holding a flour bag protectively to his side so she won’t pop it all over him. Cookies seem so much less fun than the little war they had created, but her sweet tooth reminds her that in due time there will be rewards for her focus and restraint.
She hums softly as she folds in the flour by small cupfuls, awash in an array of memories no more detailed than abstract colors; so often had she spent her best days in someone else’s kitchen that the individual moments no longer stood apart. It eases her heart in a way she didn’t expect. In fact, coming into this, she’d been afraid of the weight of memories and the grief they could sow in her. But as she listens to Deimos shuffling pans and setting the oven, as she watches Belial’s dramatic exit and her own hands shaping the mixture into proper dough, Evie finds this has unequivocally already asserted itself as one of the best days she’s had in years.
Flouring her hands she begins to roll the dough into balls between her palms, laying them on the counter and rolling each one with a pin to be cut into with the various shapes and scenes Deimos had crafted. And if she leaves some dough in the bowl? Well, clearly they just underestimated their batch. “I think we should treat ourselves while we select our shapes and start cutting.” It’ll be hard not to do an entire batch worth of her riding a landshark honestly, but if she can restrain herself once why not again? The relaxed happiness is apparent as she picks up the bowl to hold against her chest with one arm, the other dipping the mixing spoon into the dough to obtain a fair amount - and then holding it out between them in offering, intending to feed it to the Sword. “And we can eat the edges from the molds too!” Unselfconscious about her childlike eagerness to consume as much raw dough as they can reason away.
She hums softly as she folds in the flour by small cupfuls, awash in an array of memories no more detailed than abstract colors; so often had she spent her best days in someone else’s kitchen that the individual moments no longer stood apart. It eases her heart in a way she didn’t expect. In fact, coming into this, she’d been afraid of the weight of memories and the grief they could sow in her. But as she listens to Deimos shuffling pans and setting the oven, as she watches Belial’s dramatic exit and her own hands shaping the mixture into proper dough, Evie finds this has unequivocally already asserted itself as one of the best days she’s had in years.
Flouring her hands she begins to roll the dough into balls between her palms, laying them on the counter and rolling each one with a pin to be cut into with the various shapes and scenes Deimos had crafted. And if she leaves some dough in the bowl? Well, clearly they just underestimated their batch. “I think we should treat ourselves while we select our shapes and start cutting.” It’ll be hard not to do an entire batch worth of her riding a landshark honestly, but if she can restrain herself once why not again? The relaxed happiness is apparent as she picks up the bowl to hold against her chest with one arm, the other dipping the mixing spoon into the dough to obtain a fair amount - and then holding it out between them in offering, intending to feed it to the Sword. “And we can eat the edges from the molds too!” Unselfconscious about her childlike eagerness to consume as much raw dough as they can reason away.
Don't look up, just let them think
There's no place else you'd rather be
There's no place else you'd rather be
