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Post by Script on Nov 7, 2011 12:19:24 GMT -5
Script had been traumatized in the Refuge, was sold to a brothel in Five Points, and raped by a notorious gang leader. To top it all off, Goblin had been lying to her the whole time, making her experience that much worse. So they'd broken up.
She was still desperately in love with him, but how could she trust him after everything that had happened?
She'd had a rough week, and so she went to the kitchen to bake her stress away. Except it wasn't working. She'd spent the last three hours baking batch after batch of brownies.
And had burned each and every single one of them.
So there she sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by the charred remains of burnt brownies, crying over a bowl of lumpy chocolate frosting.
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Post by Skittery on Nov 7, 2011 12:25:15 GMT -5
Skittery walked into the kitchen to get something to drink, but immediately stopped once he was in the doorway. He coughed, waving the air in front of him. "Damn, what's that sme--" He paused as he noticed the crying girl.
"Uh... Are you...all right?" No, of course she's not all right, dumbass.
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Post by Script on Nov 7, 2011 12:29:03 GMT -5
She looked up quickly, wiping at her eyes. Oh, man, she probably looked a hot mess. "I..yeah..I'm...sorry, I'll just clean this up." She scootched back her chair, hurriedly moving cookie sheets to the sink, sniffling.
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Post by Skittery on Nov 7, 2011 12:33:09 GMT -5
He silently walked over to her, helping her clean everything up. She was lying to him, of course, about being all right. But he wasn't surprised. They didn't know each other, why would she tell him her problems? He'd had to ask, though.
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Post by Script on Nov 7, 2011 12:37:19 GMT -5
She glanced over at him as he helped her dry the cookie sheets after she scrubbed them clean. After several quiet minutes, and after she'd talked herself off the ledge long enough to stop crying, she said. "I'm Script."
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Post by Skittery on Nov 7, 2011 12:40:16 GMT -5
"Skittery," he replied with a nod, glancing over at her. Or down at her, rather. She was pretty short. Well, he was actually just pretty tall.
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Post by Script on Nov 7, 2011 12:43:09 GMT -5
She gave him a weak smile, then looked back at the cookie sheets in front of her, scrubbing. "Thanks for helping. With the dishes, I mean."
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Post by Skittery on Nov 7, 2011 12:47:16 GMT -5
"No problem," he replied, drying one and putting it in the cupboard below. "But don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold." He chuckled a bit, smiling.
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Post by Script on Nov 7, 2011 12:50:59 GMT -5
She smirked. "So do I. So, don't tell anyone I burned the brownies. It's the one thing I'm supposed to be amazing at." She sighed a little, sadly, drying her hands. "I guess I've lost my touch."
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Post by Skittery on Nov 7, 2011 12:54:58 GMT -5
He shrugged, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Probably just an off day. Everyone has 'em," he said. So that's what the smell had been. Burned brownies. Damn, he wished he could have one right now. Not a burned one, though.
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Post by Script on Nov 7, 2011 12:57:33 GMT -5
She almost said that she never has an off day when it comes to baking, but she only shrugged. She handed him the dish towel to dry his hands. "I managed to make lemonade that doesn't taste terrible. Want some?"
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Post by Skittery on Nov 7, 2011 12:59:00 GMT -5
He perked up, licking his lips. He had completely forgotten about the drink he had come in here for. "Yeah, I'd love some, actually..."
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Post by Script on Nov 7, 2011 13:00:21 GMT -5
She nodded at him, moving to the ice box. She set the pitcher on the counter, then went up on her toes to reach a glass in the cabinet. She was having issues, so she reached her arm up higher, frowning.
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Post by Skittery on Nov 7, 2011 13:09:04 GMT -5
Skittery laughed to himself before strolling over there and getting the glasses for her. He leaned over her, reaching them with no problems at all and setting them on the counter.
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Post by Script on Nov 7, 2011 13:10:39 GMT -5
She nearly gulped when he leaned over her, and she blushed. "Thanks..." She slipped away from him to pour them lemonade, putting the pitcher away before taking the glasses to the table and sitting down.
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