i'm like a bad penny.

bridge of nose wrinkles, and a single nod is given, firm. he likes pickles. sometimes will take to eating them right from the jar, sipping on the brine. (something something growing boy, even if he’s a special case. growth stunted, living on the skin of his teeth. presently spending his days wanting to eat everything in sight, now that there’s plenty food to be had, or ignore eating, altogether. doesn’t trust his stomach, most times.) but he agrees: it doesn’t sound pleasantly paired together with scones, and he is known for enjoying so-called odd food combinations. 

“ i’unno. something generic. fruit, or whatever’s your favorite. since this is my first time making them. “

     ‘ maybe, hm. if we’re going the fruit route, depends on what marion’s left us for fodder. ’ alright. there’s time enough before the oven is fully heated. 

    the front door is always producing guests, but the familiar ones are woods’ favourite — most of the time. luckily she’s shown up on a tired but relatively good day, judging by the robe, unevenness of his hair, and the small, endeared smile that greets her. he further proves her welcomeness by assisting her; instead of sensibly offering to hold the bag, woods endeavours to free her from the jacket. such a task is easier said than done.

    “dry? like me?” he jests as the jacket finally slips off, then darts a glance at the tote clutched in her teeth. nostalgia galvanises at the scent. “let me guess — scones?”

     bennie snorts, mumbling a crinkling thank you through her teeth as her arms slip free, and repeats herself when she can properly open her mouth. ‘ thank you, and yes, ’ to the scones. ‘ -- but, no. ’ paired with a risen brow, the flash of her smile is sharp and a little mean in the kindest, warmest way. ‘ if you’d believe it, they’re dryer. 

@brawnfare / @miscreating

    “thanks for coming over.” the palace is a daunting abode when woods is on his lonesome, its fitting owner off on a business trip. 

    steam rises silently from two dainty tea cups on the antique coffee table - a midnight brew. with no extravagant parties or energies lavishing the large interior of the living room, its depth is quiet and full of awe; a tranquil library of colourful ornament.

    “normally, i enjoy solitude. but t’night my emotions found it a bit - unwelcome.” his gaze flits over to her, endearing. “your company makes the night bearable.”

     half an admission, ‘ i can empathize. ’ 

     bennie’s coat is discarded some two rooms away, but her hair still carries the damp kiss of the evening fog she rolled in with. she considers her cramped flat- the space half hers and half marion’s- and the way the quiet seems to echo as it rankles. in setting the phone back onto its receiver, she had realized: woods wasn’t the only one in need of diversion. 

     she steps closer, pulling his hand into hers to give it a quick squeeze, expression fond and open. before she can settle, she thinks of their collection of pressed vinyl, the way she and perry have rattled their teeth and popped speakers maxed out in volume more times than she can count (and considers, this time, a quieter spread). 

            he responds with a casual shrug,  content with how the events had momentarily played out.  later,  he might do a little bit of his own work,  the story of a panther appearing and scaring him shitless not something that would be believable to anyone.  “  i think we should put you in the ring.  you’re the newcomer.  you win every round,  you take the belt,  and then you never appear again.  stuff of legends.  “ 

     she rubs at the blooming pink on her knuckles, biting back a scoff. ‘ that’s too easy. who says i haven’t managed that before? ’ she hasn’t.

     ‘ i’ve yet to find a single bakery to do us justice, ’ bennie bemoans, stepping into the foyer. she toes her shoes off, pinching the handle of a paper bag between her teeth so she can struggle out of her jacket in the same move. success does not seem imminent. 

@brawnfare​ said: 🌹 bennie teaches him how to make Scones…

random act prompts.

her rambling earned a huffed breath flaring at his nostrils, something too derisive to be full-bodied amused. that’s progress, though, with mutt. one would not be mistaken to stretch the truth a little and find themselves victoriously proclaiming it a laugh.

“ ‘f anything can go in them, what’s something someone’d put in one where you’d draw the line? “ 

     where he huffs, she snorts. bennie touches her nose (leaving behind a minute smear of flour), pauses, and laughs again. ‘ i’m not saying i did this, but if you were to consider maybe, um. pickles? don’t. ’ she shakes her head, smoothing down her apron. ‘ trust me. ’