Have a seat...

*smiles and does his best not to laugh as she pulls the bag over her head*

Alright, maybe I could try the surprise part then. Like I could try and make something incredibly normal for a change.

Leon watched as Irene stayed in bed and cooed like a child as the towel touched her forehead. She seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness and as the reporter leaned on one of the bed posts, Irene muttered about missing the auction.

Contrary to what Leon just told her, Irene went on talking, even as her voice croaked and she lay languid and weak underneath the thick covers.

Jerry gently smiled, feeling warmth just from being near her, he lead her towards the house, seeing a familiar face glancing around his cabin. 

“Hello, lo, lo- oh, Mister Jerry sir!” His attempt at making an echo was cut off when he saw a pair just by the apple tree, “And Miss Irene!” he waved back at the pair.

“Hm, you could try drawing pencils with those pencils,” Irene said after giving it some thought, “there’s some sort of meaning in it. Or you could draw yourself sketching! It would be like seeing yourself from an outside view.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t a nice cut, and the color is honestly boring,” Irene replied with a disdainful sniff. It was far from good for her trinket projects… “…although for a moment there it gave out a good shine,” she added, thinking then that perhaps she should’ve picked it up after all.

Emily almost laughed seeing them, they made a funny couple, not a romantic couple, more like a comedy couple, so entertaining. Was refreshing have that kind of troupe at home. In that moment she thought in make a game, as usual, trying to bring joy to the labor. “Oh… I see… Lawrence is a good boy and knows what to do. I like that.” She surprised the boy who was very concentrated in the cookies.

“Ohhh…like a boss?” He asked as he looked at the two women excitedly.

Irene was only half listening to the exchange between Lawrence and Emily, too preoccupied was she with sorting out the eggs. Half a year ago, she didn’t know how to separate the yolks from the white no matter how many times she tried on her own and so she was glad that her lengthy trip away from town was all worth it, even if only for making eggnogs.

“Not as fortunes,” Irene stated nonchalantly. “I like the truth from some of them, like bits of general advice, but I don’t think I believe enough to let it rule over my head.”

Frank couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him as he tried to envision Irene walking around the news floor selling cuff links. He wouldn’t have allowed it either but that was besides the point. 

“Would you really?” Irene brightened up at Frank’s gallant offer. “That would be really nice, Mr. Willow, I may have forgotten what you look like outside of the office. Or what we look like,” she amended with a chuckle. Ever since Irene returned from her trip, both boss and secretary have been swamped with work in the office and never had a chance to actually interact outside of it.

Angelo’s curiosity was satisfied. He liked the idea to Irene happy in her job, and she finds it interesting. Maybe she could be an excellent journalist, but he reserved that comment because she could laugh of him, but he likes her humor and positive attitude in front of everything. When she asked about his job… well, this time he can manage better because she didn’t ask about what is his job, Irene asked about his interest.

Irene only had an inkling that Angelo’s work as a business advisor was related to the Capones, and with this bit of information, she knew not to stray into topics that might touch on that. Despite the benefit that the paper might get if Irene were to pry into the details of his work, she decided against it, conveniently hiding behind her role as a secretary and not a journalist.

“Oh no, what do I do?!” Irene whispered in panic, completely forgetting their current conversation. Timothy let out a cough, his little Bonnie-Clive face contorting as he let out a succession of wails. She tried her best to gently rock her nephew into calming down, making up random songs as she did so.

It was cute that she considered him someone to trust or would over think, in the highly unlikely event of him being a vampire, about attacking her. It made Edward feel a little bit better inside, usually he was the villain by his moods but none of that seemed to intimidate Irene, and if he did, she was good at hiding it. 

Irene was speechless for a moment, astonished to hear that Edward appreciated a lot of people. She had heard of him quite a while as grumpy and a bit of a recluse, and thinking about leaving town for the sake of several people that he wouldn’t want to feed on came as a real surprise.

If the alcohol was making Irene more inquisitive, then it was making Grace more comfortable with answering everything she was asked. It also helped that the dark haired woman was very easy to talk to anyway, and Grace was relieved to have some time for girl talk since Daisy had been swamped with work at the club.

Even with Grace demonstrating a trigger for realizing if one is in-love with someone or not, Irene found it a little difficult to pull out from memory any or some instances where she had felt the same things as her friend was describing. It led to her wondering where she had spent the last twenty-four years of her life and why she seemed to be so far out of the loop when it came to love.

Emerging from outside the bedroom, Leon carried with him the blankets and basin left from down stairs. It seemed that she had been on the sofa the whole time and possibly crawled her way to open the door for him.

From squinting up at the figure by the bedside, Irene’s eyes widened in surprise to see Leon. “Oh, it’s Tally…” she laughed croakily, closing her eyes at the comfort of the cool towel over her forehead. Between asking what he came for and thanking him for helping her out…not to mention who had let him in, she settled with saving it for later when she’s able to form coherent questions.

She shrugged right back at her sister, or at least as much shrugging as holding the baby permitted. Her brows furrowed as she contemplated the possibility with something akin to distaste, which was then reflected clearly in her rather indirect answer.

‘You’re like a princess’, that was the most beautiful compliment she could listen, maybe because Lawrence is so sweet. “Thank you so much Lawrence. I am not a princess but you are so kind.” She said as she was in the fire and they were to the kitchen. When she was there, she could see how Irene said something but she couldn’t listen. “Something is wrong? This are my own cookies… Or maybe I forgot something for today…” With what was happened in the last weeks she felt she was losing her mind. “I don’t make eggnog long time ago.”

Lawrence looked at the enormous kitchen in awe before quickly immersing himself in the plate of cookies laid out for them. His ears then turned red as Irene asked him about his drink preference; not wanting to be impolite, the boy quickly shook his head and took a sip at the cup of tea before grimacing.

Irene nodded in understanding, stifling a laugh at Lawrence’s expression upon tasting the tea. She hurriedly shook her head at Emily’s question, answering with a smile, “No, no, nothing’s wrong with them.”

Instinctively Jerry reached out to catch her as she bumped into him, for a moment not sure if she was ill or if it was her way of greeting but he chuckled nonetheless. 

The blade hit the ice nicely as Lawrence glided over the frozen lake. The sky was clear and bright but the chilly wind assured him that the lake was safe for his ballet on ice maneuvers.

With breathy giggles at the thought of being carried, Irene shook her head in reply and said, “I’m quite alright, recovered my health after Christmas and all. No need to carry me on piggyback for now.” There was a little twinge of regret in declining, fond as she was with piggyback rides, but Irene decided against taking advantage of such hospitality when her feet are far from aching.

Leon warily got up, rubbed his crown and looked around. It was an empty bedroom and seemed to be Irene’s. He saw the basin of water by the bedside table and the reporter called out for his co-worker’s name.

The pingpong beat went on until it changed to taps, like the tapping of shoes on creaky floors round and round about her. The gradual trip back to consciousness was a blessing on the senses that when Irene opened her eyes, she had realized that she was no longer on the living sofa but back in her bedroom…rather, her parents’ old bedroom with the bulky four poster which she had recently cleaned up in case they were staying in Montford for Christmas.