starter for @loveshard
she's half asleep, her mind whirring from too many coffees and too little sleep. her fingers kneed dough, almost automatically. she knows what it feels like when it's good, when it's ready-- and the physical act of it quiets her mind, it's a strange--flour laden meditation. but suddenly-- there's a knocking, something-- interrupting her current round of experimental baking. "go away--" she yells-- the sunroom doesn't open till seven, and it's still five am. still early. the knocking doesn't cease. she's got flour on the tips of her braids, and there's a cloud of cinammon almost surrounding her when she opens the door. she makes several observations-- wealthy, check. drunk, double check. attractive-- irritated check. a memory sparks, of a belaboured group projects, and kids-- mean fucking kids. "we're closed, doofus. did they not teach you anything at whatever unfortunate institution gave you your foundational education. see--" she gestures to the sign, and prays they don't recognise her, that they don't ask too many questions-- "big hand 12, small hand 7-- that's 7 am and it's currently--" she gestures to the sky-- as if the time would be illuminated somewhere-- "not fucking that so-- we open in 3 hours. so go sober up and maybe, you'll get a croissant for your efforts-- scoot."
















