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."

"i need you not to freak out." all things considered it's not the best way to greet nadim, but-- it's necessary. she has her hood up, her braids peak out from underneath, her coat is wrapped tight against her frame. "how was rehearsal?" she asks automatically, curious-- but also desperate to get his mind elsewhere. she slides her hood down, undoes her coat and she--- looks a mess. there is a cut in her grow, the beginnings of a relatively impressive black eye, and blood on her hoodie. "it's not really my blood-- at least not most of it. kind of got...into a bit of trouble doing some recon now for a case i'm working. it's good because it means that i'm close but-- not good, because pain, you know?" she's rambling, rubbing sore wrists as she speaks, distracting herself. "..i'll just-- hop in the shower, and then we can go to bed?"

she's tipsy, leaning against them in the back of this bar. her shoulders are loose, there's no tension in her. bambi is at peace. bambi is in love. it's like her to notice it now, half drunk with her head on their shoulder. a quiet announcement in the pit of her gut, that burns like the tequila she's drank too much of. she shifts her head, catches their gaze. "dude--" she wants to say it, wants to blurt it out in her signature fashion but she manages to swallow it down. "wanna go home? dibs on being the little spoon."