(no subject)
Chuck's in the kitchen! Baking pies!
Or attempting to, at least.
At present, there happens to be more flour on her face and hands than actually on the table underneath the pie crust she's currently using a roller to flatten out - but she has a happy expression on her face, and she's humming something from one of her aunts' old records underneath her breath as she works.
Hopefully, someone in the bar likes peaches.
Reese is sitting at the far end of the bar, staring at one of the more peculiar patrons of Milliways without trying to make it look as though she's actually staring.
She's just never seen anyone that - blue before.
Shaking her head, she stares down into the dregs of her coffee mug. Even after all this time, she's still trying to convince herself she's not hallucinating any of this.
Beckett is trying to remember the last time the bar surprised her in the middle of the night on the way to the bathroom.
By the way she's looking around, slowly blinking sleep from her eyes: it was a very long time ago.
She's already awake; she's got a call about a double murder in Greenwich Village, but Bar makes better coffee than she could at this hour, and she'll be able to get a real jump-start on her morning this way.
(She's not awake enough to realize her thoughts are starting to drift to the kind that are not related to work in any way, shape or form.)
Last, but certainly not least, there's a doctor in the house - with daughter in tow.
Cuddy has seemingly mastered the ability to hold Rachel with one hand and sip her afternoon latte with the other.
It really is the little things in life sometimes.
[ tiny tags: dani reese, mark hoffman, otto chriek ]
[ ooc: open until their nexts. ]
Or attempting to, at least.
At present, there happens to be more flour on her face and hands than actually on the table underneath the pie crust she's currently using a roller to flatten out - but she has a happy expression on her face, and she's humming something from one of her aunts' old records underneath her breath as she works.
Hopefully, someone in the bar likes peaches.
Reese is sitting at the far end of the bar, staring at one of the more peculiar patrons of Milliways without trying to make it look as though she's actually staring.
She's just never seen anyone that - blue before.
Shaking her head, she stares down into the dregs of her coffee mug. Even after all this time, she's still trying to convince herself she's not hallucinating any of this.
Beckett is trying to remember the last time the bar surprised her in the middle of the night on the way to the bathroom.
By the way she's looking around, slowly blinking sleep from her eyes: it was a very long time ago.
She's already awake; she's got a call about a double murder in Greenwich Village, but Bar makes better coffee than she could at this hour, and she'll be able to get a real jump-start on her morning this way.
(She's not awake enough to realize her thoughts are starting to drift to the kind that are not related to work in any way, shape or form.)
Last, but certainly not least, there's a doctor in the house - with daughter in tow.
Cuddy has seemingly mastered the ability to hold Rachel with one hand and sip her afternoon latte with the other.
It really is the little things in life sometimes.
[ tiny tags: dani reese, mark hoffman, otto chriek ]
[ ooc: open until their nexts. ]