(Untitled)

[sunbaked_baker]

Stop the presses; it's official. Rae didn't like being sick. Not one bit. Her throat hurt and she felt achy all over- not at all like her usual self

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[scots_wolf]

"Hello, Sunshine," Urquhart says. "Nice robe, but you look quite iffy. I guess did catch cold now?"

[sunbaked_baker]

"Do you like it?" she says brightly, and turning to show it off to advantage. "I just love the feel of satin against the skin, don't you? Almost as good as fur."

"And no." Her smile is bright, though perhaps part of the brightness in her eyes is fever. "I'm just fine. Just a little under the weather."

[scots_wolf]

Urquhart looks at her oddly.

"I'm not completely convinced," he admits.

[sunbaked_baker]

Turning quickly away, she's caught by a fit of coughing - she can't help it - and it doesn't sound like it's the first such fit. There is much clearing of the throat and delicate tucking of hair back behind her ear, afterwards. "I'm sure it'll clear up by tonight. It's has to."

Rae grimaces slightly, rubbing her aching, chilled arms. "I'd planned to make apple turnovers, tonight. And I can't be hacking my head off while messing with people's food. Nick would be furious."

[scots_wolf]

"Who is Nick?" Urquhart asks.

Wasn't her boss called Charlie?

[sunbaked_baker]

For a moment just a look of confusion answers him.

Seriously, who's Nick?

But then, a try for a bright smile again. It's faltery, and cycles through shades of false joy, dislike and hidden fear before stabilizing. "Nick's the owner of the Scarlet Peacock. He's letting me live in one of his apartments."

Wait, doesn't she live upstairs from Yolande?

[scots_wolf]

"What?" Urquhart says. "Isn't your landlady called Yolande?"

[sunbaked_baker]

"Yolande? Who-" is all the reply she is able to get out before another coughing fit catches her.

"Of course she is."

[scots_wolf]

"But then," Urquhart says, "but then who is the Scarlet Peacock? That sounds uncharacteristically melodramatic."

[sunbaked_baker]

"Oh that's Nick's club," she says, blinking at him, wide-eyed. She continues, hesitantly, "I'm supposed to sing there tonight..." Is she? "...after the party."

Nervousness suffused even the smile on her face. And not just nervousness. It's more a kind of fluttering need to stay smiling brightly and on top of things, with fear and desperation waiting in the wings. "No one's going to want to hear me coughing through the songs."

[scots_wolf]

"You're a baker, not a singer," Urquhart points out.

[sunbaked_baker]

There's a light, socialite laugh, an automatic response. "Oh darling, I'm completely useless in the kitchen."

[scots_wolf]

Whut??

"Oh no, you're the best baker I know!"

[sunbaked_baker]

The confused grimace, as though her head hurts (and it does), is back.

"Wait... what? Oh man, my head..." Lightheaded doesn't even cover it.

[scots_wolf]

"You're very sick," Urquhart declares. "There were rumours about a special flu going around..."

[sunbaked_baker]

"Oh of course," she groans, swaying. "One must go all-out when one has years and years of never getting sick to make up for."