The turtle wished that it could fly
Who: Giselle and Stevie, open to Kisa.
What: These days, every day is Hug-A-Robin day.
Where: The Kent kitchen.
When: Anytime this week.
It felt completely weird to be messing around Giselle's kitchen, even if he did live here too. Stevie remembered more or less how Tifa's place worked, and he'd been around to Jilly's much more recently, but he'd never really figured his way around the one in his own house.
It was about time. The boy kind of figured he owed Kisa an afternoon since she'd helped him to the clinic, and he could bring a batch of cookies or something over to Dick and Jilly's later to make up for whatever it was he'd done that had gotten them all ruffled. (Okay, so maybe he'd treated the both of them like idiots. They were idiots.) Besides, he reasoned, maybe if they got some sweet stuff while they were little kids, they'd quit sampling candy.
With all this in mind, he juggled the basic flour-sugar-butter setup into place, making mental notes of where everything was as he went. He fished a mixing bowl out from under the silverware with two fingers, and tossed it up to the countertop with a flat-sounding clang that echoed in the empty kitchen.
What: These days, every day is Hug-A-Robin day.
Where: The Kent kitchen.
When: Anytime this week.
It felt completely weird to be messing around Giselle's kitchen, even if he did live here too. Stevie remembered more or less how Tifa's place worked, and he'd been around to Jilly's much more recently, but he'd never really figured his way around the one in his own house.
It was about time. The boy kind of figured he owed Kisa an afternoon since she'd helped him to the clinic, and he could bring a batch of cookies or something over to Dick and Jilly's later to make up for whatever it was he'd done that had gotten them all ruffled. (Okay, so maybe he'd treated the both of them like idiots. They were idiots.) Besides, he reasoned, maybe if they got some sweet stuff while they were little kids, they'd quit sampling candy.
With all this in mind, he juggled the basic flour-sugar-butter setup into place, making mental notes of where everything was as he went. He fished a mixing bowl out from under the silverware with two fingers, and tossed it up to the countertop with a flat-sounding clang that echoed in the empty kitchen.