(no subject)
If truth is told, the one thing that Daisy misses most outside of work is Der Waffle Haus. She misses the quaint little music in the background and good god, but she misses Kiffany's hustle and bustle and perky spirit. The food's a good thing, too, but she's not Rube and she's not about to drop a monologue about the perfection of raisins.
It's with the homesickness in mind that she stands in the kitchen and hums a little ditty from the Andrews Sisters in the forties, flipping pancakes and setting them on a tall stack on a plate, flapjacks at your service.
They keep growing higher and higher, but maybe it's because Daisy's not doing this so much for consumption as she is for the smell. Every once in a while, she sings a lyric loud and without shame because she's done this all her life. Why bother with embarrassment when the only things that won't (can't) kill you will make you stronger. So she's a dead girl and so she's away from home and reaping?
She's got pancakes on the rise and there they go. She thinks that it's a shame that Georgia isn't here for this and she's not touched that waffle-maker since her pretty little peach vanished away from her, but she makes a stack for all the denizens of the Haus out of deference to them, even if Mason never appreciates the taste because he's so fucking high and Roxy really just doesn't appreciate the taste because...well, can you taste anything properly when your mouth is so scrunched up in distaste at the whole world?
She keeps flipping and singing, singing and flipping and the whole world's a stage and all its pancakes are players.
It's with the homesickness in mind that she stands in the kitchen and hums a little ditty from the Andrews Sisters in the forties, flipping pancakes and setting them on a tall stack on a plate, flapjacks at your service.
They keep growing higher and higher, but maybe it's because Daisy's not doing this so much for consumption as she is for the smell. Every once in a while, she sings a lyric loud and without shame because she's done this all her life. Why bother with embarrassment when the only things that won't (can't) kill you will make you stronger. So she's a dead girl and so she's away from home and reaping?
She's got pancakes on the rise and there they go. She thinks that it's a shame that Georgia isn't here for this and she's not touched that waffle-maker since her pretty little peach vanished away from her, but she makes a stack for all the denizens of the Haus out of deference to them, even if Mason never appreciates the taste because he's so fucking high and Roxy really just doesn't appreciate the taste because...well, can you taste anything properly when your mouth is so scrunched up in distaste at the whole world?
She keeps flipping and singing, singing and flipping and the whole world's a stage and all its pancakes are players.