Diane wasn't, actually, on 'duty' at the moment. Though she expected if the Butler caught her fraternizing she'd find a cloth and some cleaner shoved into her hands rather swiftly.
Still, even servants get meal breaks so she's popping into the kitchen with the plan to fix herself up a toasty sandwich and whatever else she can find to go with it when she sees the linzer debacle.
"Oh......wow. I didn't know you could make cookies explode."
"Well, that's something, at least." Though she still blows a wavy strand of powdered sugar dusted hair out of her eyes before finally giving up and setting aside the jam. Clearly, after all, linzers aren't happening, possibly ever.
"You're new...ish, right?" It's not like the Deck was Ellis Island, after all. New people arrived enough for it not be weird, but it wasn't an everyday, in droves sort of thing.
Decided to go with Julien too anywayacethatmattersDecember 9 2012, 02:26:12 UTC
He'd only wanted some tea and perhaps a biscuit of some description. He certainly didn't plan on encountering Zoe in the midst of a baking blitz and a kitchen covered in jam and sugar.
Forgive him if he's left speechless for a few moments.
Fantastic. Really. Fantastic that any Face Card came in on this, really, though Clive and Katya would probably just be amused at the situation - as long as it was cleaned up before Chives came in and shuddered at the mess.
Alas, it's Julien, and Zoe just rubs at her eyebrow, trying to get it clean of jam as she blinks sheepishly.
"Baking?" Because, really, if Julien thought Victor had an apartment with a kitchen, he was sadly mistaken. And if he thought Zoe had been assigned a room as a Four with a kitchenette - well, that was also a no.
And it was one of the reasons she was checking out family suites in her spare time.
She wrinkles her nose and picks up a cloth though, wiping at where she thinks most of the jam is.
Phone CallmaskofheartsDecember 9 2012, 06:27:32 UTC
"//Is it a bad time?//" He has to ask, in French, because the sound of cursing is rare from Zoe. Then again, he also has to ask in French because Aunt Debbie is under the impression he was born in Paris, and has thus far tried to correct everyone in saying his name- 'no, no it is Aidan, right? You say it like Aidan in French.' Which was then followed with a half-hours worth of 'how do they say this is French' and asking all about what growing up in France was like.
He was lucky, he supposed, that he had run off to Paris for a couple of days.
The phone ringing gave her a good excuse to back away from the mess, though it took her a second to summon her French up.
"/Ah, not a bad time, exactly. Just remind me to never attempt baking anything with jam again./" She pauses and eyes the whole kitchen. "/Maybe nothing at all again. How's Chicago?/"
"//You needed reminding in the first place?//" He asked, laughed a little as he shook his head and grinned. Not that it was probably nice of him, but it was a rather brotherly statement as he smiled at the phone.
"//Elisha says hello, and that Chicago is cold. Which he grumps about regularly- no matter where he is. I also don't know why I didn't believe him when he said everything is fried.//"
"Hey!" That wasn't in French, but some things just come across better in English. She just sighed, though, as she moved to run hot water into a bucket.
"//Chicago is always cold in December. That's what Chicago does. And it's humid oven in the summer./" Georgios had taken her twice when she was younger - though she knew better than to tell Hadyn why she knew. It's not like their father had even ever acknowledged he was more than hers, even when he was dying. "//What all is fried? I heard someone raving about fried pickles at the carnival this summer.//" Which was just an odd concept, really.
Michael had come into the kitchen to return a mug. He was expecting to see Chives or one of his indentured servants if he bumped into anyone. Instead he found Zoe standing in the middle of what looked like a warzone
( ... )
"Um. Not until April, actually." But it sounded nice to hear, so Zoe gave him a lopsided smile as she looked desperately around for a sponge. And possibly bleach.
"Does it, really? I made it myself, but it's too thin or the cookies were too warm, and I...should probably just patronize the bakeries in Town, maybe."
"Maybe you should bottle it up before you lose it to the floor," he said with a raised eyebrow and a mostly-harmless smirk. He was only teasing.
"And you could, but you're already halfway there. And there's nothing really that could top black smoke pouring out of one of the Castle's windows to brighten up the day." And ensure that their butler had multiple, successive heart attacks and died before 40.
"There's a few bakeries nearby but you're assuming Chives will let you walk after this."
"It's not quite dripping on the floor." Yet. But this would obviously be a good time to go for the sponge. Multiple sponges and a bucket of hot, soapy water.
"I made gingerbread and sugar cookies successfully," she said, slightly forlornly. "Maybe I need to stick with those and forget about anything that requires filling for a few years." She peeked up at Michael, cocking her head to one side. "Do you think there's any chance I might be saved if I say I was baking them for Victor?" Not that she was. Victor, while he had the admirable ability to eat everything she made, no matter how much of a failure it was, wasn't exactly one who sought out cookies and cakes and pies.
If she thinks she's going to Get Away without Someone finding out, then she has Grossly Underestimated the way the Chives have bred their children. True, he doesn't appear Immediately, but there will be no Covering This Up.
He trusted you, Favoured One, and This is what you did to his kitchen.
There will be Words about it once he's done snapping up a few Twos to begin the scrubbing and taken a knife himself to set to Excess Removal with an absolutely Stony expression.
I have not gotten to use this icon in months.headfollowheartDecember 9 2012, 18:58:25 UTC
Zoe flinches as Chives Enters, swallowing before her eyes drop to where she'd already started scrubbing the counter that had gotten the worse of the Raspberry Jam Valdez incident. Maybe she should have asked Aunt Maggie if she could bake there - at the very least, she was pretty sure Aunt Maggie would know exactly what went wrong, and thus it wouldn't have gone wrong.
But it had, so she goes back to work scrubbing jam and sugar off the counter before it hardens. "I'm sorry."
Her voice has him Pausing for just a few seconds, as if it hadn't actually Occurred to him that they should Acknowledge each other. Or, more likely, that he didn't yet have the Words for what needed saying.
The conclusion he comes to as he starts scraping again is simple enough.
Zoe has never sat so quickly in her life, probably. At least not since daily lectures about her inferiority at various skillsets essential to Charlotte Kattalakis' concept of an Ace were a regular part of her life, and that probably accounts, a bit, for the set, pale expression, the razor-sharp posture, and the laced fingers over her jam stained apron.
The mask doesn't go far enough, though, to disguise the slight worry in her eyes.
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Still, even servants get meal breaks so she's popping into the kitchen with the plan to fix herself up a toasty sandwich and whatever else she can find to go with it when she sees the linzer debacle.
"Oh......wow. I didn't know you could make cookies explode."
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"Though, um, I might claim that that's what happened. If anyone asks."
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And once she's actually eaten, she'll probably offer to help Zoe with her cleanup.
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"You're new...ish, right?" It's not like the Deck was Ellis Island, after all. New people arrived enough for it not be weird, but it wasn't an everyday, in droves sort of thing.
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Forgive him if he's left speechless for a few moments.
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Alas, it's Julien, and Zoe just rubs at her eyebrow, trying to get it clean of jam as she blinks sheepishly.
"...My lord?"
Honorifics seem wise.
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Because, seriously. This was just. Didn't she have her own kitchen for such things?
And before she can reply he'll nod toward her eyebrow, "you seem to have gotten some on you."
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And it was one of the reasons she was checking out family suites in her spare time.
She wrinkles her nose and picks up a cloth though, wiping at where she thinks most of the jam is.
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He was lucky, he supposed, that he had run off to Paris for a couple of days.
"//What are you doing?//"
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"/Ah, not a bad time, exactly. Just remind me to never attempt baking anything with jam again./" She pauses and eyes the whole kitchen. "/Maybe nothing at all again. How's Chicago?/"
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"//Elisha says hello, and that Chicago is cold. Which he grumps about regularly- no matter where he is. I also don't know why I didn't believe him when he said everything is fried.//"
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"//Chicago is always cold in December. That's what Chicago does. And it's humid oven in the summer./" Georgios had taken her twice when she was younger - though she knew better than to tell Hadyn why she knew. It's not like their father had even ever acknowledged he was more than hers, even when he was dying. "//What all is fried? I heard someone raving about fried pickles at the carnival this summer.//" Which was just an odd concept, really.
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"Does it, really? I made it myself, but it's too thin or the cookies were too warm, and I...should probably just patronize the bakeries in Town, maybe."
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"And you could, but you're already halfway there. And there's nothing really that could top black smoke pouring out of one of the Castle's windows to brighten up the day." And ensure that their butler had multiple, successive heart attacks and died before 40.
"There's a few bakeries nearby but you're assuming Chives will let you walk after this."
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"I made gingerbread and sugar cookies successfully," she said, slightly forlornly. "Maybe I need to stick with those and forget about anything that requires filling for a few years." She peeked up at Michael, cocking her head to one side. "Do you think there's any chance I might be saved if I say I was baking them for Victor?" Not that she was. Victor, while he had the admirable ability to eat everything she made, no matter how much of a failure it was, wasn't exactly one who sought out cookies and cakes and pies.
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He trusted you, Favoured One, and This is what you did to his kitchen.
There will be Words about it once he's done snapping up a few Twos to begin the scrubbing and taken a knife himself to set to Excess Removal with an absolutely Stony expression.
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But it had, so she goes back to work scrubbing jam and sugar off the counter before it hardens. "I'm sorry."
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The conclusion he comes to as he starts scraping again is simple enough.
"Sit."
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The mask doesn't go far enough, though, to disguise the slight worry in her eyes.
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