(Untitled)

[sunbaked_baker]

Today's dismal weather (both in New Arcadia and at Milliways) has made Sunshine wonder how one goes about putting a permanent ban on winter. The day was so dark with rain that the streetlights around the coffeehouse hadn't gone off until nearly noon. Everyone had been cranky and tired - Sunshine included

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[vojvode]

There's a presence in the room where before there was none, a breath of cool mountain air where before there was only the heat of the ovens.

He hangs back in the shadows, watching her work, carefully working his gloves from his fingers. A light coating of Scottish snow still clings to the shoulders of his long overcoat, rapidly melting in the kitchen's heat.

"Good evening, my lady."

[sunbaked_baker]

Rae can feel him there behind her, a presence, an alignment passing from somewhere behind her ribs, out through her left shoulder-blade and to rest in the shadows near the door.

She looks over her shoulder at where she knows he'll be, a slight smile there for him.

"Evening," she replies.

It's cold outside, but with the ovens on, the kitchen is in the upper levels of 'toasty'. Sunshine might as well be dressed for summer - yellow tank-top and bluejeans (somewhat protected by her apron), and red sneakers.

[vojvode]

He does not cross the threshold, content to merely lean against the frame and watch her. The warmth of her magic is enticing, and perhaps it leaves him a bit wary, unfamiliar as he is with her new skills.

His head falls to one side, and his lips purse.

Such unconventional clothing is one of the things he appreciates most about these modern women.

[sunbaked_baker]

They certainly allow one to move more easily and quickly: reaching bare arms up to take laden trays out of ovens; swinging each tray in a controlled arc to rest on a wire frame to cool; taking off the protective oven mitts as she steps back to turn the ovens to a new temperature, for the tray of cinnamon rolls - big, cinnamony spirals of risen dough - ready to go in.

Her thoughts are mostly on the work before her, and the song that she has been trying to get out of her head since Kyoko was singing it in the kitchen at the coffeehouse, earlier.

Though now that he is here, a portion of her thoughts are on him. There is a vampire, if not in the room, then at the door. This vampire. Him. Watching her. She can feel it.

And somehow, though she knows exactly what it is that watches her, she doesn't mind.

[cloakandclaw]

It is, he feels, every bit his right to patrol as much of this place as he can. That's not limited to the forest outside or to the areas around the bar, but to the hallways leading to the rooms, to the kitchens, to anywhere else in this... jumble and collection of spaces. That aside, while he may be older than he looks, capable of immense destruction, and harboring a severe secret, there's a side of him that's still very human and that side... is not immune to the pleasure of scent, of odors, especially those things that linger and remind him of other, happier times

[sunbaked_baker]

Rae is in the process of taking a pan of piping hot brownies down from the top oven, hands protected by oven mitts. Carefully changing her grip on the pan, she swings the tray across in a controlled arc to rest on the wire racks to cool.

She's not dressed for winter - with good reason. It's on the hotter side of toasty with the ovens going. A coat hangs and a pair of boots sit over by the corner, though, showing signs of a recent attempt at finding some December sunlight outside.

"Oh, hi Vincent," says Sunshine, smiling as she takes off the oven mitts. "Didn't hear you come in."

She doesn't seem worried.

Still not a vampire, Vincent.

[cloakandclaw]

No one hears him enter, no one hears him leave: he sees to it. After thirty years of inactivity, he's honed stealth into its own art. He had all those years to think of ways not to be seen, not to be found.

It worked for three decades... more or less. He can't chalk that up to his own personal brilliance. Rather, it was that the basement at Shinra Mansion was ill-inhabited, its entry patrolled by a monster.

At least some of the time. Here, he shakes off the reminiscence and nods.

"Rae." Folding his arms across his chest, he leans against the wall. "You're baking."

That... is a prime example of overstating the obvious.

[sunbaked_baker]

She's not been sleeping well - and it shows a bit, around her eyes.

"Ta-da," she declares, smiling wryly as she sets the ovens to a lower temperature so she can put in a pan of cinnamon rolls the approximate size of human skulls.

"Told you you'd be likely to find me here if you came around when there's baking going on," Rae says, setting a timer.