...how can anyone frown when they've got cookies cooling on trays right next to them? Did the cookies offend her?
Or is it just the kid who's sniffed the air and peered up over the back of a couch to spy those cookies, the blonde one who looks like he's plotting the best way to sneak up and steal a couple.
Tiwa spots him and smiles, waving him over, "They're still sort of hot and not decorated yet."
The cookies are in Christmas and New Zealand shapes; trees, ferns, rugby balls, santa hats, a sort of star shape that will end up as a Pohutukawa flower.
"That's when they're good! They're warm and sweet and perfect for cold milk!" Tyler answers back, grinning, and hopping over the back of the couch with a binder clutched in one hand.
Arthur has been banished from his kitchen by the cook (he employs a cook now. Or rather, his wife does, but he still lives in a house with a cook), which he thinks is grossly unfair, as his five-year-old sister-in-law(/foster daughter, really) was allowed to stay. But he? He got threatened with a rolling pin, and so he hastily retreated.
"Ah, blessed Tiwa," he croons, swooping a biscuit up with his elegant fingers.
He's good at hugs! His mother (his real mother, not the woman who birthed him and then vanished into the sea) trained him well. So, he hugs her back, one hand going up to stroke her hair.
There is a tall, broad-shouldered man in a white hooded Arabic robe in the doorway, coming in right after Tiwa has put down her cookies.
He stays in the doorway, looking around. Behind him, there seems to be a busy soukh, with the clang of hammers on copper, and men arguing, and the scent of a thousand spices, camel dung, and drying dater (surprisingly unpleasant!), drifting in with the hooded figure.
There are faint, acrid smells from the leather-workers' soukh a bit further away, wood smoke, and incense. But the dates are fairly pervasive, sweet and cloying and a bit decaying, and an unpleasantly savoury after-tang.
And horse.
The man leaning in the door looks back, as if to see whether anybody in the soukh has noticed.
Tiwa knows his hair anywhere and is caught between a desire to hug him and sink into the floor. Instead she starts to crumble a cookie and waves to him.
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Or is it just the kid who's sniffed the air and peered up over the back of a couch to spy those cookies, the blonde one who looks like he's plotting the best way to sneak up and steal a couple.
You know. For taste testing purposes.
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The cookies are in Christmas and New Zealand shapes; trees, ferns, rugby balls, santa hats, a sort of star shape that will end up as a Pohutukawa flower.
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His grin is infectious and she looks for a rat, her smiles not quite as bright but getting there.
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Arthur has been banished from his kitchen by the cook (he employs a cook now. Or rather, his wife does, but he still lives in a house with a cook), which he thinks is grossly unfair, as his five-year-old sister-in-law(/foster daughter, really) was allowed to stay. But he? He got threatened with a rolling pin, and so he hastily retreated.
"Ah, blessed Tiwa," he croons, swooping a biscuit up with his elegant fingers.
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"I was gone that long?"
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She looks up and smiles at him, it almost gets her eyes as she's been not talking about things.
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"Start of November though you'd probably think it felt like August."
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He stays in the doorway, looking around. Behind him, there seems to be a busy soukh, with the clang of hammers on copper, and men arguing, and the scent of a thousand spices, camel dung, and drying dater (surprisingly unpleasant!), drifting in with the hooded figure.
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And horse.
The man leaning in the door looks back, as if to see whether anybody in the soukh has noticed.
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James Potter has, after a very long time of not seeing a Door, entered the Bar.
[ooc: totally optional to tag or not tag!]
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Tiwa knows his hair anywhere and is caught between a desire to hug him and sink into the floor. Instead she starts to crumble a cookie and waves to him.
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He waves back, coming towards her.
"Hullo, you." He grins, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"
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"Yup, too long."
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