She likes this - more than she has any right to. The domestic nature that they've fallen into. After all the bullshit they've gone through, it's a nice reprieve. For a brief moment, Birdie's care makes her want to forget about the fucking pasta and jump on her. But instead, she staves that reaction for later, and pulls her off towards the plates.
Lara'd taste tested some of the sauce already - of course with the blood - and it had been great, but she wants to see Birdie's reaction before digging in. Sliding over the plate, she sits down and waits with her chin in her hands.
"I was thinking, by the way - maybe I could start dancing again? Have a mask as a gimmick?"
Birdie spools pasta onto a fork, and, after a moment of bracing herself for that weird void of ashy non-flavor that food has become in this life, finds it's almost too much when it hits her tongue. The aroma itself fills all the space in her mouth, sense of taste almost overstimulated after more than ten years of disuse. Her eyes go widen, and her crooked jaw rolls it around a bit before she smiles, tight-lipped as always, but enthusiastic at Lara. "S'really fuckin' good." She says.
She looks up from a second bite when Lara speaks. "Yeah?" A part of her hates the thought of a mask - wants to tell her she doesn't need it. But Birdie knows better by now - knows what the injury etched into Lara's face has done. "I think you should." She says, elbows resting on the table.
