bryxwnlock.
To be honest Bryx hadn’t the slightest idea about baking. He knew his mother was a decent one and his grandmother as well but he wasn’t really sure he was the person to be able to help with this. What he did know was frustration and whether his housemate knew it, he was exuding it. And it may have been bold to think this, but he also wanted to keep in the dorm they’d all started to call their home for the while they’d be in school. And even with Percy saying it was alright, that he’d had it under control, Bryx didn’t entirely believe that. Especially from the look on his face after he’d dipped his finger to get a taste.
“Well.” He’d started, contemplating whether or not touching that batter was in his best interest or not. Bryx bent over the island and folded his arms over one another. “I’d say from the looks of it it may need a bit more sugar and a smidge more flour.” He’d concluded upon peering into the bowl. It didn’t look like it couldn’t be saved and if he wasn’t so quick to pick up on the sister part, he’d have just said to scrap the whole damn thing. People did things differently when they were working through something. Though to what that was, Bryx couldn’t say, he just figured perhaps to fix it would be easier. “And I’d say a bit of cinnamon. But only if the recipe calls for it.” He’d tugged the elastic off his wrist, pulling his long hair backwards. Not that he was going to be the baking but he also didn’t want to risk ruining them with his abnormally long locks. “What sort of bread or cake or biscuits is this meant to be?”
Percy wasn’t allowed to touch the oven or stove at home. His mom didn’t trust him. Although, she didn’t trust him to walk outside and get the mail, so he figured her bar was low for trust. Percy hadn’t given her any reason not to trust him, other than that one time that he accidentally almost burnt his hand on the stove and the one time he fell asleep in the oven, which his mom almost turned on to cook dinner. Okay, maybe there were a lot of reasons that his mom should not trust him. Percy missed home. He missed being able to talk to his sister and his mom every day other than just by owl. So baking was a good way to connect with his sister. Maybe he’d get good enough at one recipe that when he went home, he could impress her with an amazing meal. Percy doubted it. He couldn’t handle being in the kitchen for more than a few minutes at a time. He was already getting distracted now that there was someone else in the room with him.
“Are you a baker?” Percy asked, abandoning the bowl of dough-like material and brushing the flour off himself a bit. He wanted to learn from someone that knew something about baking, rather than just continue to sit around as if he knew what he was doing. He was more curious about the conversation than finishing the actual task he’d been doing. This is why he could never get anything done. “Cinnamon! Of course, that’s what they’re missing.” Percy ran to the cabinet with the spices and dug around for the cinnamon, grabbing it. He raced back towards the bowl and dumped a bunch of cinnamon in, mixing it together. “Um... I don’t know, but my sister makes them all the time. She says it’s very easy.”











