@liaavery
James looked down at the plate in front of him. It was fair to say that he was not a cook: he hadn’t inherited his grandmother’s abilities, nor had he traveled abroad like his brother. Though, admittedly, even if he had, cooking would have been far from his focus. Still, you’d have thought James would have learned how to prepare something as simple as a cooked chicken. “Sorry,” he started, fingertips tapping against the counter as his shoulder shrugged high, “thought if I went higher, I could cook it shorter. Not right?” Though he asked it, the grimace James wore was proof that he knew the answer. “Prob’ly best ‘ta go for some take in then, yea?”









