DATE & TIME: july 16 1845, 3:05pm LOCATION: the kitchens of the promethean STATUS: closed for @lijinmarked
the soft creak of the floorboards has her head snapping up, an instinct sharpened by the cold of the arctic, knife-grips tensing. it feels too much like a dream, girl ready to be jolted awake and staring into the eyes of what should be dead, screaming out against corpses of friends begging to be joined.
a deep breath, a struggle to remember how to be a thing unsharpened; conscious effort to not let this damned ice and cold take any more than it already has from her. she smiles the way she thinks she used to at the new guest by the door, shoulders relaxing.
“sorry about that, i — i was startled. i promise i am not usually so... like this.” a light laugh, curling stray strands around ears, a nervous habit. “actually, perhaps you could help me? i am not quite familiar with the, ah — placement of some things.”
“do you know where is the... ahm... the... louche?” the tries, miming with her hands. “la louche? it’s for ah... soup.”
