“what is this nonsense?”
The sudden question has Boone peeking up, timidly, from the odd concoction mixed together in one of the big bowls on the counter. The natural brown eye dilated due to his last hit off weed making him look a tad deranged, really though he’s quite happy save for being caught trying to cook something red handed. There is one major rule in Kitts’ house; Boone doesn’t touch the kitchen, yet here he is with what can only be described as him putting various strange ingredients into a washing machine then dumping it into a mixing bowl after the wash cycle.
That hint of marijuana wafts through the air giving away the fact that he’d been smoking for a while before starting this, possibly adding some to it in the process. Regardless he knows, he knows there will be a price to pay. That the chance of having something thrown at his head or a boot to the ass is nearly at 100%. He’s aware of this yet all he can think to do in a slight laps in judgment is hold the spoon out toward her, grease covered bread crumbs (possibly literal grease, knowing Boone), and what looks to be paper. “Want a bite?”
Without waiting on a response he shoves it into his mouth then makes a face while chewing, his brain trying to recognize what flavor comes from where. Both eyes water as he swallows it then flinches, a shiver of either disgust or a chill shooting up his body.