sunbaked_baker: (not so sure)
See, this is why Rae doesn't keep pets.

"Yeah, I know," Rae says guiltily, settling her irritated and low-powered T-Minus on the kitchen table with a generous amount of food. She makes sure it's feeding the way it should before straightening up and giving it an apologetic pat. "I'm sorry I've not been here. I left you food, but I didn't expect to be away so long, and I've been rather... preoccupied."

To say the least.

"I'll be around now, though," she reassures it (though she isn't sure how to tell if the T-Minus is reassured or not). "For a good while, I think."

After a night or two of decent sleep, she's steadier on her feet and feeling less frayed, but she is nowhere near ready to head back home again.

Satisfied that the T-Minus hasn't been irreparably harmed, but still keeping an eye on it, Rae puts her apron back on and moves to the other side of the kitchen to start pouring muffin batter (cranberry-orange) into a tray of muffin cups.
sunbaked_baker: (Cold ashes)
There was a lot to tell... )
sunbaked_baker: (Default)
The shortening days of November mean that 'evening' starts early in Milliways.

"Here we go," Rae says with good cheer, cradling a big bowl of popcorn in her arms as she holds open the door to her room, to let Autor bring the drinks in. "I think we're set."
sunbaked_baker: (Cold ashes)
When he and his wife divorced, Onyx Blaise kept custody of his daughter.

Raven Blaise grew up among her father's family, magic-handlers all. She was taught of her skill from a young age by her father, her grandmother, and later the masters she has been apprenticed to since she was ten. There was no disappearance of the Blaise family, but the Wars still happened. There is no coffeehouse in Raven Blaise's life; no cinnamon rolls as big as her head, either, though she does still like to dabble with recipes in the kitchen. There's something about it that is a lot like magic.

Raven is currently in her mid-twenties, and is currently nearing the end of her formal apprenticeship. She hasn't yet determined whether she will join one of the large wardmaking corporations or strike out on her own as a self-employed magic-handler, but she still has time to decide. The news is often pretty dire, even a decade after the Wars officially ended, but the future still seems pretty bright, to her.
sunbaked_baker: (blazing smile)
"I'm so ready for this lingering cough to quit," Rae mutters after clearing her throat and inviting Autor into her room. "It just doesn't want to give up yet."

She holds the door open for him with the hand holding the dvd box, the other carefully balancing two bowls - one large bowl of popcorn and a smaller bowl of many-flavored jelly beans - with ease of one who has worked in the food-service industry the majority of her life.
sunbaked_baker: (sleeping)
She still felt wretched when she swam back into consciousness, but her first, almost involuntary decision was to do something about it. The knowledge of having lain in her bed for days, littering the floor beside it with used tissues which missed the trashcan but that she was too exhausted to get up and throw away properly... it repulsed her.

Though her balance was not great, she made it to the bathroom and took the hottest shower she could stand. Then, when she felt marginally more in control and free of some of the feeling of having been ill for the past week, the problems arose.

Her closet, which normally would have been filled to the brim with elegant and delightful things to feel against one's skin, things to feel powerful in, was somehow reduced to a row of cheap, tasteless shirts, most in eye-searing colors, and trousers. Oh, there were a couple of decent blouses and skirts in the laundry bin - she vaguely remembered wearing them - but she wasn't about to air her dirty laundry, even non-metaphorically. The only thing in the closet that spoke to her was the finely beaded evening dress that had been shoved to the back. Among the rough and heavy shoes in the bottom of the closet, there was even a delicate pair of silver heels to go with it.

She held the dress against herself and turned this way and that before the full-length mirror of the closet doors. This was event-wear, not for everyday. Something to be seen in when you wanted to make a statement. Well, she did want to make a statement, didn't she, if even just to herself for now. If you didn't look sick, or act sick, surely you could convince yourself that you weren't sick. And then wouldn't feel sick. And maybe you could convince others as well. That was the hope, but she would have to be thorough in order to be convincing.

Good thing that was something she excelled at, then.

From the feet up.
sunbaked_baker: (blazing unsure)
Rae had been so careful putting her towel and clothes out of reach when she had reached the Caribbean inlet, specifically so she wouldn't have to worry about them while she swam. Apparently she hadn't put them high enough. When she had waded back out of the water two hours later, all that was left of her towel was a few torn and singed cotton threads, and her clothes were nowhere to be seen. Not even her coat.

It was enough to make one wonder if 'demon bunny' could constitute an actual curse. May your teeth fall out, your crops rot, and demon bunnies nick all your stuff.

The weather was warm enough at the Caribbean inlet, but Rae was wet and weary, and while winter was technically on its way out of the pseudo-Scottish countryside, it was still plenty chilly, and the muddy ground was frigid under her bare feet.

Her teeth were chattering by the time she reached the bar room's back door - the key to her room had been in her coat pocket, anyway, so she figured she might as well go directly in. The Bar's offerings of a fluffy (whole, and unsinged!) towel and a thick bathrobe are much appreciated.
sunbaked_baker: (in her element)
Rae has to remind herself to be mindful of Autor's impaired state and his sprained ankle as they leave the bar room behind. She doesn't want to hurt him, but she has to call on reserves of patience and fortitude she didn't know she had just to keep herself from hurrying him along.

Her heartbeat is loud in her ears, over the ongoing sounds of Autor's drowsy banter as she helps him up the stairs, her jaw clenched tight. Apart from being happily drunk, he is fine. Not hurt in any way.

They are halfway down the last hall to Autor's room when the words burst forth.

"What the everloving fuck do you think you're doing, Autor?" she says miserably, swaying from his weight as she stops, unable to continue.
sunbaked_baker: (blazing unsure)
They were kind, at least... )
sunbaked_baker: (sun-self)
The Bar gave her the dress Dr. Lecter had commissioned - commissioned for her - in a garment bag to keep it from dirt or damage as she took it upstairs, so it's only once she's alone in her room that Sunshine sees what has been made for her. And it's probably a good thing, because for a minute or so she can only stare.

It's beautiful.

The top of the dress is palest lavender - almost silver-white - covered in delicate, shining semi-circles of tiny beads, like layered scales covering the smooth fabric. But it's the many colors of the skirt flaring below that make Sunshine smile. From the high band of red-orange fabric come fantastically beaded points of red and gold and violet and orange, warm colors shining in glimmering beadwork scales that flare just above her knee into a skirt like a vivid watercolor sunset, all red-gold warmth shot through with deep purple. It's hard for her to comprehend something so beautiful is hers.

But she can't stand and stare at it forever, she tells herself, however much she'd like to. She must get ready.


The image of the dress lingers in her mind as she showers under the hot water, and afterwards, toweling her hair dry in the lily of the valley-scented steam. It's only after Rae has dried and brushed her hair - she has the feeling that she should wear her hair up when wearing such a dress, but has no skills in doing anything fancier than a ponytail, braid, or bun, so she leaves her hair down, to tumble about her shoulders in loose waves - that she approaches the dress again, and dares to touch it.

The fabric under her hand is cool and soft, smooth to the touch.

When Rae at last tries it on, it fits her like a glove, a glove of fine fabric and masterful beadwork. Except for all the scars - the dress leaves the majority of them on display, she notes with an odd feeling in her stomach - Rae would hardly recognize herself. Hardly recognize the baker who sells cinnamon rolls for a living. She might as well be looking at a stranger in her mirror. A stranger with her face, her scars, and her amber sun-ring upon its silk cord about their neck.

The shoes are almost an afterthought, after everything else, pale silver-white to match the bodice of the dress, with a silver strap curving smoothly across the top of her foot from outer ankle to alongside her big toe. But they somehow make it feel real. That this is her, still just her, just in different trappings.

Taking a breath and another glance at the mirror, Rae gathers her nerve, and steps out of her room.
sunbaked_baker: (blazing smile)
It takes a bit of juggling, what with the large bowl of popcorn, the smaller bowl of other snacks balanced on top, the movie, and her keys, but Rae eventually is able to open the door to her room and let them both in.

"Success!" she says, holding the door open for Autor to come in bearing the teapot and cups on their tray.
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