[ it doesn't make his smile easier to bear. in fact there is a crackling static in her ears as she watches him move around the kitchen, fetching a preposterously large cleaver to slice a piece of toast. she stands there watching him, bemused, holding the book to her chest, despite his directions and manic smile.
well, listening to anthony lockwood is only sometimes one of her talents.
eventually her brain becomes accustomed to that smile and the static fades, lucy shaking her head like she can clear the fog. better the ghostly static than the flush she sometimes gets when he smiles at her. she opens the cabinet, pulls out a plate. ]
I may be used to you being strange in the kitchen but this isn't our kitchen, Lockwood.
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well, listening to anthony lockwood is only sometimes one of her talents.
eventually her brain becomes accustomed to that smile and the static fades, lucy shaking her head like she can clear the fog. better the ghostly static than the flush she sometimes gets when he smiles at her. she opens the cabinet, pulls out a plate. ]
I may be used to you being strange in the kitchen but this isn't our kitchen, Lockwood.
[ perhaps a butter knife next time. ]