[ Getting deranged and hysterical in Vietnam's kitchen wouldn't be conducive to anyone's good time, alright. She might have to call the cops on him, explain to all of his relatives and close friends why he had a mental breakdown over an amorphous clump of faintly foul-smelling cake batter and at least two whole batches of wasted pastry materials.
He hasn't even accounted for the thick veneer of baking powder and flour coating their clothes and smeared all over their arms, like they've started to metabolize into cooking ingredients themselves, one misstep away from turning into the nightmare of professional pastry chefs everywhere: amateurs. Horrifying.
Furthermore, this is exclusively Makoto's fault, and while he's grateful she doesn't pull her punches, it doesn't solve the present issue of the disaster site that the kitchen has become. Startling at the hand pressed reassuringly along his back, he nearly adds a bottle of vanilla extract to the mess, swiping up the bottle mid-fall and saving them from the tinkling crash of broken glass. ]
Don't mind me! I wasn't the one who ended up doused in flour.
[ You know, after he (nearly) freaked out and sent powder up in wispy clouds. Call him out for this terrible treatment, Vietnam. She deserves so much better.
With an off-kilter impulsiveness to his movements, he takes a wash towel and swabs what he can of her left arm, moving the next limb just as fast. ]
no subject
He hasn't even accounted for the thick veneer of baking powder and flour coating their clothes and smeared all over their arms, like they've started to metabolize into cooking ingredients themselves, one misstep away from turning into the nightmare of professional pastry chefs everywhere: amateurs. Horrifying.
Furthermore, this is exclusively Makoto's fault, and while he's grateful she doesn't pull her punches, it doesn't solve the present issue of the disaster site that the kitchen has become. Startling at the hand pressed reassuringly along his back, he nearly adds a bottle of vanilla extract to the mess, swiping up the bottle mid-fall and saving them from the tinkling crash of broken glass. ]
Don't mind me! I wasn't the one who ended up doused in flour.
[ You know, after he (nearly) freaked out and sent powder up in wispy clouds. Call him out for this terrible treatment, Vietnam. She deserves so much better.
With an off-kilter impulsiveness to his movements, he takes a wash towel and swabs what he can of her left arm, moving the next limb just as fast. ]