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Mira sniffed and rolled over in bed. She could smell food wafting in through the open bedroom door and frowned. She wasn’t quite willing to get out of bed just yet, so she snuggled into the arms of whomever was currently clinging to her, refusing to open her eyes for now.
She couldn’t remember whose bedroom they’d ended up in last night, but it was probably Rumi’s again - she’d been nesting since they’d started their latest vacation, so more often than not they all ended up in here. Demon instincts or something. They were all still getting used to it.
Food sounded just grand though, and her stomach rumbled, announcing that she wasn’t going to be allowed to go back to sleep until her belly was sated. Hmmm… but who was doing the cooking? Maybe Bobby had come in and was making them all a treat, but a quick stretch of her arms told her that it was either Rumi or Zoey because their bed was sans one member.
Stubborn, she kept her eyes tightly shut and considered the two women. As far as food went, they tended to just order in because it was easier. If there was a kitchen involved, the cooks were usually Bobby, who was so talented at cooking that he should just open a restaurant, but he refused because he didn’t want his attention taken away from his girls, or Mira herself. Rumi was a good enough cook, but she only knew traditional recipes, learned from Celine. Mira, at least, knew a few good modern dishes.
Zoey… well, Zoey had grown up in America. And that made her concoctions very scary.
Mira opened her eyes and found that it was Rumi curled into her side. Crap. She nudged her demon and got a deep growl in response, claws growing to dig into her side clingily, a dangerous sign that told her that her lover was not going to be getting out of bed anytime soon. The purple-haired woman hadn’t even woken up.
With some effort, Mira managed to extract herself, leaving the other woman a pillow to snuggle with instead, and padded out into the penthouse proper so she could get a good look on the situation.
Slowly, she crept, stalking her unwary prey.
Zoey was most indeed in the kitchen, her headphones in, dancing, singing softly to Golden as she worked. Mira’s eyes narrowed, and she took stock of the ingredients strewn about the counters of their kitchen.
Frozen waffles, normal. Eggs, normal. Salt - she cringed in fear and mentally made a note to increase her water intake for the day, because Zoey oversalted absolutely everything, even instant noodle broth - black pepper, chives, aleppo pepper, cheese, butter; she cringed again and knew that she’d have to take a handful of dairy pills too. Maple syrup. She was feeling hopeful at the spread, thinking that maybe there was going to be a normal breakfast waiting for all of them for once. Sliced deli ham. Well… that wasn’t necessarily a bad sign on its own.
She slunk in closer, a lion watching an unwary antelope, and crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. The scent of eggs cooking wasn’t unpleasant, and Zoey put most of the seasonings and cheese directly on the eggs, humming and shaking her ass as she danced. Opportunistic, Mira smirked and watched the sweet jiggle of her butt in her sleep clothes, because she was still in her pajamas.
Of course, it had to go weird. Zoey laid out the waffles on plates, buttered them, doused them in maple syrup, and laid the eggs directly on top of them, before placing the slices of ham on top of that, and then closed it up with another waffle like a terrible sandwich. Ah.
“What are you making?” Mira finally spoke, carefully keeping the judgement out of her voice, and Zoey jumped in surprise. She turned and pulled off her headphones, smiling so very sweetly.
“Breakfast sandwiches!” She offered the plate to Mira.
Mira accepted it without question and looked down at the concoction. Well… it wasn’t the weirdest thing Zoey had ever made. That went to the peanut butter-and-banana hot dogs. “You know, there’s a McDonald’s down the street. We could have ordered delivery if you’d wanted American.”
“McDonald’s isn’t made with my love,” Zoey batted her eyes, eyes dashing between Mira’s face and her syrup coated sandwich. Hopeful. Doting, exasperated, Mira picked one up and took a bite.
She licked her lips. “Or your sodium content.”
“I used less salt than usual this time!”
“Use less than that next time. However much you think is “less”, use even less than that.”
Zoey pouted for a microsecond before cheering up again immediately. “Let’s go wake Rumi!”