Uhmm. . . ( with a nod, she sticks her hand back into the sink, letting it soak with a sniff; at the very least, she's stopped crying, leftover tears wiped onto her sleeve. ) Oh - I wanted to cook. . . .
- oh, it's cold! ( legs bending, toes curling in as she feels the cooling sensation, and she has to pause to think, ) Uhm. . . . eggs. . . and milk. . . . and bread?
Uhm - ! ( she'd opened her mouth to ask a question but badou's own question makes her stop, glancing over to the bandage, ) No. . . why'd you wrap a paper around my finger? ( immediately moving on to tug at it, not enough to loosen it but enough to feel the material )
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[it's not exactly a reprimand, but it's a rather pointed statement]
[more easily]
What'd ya wanna make?
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Ya don't make the egg separate. The egg goes into the pancake mix with everything else.
[he checks the kitchen clock -- that should have been about long enough]
Awright, c'mere.
[sitting at the counter, waiting for her to join him]
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[right as he does this, he asks]
D'ya even know what else is in pancakes?
[because it would be a lot easier to do this if she weren't focusing on the burn]
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( another pause ) And mayo!
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[once the cream's rubbed in, he picks up the gauze, ripping a smaller strip out of it for that tiny finger]
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[the gauze is wrapped around, stuck to itself; it's ont the neatest bandage in the world, but it gets the job done]
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[tugging at the bandage]
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