None of it especially whets his appetite. Not that bit about the very edge of the universe, or wormholes, but the pancakes are there, and he's not one to let them go to waste, even if they're from some unseeable source. It couldn't actually be buckwheat, or blueberries, or maple syrup, but he sits down all the same, pours the syrup over the stack, and cuts off a bite as Miss Barlow continues.
And they're good. It's only loyalty to Haven that makes him balk at saying just as good as home, but all he does is chew, swallow, cut a second bite.
Which is about all he's planning on. This isn't the time, and he's yet to decide it's the place to settle down to a short stack of pancakes, no matter how fresh the berries, how pure the syrup.
"Strange," he opines, fork resting in his hand, eyes trained on Parker, before they go tracking around the room, glancing at the window, pausing there for a fraction of a heartbeat, and moving on. "Mind if I ask where you're from, Miss Barlow?"
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carisma_sensei
no subject
Date: 2013-06-09 12:48 am (UTC)And they're good. It's only loyalty to Haven that makes him balk at saying just as good as home, but all he does is chew, swallow, cut a second bite.
Which is about all he's planning on. This isn't the time, and he's yet to decide it's the place to settle down to a short stack of pancakes, no matter how fresh the berries, how pure the syrup.
"Strange," he opines, fork resting in his hand, eyes trained on Parker, before they go tracking around the room, glancing at the window, pausing there for a fraction of a heartbeat, and moving on. "Mind if I ask where you're from, Miss Barlow?"