[in between cooking times, Jilly happily takes a seat beside Riona, setting a glass of water down before taking a forkful of one of the dishes that still sat on the galley table. She's got a mark on her forehead from some kind of sauce, and flecks of flour in her hair (which, miraculously, has stayed tied back for once), and her cheeks are red from the heat coming off the stove and the ovens, but she's happy. Very happy.
Pushing back the sleeves of her sweater to the crook of her elbow, she settles with her drink and stretches her legs out in front of her]
Oh...it feels nice to sit.
[she could (and would) go for hours on her feet--years of waitressing had trained her well for that--but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate the relief of being able to just wriggle her toes]
no subject
Pushing back the sleeves of her sweater to the crook of her elbow, she settles with her drink and stretches her legs out in front of her]
Oh...it feels nice to sit.
[she could (and would) go for hours on her feet--years of waitressing had trained her well for that--but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate the relief of being able to just wriggle her toes]