[ she returns with a plate of pastries in neat rectangles, their edges pinched decoratively, each one iced in yellow or white, and the bottle of wine. she doesn't remember what kind of wine this was. at this point, it probably doesn't matter. she only drank heavily for a few months when she was 17 but stopped the moment her father had asked her to (the same with smoking). she's only started up again here after the loss of her mother and mostly in the company of others.

she sets them both down with a careful clatter. she's reached that sweet point in drinking where the brain gets fuzzy and floaty and the colors seem a little brighter (with only the slightest hint of melting when she moves). she bows with exaggeration. ]

Voila! My imitation of poptarts! [ she is very proud of them thank you for noticing ] They're really just filled pastries with icing but it's the closest I've come to my favorite breakfast food. [ she fills both their glasses a little sloppily. sorry. and then gestures to the plate of pastries. ]

There are two kinds: berry filled with a lemon icing and lemon curd filled with a plain icing. I wanted to make chocolate but that stuffs pretty pricey for someone who burned two batches of pastry.