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Upon Rebekah's salute and [color=faef94]“You got it boss!”[/color] March feels quite proud of himself. He smiles softly at the thought of being a boss, straightening out his navy vest and bowtie, and pulls on his kitty apron.

The crepe batter is coming along nicely, so he turns his attention to the croissant dough. He made some ahead this time around, so all he has to do is roll it out and cut it into croissant shapes. He's working quietly, feeling wonderful when he realizes that [I]maybe[/I] Rebekah isn't good at cooking and [I]maybe[/I] everything will be ruined, and [I]maybe[/I] he ought to check in her. So he turns to check, rather panicked, (already forgetting that she makes beautiful pastries,) when he realizes that she is, in fact, quite good. March relaxes.

[color=faef94]“So Sprouts, where'd you learn to cook?”[/color]

Sprouts? Who's Sprouts? Bean sprouts? Bean sprouts are tiny, he thinks, so obviously you don't cut them--is [I]he[/I] Sprouts? It's not a bad nickname, really. He rather likes it. He also loves this question! He loves his mother and everyone must know!

[Color=lightblue]“Mama.”[/color] It occurs to him now that this might sound childish. [Color=lightblue]“I mean, she taught me how to cook when I was younger, and then when she had to go work because--”[/color] Hold up, March. She doesn't need your whole life story. [Color=lightblue]“Anyways, I had to cook for my siblings a lot so I thought I'd try to make it interesting… Did a bit of experimenting once I got better, had one of my neighbors teach me some stuff… yeah. So like I'm not professionally trained, but I'm good with cooking quickly and ahead of time.”[/color] Mission don't spill out your life: passed, but only with a C. He could do better next time. It then occurs that he ought to ask her something, so he simply says, [color=lightblue]“You?”[/color]