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[h3][color=ed1c24]Jonas Highwind[/color][/h3]
[@Krayzikk][@Plank Sinatra][@Write][@Caasicam][/center]

Jonas blinked, momentarily baffled by her words, before spotting the connecting thread.

A wry smile followed, heralding a shake of the head and a turn back to the kitchen, headed towards the fridge.

[color=ed1c24]"If you want a second helping, I'll gladly make one."[/color] He began, welcoming the outward flow of cool air on his skin as he reached for the package of bacon, encased within a ziploc bag. Gotta keep that environment sealed to maximize fridge life— Unless it was gonna all get used up before the days was out. [color=ed1c24]"But that's not what I meant."[/color]

He was far more satisfied with his handiwork than he was the meeting. He had believed that much to be obvious, but evidently he had shown a little [i]too[/i] much humility about his own cooking. Either that, or Cross had made a rare misstep in reading his implication. Dana did mention she wasn't much of a morning person.

[i]Maybe you really [b]do[/b] need coffee?[/i]

He turned the knob of the burner beneath the pan, welcoming flame back into the kitchen without fanfare. Waving the back of his hand to get a read of the temperature, he promptly laid two more strips onto the still-reasonably warm metal. Hadn't been too long since he'd taken it off heat, all things considered.

While he watched them fry in their own fat, he spoke once again, now choosing his words a bit more carefully. None of them needed any [i]more[/i] wrong ideas today, even minor and benign ones such as this. He doubted she'd been quite so earnest as she appeared in her deduction that he was in high spirits. Fine by him. It wasn't wrong of her to look a little closer.

[color=ed1c24]"Do you know of any legends brought about by fleeing, Rebekah? I don't mean like Marathon— I mean like what they demanded of us back there."[/color]

He halfway expected an actual answer in return from the [i]de facto[/i] leader of the unofficial Olympus Book Club, but she was doubtlessly sharp enough to get the point he was driving towards. His composure was long-practiced under emotional and situational duress, even without the backing of his inherent divine ability. Each word was delivered with a level frostiness that had no business matching the smirk they had just seen him turn away with, and if they paid attention to the subtle rise and fall of his shoulders they would note that even the breaths preceding them were decidedly measured.

He continued to neutrally regard his bacon as his hand slid over to ignite the burner beneath salted, vinegary water.

[color=ed1c24]"In all of your years and all of your texts, who is a hero for running fearfully for the trees? I can recall none."[/color]