[indent]The clicks and clanks of the power waking back up filtered through splashes of varying colourful lines against the eigengrau in front of her. She was unsure just how much of the power had returned, but the echoes and vibrations left behind from that switch drew out the basic shape of the room in front of her in visual sound. 


Eilidh rose from her the lounge chair that she had been quietly resting in. She suspected there would be a flurry of activity in the kitchen soon enough. This time of the evening had become something of a snacking hour in the building and all and sundry would soon congregate in the halls in search of sugary sustenance. They’d all be sure to return now, having all been put to work by their illustrious leader.

Power outages were of no worry to the Scottish woman. For one, she was blind. For another, she was, [i]well[/i], Scottish. Barely a month would go by in Pittenweem without something happening to the grid, and those evenings would always become an adventure in front of a log fire. Eilidh recalled her father keeping a packet of marshmallows at all times for just such occasions. Perhaps Eilidh could do that here too… The thought alone made a soft smile of remembrance curl upon her lips. There would be no amount of marshmallows that she could store here that would be enough for Hayden, of course. She smiled even more. 

The blonde knew where the kettle was, and she knew how close it was to the tap - from memory of its weight, she let it fill to the brim and set it upon the stove. Her fingers moved through the grooves that decorated the cast-iron beauty in art-deco style. Whomsoever had filled this kitchen had taste. Of course, Eilidh couldn’t see it, but the heavy sound of the kettle and the cool feeling of the hooped handle in her palm spoke to the expense it would have been. It was no ordinary piece of kitchen equipment. 

Something else pleasant to the touch, was the feeling of her pyjamas brushing against her skin. Eilidh felt assured that the colour was plum; it felt like that kind of luxury - dark and warm. Cashmere. She kept her feet bare, for want to feel the texture of the flooring.

She began to hum as she reached into the cupboard, feeling for a particular box. She picked up a few and shook them one at a time. The first felt to much like grain, the second too light - the third was perfect. Cookies. 

As the kettle whistled and whined on the stove, with cookies in one hand, she lifted the kettle away from the heat with the other, “I know, I know, shush up now,” she said aloud as the sound died down. “Dramatic, aren’t ye?” she chuckled before placing it down. “Gottae hope there’s enough in there for us all,” she sighed, tapping her fingers across the bench until she found the box of tea. “Course, someone’ll be after coffee,” she laughed. The resonance of her voice in the cold kitchen helped in forming the shapes before her of the finer details of the place. 

"Oh well, guess if they want that they know how tae de it themselves," she smiled, pouring herself a brew, humming all the while.
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