[b]"What's the craic Eilidh?"[/b]

[indent]“Hmm, let me see here,” Eilidh answered, quick off the bat with a response for the Irishman while she poured into his mug. He smelled like books, and the black tea steam that came from his mug conjured an image in her mind’s eye of Conor as a studious figure in a candlelit library, nose to paper, brows furrowed deep in concentration. It was a comforting aroma, inducing a relaxed mood within her. 

“Well I dinnae if ye ken,” she began, holding a deliberately theatrical pause, “but the lecky wen’ oot!” She didn’t have to talk so slowly around Conor, she liked that. There was an extra freedom in their conversations where she had to think a lot less. Still, she sold her words as if it was the first he would have heard of it - eyebrows raised and all - even if her irises sat steady and unmoving - staring right through him. 

Whatever time for response he had, was swiftly taken by Dandelion who had arrived also, hoping for a cup too. Eilidh had felt them enter the kitchen before she heard them. Their full and heavy presence pushed back against the energy that she could already see. Dandelion was a large shadow in the room, but despite the ominous appearance, it was an unmistakable feeling of friendliness and good will that floated around. Strangely in a colour she wouldn’t have been able to give a name to, but knew the feeling of none-the-less. “Dandy, Dandy!” she sang out with a smile. “Tea ye can indeed have,” Eilidh grinned, her hands finding their way to a second mug that she’d already prepared. With a shake of the pot holding hand, she could estimate there were still a few cups worth of hot water in there. “Try dunkin’ ye biccie this time, promise ye’ll like it.”

[/indent]