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Flour floats in the air, it’s on her nose and her dog’s nose and the egg is… it’s somewhere other than the mixing bowl. She’s not cut out for baking. It’s obvious in the mess of her stall. But she is trying, and that has gotten her a few gold more than she had before.
She was better at blacksmithing, really. Anger fueled her strikes and pride honed failure on when to hit and when to hold. She made a tidy mint, doing that. Enough to buy a potion or two and really, with her magically inherited fortress, she had more than needed. Especially after the Academy’s Library and Jasper’s suspiciously dramatic asides and unearthed weaponry. But blacksmithing? Too much too soon did odd things to Mistpeak’s economy, her standing, and the blacksmith’s willingness to hire her further.
It doesn’t trouble her, it’s a small town and it was something she had done upon arrival because: anger management. She has family trauma, okay? Royal family trauma. She wants to hibernate in this snowy mountainside village and wake to a world that makes sense, but she can’t. She just can't; she's been raised with notions of what nobility should be, notions of who she needs to be and how she is to be that. And she must endure and carry on and yes, fine, there’s a notion or two of revenge curling as innocently as revenge can in the center of everything she is and does and wants to be.
So when pressed, she had fetched an artifact to prove her status as the bastard-King’s sister and that should have been enough to move on. To someplace that she can’t help but associate with a choice she made because the alternative was no choice at all.
She thinks she hates the Dweller Camp, hates it for being there, for being the first stop. If she hates it, hates it with everything she has, then she can leave it behind; the hate would not be hers anymore, would not be her anymore.
Only Walter had given her a stealth mission into a bandit camp to aid the Dweller’s once more and she hasn’t quite figured out how to steal clothing off a mannequin.
So, she bakes. Or tries to. And when she stumbles on nothing, when there is the sound of pottery doing what pottery does to gravity’s sudden stop, she’s three seconds away from ignoring the only two people she has and solve this problem by looting a corpse for the damnable items.
Because that would be so much easier.