For Phoebe/Whiskey

Given that her cooking skills could be improved, she had attended a cooking class hoping to elevate her domestic abilities. Five minutes into the class when they were making spaghetti, somehow water had scalded her after she had already been injured from cutting her finger moments earlier when she was cutting up the tomatoes for the sauce. But she had persisted, she had washed her hands and put on a band-aid. She was on her way to be a great chef and then she had to spill the boiling water on herself because she was too clumsy to realize you were supposed to put the pasta noodle in the pot and not move the pot...and do it on the counter. Not her best work in her opinion but here she was, not at the hospital but Ashby's Apothecary but why go there when her friend was here?

Her own logic was baffling sometimes, she knew that. Other people probably knew that. She just really needed not to feel like she was dying right now but at least the finger she had cut earlier wasn't bothering her. Plus Phoebe was fast and she couldn't risk Chef Peabrain noticing her battle scars from her fight with the spaghetti recipe. She had a reputation to uphold after all. Soon the bus had dropped her off and she entered the apothecary, her arms wrapped up from the first aid kit at the community center. Gracie felt like a mummy, the gauze was itchy and she didn't understand why people did this to themselves. To be fair, not everyone had a cool friend with healing powers but that was beside the point.

She tried to put on her best smile as she waited in the entryway of the apothecary. Gracie had to make her presence known and any sort of desk bell just didn't leave the same impact. "Okay, hear me out. I feel like I've gotten better at cooking." she called out. She wince slightly at her own words but a little improvement was great, right? Even if her common sense had certainly been lacking today, particularly for someone that admired people with good common sense, she certainly did not posses it in terms of her cooking. Gracie pressed her lips together awkwardly, not wanting to think about what she looked right now. A tiny girl with a purse around her neck because the burns hurt too much for her to wear it on her arm. Eh, maybe people thought it was a fashion statement, she'd just keep telling herself that.