I have no fear, nor no one should

[andhiswife]

Well, this ought to be interesting.

Biffy has been in the back of her mind since her arrival. More specifically, the acute awareness of just how patient, helpful, and kind he'd been with her when she'd first arrived, even in the face of her decidedly unpleasant disposition, has been a frequent companion. Not that she's been wallowing in self-recrimination or anything so dramatic as that. She thinks she handled herself about as well as could be expected, given the circumstances.

But then, she'd had to handle herself. Biffy was under no such obligation. He'd put up with her, anyway.

So, she's been thinking of making some sort of gesture, part thanks and part apology. The upcoming holiday seems as good an excuse as any to actually move forward with it. Her oven is less a mystery these days, and she's managed to churn out a respectable selection of biscuits and pastries. There's no such thing as 'out of season' here, and it feels wildly incongruous to have apple turnovers and cherry tarts side by side, but so much the better, she thinks. It is a treat to be able to put all of her most notable seasonal creations in one basket.

No chocolate, though. She's done some reading on the subject and discovered it's highly poisonous to dogs, and, well. Best not to risk it.

They'd arranged for her to come round his farmhouse by way of a somewhat awkward phone call (he'd been nothing but courteous; she was the one intensely flustered by the whole process of talking to a disembodied voice coming out of a little might-as-well-be-magical box). She'd made no mention of the sweets, wanting them to be a surprise.

It's a rather long walk, but since it's all through the countryside, she hardly minds. Besides, she's used to traveling on foot. She's worked up a bit of a flush by the time she reaches Biffy's farmhouse, but it's probably just as well. Better to pin it on exertion than a sort of pervasive, underlying sheepishness. 'Sheepish' is probably the last thing she ought to be, considering who she's visiting.

And with a basket of sweets on her arm, no less. At least she's not wearing any red.

She double-checks the contents of her basket to make sure nothing's been squashed or crumbled in transit, but she packed it well, and everything looks as beautiful as it did coming out of the oven. A little steam even rises into the chill winter air. Satisfied, she covers them back up, straightens her back, and knocks.

Comments

[modern_alpha]

Ah. Biffy understood then that it was a bit of a misstep. Sometimes reminders were just more painful than healing. He knew, himself, how it could be. Weren't they just discussing his own mementos? He smiled apologetically and sat back.

"I understand how that might feel," he said. Then, very deliberately, he found a new subject. Greta had brought him a wonderful gift and they would not properly appreciate it while they steeped in sad memories like overbrewed tea. If they did that for too long, they were likely to become tannic and Biffy so hated the thought of having an unpleasant aftertaste.

"These days, I'm a bit ashamed to say that the majority of the photos I take are of the cat. I may be becoming one of those Cat Parents," he admitted, exaggerating the last two words with equal parts despair and humor. It wasn't even a fib; he and Pawvus had become oddly staunch companions in the last few months.

"But perhaps I ought to take a photograph of these wonderful pastries before we devour them."

[andhiswife]

The subject change is tidily done, and she's grateful for it. She can't help grinning at the thought of Biffy trying to get the cat to cooperate for a photo session. He seems so exacting, and Pawvus, sweet as he might be, strikes her as a bit of a duffer.

"That's still more impressive than my photo collection," she admits. "I think about half of them were by accident, and the rest are just of," she flaps a hand illustratively, "anything. It's so strange, being able to capture a perfect little piece of what you're seeing and then keep it."

Her eyes widen when he suggests taking a picture of her baking, and she lets out an involuntary little squawk of embarrassment. "Oh, that--it's just food," she protests, equal parts flattered and perplexed. It's not as if she went out of her way to make any of the pastries pretty or anything. They look well enough for what they are, but not anything to write home about - or immortalize on camera.

[modern_alpha]

"So?" he said, smiling. "Half the paintings in famous museums are of plates of food." Perhaps it was an exaggeration as Biffy was not so well-traveled as he'd have liked but the last time he'd been in the National Gallery, he'd noticed more than a few still life paintings of food. Social media, too, was rife with images of delectable meals, or at least his Suddengram feed was.

Taking out his phone now, Biffy shrugged. "Why not take a photo of something enjoyed?" Despite Greta's protestations that what she'd made wasn't anything special, Biffy strongly disagreed and he made sure to turn the volume up so that she could hear the snap of the camera sound effect.

"I'm not much an artist anymore, but I think it makes for a wonderful picture." He turned the camera around so that she could see the photo he'd taken of his plate with the teacup next to it.

[andhiswife]

Greta shakes her head slowly, though she can't help but smile. She can't speak for painters, never having actually met one before, but if she had to guess, she'd say they pick food as a subject because it holds still and doesn't get bored or complain, not because it's inherently worthy of being gawked at decades later.

Granted, a nice, symmetrical loaf will sell quicker than a wonky one. She's always taken some measure of pride in her work, and she's been at it long enough that she doesn't often pull a hideous wreck out of the oven. But back home, food's primary value was in the nourishment it provided, not how it looked. Even a hideous wreck would eventually sell to someone hungry enough, provided it was just ugly and not inedible.

Well, two can play at this game. And it's about time she had a photo that actually means something to her (something besides 'goodness, photos are a thing,' anyway). Greta pulls out her own phone to take a picture of Biffy taking a picture. The sound is turned off, in her case. She hadn't wanted the device to interrupt their visit; the idea that she ought to be reachable when she's not even at home is still foreign to her. When Biffy turns his phone towards her, she returns the gesture with a pleased little smile.

"It did turn out nicely," she has to admit. It's a compliment to his photography skills more than her own baking. "And now I have a picture that isn't just of my counter-top or something." She tucks the phone back into her bag, feeling rather pleased with herself.

[modern_alpha]

Biffy turned just in time to see her phone get put away and he gave her a broad smile. "Warn me next time," he said, tapping one of his cheekbones. "If you use the flash, my eyes reflect and ruin the photo." It wasn't always true, depending on the brightness and the angle, but they did seem to blaze back when photographed with a modern camera. He doubted that shot would be a problem, since he'd been looking elsewhere, but it might give her a fright one day.

"I ought to return the favor," he said, holding up his phone. "Then I can attach it to your number." Before she could stop him, Biffy quickly snapped a candid photo of Greta as she was in the moment, smiling and looking just a bit mischievous and pleased with herself.

The resulting photograph was suffused with the warmth of her expression and Biffy showed her again, quite pleased with himself.