2019-12-08 - Ginger Cordial

Phone calls have been made. Plans confirmed. Corys have proven they are shameless and thick-skinned with 'oops already done can i just tell Ginger now you're a pal' arrangements. And so, Ginger Johansson Lovage-Vydal has now arrived in Gray Harbor, far too pale, the shadows under her eyes like faint bruises, dressed in a simple pair of black slacks, sensible black heels, and a button-up black blouse beneath her sweater vest. Her black coat is neatly folded over one arm, and she rolls behind her a single suitcase and carry-on. Anyone passing by might wonder why she remains poised outside the doorway, staring at her wristwatch (wristwatch!!) but so Ginger does, until it is precisely 10:15 AM, and only then does she ring the doorbell.

Cory owes Vyv. Vyv isn't sure what, yet, but oh, Coriander definitely owes him for putting him in this situation.

In order to get up here, Ginger will have had to get by the door security. Usually, they'd call up, but Vyv's left them instructions to send Ginger along, so she gets to do that waiting in front of his own door instead of down in the lobby. It's a nice lobby. Nice hallway, too. Perfectly acceptable by general Vydal standards. There are worse places for someone like Ginger to need to stand for a little, at least.

It's not for long after she rings, though. A time was set, and a handful of seconds after the bell, the knob turns and the door opens. Unsurprisingly, it reveals Vyv. He's in a brown donegal tweed three-piece suit today, with a white shirt and a silk paisley tie, its dark brown background barely visible under the pattern in its tones of tan and yellow and orange and blue. There are fairly simply gold and sapphire cufflinks today, and a plaid pocket square in the same colour scheme as the tie. And he's got a wristwatch too! Though possibly not for quite the same reasons. Also gold, a slim curved rectangle, with a brown leather strap.

He looks Ginger over briefly, taking in the simple black ensemble, and then smiles very slightly. It shows up more in the eyes than the lips, as he steps aside to let her in. "Right on time," he remarks. "Nice to see you haven't misplaced your legs, Ginger. I'd been beginning to worry, after Thanksgiving."

Ginger gives a pleased exhale at the promptness with which the door is opened: wonderfully timed. Excellently executed. Her own smile is not quite as slight, but still rather reserved, but the affection is more in her quiet voice as she greets, "Vyvy. You look wonderful." And takes her luggage to roll inside. There's a slight pause and a small duck of her head at the mention of Thanksgiving, followed by a quick, guilty glance behind her towards Vyv, "Sorry. Was everyone upset?" Ahh Ginger, one of the horde who actually cares about something like that, "I planned on going, I just-- had a few setbacks. It seemed smarter not to bring down the mood. And I wasn't really sure I could deal with Grandmama."

Even as she talks, glancing at Vyv every so often, she's also taking in the apartment with growing approval, and a slight untensing of her shoulders. When she stops, her luggage case is spun and rolled to line up just so, equidistantly parallel to the wall and a small end table.

"Thank you." It's pretty much always safe, complimenting Vyv on how he looks. Well, on most things, really, let's be honest, but that's generally a winner. It gains the smile another level, as he closes the door behind her and steps over for a proper greeting. With him, that translates to a hand on her upper arm and a pair of French-style air-kisses, one by each cheek. "Everyone wished you could be there, of course, but I wouldn't say upset. Grandmama did lift a brow." Ginger probably doesn't even have to imagine the expression; she may have caught a bit of it in the video call. Vyv sounds faintly amused about it, himself. "And you didn't properly meet Hyacinth, but since you're here, that ought to solve itself in short order." One corner of his mouth quirks up a little farther; we must all deal with Grandmama in our own ways.

"In any case. Tea? Coffee? Have you eaten?" It's not the kitchen he heads toward, though, instead making his way to one of the doors and opening it up. A bedroom, presumably the guest room for her. It's as tidy and clean as what she's already seen, with a wall of windows giving a lovely view outside. Everything one would expect a nice bedroom to have is in evidence, and all of it is in precisely the style and quality one the outer decor would suggest. No obvious surprises, which is probably all for the best.

The greeting is returned, naturally and with an increase of that smile. Grandmama lifting a brow does earn a sigh, however-- but let's face it. Ginger's used to that by now. "I did hear about Hyacinth, but it was from Cory and Vyks. Who apparently met two different people named Hyacinth." A touch of affectionate tartness in the words, a cheeky glance upward that doesn't quite become an eyeroll. The idea of actually meeting Hyacinth has her linking her fingers together, one finger tapping the nail of the other hand, "I'll look forward to meeting her. Both versions sounded delightful." She glances down at her fingers, apparently just realizing what's happening, and forces her hands to her side, smoothing down her vest.

But, Vyv to the rescue! She looks up, smiling warmly again, "Tea, please." The reply is immediate, "Assam, if you have? Any kind will do." As long as it's assam, Vyv. She watches Vyv as he wanders, and noticing it's a bedroom, she collects her suitcase and follows, her smile increasing as she looks over the simple but stylish decor. Nothing too worrying, at the moment! "I was too nervous to eat on the plane. Mama packed sandwiches but the proportions weren't right and I ended up accidentally making a sandwich salad I had to throw out." It's said as a joke, lightly, with a small chuckle that almost isn't forced at all.

"Well, I have to say I'm fascinated to know all about the Hyacinths they met," Vyv says, the little quirk of lips shifting a shade further toward the realm of smirk in a way that harmonizes well with the not-quite-eyeroll, as much as his bland tone does with that fondly tart undertone. "At least they clearly got the most important facts across."

He steps aside to give her clear entry into the room. "Fairly sure I have some Assam, yes. And if you could use a snack to tide you over until lunch, there are some options." He leans very lightly up against the doorjamb, Vyv-casual. Which is to say, not enough to rumple his suit. But tweed does take some doing to really rumple. "Overall dimensions, angle of cut, or ratio of fillings to bread, condiments, and/or each other?" It's replied just as lightly, but at the same time, he really is curious. Partly because of the likelihood he's going to end up cooking for her. Partly just because that's how he's always been.

It isn't that Ginger means to be rude, really. Vyv likely understands that, when she goes to the guest closet to hang up her coat, and ends up frowning lightly at the hangers, and begins to flick at them, tidily sorting them into trios. "The angle of the cuts and the distribution of filling and condiments to one another, actually." Ginger explains, not at all find it an odd question to ask. "It wasn't cut in half properly, but slanted. That would have been still okay, normally-- but there was too much cheese in the center and the veg was all piled to be very center-heavy, even if she did a wonderful job getting the slices of chicken right." Flick, flick, flick. Good thing there aren't too many hangers, and luckily enough, only two hangers are left over - and one of them holds her coat. So she takes the spare off the rod and turns back towards Vyv, "I had to try and even them out, but the slanted cut made everything sooo much worse to deal with."

Her arms stretch out in a helpless shrug-- and she notices the hanger in her hand, and then looks back towards the closet, and then ever-so-casually glancing back towards Vyv, to see if he's noticed, and returns to the closet to quietly place the hanger back, just behind her coat. The discrepency may eat at her, later. But that's later. "It was sliced bread, though." She hastens to clarify to Vyv. "If it's a roll or a small loaf, I'm not really as fussy." Said almost apologetically, hands linking together one more time, fingernail tapping.

"Mm. And all this time they've been telling us sliced bread is the measure of best."

Ginger is the sort of person who separates the hangers into tidy trios. Vyv is the sort who has them all pushed to one side in one neat, virtually solid-looking group. And also the sort who, on watching her fiddle with and then replace that hanger, gestures vaguely at the dresser and asks, "If you put the extra one into a drawer, would it work or would you just keep thinking about it sitting in there all on its own?" From some people it might be an attempt at a helpful (if arguably enabling) suggestion. From him... he's probably still just curious.

"A good sandwich really ought to have an even distribution of contents, in any case. One wants the flavours to mingle properly in each bite; any variation ought to be intentional and balanced. Bread or roll or, indeed, small loaf." He straightens, giving the room a critical glance and, unsurprisingly given he must surely have examined it before her arrival as well, finding no immediate and obvious flaws that require attention. "I'll put the kettle on."

"Sliced bread is wonderful-- but I usually prefer it for open sandwiches. Otherwise it's a waste as you have to cut off all the corners." Ginger informs the maītre pātissier, even as she rolls her suitcase towards the closet. Not in. Just to the side of it. She looks up when Vyv mentions the 'extra one,' glancing towards the closet and then towards the dresser, and then biting the inside of her lower lip, wringing her hands momentarily as she has a brief internal struggle. She might be trying to smile, dismiss it as fine, but instead of reassurance she blurts, "All the drawers would need hangers in them then, so it would be uniform, but that would ruin the grouping in the closet, so I'd have to figure out how else to sort it so it wouldn't, and it's just-- easier if I find another use for the hanger later so it's not a spare hanger, like using it for a towel or putting it behind the doorknob or using it to hang my purse on."

She grimaces, one hand reaching up to scratch her chin lightly, then brush back some loose floating strands of hair. "Sorry. Just a little-- anxious. New space and all. But it's better than I worried, and having you here really helps." The scary part is, she's not smiling: she's being very sincere and grateful. She DOES smile when Vyv discusses the qualities of a good sandwich, nodding along, "Exactly! You understand. That's how a sandwich should be, if at all possible." Along with the smile, there is once again that relief that softens her face and lowers her shoulders at the talk of tea. "Thank you. I'll just take a minute to sort myself," Case the room without Vyv looking and madly alter or realign anything that needs it, "And I'll be right out."

Cut off all the corners? That one clearly doesn't hit an overlap, since Vyv's brows lift a touch, then lower with a furrow between them. "Why, and why not if it's open?" He oughtn't be asking, likely; he ought to be apologetic, probably, for the last question, given the signs of that struggle, but instead he just looks intrigued. "Hm." Anyone saying the phrase 'Vyv doesn't judge' probably ought to be prepared for spontaneous trousorial combustion, but if he's aiming at a verdict here, he doesn't seem to have declared her guilty as yet.

He waves a hand negligently at the apology. "It's not causing me any trouble," which is the important issue, of course, and it's only after that that the corner of his mouth quirks faintly up again, "and I'm pleased you find it tolerable." There's a dryness to it, but she's known him all her life: that's the teasing undertone, not the acid. He turns to head to the kitchen, not even looking back as he adds, "Make yourself comfortable. I'll make ourselves tea."

"It's the panned breads that need it, really," Ginger explains, with a somewhat self-conscious glance at Vyv, before her lashes lower and she looks down again, "It's the terrible shape, and that pointlessly stupid indent--" She traces the figure in the air with both hands, a mushroom with a chubby stalk and small cap, the classic wonderbread form, "There's really no way to cut it in a way that won't-- won't stay in my head. It's not round or straight or properly angled or even it's just this odd squished together form. But if it's round slices," A dome shape, like a slice of artisan bread, "Or you cut the top of the loaf, it's-- easier to deal with. Or if it's hidden beneath something more appealing."

Ginger gives a weak, wry smile. "It's silly, I know. But if you cut off the edges or make circles, it's... even. And right."

"Bilaterally symmetrical won't do, mm?" Vyv files this away, and makes another of those negligent little waves as he continues kitchenward. It's a few steps, and without actually stopping or even glancing back, before he asks, "If there's no indent, but the top is curved and the sides and bottom are straight...?" She might need to wait to answer that one, unless she's inclined to lean out the door to do it.

In the meantime, Ginger has some time to decompress in (or, you know, rearrange) the room. It doesn't take Vyv terribly long to get the kettle on, or to bring down three small metal canisters from the cupboard and set them down in a neat line on the counter, two matching mugs sitting in front of them. Centered. A small teapot gets set tidily between that set and the stove, along with a teaball. This may or may not qualify as normal procedure, it's hard to say.

"Not for sandwiches. There's only /one/ rounded corner, and the stupid dents." Ginger says apologetically, but that's all she says before Vyv leaves, and she can give a heavy exhale, before she looks down at her hand. Her ring. Only for a moment, before she goes forward to gently close the door.

What happens in there is really not that terrible. The room is minimal, the decorations appropriate. A few things are removed and set around the room, little things like a notepad set just so on a night table. A diffuser in the room with a citrus-cinnamon blend. That's what's noticeable, at any rate. The invisible, transient rituals, unseen, are quick, whatever they may have been.

Soon enough, Ginger walks back towards the entrance - soft black ballet slippers on her feet, indoor shoes it seems, her hair tied back with a ribbon - a real one, not a hair tie! Fancy. Vyv may have waited a bit, but not terribly long. "Sorry it took so long." She apologizes, and then immediately, as if time hadn't passed, plows forward with the previous line of conversation, "If it doesn't have the dents in it it's better, but then it has to be in fours, so that there's two pieces with one round corner each. But that's usually so much work it's just easier to make an open sandwich or use another kind of bread." Avoid the issue entirely, she means. She does look somewhat more relaxed, reaching forward to peek into the canisters. Even if labeled. One should see the quality of the tea!

Maybe 'as if time hadn't passed' is a family trait, since the look Vyv gives her on emergence -- aside from taking in the adjustments to her (still wholly black, he has noted) outfit -- has that expectant awaiting-the-answer sort of quality. "And the dented bread in quarters has either two oddly shaped or, if you cut along the dents, two much shorter than the other two," he muses, stepping back and letting her examine the tea. It is, in fact, good tea. "Those are the Assams I have handy," he says, leaning very lightly against the counter, "Your choice." He watches her with some interest as she investigates them. "So. Seen much of Gray Harbor so far? Looked into the place much?"

Her hair ribbon is actually a very dark brown! Incongruous, it's true, but it blends in with the rest of her hair nicely. Apparently the fixing of her room, the ritual of tea and Vyv's easy acceptance of the quirks relax Ginger further, and she picks up the tea canisters one at a time to give each a thoughtful sniff, responding between thoughts, "See? You can see the problem with sliced bread for sandwiches if you think about it." Ginger says, because after all, she knows this to be true. "Though, peanut butter sandwiches are weirdly not a problem, if it's just peanut butter and bread. Probably because I never cut those. But it is a problem if I add jelly, which, I know," A sigh, "Makes no sense, but it's simply... wrong." Her tone has a trace of resigned frustration, light, teasing herself for her condition.

"Are we having just the tea or is there a snack? The first is a bit finicky to pair with. But, this one seems interesting," She has chosen the one to the right. "Less woody than the other and very easy to pair." For non-chefs anyway! The other canisters are returned and arranged, just so as they were set up, "I haven't seen much, honestly. Mr. Thorne mentioned over the phone my apartment would be ready by tomorrow, so I can get to sorting it out before my furniture arrives." She reaches for the teapot-- hesitates before she touches, looking at Vyv to see if he will object to her making the tea.

"Pullman loaves," Vyv says, "That's what you need. Straight sided tin, straight bottom, straight lid across the top. Takes some finesse to keep the texture right and still have it properly fill the pan, but it can be done." Or, you know, therapy, probably. But her cousin's perhaps more of a practical solutions person in some ways.

He hesitates when she moves to make the tea, just for a moment, then makes another of those idle waves, this one clearly in the 'oh, go ahead' family. "Are you hungry? I have a thing or two if so. Any preferences as to what sort of thing?" This is probably not something he often would be asking, really, but he's being a good host. Considering this is after Cory's foisting, he must actually rather like his baby cousin. "It's an interesting place. A bit odd. We," he considers briefly, "may need to have a somewhat strange conversation about it sometime soon. But certainly you'll want to get to know it. It's not a terribly large place to know, at least."

"I wouldn't say no to something. It doesn't have to be terribly fancy. I'm really not as picky about most things." Gina reassures hastily. And it's true! Family dinners she can usually manage. "And you're the one who knows what's in your kitchen. I'll trust what you make." A little smile, and she turns back towards the tea for preparation. Her movements are not those of exquisite precision or elegant flourishes: she simply scoops the proper amount of tea into the respective containers - she does end up scooping some from the container back in, after a moment of consideration - before she heats up the water to just so, waits a moment, and adds it to each cup. It's fussy, perhaps, with extra checks, but it is just making tea.

Talk of the town's strangeness does stay her hand for a moment, green eyes glancing towards Vyv with a small furrow between her brows, a trace of concern in the press of her lips. But she hastily returns her eyes to the tea mugs, "I'm not sure I'd even notice if it's odd." She admits, "Everything's been a bit-- off, this last year. That's why Cory thought somewhere new might be good for me."

Unconsciously, the fingers twist at her wedding band, still there, still well-kept.

Vyv has noticed the ring. He notices the twisting at it, too. The only comment, if it could be considered one, is a barely perceptible shift of one brow before he turns to open the fridge. Two airtight tupperware-type boxes are withdrawn, about the same size, and he sets them on the counter, closing the door again.

"Anything I don't know about?" he inquires; no point reiterating the ones he does, is there? Two small plates from a cupboard, matching of course, and he opens the boxes. From one he withdraws two tarts, frangipane with a swirl of thin apple slices decorating the top, neatly arrayed. From the other, six macarons, one that appears vanilla, one that looks chocolate, and one paler brown between them. Each plate gets them arrayed in an arc like an opening parenthesis beside the tart, lightest at the bottom and darkest at the top. Presentation. He does not, however, drizzle anything onto the plates. One box back to the fridge, the other tucked immediately into the dishwasher, and he gets them a couple of forks and napkins. Fabric ones. "...she might not be wrong." It's faintly grudging, in the circumstances. "And I suppose a small town is generally more settled than a large city." Generally.

Ginger shakes her head at the question, "No, there shouldn't be-- oh, Vyv!" Ginger's eyes light up, a smile curving at her lips as her attention goes to the tarts and the macaroons, clapping her hands as she leans forward to look, "They're so pretty! And they smell tasty. It'll go perfectly with the tea--" She pauses, checking her watch. She has been keeping an eye on the time on her slim silver wristwatch - an actual wristwatch, with dials and a crystal face and everything! And she reaches to present Vyv with one of the mugs, after a moment's hesitation. "Taste it and see if you like it. In another forty or fifty seconds it'll be slightly more malty, and a minute and ten seconds from now it'll take on sour notes, so remove it when you reach your taste of choice. I recommend thirty seconds from now." He's a cook, after all. Ginger balks at the idea of deciding his tea preferences for him.

Whether or not Vyv takes her suggestion, that's when Ginger will remove her own leaves. She unfolds her own napkin and sets it properly, taking a seat as she sips her mug of tea, eyes half-closing. "It couldn't be any worse of an idea. I'm hoping a new place without-- old points won't grab out at me quite as much, and I won't have an...incident like the last one." Let's gloss over what was clearly a mental breakdown, like real family! "How have you liked it here?"

Complimenting Vyv's work is possibly even more effective than how he's looking today, and the smile it elicits is small but genuine, and further, unmistakable. "Thank you," he says, probably more for that than for the tea, even if he's accepting the mug at virtually the same time. He does taste the tea, considering briefly and flicking a quick glance at the watch on his own wrist, half-hidden beneath the cuffs. Not quite yet, apparently. "They're current experiments, but nearing 'done', I think. The macarons are; the tart... I'll want your thoughts." Another sip of the tea, and this time he does remove the leaves.

He claims his seat as well, settling in and setting down the tea. Napkin to the lap, of course, and he gives the plate of treats a critical eye before looking to his cousin once more. "Tea's lovely," he says, and yes, he's 100% on board with glossing over this whole breakdown thing at present. Seems too likely to risk becoming uncomfortable. For him. "A new place does at least shake one out of old habits," he allows, "I've... mm. Overall, I think I like it. It's been," a flicker of debate, "eventful, mind. But business is going well, the scenery is lovely, the temperatures are reasonable, and I've met a few people I'm particularly pleased to have."

"Of course," Ginger says, when Vyv thanks her, offering a little smile - and a nod on giving her opinion on the tarts. She sips slowly at her own tea and admires the pastries, glancing at Vyv once in a while to note down when he decides the tea is good, to squirrel the preference away in her mind for later. She looks intrigued when he mentions beautiful scenery and again when he mentions people, and she picks up her fork to bring the plate of tasties closest to her right over. No hesitation! She goes straight for the tart, too.

"It was a lot more wooded than I was expecting. Cory mentioned Irish weather, so I thought more hills than woods." A wry smile, amused at that little subconscious fumble, "But people, as in multiple? Hyacinth was lovely by all accounts. What are the others like?" She looks down to eat her forkful, and her eyes close briefly as she chews. There might be a half-thoughtful, half-pleased hum from her as she does so. "This is delicious, though--" Ginger goes in for her second forkful, but glances at Vyv. She might be a unique cousin with her own circumstances and somewhat recent widow and possibly jetlagged, but Ginger is, after all, a Vydal-Lovage girl, and nothing is better than tasty snacks, hot tea and good goss.

The tart's pastry has an unusual depth of taste, and likely surprisingly, there's red bean paste beneath the frangipane as well as a subtle swirl of caramel across the fruit itself. It's like maybe an apple tart and a Bakewell tart ran off to Japan and had a baby. It's good. It's really good. It might even be great. The tastes and textures combine in an unexpected and delicious way. But something in Vyv's expression when he has a bite himself says that it's not... quite what he wants it to be, yet. Somehow. It needs something. It's very, very good. But as far as he's concerned it isn't perfect.

"Hyacinth is the best of them," he says, absolutely meaning it, and then pauses, giving her a quietly amused look. "Did you think she'd be the only person in town I could stand?" Okay, he's not exactly gregarious, no. "Well, for one, I've got a commis chef, a culinary student, who's very promising. Not focused on patisserie, but-- talented, and a hard worker. Named Corey, but not to my knowledge short for Coriander." And he'd probably know, given paperwork. "There's a psychiatrist here, Vivian Glass -- we went to high school together. Odd running into her again. A few other people scattered about who are just... quite interesting." He gives a small shrug. "And of course my assistant doesn't count, she came with me." So, no, he probably hasn't made a wide network of close friends here as yet, if he ever has anywhere. But people he doesn't regret meeting is a start, surely.

There's a moment of pleased confusion at the first bite of the frangipane, and a pleased little noise accompanying an immediate second forkful, to really focus on the flavor. The little noise turn into a happy little hum, and Ginger does a little closed-eyes, head down chair-dance, complete with alternating hands poking towards the ceiling. Definitely a family-and-friends-only goof moment. "This is marvelous. I won't even mind the amount of exercise I'm going to have to do living next to you." Ginger laments/accepts, shoulders falling forward and perfect posture ruined as she slumps. She then has another small forkful of the pastry, squinting eyes and a definite upward curve of her lips as she looks at Vyv with accusatory amusement. And maybe a little bit of that reverence-envy reserved for cool older family members one may be jealous and proud of.

She can't maintain the look, however, her natural diffidence taking over once more as she ducks her head to focus on the food and listen, her spine straightening itself naturally, the posture ingrained in her bones. There might be a guilty glance back when he mentions the hypothesis that Hyacinth is the only person he can stand, a pinky swiping her bangs to one side in that moment -- it's a loud admission of guilt as any, and yet while guilty, rather unrepentant. He knows what he's like.

The conversation about the people in his life earn most of her attention, frequent glances as she sips her tea and alternates with bites of the oddly delicious lovechild. Some curiosity at the talk of a psychiatrist: Ginger does have her prescriptions, minimal though they are. Creases start in her eyes as the smile curves even more, "The one from before? Rebecca, I think? She was always very good at keeping things sorted." High praise, coming from Ginger. "How is the patisserie doing? I wouldn't have thought you'd get that much talent drawn here." From her curious glance over and general interest, it's very clear she doesn't even mean to denigrate Gray Harbor: it's just the curse of the urbane. "I promise I won't put on my working cap either." She pretends to zip up her lips, flicking away the key. After all, if Vyv talks, she can focus on finishing her treat.

Aside from being gratifying, that reaction is also adorable. The little press of Vyv's lips to suppress most of the smile that nonetheless hovers ghostlike around the edges of his mouth and a bit more solidly around his eyes is subtle, but definitely there. "Well, I have to; why shouldn't you?" he replies to the lamentation, and while the lack of sympathy is probably fairly genuine, there's a lightness there that clearly appreciates, well, her appreciation.

The amusement is purer at her guilty look. Yes, all right, he knows what he's like. It's a fair cop, more or less. "Rebecca, yes." He doesn't bother to confirm her competence; would she still work for him if he didn't agree? "And I did entice a couple others along, for the shop. My sous, Mr. Tanaka, mainly. All in all, that's going quite well. I've found a decent handful of acceptable workers -- and David," the tone darkens, just for that moment, "and overall, people do seem to recognize art when they come across it. Well, most of them." No offense taken at the implication about the town. He probably felt much the same, if not enough to rule the place out. "How has work been going with you? Likely to straighten this town out?" Not his shop, of course. But you know. The rest.

"I doubt the businesses here could afford my usual rates." It's an offhand comment, spoken between bites, her eyes not even looking up. It's just an honest analysis. "Though if I get bored I'll probably end up offering somehow anyway. But most of my business has been consultation work. Analysis, mostly." Ginger stops with one bite lest of the treat, setting her fork down on the plate just so, before she looks at the macaroons a moment-- finally choosing to start with the lightest one, biting into the crisp cookie, her tongue darting out to catch any crumbs that might remain on her lips. "A lot of digging through data sets and back and forth to discuss areas of inconsistencies. I might have the occasional fly-away for jobs here and there, but most of what I'm currently focused on is more big-picture stuff."

Maybe it was the long trip, or the hot tea and tasty snacks, or maybe her own subject matter is boring to her, but Ginger raises a hand to cup her mouth, yawning lightly. Careful, those are contagious! The hand that caught the yawn falls to her lap again, the other popping the rest of the cookie in her mouth, then reaching to pour herself some more tea. "I will say, it would be a little cool to see what I could do here." A glance towards Vyv, as she holds up the teapot and, if he approves, refreshes his cup as well. "I've only worked in the lumber industry twice, and not at the raw materials stage. It's new." The mill is Big Business-- or was, once, and being the Addington Mill and the most lucrative around. She reaches for her other cookie, looking back down at her lap. "I'm supposed to try to spend more time trying to build relationships." She admits, voice small and maybe a bit nervous. Sugar will help, as she finishes her next cookie and accepts her mug in both hands, "Which, I think, makes me desperately wish I was Vyks right now. Or maybe Saff, back when he was, eleven and hadn't been replaced with a smarmy troll. The 'hmph' is never realized, save in the pointed sip of tea Ginger takes, upset over decade-old slights as only siblings can manage.

"Mm, probably not most of them," Vyv allows. The macarons are a trio of salted caramel variations -- vanilla, brown sugar caramel, and chocolate, when they're tried. Simple, but intentionally so, with a hint of apple to the caramel filling and a subtly warm, autumnal quality. "What sort of big picture are you putting together?"

He pauses, though, when she yawns, and watches her for a few moments as she goes on. A nod accepts the offer of more tea. "Well, the owners of the mill could likely actually afford you, if they were interested," he notes, "but the town'd likely be improved if the ones I think are the technical owners were run through it instead. "Still. I suppose it might be worth looking into, if it's interesting. They probably wouldn't be the ones you'd deal with directly, so those people might be more... relationship-building quality, I suppose." There are, apparently, Addingtons and Addingtons, as far as he's concerned.

He sips the tea. "If you were Vyktorya or Saffron, you wouldn't need to go spend more time building relationships," he points out, "but I wouldn't worry too much." Of course he wouldn't. "You're bright and pleasant and you ought to see some of the people who qualify as downright popular around here." Chances are that's partly teasing and partly genuine, but with the casual tone it's difficult to estimate how much is which. Even for family. "You've been travelling since early today, haven't you? If you need a nap..."

"I have two big clients in my portfolio right now." Ginger answers in response to the big picture question, but lets the conversation pass by focused on her treats and with a curious flick of her eyes towards Vyv at the distinction and the mill gossip. At the praise from her cousin, her head ducks again, her smile a little more uncertain than Vyv's confidence in her. "It's different with -you-." She murmurs, holding the mug in both hands and watching the steam rise. "You're family. And the literal sweetest cousin." Her own gentle tease. Sipping her tea, she glances towards Vyv at the mention of a nap-- "You're probably right. I should at least try to sleep. I was so nervous about arriving I hardly slept the last two days. The worry's worse than the result." She admits-- even as she glances at Vyv, then hastily reaches out to grab her last macaroon. As if Vyv might take them away for her own good. Two happy bites later, she licks her lips and fingertips, finish with the last bite of the frangipane and tea, and wiping the corners of her mouths with the napkin. "Should I do the dishes before I go? I'm awake enou--" As if to prove her a liar, she yawns again, reaching up to cover her mouth, cheeks pinkening. "Though. Maybe I should have a nap sooner rather than later. Sorry to put you through the trouble." She apologizes.

Her mug is left precisely in the center of her plate, the napkin unconsciously re-folded on the side of the mug, with the cutlery placed atop it. All done without a single moment's thought - just like the thought of saying 'leave the dishes for me to do' never occurred to her. Who would leave such simple dishes in their sink! She slides from her seat looking quite a bit more relaxed than her initial arrival into the apartment, her rituals done, food eaten, and a nap in her future. So, after a moment's hesitation, she'll offer Vyv an air kiss farewell - perhaps to make up for her terrible manners as a houseguest - and start heading back to her room.

With a few guilty glances back at Vyv. As if to be EXTRA CERTAIN of his mood, before she goes.

"Well, it's about time someone admitted it. Vyktorya's had a free ride far too long," Vyv replies to the tease, and he makes a dismissive little hand-wave, shaking his head at her question even before it's cut of by the yawn. "Rest. Otherwise you'll just keep yawning and I'll catch it and get nothing done for the rest of the afternoon." Seems unlikely, but doesn't sound it. He inclines his head to her as she makes that farewell.

As she glances back, his mood appears to be fairly standardly Vyvlike, which is to say, he's settled back in to sip his tea and continue slowly and assessingly eating the food still on his plate. He doesn't even seem to notice the first couple glances, but by the third or fourth he suddenly looks at her again and quirks a brow. Another little shooing, this time with the fork. "Nap," he says, "before I have to break out the meat tenderizer. And Gingembre?" His head tilts a touch. "Welcome to town."