Tycondrius pursed his lips. He was wearing a chef's apron and had deposited his sack of cooking ingredients onto the nearby table.
He thought it was quite obvious why he was in Athena's kitchen...
"I'm... cooking a meal."
Tycon removed the boiling pot of water from the heat and added the broth-jelly. He frowned at the final set of ingredients: the bag of discarded bread heels Athena had brought home. It offended his senses as a cook that the young lady was planning to eat them stale with only a bit of cow's milk to wash it down.
No, that wouldn't do. Tycon would make a proper meal out of it.
"Why are you acting like that?" Athena glared. "You know what I mean."
Tycon furrowed his brows. He did not.
"Oh..." Athena's face fell to match his expression, "Oh! By the Flame, do you not? I'm so sorry!"
