[b]Penny[/b]

It was almost a relief when Jack left, almost. He’d been gazing at her so intently she’d begun to grow just a little uncomfortable under the weight of his stare. She’d grinned because she couldn’t not grin. Her eyes had dropped to her feet which had begun to shift and fidget as had her soft dimpled hands as they twisted the edges of her apron nervously. She wondered if she had something on her face. Had she got flour there? Had she a pimple or god forbid, did she have something on her nose and he was too nice to say as much? 

She kept looking up to see if he was still looking at her and then looking down when she found that he was. It grew just a little embarrassing. In the silence her nose began to itch though she resisted rubbing it as if that would bring attention to whatever it was he was staring at. Because it never once occurred to her that he was looking at her. He couldn’t be, at least not with simple appreciation. Penny was moon-faced, chubby-cheeked, silly and dumb. She was something tolerated, useful perhaps but nothing to be admired. She wasn’t clever, she wasn’t quick and moreover, he hadn’t had her baking yet. That sometimes got her approval, or smiles of affection, but never just her. Medea had been the pretty one, Antigone the striking one. Penny was just Penny. 

Penny’s cookies on the other hand...

He left and she eased even as she watched him walk away, her hand lifting to wipe absently at the tip of her nose and finding it free of anything that might have drawn his attention. While she was still charmed by his delightful way of chatting she worried now that he’d think only of whatever had drawn his attention, be it pimple or flour. Cookies would need to be made, for so many reasons, impressing Jack Pumphrey became one of a host of reasons. The third shift sleepers would certainly appreciate something warm and yummy that would tell them that home was not so far off. That home might be where you made it. And there was that skinny boy, Henry and for all that she wasn’t sure how she felt about the situation, he looked like he needed a bit of sweetness, everyone did. 

“Cookies.” She announced and turned to Josey, happy to have a reason to head off to her work in a transparent attempt to escape any further uncomfortable conversations. “I’m going to make cookies as soon as I get a sense of my stock. I assume those ovens are mine?” She pointed to the two that were nearest to the baking area. Her area, she thought, and strode towards it, a spring growing back into her step now that her discomfort was fading. 

[b]Stella[/b]

She turned back, three bottles in hand with carefully measured portions of formula in them to see Mr. Eadoré with and armful of baby tiger and looking far too adept at the job. Her gaze softened and her smile was sweet and sad as she handed him a bottle. 

“He can go first. Just feed him wherever is comfortable. I’ll get the other two.” 

She moved over to the remaining two who were not as bold as the one her companion had nabbed, one even going so far as to cower back some. He was the sensible one, she thought, scared of the world, distrusting of it. She could get behind that to an extent. But for now he needed to be fed and he needed to learn that she was someone to be trusted. So she sat down within reach, not seeming to be the least bit concerned about dirt or detritus. She crossed her legs and scooped up one adorable predator and with little fanfare but studied gentleness put him on his back along the curve of one calf and popped the nipple in his mouth before he could yowl too heartily. He decided that food was better than a good yowl and began to suckle at the bottle.

“Good boy.” She said, her eyes flicking down to confirm. Two girl and one boy. So with that one settled she picked up the timid one by the scruff of its neck, not dislodging the bottle of the other one and managed to do the same feat of flipping and feeding by virtue of speed alone. It was clear this was something she had done many times but even so her face was soft and appreciative as she gazed down at them. One furry body lay alongside the other in her lap, their stripes not yet fully distinct on their small bodies, each pattern a fingerprint unique to each tiger. They were a problem.
She looked up to see how Mr. Eadoré fared with his charge. 

“We won’t have to do this with the Lynx’s, they are older and eating solids.” She said, tossing her head to get a curl out of her eyes, her hands too occupied to be brought to bear for the task. “I don’t want to keep you too long if you have things to do.” 

Her mouth twitched and her eyes went distant again. She’d never been to a jungle, it had always been something she’d wanted to do but never had done and now she never would. All the tigers she’d known had been in Zoos or taken in by wildlife sanctuaries when their owners, mostly illegal, had realized how much work they were. Cute little balls of fur that grew up to be big balls of fur with a killer’s instincts and some wildness that never left them. She knew how to take care of them, to see to their physical needs, but she had no idea how to teach them to be tigers. Would the wildness inside them be enough? Was there a point

“How long have you been awake Mr. Eadoré?” She asked, wondering if it got easier. Though from all his grins and his lightness of manner she didn’t think it had been hard for him. He seemed at ease in his skin in a way she was only when surrounded by miles and miles of wilderness.