The weekend passed in a blur and Vera realized too late that she had neglected to stock up on fresh ingredients for her upcoming morning classes. Unsurprisingly, her plans to seek those ingredients in Mavros Marketplace fell through. Now she was richer in frustration and cynicism, but still pounds short of alkahest, vinegar, and a dozen and one other ingredients for her less magical hobby: cooking.

Which is precisely why she found herself in one of the city center's grocery stores, scanning the many aisles for things she could use. She turned left and down the baking section. Her favorite section.

Later, when she was on her way home, Vera would pass by Whiskers and Wands for the last stack of alkahest she'd need, but right now she allowed her fingers to trail down paper-thin packages of flour, all labeled with different names, all with different textures and, therefore, consistency in the mass they would produce.

Despite using magic to levitate her chosen groceries to the small basket she carried in her hands, Vera was the kind of shopper that needed to touch before buying. She needed to smell tangerines and feel avocado and look very closely at strawberries. Where she had gotten this fussiness from, she didn't know. But the need was there, even in packed products, like noodles—and flour.

There was someone else down the aisle, Vera noticed. With some luck, her searching hands would keep her far enough to avoid a bump. This did not bother her. It was when her eyes casually traveled to the shopping cart he was pulling along that her eyes grew and she abandoned the notion of not getting in his way.

"Where did you find those Bonbons?" she asked the blond man. Cut straight to the chase, no introductions needed. Before she realized it, Vera was hovering beside his cart, pointing at the chocolates in question. Her excitement at catching a glimpse of possibly her favorite brand of chocolate—may her family never find out—was hardly concealable. "I passed by the confectionery section before coming here, and I'm pretty sure I did not see any there, but oh! Maybe I just missed them," she added. Or maybe that was the last bag.

Figures. Vera was already berating herself for not having noticed the highly sought-out bonbons. Not only was she embarrassing herself in front of this stranger, she also had completely missed the satisfaction of imagining herself popping those delicious goodies into her mouth for about half an hour now. Wow, have we really been here for thirty minutes already?

Time sure flew when one was happily shopping.

She was about to thank the blond man and be on her way back to the chocolates, to her chocolates. Her mouth was open and a simple "I see, thank you so much," was already escaping from its confines when he spoke up again. Asking for her help, this time.

Vera beamed—quite literally beamed—at the man's compliment. He had no real argument back up the impression he was voicing, but the brunette cared very little about the how. "Oh! Oh, of course, let me see," she exclaims, feeling herself inflate at both the compliment and the fact he was asking for her help.

"Do you know what your mom was looking to bake with this flour?" She eyes the two bags he's holding up, one by one. "I would personally pick this brand," she adds, extending her index finger towards the one on her left. The other brand was cheaper, yes, but she'd tried it once and its texture was so clumpy that decided to never again buy anything from it.

The girl takes the bag that is definitely no good, steps back, and puts it back on its shelf. She then picks up another bag. "But it really depends on what you're making with it. See, there is purpose flour," and at this she holds the newly grabbed bag up, "which is the kind you can use for basically anything; and there's prepared flour, which is much better for when you're making cakes, biscuits, any kind of confit that you can picture all puffed up."

Hoping her explanation cleared things up, she follows it with a self-praising nod.

She nods reassuringly at the blond man. Really, it was expected. Although most housewives and moms knew the difference, it wasn't all that common for anyone who wasn't personally involved in cooking to also be informed about the different kinds of flour. "That's quite all right," she says, leaning forward so she can see the shopping list more clearly, and later adding a "May I?" so she can pick it up when it's become evident she'd need to think it over a little more.

Eggs, meat, vegetables, sliced bread are all crossed in this list. "It doesn't look like your mom's planning to bake bread, at any rate," she reasons out loud while scanning the list. There's no butter or baking soda in it, but that could easily be due to them already having some at home.

Deducing which kind his mom was looking for would prove to be hard, but all-purpose flour could be easily used as prepared flour after adding salt and yeast. So, under the circumstances, it was the winner. "Take this one," she finally offers the bag she was holding, and holds her other hand out so she can take the bag of prepared flour that he wouldn't need from him. She considers explaining the reasoning behind her decision, but wonders if it won't simply confuse him further—he did look a bit confused after her explanation.

"Personally, I prefer using purpose flour as well," she adds, really as an afterthought, and an unnecessary one at that. "That way I can add the exact amount of yeast and salt and baking powder I need. But this time I think I'm going to take already prepared flour for a bit of quick experimenting." Her hand reopens, in order to let the white bag levitate towards the basket that she'd conveniently left aside. It, too, floated slowly upwards to finally rest on her forearm. "You might want to bring a small bag of yeast back home, just in case."

It looks like she's ready to leave, but instead she speaks up again. "Did you want help with the rest of your shopping list? I'm sure we can get through it faster together," she offers. Besides, he could lead her towards those bonbons afterwards if needed. It was a win/win situation.

She smiled at the blind trust the man was offering her. It wasn't like she was going to purposefully give him fake or wrong information anyway, not like people went about their lives doing this to random strangers to make a living, but being trusted was always a nice feeling. Being heard and paid attention to were both wonderful things she would never mind getting more of.

Actually, scratch that. People did get paid for pulling pranks. Vera just wasn't one of those people. She was far too honorable for it. The Knight's Crest she proudly brandished virtually everywhere she went was proof enough, in her not so humble opinion.

Then, when he reluctantly agreed to buy the yeast she had suggested a little earlier, she couldn't help a lighthearted laugh escaping her. "Don't worry, I'll help you with that one, too."

He seems to consider her offer. He does so for longer than Vera would have liked, really. She was one impatient young woman accustomed to getting what she wanted when she wanted, after all. When Tony finally agrees, though, she just offers him her brightest smile. "Great. I'm Vera; Vera Lindt. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Tony," she offers with a short half-curtsey, performed only partially due to the basket in her hands.

"If the surname sounds familiar," she feels the need to add before he makes the connection between the Lindt in her name and the Lindt branding a good portion of the confectionery shelves, "Please do me the favor of pretending it actually isn't. My ancestors would crawl out of their tombs if they knew I'm buying the competition's chocolates not for research, but because I truly do enjoy them."

Which, well, were they able to, would probably be quite true. In the purely hypothetical case in which necromancy wasn't just an old lady's tale to keep young witches in line.

"Let's get that yeast first, then, before we forget. It should be just down this same aisle." Vera steps forward, leading the way.

She smiles, trying to show him that it really wasn't any trouble for her to help with his shopping list. "Don't mention it." After all, Vera did enjoy shopping for groceries as much as the next girl enjoyed shopping for clothes. She got to shoot two birds with one stone, too, when she came to this supermarket: she could shop for both groceries and cute clothes.

The brunette is quite glad that Anthony won't divulge her darkest secret, and even more glad that he agrees that all good chocolate was worthy of being enjoyed. Now, if only her family could be a little more like him and agreed. "You're absolutely right, of course. I like our chocolates well enough, but there's this much different texture in Bonbons that's simply too hard to resist, you know?"

Her eyes surf through the many packages in front of her, searching for a particular brand she always buys. "Ah! There it is," she exclaims, extending her arm towards it as Tony's questioning gaze follows her.

She hums in thought for a couple of seconds. "My Opa did teach me how to blend, conch, and temper chocolate. I guess his technique could be considered a family secret." She tilts her head at this, having never quite thought of her late grandfather's teachings as the passing down of an intangible heirloom. "Yes, I suppose so," she repeats, more confidently this time.

"I learned how to do everything else from our cook, though," she adds, nostalgia washing over her tone. Vera can still remember how many times she made a mess out of their kitchen when she was younger. "He used to be so nice and patient with me, it's such a pity he retired early. The new cook isn't nearly as nice or skilled. But what can you do, right?"

She even remembers how, whenever she was sure to get in trouble for playing in the kitchen, he'd take the blame for her.

"This one." Her mind finally returns from its trip to the past when she holds the small blue-and-yellow bag in front of Tony. She hopes he's able to recognize the brand's distinctive colors, that he's seen this exact same package before, because his mom was doing something wrong otherwise. "If your mom needs to turn that flour into prepared flour, she need just add some of this, and a few other things I'm sure she'll have in her kitchen already."

Tony's question catches her by surprise. What happened to the old cook? Vera cocks her head; clearly she never really thought about the matter of her old cook's retirement before. She takes advantage of his distraction with the little bag of yeast she handed him, and mentally wonders what did happened to the cook. Do you know, Fondue? she asks her familiar via their telepathic link, but he, too, doesn't know a thing.

Of course, you were probably too busy stuffing your face with the last of his food to notice.

I won't confirm or deny that, came his response at the back of her mind.

"You know, I don't actually know what happened to our old cook," she confesses. Even after trying to rake her mind for details she may have missed from those years, she's not getting very good results. "He'd made this delicious chocolate cake for my eleventh birthday, and the following morning he was just gone. Poof. Disappeared. The cake, too, was gone." There are hints of a pout in her lips and her tone. "I never got to eat more than a slice of that cake."

Her own words don't seem to completely convince her, however. Was there something she was missing? "I think my father wasn't happy with the cake..." Transfixed on the various baking supplies on the shelves before her, she allows her mind to wander back to the events of her eleventh birthday.

"I'll let her know, thanks," says Tony, bringing her back to the present. She nods lightly, not considering this to require any thanks from his part—after all, one didn't need to be a genius to figure out what to do with yeast, and she was certain Tony's mom did indeed know how to use it. What mom didn't, really?

Well, Vera's own mom didn't, but that was a completely different matter. "No need, I'm sure she knows all this already," she reassures, trying not to dwell on thoughts of her late mother for long. "Let's go get those spices, then, shall we?"

Luckily for them, the spices are just on the other side of the aisle. It was apparent Tony had strategically left this part of his shopping list for last—that, or his mom had just made it extra easy for him to go through the list without having to make five rounds throughout the supermarket.

Still slightly distracted, still with that feeling of having forgotten something important nagging at her, she offers, "Read me the list, I'll grab what you need."

Sugar, salt, nutmeg, basil, black pepper, her familiar helped her recount in her mind. All fairly common ingredients, things Tony probably didn't need any help with. Still, Vera liked feeling helpful, wanted to be of help to the best of her ability, and even just making the process faster for him was a bit of help, wasn't it? Yes, yes it was. Her fingers were already on a bag of sugar when he chipped in the bit about affordability.

Vera blinks, looks from the bag to Tony and back to the bag, before putting it back on its shelf with a sheepish look back. She's always shopped for quality and quantity rather than price, so this new restriction disconcerts her momentarily. What exactly did affordable choices comprise, anyway? Did he prefer the lowest marginal cost per gram, or just the cheapest bag there was? And, on that matter, weren't most of these around the same price, anyway? A quick survey of their price tags reveals that yes, most sugar bags of that same weight are roughly the same price, though there are a couple that are a dozen copper coins less.

"Oh, um, sure," she answers. Her tone is more inquisitive than affirmative, but she supposes there's not much she can do to backtrack now. Actually, she's screaming in her head for Fondue's help, but there's only so much a familiar can do when his witch is literally screaming at him.

In the end, she picks up the same bag she'd grabbed before, and hopes to all the spirits that Tony doesn't notice her initial hesitation. After all, it seems she'd been buying a good, convenient brand all along, and she can't help smiling to herself at that. Look at her, being unconsciously thrifty. She also noticed it's taken her a bit longer than usual to pick this bag, so she tries to hurry up with the others. If she wasn't doing this more quickly than Tony himself, then what was the point of claiming to help him?

Vera places the last of the spices in the list on Tony's cart with a pleased smile. "So, how come you're doing the groceries instead of your mom?" she asks, honestly curious. Was his mom too busy to come with him or something? Maybe she was preparing a surprise birthday party for him, who knows. Mrs. Rosie couldn't be the only one with such ideas. "Oh! We're done here, by the way." Internally, she's simultaneously praising herself. She'd done it. She'd made sure none of the brands she picked were the more expensive in their line—it seems applying the same judgement of looking for the most bulk for her buck was a good idea—and not even five minutes had passed since then. A true accomplishment. Perhaps she's have to use that judgement more often.