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[burntbridges]

 
"You've reached Letha Regis... forgive me if it takes some time to get back to you."

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[The smell hit her as soon as the door was opened, immediately leading Gyda to the possibility of two conclusions; either Cinna hadn't been here long enough to learn how to properly use ovens, or perhaps she was more than even a former slave.

She put the thoughts away; right now, what was important wasn't her history, but more a need to get out of the house.] I just needed to be out, and...to judge from the smell, probably you need someone better at baking.

[Really, burnt sugar and bread were not pleasant smells to be welcomed with.]

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...If you have any skill in the kitchen, I wouldn't mind the help.

[Taako had done some good with her many months ago, but she's never really had any talent for it. She can't even remember to set timers most of the time.]

I just wouldn't have expected to be your first choice for company. [She speaks idly, as she leads Gyda to the kitchen and sets about opening windows and fanning the bad air out with an intricate black hand fan.] Surely you'd rather be around your father, or your brother?

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"I know enough to not burn things." Her sense of smell and memory was enough that she was able to get to them long enough.

The lace fan got her attention, but for reasons she couldn't put a finger on. She instead focused on trying to clean the place up.

"My father's sulking and in a bad mood, and my brother's throwing knives at the wall." And she wasn't about to risk getting in either's way. "I didn't know if Lola was at work or not..and, well, you claim to be from the same world as myself."

Claim, but something in Gyda kept nagging that there was more to the story than Cinna let on. Right now though, she just wanted out of her home at the moment.

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She decides not to take that as an insult; Ivar is needlessly blunt, and Ragnar seemed the same, so she assumes Gyda is too.

"That isn't surprising for Ivar..." It doesn't escape her attention that Gyda says 'claims', but well.. it's a little obvious now that Letha is in her natural habitat, that Norway fit her like another person's clothing. "I just hope I'm not the cause of it- and I hope he keeps those knives far away from his daughter."

She's careful, at least, not to say "my" or "our". That would be giving too much away.

While Gyda is cleaning up Letha returns to scraping off the blackened bits of cookies, salvaging them as much as she can. With an apologetic look she offers a plate of what she's managed so far, "Are you hungry? They aren't bad if you.. ignore the smell."

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If she seemed blunt, it was because that was how she was brought up. Her family rarely believed in that sort of concealment; if they didn't wish to say something, they either didn't say it or lied through omission.

"Why would you be the cause of it..?" She'd been doing the dishes while talking, but slowed in her work when questioned. Ivar made no mention of Cinna, so how would she come to that conclusion?

The rest, of course he didn't throw knives near her niece, but she still didn't understand the connection.

Manners and customs of hospitality didn't allow her to refuse even trying food if offered. So even as the cookies were a little burnt on the bottom, she accepted one of them. "Thank you."

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"Ivar and I are old friends. After knowing one long enough, one learns to worry if they've somehow set him off without realizing."

She says it with the same bright, casual tone as everything else. She loves Ivar, even the parts of him that she doesn't fully understand. His temper is so much worse than hers, but she still can't bring herself to blame him when he loses it. Even if she often ends up the target of it.

"Anyway, I'm sure it will sort itself out without us worrying. Can I offer you anything? Something to drink, perhaps?" Before Gyda even answers she'd reached over to turn on her electric kettle - one of those simple little things she isn't sure how she lived without while she was gone.

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Gyda supposed there was truth in that; after all she had spent time in Kattegat, but never determined how long. Still, if Ivar never mentioned her name, she wondered if the connection was still more speculation on her part.

She took a bite from the cookie, the taste of burnt sugar and..something else, immediately hitting her, and it took a surprising amount of manners not to make a face as she swallowed it down. The woman was not joking when she said that baking wasn't her best skill.

"Milk maybe?" She covered the rest of the cookie with her fist. "Or tea, that works too."

Whatever it took to get the taste out of her mouth.