“Do we have creamed butter?” Scaramouche deadpanned, his eyes lazily flipping through the recipe book. Glittering snow piled outside, the night white and foggy. The two of you had decided to make sugar cookies for the holidays- despite Scaramouches obvious lack of excitement. He was on cookies, while you made the icing.

“Hey,” Scaramouche snapped his fingers, turning towards you to grab your attention. “I asked you if we had creamed butter."