A glamorous retreat {gryphon}

A bacon and cheese omelet with hashbrowns.

Oh. My. Ripred.

I've always loved my parents' cooking--when I was five I remember returning from school one winter with a cold, the smell of Dad's chicken noodle soup immediately reaching my nostrils the second I set foot in our living quarters and restaurant in one. He didn't hesitate to spoon me a bowl and bring it to my hands, heat in the form of thick white clouds twisting and turning from the concoction and blanketing my face in warmth.

Mom is pretty good at whipping something up in the kitchen too, but she prefers to leave the field up to Dad as she isn't as confident in it as he is with both her talent and his own. She should be though--Dad thinks he's better at lunches while her breakfast is amazing, and honestly, I think he's right.

It was a bright and sunny Saturday morning when I left for the studio, tote bag of art supplies hanging over my shoulder as I adjusted my cashmere sweater. Dark leggings, leather boots, but earlier I was in the mood for one of Mom's signature dishes and I practically had to beg her to make one.

I'm given a styrofoam box in a plastic bag, a cup of the same material carrying iced tea and a straw, a kiss on the cheek and a half-assed hug due to the colors and sustenance dangling off of my frame, and then I was off to continue loving my life once more.

Taking a couple sips of the beverage on the way to the building of visuals, I set it down to pull out my keys from the bag when I reach it. Jingle jangle, I hear the click and with a small squeal of excitement I drop it back down into the pouch, pick my drink back up, and turn the knob into cool air, light paleness; my own paradise.

"Ughhhh, my SECOND home sweet home!" Arms outstretched towards the ceiling, giggle, I hurry over to behind the desk near the door that I occupy most of the time. Set down the bag for my first meal of the day, my drink, and I take the tote into a room off to the side where I keep all of my art necessaries. These are the last of the supplies so now everything is here, right where I need them to be.

But that's when I hear muffled thumping.

And with a raised brow, I step out of the room to get a better sense of where it's coming from--outside?--and I open the door and look from left to right when I spot a young girl. She's panting heavily, wearing a wicker basket on her head and some kind of a potato sack as a...dress? Many drawings covered its surface however, though before I could get a better look at them she rushes inside without a word.

"Whoa--HEY!" and I follow her back inside, stepping over to be in front of her with a quirked brow and crossed arms. Stern tone, but don't be an asshole Waverly this is a child after all your parents have raised you far better than that--"What's the big idea, are you okay? Why are you dressed like that, what's the occasion?"