11-12-2018, 12:20 AM
Radeken wanted a gift basket. She didn't know who these were for (didn't care, either), but she swore in the moment that she heard the kid's call and deigned to venture over, one of them would be for her. No matter what. So she moseyed on over real casual-like, admiring Isabelle's craft as if it meant anything more to her, personally, than the possibility of a great boon, today's haul - she hardly stolen a thing since arriving back in this 'almost home' of hers and it was making her itch -, and with that nigh motherly look still pressed over her features like a horror mascot's flimsy murder-mask, she plopped down. Chin on her paws. Eyes on the prize(s).
"[color=black]Good job!" Radeken remarked in a voice that belonged to a preschool teacher, or else a woman on late night commercials advertising botox (no happy in-between). "[color=black]Where are you sending these off to, again, pumpkin?" She asked, lifting her head up, now, to display interest in Isabelle's pending response.
"[color=black]Good job!" Radeken remarked in a voice that belonged to a preschool teacher, or else a woman on late night commercials advertising botox (no happy in-between). "[color=black]Where are you sending these off to, again, pumpkin?" She asked, lifting her head up, now, to display interest in Isabelle's pending response.