Title: Alternate Perspective
Part: Two of ?
Rating: G
Warnings: None. ^^
Author's note: I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts! ::Gets hit in the head with a brick:: Ow.

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Preheat at 350 degrees. Combine cake mix, eggs, and water. Stir. Empty contents of cinnamon topping in separate bowl. Set aside. Coat inside of pan with non-stick cooking spray. Spoon half of batter into prepared pan. Sprinkle 1/2 cup cinnamon topping over batter. Drop remaining batter over cinnamon topping layer. Sprinkle another 1/2 cup cinnamon topping. Swirl batter. Sprinkle remaining cinnamon topping over batter. Set timer for forty-five minutes.

The sleeves of his black turtleneck rolled up past his elbows, Ronan Nolan waited impatiently as the oven slowly climbed to the required heat. Scowling, he brushed his hands on his mother's frilly apron and turned to the sink, where a mass of dishes was awaiting him. His brows drew together further at this, and deciding not to even _bother_, he carefully set the two bowls in the sink and filled them with water.

His mouth itched to say the few simple words that would get them going by themselves. Opting not to, as his mother sometimes got visitiors--non-magic people--he sighed impatiently at the oven. Only about twenty more degrees to go.

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the countertop, he glared at the oven. So utterly, completely, wholly slow. He was finally rewarded as the oven chimed. Tugging on some (terribly) pink pot holders, he lowered the door and slid the concotion into the oven, starting the timer.

Forty minutes to go. Thirty-five. The time literally _crawled_ by, and he realized that staring at the clock would only make it go slower. Throwing himself onto the couch in a tangled mess, he slipped off the pot holders and tossed them onto a table nearby. Delicious smells began to waft in from the kitchen, and it was all he could do to contain himself as he stood up and pushed on the oven light. Seven more minutes.

Startled by a quick rapping on the door, he turned out the oven light and straightened, absently flicking some unruly hair from his eyes. He took his time in setting all the dishes in the sink, filling them with hot water, and returning the pot holders to where they belonged. He figured the person on the other end of the door was just about to leave when he yanked his apron off and flung the door open, scowling out the doorway.

His expression abruptly changed to one of mingled surprise and disdain as he surveyed who was in front of him. The Yank. What was she doing at his house? He opened his mouth to ask, but was cut off.

"R. Nolan?" Nita asked, her voice quavering slightly. "Junior?"

Ronan exercised his jaw. "Hey, you're the-"

"I'm on errantry, and I greet you."

The standard wizard to wizard greeting.

He could almost feel his jaw slackening. That pompous, arrogant little Yank was one of his kind? She was a wizard?

"_You_?" He couldn't help but sound disbelieving, and a little angry.
"Me." She sounded... smug?

"You're one of us. Huh." He scowled. "What are you doing here?"

"Can we talk... uh... somewhere besides your front porch? I require an advice."

She sounded so formal, he was almost taken aback. They _had_ met before, after all.

Just then, a warning ring came from the kitchen.

"Crap! My cake!" Without much warning, he discarded the apron that was in his hand and skidded into the kitchen, yanking on pot holders and taking it out. It was perfect.

Nita looked in curiously. "Nice pot holders."

Nearly coloring at the pink adornments, he glared at her and set his cake carefully down to cool. He slid the mittens off and set them next to the cake, stalking back out. She was examining the apron as well.

"I didn't know you were into frills and lace. I really didn't see it in you, Ronan." She grinned at him.

"Keep your filthy _American_ hands off my mother's apron." He snatched it away, heavily stressing American. She narrowed her eyes in response.

"Look, I came here for advice. If you don't want to give me any, then fine, I'll look someone else up in the book."

"Book?" He laid the garmet over his arm. "What book?"

"You know, your wizard's manual." She eyed him like he was daft. "Where you get the spells and the ancillary data."

Ronan looked very surprised indeed. "You get them out of a _book_?"

A look of confusion diffused across her features. "Well, yeah. Where else would you get them?"

He looked scandalized. "The way we always have--the way the druids and bards did for two, three thousand years, maybe more. We do it by memory!"

Nita's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. "You learn the whole manual _by heart_? The whole body of spells?"

Ronan rolled his eyes. "You have to learn the basic incantations that make the more detailed information available. But mostly, mostly you learn it by heart--the area restrictions, the address list--if a change happens, you usually just wake up knowing about it one morning--and you make sure you remember it." He snatched her manual from her and thumbed through it. "This makes it way too easy," He said with disgust, pushing it back at her.

She was going to argue, but he decided that they had better not get into any more of a tiff than they already were. "Do you want some cake?" He asked it almost spitefully.

"What?"

"Cake. Don't you Yanks have that back at home?"

Her eyebrows drew together momentarily.

He sighed. "Fine, fine. It's cinnamon crumb cake. I humbly beg your apologies, O exalted princess, and ask if you would join me for some cake."

"You're just dripping with sincerity." Nita scowled at him. "Fine, I'll eat your cake. But if it knocks me out or something, I hold you fully responsible."

The corner of his mouth twitched at this. "Oh?"

She rolled her eyes and seated herself at the table.

Handing her a miniature plate with a medium sized portion, he sat down with his own and poised his fork above it.

"Aren't you going to try it?"

Nita blinked and stuck her fork down in the bouncy surface, tentatively raising it to her mouth. She took a few careful chews before swallowing, the slightly spicy taste lingering in her mouth.

"It's good."

Something flickered across his face before he took a bite of his own. Had she offended him?

"It's really good. I mean, I wish _I_ could bake a cake like this!" She tried to reassure him, though a few moments ago she wanted to do nothing short of strangling him.

Ronan looks faintly embarrassed. "It's not hard." He mumbled. "Just read the directions on the back of a box."

Nita cast him a sly look. "What, you haven't memorized it by heart?"

Giving her his trademark look, he neatly finished off his piece and stood up, demanding her plate. She handed it over, somewhat surprised as he walked to the kitchen, rolled up his sleeves, and became elbow-deep in soapy water.

"So. What's your problem?"