Repose

Clinical trial for any such person displaying symptoms of depression. Beginning selection Oct 1. Participants comment under a lock, for preferred anonymity. Aliases allowed.

[Iris has been feeling... okay. Oh, she knows things aren't anywhere near perfect, but in her life, it's at least been calm. And she wakes up on Monday morning with a surprising desire to do something nice. So in addition to the morning of making things for the bakery, she adds a few smaller recipes to the usual. And then she has them delivered:

To Sonrisa:
As usual, a loaf of sourdough bread. She also adds a half-dozen brownie-chip cookies and a half-sized (about 6" across) test recipe of flan. She'd remembered Sam mentioning it months ago, and it took a little googling to find as close to a traditional Cuban version as possible, but it turned out with not too much difficulty into a disposable plastic container, a pool of caramel around the custard. The container gets surrounded with a few cold packs and sent along with a note:
Let me know if I'm close with this? I know that no recipe is going to be perfect, so I can make any changes that are needed. I hope all three of you are doing well. -Iris

To the Antique Store:
A kraft-brown box of cookies, a half-dozen of the brownie-chip that the Alexander-Martins received, and a half-dozen standard Snickerdoodle, as well as a bag with a loaf of sourdough.
Louis, I know we don't talk much, but I hope you're doing well. I realized that I didn't know what sort of sweets you prefer, so I hope these serve for now. If you let me know what you like, I can try for that next time. -Iris

Home:
Less a delivery and more simply bringing things home:
-6 jumbo-sized blueberry muffins, cinnamon-sugar crumble on top
-Their own loaf of sourdough, already with the heel end cut off where she snagged a small piece to snack on.
-The 2 left over brownie-chip cookies. One has a slight, irregularly shaped wedge torn off of it.

[Locked to Eddie N]
[During this.]

Eddie? Help a girl out.

[The box is simple, only about a hand-span in each dimension, tied closed with string. The label reads "For Richard Greyson". Anyone else in the house will find that they're just... not interested in opening it. They don't want to open it, even if they usually would. It's not repulsive, not worrying. Just... it seems to say that it's for Dick, not them.

Inside are two metal containers, both with tightly fitting lids and both labeled in the same forcefully neat hand (like the owner wants to be extra sure that everything is perfectly legible). One reads "For Easier Sleep" and the other reads "For Clarity of Mind". Each come with brewing instructions, how to bring the water to a boil and then let it cool for a certain amount of time before pouring over the leaves, varying in steep time between the two. The sleep tea has the allowance of up to 2 spoonfuls of honey. Upon opening, that one smells almost thick, heavy - slow, if slow had a smell. There's something a little bitter to it, which is why the honey is allowed. The other smells bright and sharp, astringent, and it makes the mouth water like mid-summer berries.

She doesn't send along a teapot or reusable tea bags as she might for someone else. She knows that at one point, Bruce Wainright had a silver tea set (now in Eddie's possession), and she has faith that it's been replaced since then.

The note included lays on top of the tins and in the same handwriting reads:
I hope this can help.

No signature. Which is probably going to make it tricky to restock, but maybe she has a way to just know when more is needed.]

[After it's more than too late, of course. Eviction notice taped to the front door of the house that he used to share with He Who Shall Not Be(n) Named, his clothes and the supplies from his studio in garbage bags and suitcases, piled high by the curb. Freki and Geri's leashes looped around his wrist, with a week's worth of their kibble shoved in his backpack along with a few tins of soup.]

Any non-horrible spots to camp around town, in autumn, with two furbabies. Go.