Danielle Drake ♨ Daenerys Targaryen (bendtheknee) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2019-01-25 22:41:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !narrative, * terri, c: danielle drake |
WHO: Danielle Drake
WHEN: Early Morning January 26th
WHERE: Her apartment, Arbor Crossing.
SUMMARY: Danielle makes a potential error while baking and discovers a surprising development about her physiology.
WARNINGS: I would say GOT spoilers, but if you don't know this about her, you aren't paying close enough attention. ;) One cuss word.
As she danced through her kitchen, Danielle reached up to her headphones and nudged the volume up another notch. It was late. Out of respect for her neighbors, she tried to keep the noise to a minimum. At this time of night, Rhaegal and Viserion were already curled up in her bed asleep. Only Drogon remained in the kitchen with her, his tail flicking as he watched her slide over the floor in her socked feet. She had a cake in the oven, nearly ready to be released from the heat. Her plan to scoop it directly from the pan and into a bowl with some ice cream, no frosting needed, was sure to be a good one. She’d been too wound up to sleep after working on cases for too late. Her work really wasn’t for the faint of heart, and sometimes it kept her up a little later than truly necessary. She tried to put it out of her mind, really, but it wasn’t always easy. The music helped, especially as her headphones pumped through an upbeat melody that she hummed under her breath. For a moment, she scooped Drogon up into her arms and swayed in front of the refrigerator with him. He glowered at her until she gently placed him back on his feet, though he must not have been too perturbed because he wound himself around her ankles before resuming his post as sentry. She didn’t really hear the timer for the cake go off, so much as she saw the blinking light at 0:00. With a grin, Danielle went over to the oven and turned off the probably-blaring timer. She opened the oven and used a pot holder to pull the rack out just slightly. Putting the pot holder aside, she grabbed a toothpick and inserted it into the cake just to test and make certain it was done. When it came out clean, she announced to Drogon, “See, I told you it would be perfect!” The heat from the oven washed over her, but she barely seemed to feel it. Drogon brushed up against her ankles again, and she looked down at him distractedly even as she reached into the oven again and grasped the pan, pulling it from the oven and shutting the door. Danielle poked her tongue out the side of her mouth as she held the pan, stretching up to the cabinet above the oven to grab her cooling rack. The pan was starting to feel a little warm, and she glanced just to check which potholder she’d grabbed only to realize...she didn’t have one at all. Her bare hand grasped the 375 degree cake pan. With a little shout of surprise, she dropped the pan with a clatter onto her counter, and stared at both of her hands. Both of them were exactly the same in color. Her right hand hadn’t bubbled up with redness or blisters. She squeezed it tightly and blinked. It wasn’t burnt. It didn’t hurt. She touched her palms to her cheek and thought her right felt slightly warmer than her left. Uncertain if she was more curious or concerned, Danielle looked back to the pan again and went to wet a rag. When she went back to the oven and opened it up, she could feel the heat again. Flicking a bit of water into the oven, it sizzled and steamed. She wasn’t crazy. The oven was on. The cake had baked. It was hot. Looking into the heated box, Danielle regarded it with some trepidation and tentatively stuck her right hand into the heat. She could tell there was a temperature difference, but it wasn’t enough to make her desire to pull away. Gritting her teeth, she reached out - insatiably (or insanely) curious, and quickly tapped the rack of the oven. Nothing. She pulled it out with her fingers and placed her hand upon the crossing bars...then her arm. Nothing. No redness. No unpleasant sensations. She swallowed hard and closed the oven doors, looking at her own hands in some mixture of amazement and fear. Her thoughts of dessert were wholly forgotten in revelation of this new development. A gift, no doubt, from Daenerys, Mother of Dragons. The Unburnt. Dragon’s blood. “Holy fuck…” |