log: connie/atticus
So, okay, the thing about snickerdoodles? They had to be soft and a little too big. You couldn't just bake some spices into sugar cookies because they wouldn't have that soft, buttery sort of taste. And it had to have a little tang, which came in the form of cream of tartar, an ingredient that barely got any use outside of delicious cookies. Snickerdoodles were no joke.
Connie believed that she needed to keep all of this in mind and produce some of the best damned snickerdoodles that Atticus had ever seen in order to get a good story out of him. She knew there was one. More than that, she knew that he wanted to talk about it. Despite all his cryptic warnings, he kept going. Hinting. Connie, someone with unmeasurable hidden power, understood how hard it was to keep things buried deep down inside. She had told the sheriff, after all, and even if she suspected he didn't believe her, now they could talk about her powers like it was no big deal. Something she had never had with anyone. Like ever. Sometimes, people just needed to talk.
So, once she was sure that she had the best cookies stacked on her plate, she zipped back over to the B&B and knocked on the carriage house door. It was about 8pm and she was supposed to be working the desk, but she could hear that buzzer anywhere. If someone needed her, she'd be there.
She was wearing that oversized blue jacket, a nerdy shirt about Megaman and roughed up jeans tucked into big pink boots. Her white hair was wild and her blue eyes almost seemed to glow in the moonlight. Almost. Spooky!