quicklog: May / Rory
[May comes back in from her newly-completed greenhouse around lunchtime, the morning with her hands in the dirt with tiny sprouting things doing her some good even though the ground is still covered in snow outside. Brushing dirt off of her clothes, she figures she should probably check on the "guest" that stumbled up to her home the night before. The door to her workroom leads into her kitchen through a tiny hallway with a huge farm sink and creaky faucet, and she uses the shockingly cold water to rinse off her hands and scrub at her nails until they're clean. As there's always been, there are certain dried herbs hanging along the hallway, salt spread into the cracks of the slate floor, and the latch into the kitchen itself is old hammered iron.
Her footsteps are soft enough in a pair of yellow garden clogs, but still able to be heard from inside her workroom, as easy as it is to hear someone moving around inside. The hinges don't creak when she opens the door, and she doesn't quite cross the threshold. Yet. She just looks inside.]