Y’all holy shit I just went to this French taco place that basically sells dreams in a tortilla. I just ate a burrito filled with chicken nuggets and bacon and french fries that was covered with cheese sauce and I think I’m dying but hoo boy it was WORTH IT
“It’s smoking.” Penny gestures in the general direction of the oven.
“Yeah, I think that’s what happens when you bake things. Things get hot. They smoke.” Simon scratches at a mole on his neck and shifts his weight.
Penny holds back a ‘just because your magic smoked doesn’t mean that smoking things are normal’, and yanks open the oven door so forcefully that her ring clangs against the side. “Simon, it’s smoking.”
Which is an understatement. Smoke kind of bustles out of the oven in rolls and waves that dissipate at their feet. Six precious scones – are they supposed to be scones? Penny can’t exactly tell, but what else would Simon Snow try and fail to bake himself? – lie in the centre of the oven, on a tray. Their tops are blackened, and they actually have a striking resemblance to Simon, when he accidentally blew up, last time. A mixture of gold and bronze and random sooty bits.
Penny turns to Simon just as Baz walks in. Baz glances at the both of them, and eyes the scones in the oven. He gives Simon a half smirk, then pauses as though he’s savoring the words he’s about to say. “Well done, Snow.”