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The first thing out of Abalia's mouth at that was a sigh, one both of relief that Mirja was home and seemingly alright, and of exasperation that she was the same Mirja as always. Though, to be entirely honest, that was the best thing Abalia could have hoped for.
“I think I am quite comfortable enough in my current outfit, Mirja, but I certainly appreciate the offer.” Abalia made her way over with a smile, looking her friend over subtly as she did. It was odd seeing her like this, to be sure, but it was most definitely the same Mirja she was used to.”You're looking rather well, I must say. The tan suits you.” It was probably the closest thing to flirting that Mirja, or anyone, would see out of Abalia, just friendly, faintly playful banter as she saw it. Hardly a normal occurrence, but she wanted to create a good atmosphere and not seem overbearing. Besides, she was admittedly in a rather upbeat mood now, having seen her semi-mentor in good enough shape.
Rifling around in her bag for a moment, Abalia pulled a surprisingly dainty-looking package out and held it out for Mirja. It was wrapped in a soft, pastel pink paper, with an equally pastel yellow ribbon holding it together. It was small, not much bigger than the palm of one's hand, and within was one of a dozen cookies Abalia had made specifically for this occasion, half of them simple chocolate chip, and the other half a cinnamon/coffee powder recipe of her own creation, aggressive in flavor but still exceptionally well crafted. It had seemed the sort of thing Mirja would like. “I do hope what I've brought suits your tastes. I can always make something else, of course, but I do believe these are quite well made.” There was more lying within the satchel, including a cake that had taken a full day to properly make, but she would keep that a surprise for now.
Though Abalia was still smiling, there was a faint twinge of sadness as the full circumstance of this meeting once again came to mind, and in a gentler tone than before, she asked as she entered the house, “Are you doing alright, Mirja? Apart from the obvious, of course.” There was undoubtedly concern in her tone, a faint level of emotion, and perhaps even what one might call affection, that was still a rather sharp contrast to her usual clinical detachment. Her face told much the same story, eyebrows furrowed with worry and her eyes staying firmly on Mirja, even as she maintained a smile.