[ Mike makes a half-hearted attempt to glare at her, as though barking orders at her is something he does on a regular basis - maybe sometimes, but for the most part Gen can fuck around as she pleases, as long as the dishes are washed and put away before opening hours, it's more or less free reign. he knows all too well what strictly governed households are like, knows all too well the urge to rebel and cause shit just to cause shit. at most he gets snippy at her when she gets snippy at him, but there's a conscious effort involved in not bossing her around. whether that's because it genuinely means something or if he'd just rather not piss her off and have to build a fire extinguisher into Helpy, hard to really say for sure.

"health violations," pah. if any health inspector actually did a visit on the restaurant, they'd have far more concerns about the corpse cooking in the kitchen than they would the teenaged hired help wearing ugly sleepshirts. weird how one's never showed up even once, huh? if he's going to inherit anything from his father, at least shady business tactics come in handy when you're trying to avoid being seen. ]

Terrible suggestions. Truly awful. [ at least, Mike vaguely recalls not liking Boston cream, so he's just gonna assume they're still shit. he watches Gen saunter off, shakes his head. girls. he sighs, starts up the next round of batter - most of the kitchen is automated, so mixing and incorporating is easy when machines are doing most of the work. he does call out after her as she leaves, ] Do be careful, if you Violent Beauregarde yourself out of here, I'm absolutely charging you for damages to the doorframe and the structural integrity of the building.

[ he teases. that's what you're supposed to do, right? right. ]