[By this point of course, the oven is already on the floor and having the last of its flames beaten off it by Morgan. She can't throw water on it; all she keeps in the room is rum. She looks up, genuinely alarmed to see someone bursting in so soon]
[Morgan looks from Giselle, to the mess on the floor, to the small charred black spot on her desk here it had been sitting before, and she sighs, holding a hand to her head in embarrassment.]
And it probably would have been. [She tries to smile but it fails where it stands.] I'm just not very good at these things. This is why ships have cooks where I come from.
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I'm used to using a real oven.
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Simple accident. Shouldn't happen again.
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Right.
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