[When she's in a creative mood, very little can get in Sheryl Nome's way. Her pencil flows over the paper, scribbling out lyrics, crossing them off, scribbling more in the margins. She doesn't have a lot of paper here, so she'll have to use every bit of the page.
She's still human, though. Still very much mortal. And when that tantalizing aroma begins to fill the room, her stomach gives an almost embarrassingly large growl. When was the last time she'd had something to eat?
She glances up at the man at the stove.] That smells good. What is it?
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She's still human, though. Still very much mortal. And when that tantalizing aroma begins to fill the room, her stomach gives an almost embarrassingly large growl. When was the last time she'd had something to eat?
She glances up at the man at the stove.] That smells good. What is it?