Glacius is a braver soul than Carlisle, who would rather run from his problems and drink until he can't think about them anymore than actually face them. Facing them hasn't done him much good so far anyway, if you ask him, and while he knows he can't hide forever from such things, he hopes he can at least hold out until he's dead. He'll have plenty of time to mull over his lifetime of regrets when he's trapped between the planes for all eternity.

But those are thoughts to drown later -- or maybe a little now, as he retrieve his wine glass from where it's been sitting at the far end of the counter and takes a sip. It's not unusual for him to have at least one drink with him most of the time when he's home, and if the flour on the stem is any indication, this one has been with him while he's been baking. With the rolling pin thoroughly floured, he starts flattening out the dough.

"Just rolling this out to see where the lumps are," he explains. He sets his tool aside and gets to work on kneading, folding the dough over and over, working it with his hands. "This is kneading, and is the part I find most relaxing because you can take out your stress on this ball, and it will be none the wiser."