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*shifts to prose*

Lance looked at the young man long and hard.  He had to say something.  Liza was his closest contact.  She was just also… not close.  It was time to leave.  But he couldn’t leave he had to just… ugh what was he supposed… wait, ice cream?

“Cookie dough.”

Of course it wasn’t something grown up and professional like “french vanilla bean” or “new york style chocolate”.  It was cookie dough.  Fab.