There were subtleties in the pronunciation that she couldn’t quite churn her mouth into, but she got what it was now.

“Ouie! Yes!” she laughed. “Brr! Butter!”

When Chéri asked directly about the butter, Ruby shuddered but let out an uncomfortable sound that had, at least, the cadence of a laugh.

“Yes. Ruby no butter,” she repeated. “I,” she thumbed at herself with her non-bread holding hand, “don’t,” she shook her head, “like it.”

Then, she glanced to the half of her slice left and Chéri. After a narrowing of her eyes, she decided that yes: yes, she could do this.

Ruby, dainty, painted Ruby, used her right thumb to pack the rest of the slice entirely into her left cheek and chew with a blissed out look. She’d have to redo her lipstick and wipe her hand, but something about pressed bread just tasted better.