Ezio sits back, an elbow rested on his knee. He absently brushes at his nose, then tests the bridge of it with his fingertips. Not irreparably smashed, at least, but it'll swell for sure.
"Crespelle alla Fiorentina," he replies. "Spinach and ricotta wrapped in a crespelle, and a white sauce –– salsa colla. Do you think CTAC was successful?"
He doesn't imagine so, if there's any magnanimity to be had.
no subject
"Crespelle alla Fiorentina," he replies. "Spinach and ricotta wrapped in a crespelle, and a white sauce –– salsa colla. Do you think CTAC was successful?"
He doesn't imagine so, if there's any magnanimity to be had.