Roland's pretty much calmed from the events that had transpired earlier. The water in Jema'grethy was really out of this world - pun intended. So as the conversation continues, he answers as if he's in a state of half-rest, his usually sharp and stoic voice melting away, alongside the tension that's built up in his neck, his shoulders...He might have sighed quietly to himself then and there, but it's soft enough so that it could be easily mistaken as something else.

"You can just make icing from scratch. It's basically sugar." He mumbles, eyes still half-closed and his head leaning backwards. The towel, strangely, doesn't fall...Was that magic? A skill? Who knows! And in this perfect state of sudden serenity, Roland discloses just a little bit about why he thinks Inigo would bake wonderful things. In fact, he's imagining it right now. He'd visit that cafe every day, if he had the time. But this was neither the time nor the place to wax poetic about that; him and having time...

"Of course you'd be good at it," he goes, and it's a smooth transition. "You're detail-oriented. Your hands are nimble." He doesn't specify that he knows this as fact because they threaded flower bracelets just a day or two ago. Maybe he should?