"Consider it done, then. When I can, I'll see about making you something." Her mind is already drifting on what she can do. Any excuse to cook is an excuse to relax as far as Toriel is concerned. A way to empty her mind of anything but ingredients, instructions and the results she wanted.

"It has, hasn't it?" She muses in turn, running her fingers along the glass thoughtfully. Her claws click against the glassware. The bar isn't quite by any standards given how close it is to the mess hall, but it feels more secluded. It feels like the pair are in their own bubble of idle conversation and drinks. "We'll need to make up for lost time then and think of some to trade."