Dish towel's something. She wraps it around her hand, holds her breath, retrieves the muffin tin, and then drops it on the counter before retreating from the kitchen entirely, coughing and trying to wave the smoke out of her eyes without crying. May or may not have burnt her hand in this process, but at least the hot things have been separated and are no longer making each other hotter.

"So. Uh. That's. That's a thing. Uh, probably it's impossible to actually burn the house down within twenty minutes of receiving it - "

"I'm sure the house will be fine -- are you all right -- we should get you out of here--"

"I'm fine," she coughs, before noting how much her hand hurts. "Uh, I should rinse this off - I'm fine other than that, yeah - "

"I'll get you water," he says firmly, taking her elbow and firmly steering her out the nearest aperture. 

She follows, because this seems simpler than doing anything else. 

And when she's out on the lawn he ducks back in, returning a moment later with a bowl of water which he holds out for her hand. 

She rinses her hand off. "Thank you. It's not that bad, I don't think it needs to be bandaged or anything." 

He sets down the bowl of water and takes her hand in both of his; frowns at it, makes a disapproving noise. "You should have a bandage. And ointment. It'll heal faster. We need a first aid kit and a fire extinguisher -- and a new oven, probably -- maybe we can just ask Michael..."

"Ask Michael what?" says a voice from behind him.

She makes a startled and not particularly dignified noise.

"Michael! Hi! We were, uh - we were making muffins."

"Oh, how wonderful! I'm afraid I'm not familiar with this method."

"Uh, yeah, it's - we didn't quite succeed."

"You know, that's so uniquely human," Michael observes, in a tone of fascinated delight. "Humans never cease to amaze me."

He contemplates the plumes of smoke.

"Yeah," says Karen, not entirely sure which part of that she's agreeing to. "Um, what are you, if I might ask?"

"I am an Architect. We design neighborhoods like this one. It's very difficult, you know, arranging all the tiny details to be absolutely perfect."

He lowers his voice conspiratorially. "In fact -- I really shouldn't be telling you this -- but after thousands of years, this is my very first time designing a neighborhood by myself!"

She's not even going to try to figure out whether there's any chance of that making sense right now.

"Oh! Wow. Congratulations, then! Uh, sorry about the kitchen. I'm sure that was just, uh - " she should probably not immediately throw Jean under the bus to save face " - my fault, I should've been more careful with everything. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it!" Michael claps her on the back. "I'd be delighted to rebuild your perfect house from the molecular level. It's no trouble at all!"

He snaps his fingers, and the house is instantly returned to its former state.

"...Oh. Huh. Well, thank you."

"Of course! If you want to burn it down again, just let me know, any time."

"We'll, uh, keep that in mind," says Karen. "Thank you again."

"You're very welcome! Enjoy your house, Karen, Jean."

He wanders off, humming off-key.

She waits until Michael looks like he's probably out of earshot - not that she really believes that anywhere is out of his earshot - and then turns around and looks at Jean.

"I'm just gonna, uh, go back into the neighborhood and see if any of the restaurants have takeout. If that's OK. Not that I don't trust your abilities as a cook. Just, uh, to be on the safe side."

"You're hurt, and I, ah, exploded dinner; why don't you let me do that?"

"Are you sure? It's no trouble - "

It's a nonzero amount of trouble, but she's really hungry and she has no idea what they eat in Tunisia and walking helps her think and she really really really needs to think right now.

"Quite sure. I like getting to meet people."