Delyth’s House
“It’s a shithole,” he said bluntly. “The door doesn’t close properly, there are holes in the roof, and...and in the plaster, though the latter is down to me I’ll admit. I can afford a better place, I’ve been able to for years, I just… didn’t think it was worth it. Didn’t think I was worth it, I suppose…”
“And somewhere in that dumberse golly head of his he mayhap thought that he could get ye into a new place before ye noticed the olio red paintjob in the bedroom. Oh look ye, there’s the kettle now…”
The high reedy whistle of boiling steam didn’t quite drown out the musician’s indignant curse as the chuckling witch lifted the kettle off the hearth hook to pour a steady stream of boiling water into the open teapot on the table.
“You fucking...could you not have let me tell he- them myself?” He’d started involuntarily but with Shae in his lap was only able to plant an elbow on the arm of the chair, fingers tangling in his hair in frustration.
Delyth snorted indelicately, tucking a copper curl behind her ear before crossing her arms and leaning against the mantel.
“Like ye’d have remembered before it was right in front of ye’r mung face again.” Turning her gaze to Shae, she continued, ignoring Kit’s warning growl- “This stopclocker was so upset after yer pina tiff that he split his precious knuckles open on the plaster. Left it a fair mess by all accounts.”
He could feel his cheeks burning with shame, and his jaw clenched, unable to protest that that wasn’t how it had happened at all, because… well, it was.
That was exactly what had happened, and…
...and I’m done hiding things from them…
...meet me in the gutter, make the devil your friend...