Simplicity suits him. Suits her as well as she's only freshly showered, sporting a dark tank and a battered pair of thin pyjama pants when she answers the door with no comment on his wig-less getup. No comment and the barest touch of relaxation at the corner of her mouth that leads right into an easy grin: he's there, she's covered her tracks - nagging won't do either of them any good now.
"No false mustache, I see."
All right, maybe a bit of prodding as a substitute. "C'mon in, darling."
It's a simple flat. Small (by small living space standards) and barely furnished with only one chair, one bed and the kitchen counter for perching space. Sports a lovely view of the outer wall-- all metal and maintenance ways and everything else unattractive-- and smells a bit of cleaner and stagnant air, but it works for someone that needs privacy and seclusion the way she does these days.
no subject
"No false mustache, I see."
All right, maybe a bit of prodding as a substitute. "C'mon in, darling."
It's a simple flat. Small (by small living space standards) and barely furnished with only one chair, one bed and the kitchen counter for perching space. Sports a lovely view of the outer wall-- all metal and maintenance ways and everything else unattractive-- and smells a bit of cleaner and stagnant air, but it works for someone that needs privacy and seclusion the way she does these days.