phineas bones deserves death (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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gooseberryhigh2018-04-20 03:47 pm
phin) wrote in gooseberryhigh2018-04-20 03:47 pm
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Who: Phin & Sofia
When: Start of Spring break!
Where: The Bones family apartment, Birmingham, West Midlands, England.
What: Arrival + tea. Phin plays host. Sofia is charming. There are pygmy puffs in a closet.
Warnings: Fluffy?? Also should have been up six years ago, aghh ;-;
The Bones apartment is situated on a magical floor in a very old magical building. For most, their standards would be security enough -- but even after Phin’s brought enchanted key against enchanted lock, signed in with the house elf doorman, and dragged his and Sofia’s things onto and off of the semi-sentient elevator that knows his particular voice and wand, there’s still his mum’s measures to deal with.
He’s through the third ward when he looks at his girlfriend, shrugging at her in a way that seems half in apology and half in jest. “Sorry. Just a bit more.”
The door itself is old, pinkish, charmed to be forgettable and easily overlooked. It seems to gain color the longer they stand in front of it, with Phineas murmuring to undo five levels of spellwork (one for each letter, B-o-n-e-s), until at last a wild marble eye rolls into view in the peephole above their heads.
Phin stares at it for a moment, mind suddenly blank. He fidgets trying to remember, then pulls a crumpled envelope out of his pocket to read aloud: “Aether. Hearth seeker. Mind’s alley. Sanctuary.”
The door promptly unlocks and swings open with a roll of warm, herbal air. He rolls his eyes good-naturedly at Sofia before gathering up his bag and entering, comfortable despite the dimness. It’s a bit dark to make out anything at all, to be honest, except the suggestion of color and the tree-shaped coat rack he ignores while removing his track jacket. It lands dejectedly on the brick floor instead.
“Mum’s a bit dramatic,” Phin offers, reaching out for Sofia’s coat. Dramatic is, of course, an understatement, but it’ll serve well enough for now. “Anyway, here we are.”
Dealing with a political father, Sofia was used to annoying security measures almost wherever they went, but Phin’s place may have had her’s beat. She watched curiously, eyebrows raised in amusement as he went through each lock. Maybe his family was more famous in the UK than she thought, not that she cared much either way.
“She might have mine beat,” Sofia says with a small laugh, allowing him to take her coat so she can look around more. It’s much more… colorful, compared to her parents’ place in Chicago, which is like walking into a cold and dull museum. It feels like a family actually lives here though, and that somewhat makes her feel comforted and welcomed.
“Though I quite like your mom’s idea of dramatic compared to mine,” she finally adds, turning to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Our place is boring. Neutral greys and whites, maybe a corny portrait of some relative. Feels like the closets they store dead bodies in, honestly. ”
"Yeah, least she's not a righteous bitch," Phin concedes.
He quirks a little smile at Sofia's kiss, though it doesn't quite dispel the strange, fluttery feeling in his stomach at the sight of her amongst mum's things. He's never brought anyone in here before -- not something he's quite mentioned, actually, to ward off conversations he's not sure he wants to have. Still, it's true. And it means more than he'd be able to express anyway, even if he'd tried in the first place.
"Bit of a nutter, though." An honest joke. "Let me put on the lights, yeah?"
The "lights" are a series of floating bulbs mum sculpted out of salvaged glass from the park. They give off a comforting glow despite their heritage, illuminating the clutter of the room: knick-knacks, abandoned sculptures, yarn figurines, books upon books, jars full of glass and shells and odd ingredients. The ceiling is obscured by a massive magical print-out of boreal foliage, giving it all the impression of a shifting snowy forest den. Half the place is taken up by mum's jewelry makings, which means that, as usual, her desk is covered in bones.
Lucy's been making noises of discontent; Phin props her cage next to the ancient couch -- which looks its age, despite mum's earnest blanket cover-up -- and releases the latch so she can escape as she likes.
A handwave sends their luggage floating off to disappear behind the curtain of ribbons that separates this room from the rest of the home. Phin sees them off, then remembers his guest. “Bedrooms and things are off that way.”
He feels suddenly, vaguely self-conscious now that they’re semi-situated. And a bit tired, really -- it’s always quite a trip getting here, magic or not.
"D'you want anything? Think I'll put tea on."
Sofia lets out a loud laugh. Phin’s never met her mother and yet he already knows her too well. She smiles at the mention of his, though. She hopes to meet her someday soon and that she’ll approve of her with her son.
“Aren’t all the best people?” She says with a smirk, cocking her head to the side before the lights have her jaw dropping in awe. They weren’t flashy and modern like what she was used to. They were made with a lot of care, beautiful in their own way. Mesmerizing. Gooseberry had its quirks, but this was something she’d never seen before. Now that she could see better, she couldn’t stop herself from wandering the room and taking in all of his mother’s things. She could definitely see where Phin got his creativity from, which make her smile even more to think about.
“This place is amazing.” She finally speaks again, feeling a gust of wind woosh by her head. Probably Lucy. She remembers her own familiar and sets down the purple carrier she’d been holding, gently scratching at the little screen to wake her. “We’re at Phin’s place, Freya, you can come out now. Just leave Lucy alone and mind your manners, would you?” She opens the the door and the cat doesn’t budge, too lazy to move. “Suit yourself.” She shrugs, leaving her to do her own thing while she follows Phin off to make tea.
“Where is your mom, anyway?” Sofia raises an eyebrow, plopping down in the first chair she finds. “And does she know you’re here alone with a very naughty girl? I know my parents wouldn’t approve if the roles were reversed. Of course, my mom always assumes I’m up to no good anyway.”
The kitchen's a mess. Well -- clean enough, but full of clutter, with a handful of earthenware dishes mum never put away before leaving. Phin busies himself with those first, throwing them with a clatter into a cabinet papered with newspaper clippings. This place is amazing, Sofia says, and he shakes his head, laughing a little to himself. It does feel sort of nice to be home, honestly, even as a host who doesn't know what he's doing.
He nods his head toward a record player in the corner. It creaks to life, and Celestina Warbeck -- of course -- starts her warbling over the bright green tile of the countertop. The sound feels like having mum here.
Sofia's question hangs in the air with the tinny refrain. Phin thinks about responding to everything that came after and simply ignoring it, but he knows he can't for long -- there's not much to distract her with, and she'll remember his silence and prod him about it sooner or later.
He considers his words, pausing for precision with his measurements of water and leaves, and sets the kettle to boil atop the magical stove. The precise temperature matters, of course -- tea is a precious ritual in this apartment, enough that he never slacks even when mum could never know about it. Even back across the ocean, at Gooseberry.
"It's green," Phin murmurs half to himself, waggling the canister at Sofia. "Hope that's all right. Got rose petals in. And... Lavender, looks like."
Then he smiles at her in a sidelong way, still occupied putting things together, and finally responds: "I dunno, love. My mum's... Think she'd be pleased I brought anyone along at all, really. Surprised. Wouldn't care much what sort of person you were, or what I get up to with you. She’s rarely bothered about anything like that."
Phin wets the leaves with a flourish of steam, then arranges everything on the least offensive tray he can find: twin pink teacups that nearly match the pot, a rooster-shaped jug for cream. "Biscuits? We've always got some somewhere."
He sets everything down in front of Sofia, kissing her somewhat messily on the forehead, and immediately bustles away, "busy" putting other things away.
"Oh yeah--" --over the shoulder, like an afterthought-- "--Mum's at some therapeutic retreat ... rehabilitation.... sort of thing. Wasn't too clear in the letter, to be honest, but it's likely true."
“Smells good. Biscuits are cookies, right?” Sofia would probably take anything he gave her and not question it at this point, she was just happy to be there. Happy they were together. Happy happy happy. It was sorta gross.
“Therapeutic rehab?” She raises an eyebrow, wondering if maybe his mom was a little more off than she’d realized. Well, it wasn’t like it mattered much to her anyway. As long as Phin was fine with her, she’d be fine with her. Still, she had to wonder.. “Do you think she’s okay? I mean, I’m assuming so if you’re here dicking around with me.”
Freya finally decides to stroll into the room and rubs up against Sofia’s legs with a giant yeowl, nearly startling her out of her own skin.“Son of a--” She swears under her breath, having no time to compose herself before the cat jumps into her lap for attention, purring loud enough it could probably even be heard over Miss Warbeck. She ignores her to try some of her tea, though, humming to herself while the taste lingers on her tongue.
“This is pretty good. A lot of teas just taste like hot water to me, honestly. Maybe because American tea sucks? I don’t know.” She smiles and waves him over to sit. “Stop fussing over things and come here.”
Phin blinks at the question, momentarily confused at the turn of words, then nods. "Err. Yes. Cookies."
He rummages through a cabinet, finds a packet of chocolate somethings, and flings them at the table.
Sofia, of course, has a question -- he even opens his mouth to answer it -- but then there's Freya, and Lucy comes hopping into the kitchen afterward. The raven appears to be fascinated by the feline, which is funny considering she's met loads of them by now. Still, once the cat's in Sofia's arms, Lucy lingers, circling their chair like a glossy little predator. Now and then she lets out a creaky sound that seems word-like, but is mostly just a mewl for equal attention, before getting distracted by something shiny elsewhere.
Phineas takes a seat across from Sofia when she asks, immediately slouching so their legs touch, and brings his mug up to blow at the steam.
"You're not wrong. Anyway, mum's fine." He considers the words, adding a spiral of cream to his tea, then nods. "She sounded rather chuffed to get out, really."
Anyway, if things were awful, he'd have heard from Susan or Aunt Beatrice by now.
Time to change the subject.
"...Freya's settling in, then."
Sofia makes kissy sounds at Lucy before she wanders off, cackling at the curious bird. She had to admit, she’d never been much of a fan of flying animals before she’d met Phin’s familiar, but there was something about Lucy that had made it easy to fall in love with her. Kinda like Phin.
She nods at his answer, finding it satisfying enough. She hoped he’d tell her if something more serious was going on anyway, since they had a sort of understanding by now.
“Yeah,” she looks down at the furball in her lap before taking a sip of tea. “Not much bothers her as long as she has a place to sleep. Be prepared for her to crawl between us in bed,” she says with a smirk. “Speaking of, I need a very guided tour of your room after this.”
"A very guided tour," Phin repeats, with a swallow of tea. "As opposed to opening the door and walking away?"
He's not been in his room for months and likely didn't leave it very neatly after New Year’s, but that doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest. Despite an inclination for privacy, appearances never fully do. Besides, he feels quite comfortable now, the longer they sit. Sofia looks more and more natural in this place, even if her outfit is probably more expensive than all of his wardrobe put together. Perhaps he'll have her model some of it later.
"I'll warn you -- it's a pit. You've got to have the orientation before I can leave you in there unsupervised."
“Walking away doesn't get you sexytime, though,” she says with a wink, but she is genuinely curious about what it looks like. Messy seems about right, all super creative usually people are. She imagines art supplies and sketchbooks, too. Maybe even strange photos on the walls.
“An orientation?” She raises her brows in amusement. “Are there other creatures living in there besides you and Lucy that I should be worried about? A sock eating monster, for instance,” she laughs, though she's sure there's one at Gooseberry stealing all of hers. She always leaves with less than she came with.
"I've got the whole week for that," says Phin, as if he hasn't already been thinking about it.
He straightens in his seat a bit, deliberately stepping on her feet with his and then leaving them there. Sofia's question earns a sound of amusement.
"Mum keeps pygmy puffs in my closet, actually. But they're sort of useless, and anyway she might've taken them with her." That joke shop had always been one of her favorites to visit in better times.
“Not if I cross my legs.” She grins before wiggling her toes under his feet, narrowing her eyes at him as if challenging him to try to keep her pinned there. Freya flicks her tail, annoyed by all the movement and decides to jump down and find a different place to take a nap.
Sofia stares at Phin in silence for a moment, her face scrunching up in confusion as she thinks of the various reasons you’d keep them in a closet.
“Don't you have to feed them, though? I don't know how I feel about poking my head in your closet and chance finding a giant ball of dead fluff balls.” She starts to sniff the air. “Smell like anything’s decomposing to you? If they're not dead yet, Freya might take care of that for you,” she says in a teasing manner.
"I'd like to see you walk around Birmingham like that. Get in the pub: oh, don't talk to Sofia about her pretzel legs. She's quite sensitive." Phin's ticklish, apparently. He has to remove his feet when she wriggles, but periodically prods at her with a toe afterward.
"Oh, there's a..." He gestures with his free hand, unconcerned. "What's the word? Dispenser. We're not monsters."
"And I'd never feed Horace and Harold to your cat, darling as she is," he adds. "We'd have a proper viking funeral at very least."
Sofia snorts and gently kicks him in the leg. “You might have to tell her to leave them alone, I doubt she’d wait for your permission to try to eat them anyway.” A meow comes from the other room and she points off in the same direction. “What’d I tell you?” She laughs and quickly gets to her feet. The meow was a false alarm though, Freya had jumped in the window and was just making noise at something outside. Honestly, she probably would have just batted the tiny puff things around like a cat toy, no harm done.
“I expected to be too late and find globs of bloody hair hanging from her mouth, but she's just singing the song of her fur people to your neighbors,” she says, turning back to her lover and flashing him an adoring smile. “Now that the crisis is averted, let's celebrate. You take me to your room and we’ll see if we can depretzel me.”
When: Start of Spring break!
Where: The Bones family apartment, Birmingham, West Midlands, England.
What: Arrival + tea. Phin plays host. Sofia is charming. There are pygmy puffs in a closet.
Warnings: Fluffy?? Also should have been up six years ago, aghh ;-;
The Bones apartment is situated on a magical floor in a very old magical building. For most, their standards would be security enough -- but even after Phin’s brought enchanted key against enchanted lock, signed in with the house elf doorman, and dragged his and Sofia’s things onto and off of the semi-sentient elevator that knows his particular voice and wand, there’s still his mum’s measures to deal with.
He’s through the third ward when he looks at his girlfriend, shrugging at her in a way that seems half in apology and half in jest. “Sorry. Just a bit more.”
The door itself is old, pinkish, charmed to be forgettable and easily overlooked. It seems to gain color the longer they stand in front of it, with Phineas murmuring to undo five levels of spellwork (one for each letter, B-o-n-e-s), until at last a wild marble eye rolls into view in the peephole above their heads.
Phin stares at it for a moment, mind suddenly blank. He fidgets trying to remember, then pulls a crumpled envelope out of his pocket to read aloud: “Aether. Hearth seeker. Mind’s alley. Sanctuary.”
The door promptly unlocks and swings open with a roll of warm, herbal air. He rolls his eyes good-naturedly at Sofia before gathering up his bag and entering, comfortable despite the dimness. It’s a bit dark to make out anything at all, to be honest, except the suggestion of color and the tree-shaped coat rack he ignores while removing his track jacket. It lands dejectedly on the brick floor instead.
“Mum’s a bit dramatic,” Phin offers, reaching out for Sofia’s coat. Dramatic is, of course, an understatement, but it’ll serve well enough for now. “Anyway, here we are.”
Dealing with a political father, Sofia was used to annoying security measures almost wherever they went, but Phin’s place may have had her’s beat. She watched curiously, eyebrows raised in amusement as he went through each lock. Maybe his family was more famous in the UK than she thought, not that she cared much either way.
“She might have mine beat,” Sofia says with a small laugh, allowing him to take her coat so she can look around more. It’s much more… colorful, compared to her parents’ place in Chicago, which is like walking into a cold and dull museum. It feels like a family actually lives here though, and that somewhat makes her feel comforted and welcomed.
“Though I quite like your mom’s idea of dramatic compared to mine,” she finally adds, turning to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Our place is boring. Neutral greys and whites, maybe a corny portrait of some relative. Feels like the closets they store dead bodies in, honestly. ”
"Yeah, least she's not a righteous bitch," Phin concedes.
He quirks a little smile at Sofia's kiss, though it doesn't quite dispel the strange, fluttery feeling in his stomach at the sight of her amongst mum's things. He's never brought anyone in here before -- not something he's quite mentioned, actually, to ward off conversations he's not sure he wants to have. Still, it's true. And it means more than he'd be able to express anyway, even if he'd tried in the first place.
"Bit of a nutter, though." An honest joke. "Let me put on the lights, yeah?"
The "lights" are a series of floating bulbs mum sculpted out of salvaged glass from the park. They give off a comforting glow despite their heritage, illuminating the clutter of the room: knick-knacks, abandoned sculptures, yarn figurines, books upon books, jars full of glass and shells and odd ingredients. The ceiling is obscured by a massive magical print-out of boreal foliage, giving it all the impression of a shifting snowy forest den. Half the place is taken up by mum's jewelry makings, which means that, as usual, her desk is covered in bones.
Lucy's been making noises of discontent; Phin props her cage next to the ancient couch -- which looks its age, despite mum's earnest blanket cover-up -- and releases the latch so she can escape as she likes.
A handwave sends their luggage floating off to disappear behind the curtain of ribbons that separates this room from the rest of the home. Phin sees them off, then remembers his guest. “Bedrooms and things are off that way.”
He feels suddenly, vaguely self-conscious now that they’re semi-situated. And a bit tired, really -- it’s always quite a trip getting here, magic or not.
"D'you want anything? Think I'll put tea on."
Sofia lets out a loud laugh. Phin’s never met her mother and yet he already knows her too well. She smiles at the mention of his, though. She hopes to meet her someday soon and that she’ll approve of her with her son.
“Aren’t all the best people?” She says with a smirk, cocking her head to the side before the lights have her jaw dropping in awe. They weren’t flashy and modern like what she was used to. They were made with a lot of care, beautiful in their own way. Mesmerizing. Gooseberry had its quirks, but this was something she’d never seen before. Now that she could see better, she couldn’t stop herself from wandering the room and taking in all of his mother’s things. She could definitely see where Phin got his creativity from, which make her smile even more to think about.
“This place is amazing.” She finally speaks again, feeling a gust of wind woosh by her head. Probably Lucy. She remembers her own familiar and sets down the purple carrier she’d been holding, gently scratching at the little screen to wake her. “We’re at Phin’s place, Freya, you can come out now. Just leave Lucy alone and mind your manners, would you?” She opens the the door and the cat doesn’t budge, too lazy to move. “Suit yourself.” She shrugs, leaving her to do her own thing while she follows Phin off to make tea.
“Where is your mom, anyway?” Sofia raises an eyebrow, plopping down in the first chair she finds. “And does she know you’re here alone with a very naughty girl? I know my parents wouldn’t approve if the roles were reversed. Of course, my mom always assumes I’m up to no good anyway.”
The kitchen's a mess. Well -- clean enough, but full of clutter, with a handful of earthenware dishes mum never put away before leaving. Phin busies himself with those first, throwing them with a clatter into a cabinet papered with newspaper clippings. This place is amazing, Sofia says, and he shakes his head, laughing a little to himself. It does feel sort of nice to be home, honestly, even as a host who doesn't know what he's doing.
He nods his head toward a record player in the corner. It creaks to life, and Celestina Warbeck -- of course -- starts her warbling over the bright green tile of the countertop. The sound feels like having mum here.
Sofia's question hangs in the air with the tinny refrain. Phin thinks about responding to everything that came after and simply ignoring it, but he knows he can't for long -- there's not much to distract her with, and she'll remember his silence and prod him about it sooner or later.
He considers his words, pausing for precision with his measurements of water and leaves, and sets the kettle to boil atop the magical stove. The precise temperature matters, of course -- tea is a precious ritual in this apartment, enough that he never slacks even when mum could never know about it. Even back across the ocean, at Gooseberry.
"It's green," Phin murmurs half to himself, waggling the canister at Sofia. "Hope that's all right. Got rose petals in. And... Lavender, looks like."
Then he smiles at her in a sidelong way, still occupied putting things together, and finally responds: "I dunno, love. My mum's... Think she'd be pleased I brought anyone along at all, really. Surprised. Wouldn't care much what sort of person you were, or what I get up to with you. She’s rarely bothered about anything like that."
Phin wets the leaves with a flourish of steam, then arranges everything on the least offensive tray he can find: twin pink teacups that nearly match the pot, a rooster-shaped jug for cream. "Biscuits? We've always got some somewhere."
He sets everything down in front of Sofia, kissing her somewhat messily on the forehead, and immediately bustles away, "busy" putting other things away.
"Oh yeah--" --over the shoulder, like an afterthought-- "--Mum's at some therapeutic retreat ... rehabilitation.... sort of thing. Wasn't too clear in the letter, to be honest, but it's likely true."
“Smells good. Biscuits are cookies, right?” Sofia would probably take anything he gave her and not question it at this point, she was just happy to be there. Happy they were together. Happy happy happy. It was sorta gross.
“Therapeutic rehab?” She raises an eyebrow, wondering if maybe his mom was a little more off than she’d realized. Well, it wasn’t like it mattered much to her anyway. As long as Phin was fine with her, she’d be fine with her. Still, she had to wonder.. “Do you think she’s okay? I mean, I’m assuming so if you’re here dicking around with me.”
Freya finally decides to stroll into the room and rubs up against Sofia’s legs with a giant yeowl, nearly startling her out of her own skin.“Son of a--” She swears under her breath, having no time to compose herself before the cat jumps into her lap for attention, purring loud enough it could probably even be heard over Miss Warbeck. She ignores her to try some of her tea, though, humming to herself while the taste lingers on her tongue.
“This is pretty good. A lot of teas just taste like hot water to me, honestly. Maybe because American tea sucks? I don’t know.” She smiles and waves him over to sit. “Stop fussing over things and come here.”
Phin blinks at the question, momentarily confused at the turn of words, then nods. "Err. Yes. Cookies."
He rummages through a cabinet, finds a packet of chocolate somethings, and flings them at the table.
Sofia, of course, has a question -- he even opens his mouth to answer it -- but then there's Freya, and Lucy comes hopping into the kitchen afterward. The raven appears to be fascinated by the feline, which is funny considering she's met loads of them by now. Still, once the cat's in Sofia's arms, Lucy lingers, circling their chair like a glossy little predator. Now and then she lets out a creaky sound that seems word-like, but is mostly just a mewl for equal attention, before getting distracted by something shiny elsewhere.
Phineas takes a seat across from Sofia when she asks, immediately slouching so their legs touch, and brings his mug up to blow at the steam.
"You're not wrong. Anyway, mum's fine." He considers the words, adding a spiral of cream to his tea, then nods. "She sounded rather chuffed to get out, really."
Anyway, if things were awful, he'd have heard from Susan or Aunt Beatrice by now.
Time to change the subject.
"...Freya's settling in, then."
Sofia makes kissy sounds at Lucy before she wanders off, cackling at the curious bird. She had to admit, she’d never been much of a fan of flying animals before she’d met Phin’s familiar, but there was something about Lucy that had made it easy to fall in love with her. Kinda like Phin.
She nods at his answer, finding it satisfying enough. She hoped he’d tell her if something more serious was going on anyway, since they had a sort of understanding by now.
“Yeah,” she looks down at the furball in her lap before taking a sip of tea. “Not much bothers her as long as she has a place to sleep. Be prepared for her to crawl between us in bed,” she says with a smirk. “Speaking of, I need a very guided tour of your room after this.”
"A very guided tour," Phin repeats, with a swallow of tea. "As opposed to opening the door and walking away?"
He's not been in his room for months and likely didn't leave it very neatly after New Year’s, but that doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest. Despite an inclination for privacy, appearances never fully do. Besides, he feels quite comfortable now, the longer they sit. Sofia looks more and more natural in this place, even if her outfit is probably more expensive than all of his wardrobe put together. Perhaps he'll have her model some of it later.
"I'll warn you -- it's a pit. You've got to have the orientation before I can leave you in there unsupervised."
“Walking away doesn't get you sexytime, though,” she says with a wink, but she is genuinely curious about what it looks like. Messy seems about right, all super creative usually people are. She imagines art supplies and sketchbooks, too. Maybe even strange photos on the walls.
“An orientation?” She raises her brows in amusement. “Are there other creatures living in there besides you and Lucy that I should be worried about? A sock eating monster, for instance,” she laughs, though she's sure there's one at Gooseberry stealing all of hers. She always leaves with less than she came with.
"I've got the whole week for that," says Phin, as if he hasn't already been thinking about it.
He straightens in his seat a bit, deliberately stepping on her feet with his and then leaving them there. Sofia's question earns a sound of amusement.
"Mum keeps pygmy puffs in my closet, actually. But they're sort of useless, and anyway she might've taken them with her." That joke shop had always been one of her favorites to visit in better times.
“Not if I cross my legs.” She grins before wiggling her toes under his feet, narrowing her eyes at him as if challenging him to try to keep her pinned there. Freya flicks her tail, annoyed by all the movement and decides to jump down and find a different place to take a nap.
Sofia stares at Phin in silence for a moment, her face scrunching up in confusion as she thinks of the various reasons you’d keep them in a closet.
“Don't you have to feed them, though? I don't know how I feel about poking my head in your closet and chance finding a giant ball of dead fluff balls.” She starts to sniff the air. “Smell like anything’s decomposing to you? If they're not dead yet, Freya might take care of that for you,” she says in a teasing manner.
"I'd like to see you walk around Birmingham like that. Get in the pub: oh, don't talk to Sofia about her pretzel legs. She's quite sensitive." Phin's ticklish, apparently. He has to remove his feet when she wriggles, but periodically prods at her with a toe afterward.
"Oh, there's a..." He gestures with his free hand, unconcerned. "What's the word? Dispenser. We're not monsters."
"And I'd never feed Horace and Harold to your cat, darling as she is," he adds. "We'd have a proper viking funeral at very least."
Sofia snorts and gently kicks him in the leg. “You might have to tell her to leave them alone, I doubt she’d wait for your permission to try to eat them anyway.” A meow comes from the other room and she points off in the same direction. “What’d I tell you?” She laughs and quickly gets to her feet. The meow was a false alarm though, Freya had jumped in the window and was just making noise at something outside. Honestly, she probably would have just batted the tiny puff things around like a cat toy, no harm done.
“I expected to be too late and find globs of bloody hair hanging from her mouth, but she's just singing the song of her fur people to your neighbors,” she says, turning back to her lover and flashing him an adoring smile. “Now that the crisis is averted, let's celebrate. You take me to your room and we’ll see if we can depretzel me.”