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[ coffee, caffeine sounded good. something hot, preferably unburnt. he kicks off shoes (not geta, for once), and limps his way into the shitlord household. (trying not to slip-slide all the while; socks were a damnation upon the world.) ]

A lot happened.

[ the deed not much by itself, but he knew it was only a part, a piece of the greater whole. figuring it out? that would take effort. ]

It's fine, though! Aha, my wife took care of it.

[ everything save the ribs, the persisting ache in his throat. he tries to smile reassuringly, though it falls a little short. a little nervous, a little wary, more than a little tired.

what do, in the household of a hero who had him on her blacklist? ]

[she watches him a moment longer, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. tired -- they both look tired, and carol is so sick of being angry, at the landlord, at their situation, at her own uselessness. at sakamoto.

it makes her feel heavy-limbed and clouded-over and stupid, futile. she's putting it on hold, just tonight, she decides. temporary amnesty.]

C'mon, dinkus.

[she grabs him by a sleeve and directs him in to the kitchen table, busies herself fetching the coffee. the space is a little cleaner than usual, and there's a fluffy ginger cat glaring from on top of the refrigerator.

carol doesn't say anything yet. she's trying to think what to say.]

[ it's a miracle that he makes it to the kitchen still standing, one that he celebrates with a blustering and sweeping smile that eventually settles on the ginger demon perched on high. ]

A new addition to the family? Ahh, what a personable namahage!

[ his voice is full of cheer, of light-hearted merriment as if there wasn't some odd pall still hanging between them, as if nothing was amiss, as if he didn't look like the recipient of a hearty smack-down. ]

A personable what-now?

[that's enough to make her look up, follow his gaze to the cat, who is beginning to erupt into a low, rumbling growl.]

Oh, that's Chewie.

[...]

She's from home.

[and carol turns, clutching two mugs of hot black coffee and pausing. table? table feels weird. couch? couch feels weird too. um.]

Aah, hello Chewie-san! Does she always look constipated, or--

[ he never really gets to finishing that sentence, words choked off by what first starts out as a grunt of surprise but quickly resolves itself into a muffled shout of alarm.

there is a large, ginger cat in his face. ]

Chewie! No!

[table it is then, as the mugs get slammed down and carol rushes to grab a handful of hissing, spitting orange fuzz--

who seems very determined to stay there and keep clawing--

but she tears the cat away and cradles it, and as soon as chewie realises whose arms she's now in, she settles and goes back to just growling.]

I'm sorry, I should've said--

[oh no how bad is it]

[ what's a few extra bloody gouges one his face by now? one hand braced against the fridge for additional support, he laughs, fresh new scratches bleeding gently and tenderly. ]

Aaahahaha, fine, it's fine!

[ he's never going to be fit for marriage at this rate ]

What spirit! Oi, I didn't know demons could be domesticated!

[he looks -- so pathetic, standing there mauled and mangled, and the cat is still issuing its terrifying proximity warning, looking as self-satisfied as can be, and--]

Hghk.

[she has to clap a hand to her mouth to stop the laugh that's threatening to knock down the floodgates. no this is dumb this is embarrassing get it together danvers

GET IT TOGETHER]

Aha, ahahahaha! Salt? Do you have salt? I need to purify myself soon, or I'll end up looking just like her!

[ he laughs a little more, peering over his shoulder at Carol and her cat, though he never goes any closer, doesn't dare provoke the thing in her arms.

he wants to come out of this with at least 30% of his face intact, thank you ]

Mhmm.

[still barely containing herself, she flips the hand over so it's the knuckles, not the palm, keeping the laughter at bay and she can speak.

barely.]

There's a -- first aid, in the--

[sakdjlsjd points vaguely]

In the bathroom--

[her shoulders are definitely not threatening to shake right now]

But is there salt?

[ his brows knit in consternation, a furrow of worry and uncertainty before it clears up again in two seconds flat. he shuffles to the table instead, picking up the unwary saltshaker before turning to the vague direction granted him by his host. ]

[that's it, she's gone.

pfffffffhahahahaha and the cat struggles out of her arms in distress and makes a beeline for the other room, as carol braces herself on the kitchen table and laughs because jesus christ.

it's a little hoarse, a little exhausted, a lot impossible to stop.]

Oh my god -- [between fits--] You're such -- an idiot, I can't--

[ he pokes his head back out from the hall, a scratched grin firmly on his face. ]

You're going to hurt my feelings at this rate! You heart-breaker!

[his reappearance just makes it worse, wheezing and gut-aching, and she gestures furiously at him to go away already oh my god

considering not long ago she felt pretty shockingly close to crying, this isn't the worst thing that could've happened.]

[ laughter wasn't quite what he was expecting when he'd first arrived, but it's a better result than he'd ever expected. a job well done, he thinks, and laughs again before hobbling back out of view.

he tries not to look at himself in the mirror while he's digging out the first aid kit; his poor heart can only take so much terror in one day. ]

[when he's done he'll find carol settled down now, seated at the kitchen table, sipping benignly at her coffee and looking deep in thought.

not bad thought. just thought.

and maybe feeling a little (very, very) awkward and embarrassed about what just occurred but you can't really blame her for that ok.]

[ he emerges from the depths of the house a few minutes later, face freshly festooned with band-aids of the more colourful variety. (if he's going to rock the mauled-face look, he may as well go all the way, right? right???) ]

The cat hasn't tampered with my drink yet, has she? You can never trust a fluffy face like that.

[as soon as carol catches sight of him she SNORTS INTO HER COFFEE and almost starts to choke

cough cough cough hack oh my god

oh my god save it carol

she saves it. but not without getting stupidly flustered about it.]

How many times are you gonna make me do that? Jesus! Siddown and drink your damn coffee or I'll sick her on you.

If you knew the number of times I've heard that...

[ aha, ahahahahaha!

but he sits down, as instructed, giving the kitchen a wary once-over before taking up his waiting cup. no demons in sight. possibly safe to proceed. godspeed, brave soldier. ]

[the demon has absconded, this place is purified.

carol spends a long, long few moments engrossed solely in her coffee, the mug warming the palms of her hands (frowning, as she remembers how she used to hold warmth in those hands like a comfort, like a shield, and it feels so alien to not be alien anymore), before she cuts a glance sidelong at sakamoto, hesitant.]

So I guess we need to talk about some things, huh.

Most likely.

[ not direct, not too vague. a nice, neat, neutral answer. an invite. let her guide this conversation, lest he leap feet-first into another steaming pile of trouble.

he takes a sip of his coffee, and congratulates himself on not choking on the entire thing. ]

[and eyes back on her drink again, as she wonders where to start. the money thing? tonight's tiny emotional meltdown?

can they just talk about space again?]

You get why it was a problem, right? I mean, a lot of reasons, but you know the main one. Right?

[taking it from the first point, then: the money thing.]

I do now.

[ it was an irony when he'd heard, a neat fist to the gut that had made him want to laugh, to lie down and laugh and curse himself and the fates so many times over.

would he have done any differently, though? if he'd known beforehand?

would he have found some different story, crafted some different tale just for her sake? ]

[and carol, brave, blunt, fearless carol, sounds somehow smaller when she tells him--]

I really trusted you.

[and hates how vulnerable that makes her.]

I know.

[ never trust a businessman, he almost says. refrains. the guilt is muted, disgustingly so, a step away from comfortably detached.

he sips at his coffee, and wishes it were sake. ]

It was my mistake.

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