A patter of feet on the stairs, the telltale jingling of keys. The door swings open.
“Ah, Gaeta!” he chirps. “Thank you for coming. Come in. Make yourself comfortable in the kitchen.”
The house is still pretty austere and undecorated, but the disturbances from Gaeta’s stay have remained. A blanket folded on the arm of the couch, a few things rearranged in the kitchen. There’s already some pastries on a plate on the table and a cup of tea Mulcahy’s poured for himself. While he’s going about and getting place settings for Gaeta, Peter takes it upon himself to hover suspiciously close to his pockets for anything metal.
“How have things been for you? Not terrible, I hope?”
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“Ah, Gaeta!” he chirps. “Thank you for coming. Come in. Make yourself comfortable in the kitchen.”
The house is still pretty austere and undecorated, but the disturbances from Gaeta’s stay have remained. A blanket folded on the arm of the couch, a few things rearranged in the kitchen. There’s already some pastries on a plate on the table and a cup of tea Mulcahy’s poured for himself. While he’s going about and getting place settings for Gaeta, Peter takes it upon himself to hover suspiciously close to his pockets for anything metal.
“How have things been for you? Not terrible, I hope?”