He’s already taken note of the usual play by play of Pietro’s “there goes my last fuck given - right out the window” phase. Trying to get him to help out with the house was like pulling teeth — useless little twat. It didn’t help that half the time he contributed to the damage that had Lance playing Mr. FixIT either. “You could always ask your dear ol’ dad for some cash. I’m sick of pushing out money for this place. Mystique doesn’t even come around enough to do anything for it either.” But she had been around, not lately, but enough to keep the boys on their toes.
With a sigh ,he gets to his feet and regards the paler boy with an indignant look. “I know I live here, but damn. I’m sick of playin’ handyman when you guys fuck up or the house just FUCKS itself up in general.” He’s got half a mind to just do some collateral damage and move out, but finding a place that’s actually cheap and DECENT would be way harder than it looks.
The tables turn fairly quickly when his father is brought into the picture. His lips twist into a scowl as he turns back to glare at Lance, fingers denting the soda can within his grip. One look at him and anyone could see how unhappy he is about the topic. “Hey, you know as well I do that it’s not that simple and I am not going to go kiss his feet just to get some cash for this dump. Waste of my damn time.” And dignity.
Pietro sneers a little before sighing and scooting up to sit further on the table, his feet barely touching the floor. “Mystique hardly matters anymore. She does what she wants and comes around when it’s convenient and nobody is surprised. You’d think she would do something to help fix this place up, but nah.” He rolls his eyes and takes another long swallow from his soda, tapping his fingers over the table’s surface. It’s quick and annoyingly loud.
“Hnph, I understand. I mean I get how tiring it must be for you to fix it all by yourself. You know I’d totally help if I knew how to do all that stuff. Still looking for a job myself, too.”
