@dclilahh
the warehouse hasn’t been touched in months. with this fact in mind, it really shouldn’t be all that surprising that the place is worse off than it was before. new cobwebs dust every still corner; rats seem to have returned to make in their home; and the kitchen cabinets are, of course, woefully empty. gemma dumps the bag of groceries she’d just went out to buy onto the counter, fishing through it and grabbing the pack of coffee beans. after preparing herself a mug from the pot — no creamer but with far too much sugar, as usual — she saunters out to the makeshift living room. it seems fairly empty this early in the morning, save for a head of dark hair by one side that she recognises as delilah. gemma arches a brow, sipping at her coffee as she hesitantly makes her way over. her face scrunches at the weak blend, murmuring, “i think rome may have pampered me a little too much.” her voice comes out soft, as though more to herself than anything. “after italian coffee, this just tastes like badly flavoured water.” her hands wrap loosely around the cup, this time looking up and directly addressing the other as she hums, “you’re up early.”
