Her name's the sweetest thing out of his hoarse throat, roughened up by the scotch he had earlier; he calls to her, weak and weary, encircling her wrist. Up it's brought to his face, guided to his cheek; sallow, but there's enough meat on his bones still to lean into her palm. Stamp a kiss over it, like the warmth won't be lost on her glove. "Welcome home."
oh, her poor poor husband. "you've drinking, haven't you?" judging by the poor state she hears that throat in. how his loneliness was so evident through actions. distractions taken to ease through his discomfort of health and heart. how long had her excursion taken? it was for work which was an inevitable. an inventress as herself with fanatical visions would only naturally be caught up within the nest to assist in construction of new tech. "i'm going to take care of you now, my foolish husband." a low hum stems from the depths of her throat. she likes the attention; her eyes shake with a certain warmth as they widen in content. she doesn't mind him too much when he drinksβ clinger than usual and almost laps up any ounce of touch she thinks to suggest. which for catherine? nothing could be sweeter than to appeal to her by showing wagging his tail enthusiastically for a meager taste of her affection. she's never satisfied with just the kiss to her hands. a woman who knows what she wants; a woman full of greed and a hunger so carnivorous that a simple gesture to her hand has her vibrating but she wants to sing. she leans in to scatter loving kisses to his face, the bridge of his nose, cheeks, and lastly a cheeky little peck to his lips. a another hum followed by a soft whisper with the click of the door shutting behind her. "why don't you let me have a better taste of what you've been up too?"
