He's screaming French out the doors at the paparazzi, camera bulbs flashing before he slams the door hard enough to crack the frame. Taking a deep, deep breath, Lestat spins on his heel, a smile on his face that looks as forced as the breath was unnecessary. "Bonnuit, Karin, ma chere, please don't mind the JACKELS," he screams the word at the closed door, face a twisted snarl for a moment before he turns the saccharine smile back on, "at the door. Apparently, they all want a piece of me for some comment I made about Tayden Swoft or whoever." Another tense and strained breath as he hears fists slamming on the door, shouted questions. His jaw ticks and his smile gets wider with a manic cast. "How are you, ma chere?" // @luxsclaris
Leftover pizza in the top oven, a glass of soda on the coffee table. She's sat atop the ridiculously overpriced rug, Armand -- the dog one, not her boss -- curled in her lap. The terrier is blissed out, tongue lolling as he gets his tummy scratched, before noticing the pounding of the door and bolting for it, screeching like the damned at the strangers on his porch. Karin doesn't even look up.
Love the art, love the artist, tolerate whatever's left.
Setting her tablet aside, she smiles up at him, raising an arm as invitation. "Shh. Doesn't matter. You're home now, and anything else can go to Hell. Especially some Philly nepobaby, or wherever she's from... C'mere."
Peering past him at 20 pounds of fur and teeth, she shrugs. "We need a gate. A bigger one, with spikes and... reckon Boss would pay for it? We can say it's an investment in the historical accuracy and curb appeal of the architecture."
Her fingers drag across the fibers beneath her, pure wool.
"Fine, except the usual anxiety. Nights off are just... Hard. I never know what I'm going into on Monday when Boss and Mr. di Venezia are unattended." Shrugging, she shifts one leg that has started to fall asleep, flexing the ankle. "But again, anything else can go to Hell."
Dark eyes scrape across him, the raised hackles, the tight fists. He's Goliath in marble tonight, towering and fearsome. Or maybe a wolf instead, like whatever he killed crawled inside the shell of him. A sigh passes over her lips.
"Have you fed tonight, Gubbe?"
