Sadie blinked gratefully at the other woman, but it didn’t make matters much better. The fish were still disgusting, she couldn’t stand looking at their insides or- or their eyes, and.. she still felt sick.
"I-I’m sorry I’m such a bother." She muttered under her breath, wringing her hands nervously before she moved to wash them in the sink. She’d insisted on helping with dinner, but it really didn’t mean anything when she was too nervous to be more than a twitchy distraction.
"Here, I’ll- I’ll just get the table set so I’m not in your way.." Not that that wouldn’t be a painful process either, because the sound of the plates clinking together made Sadie twitch even worse. It was… sort of pathetic.
Irene resisted the urge to sigh. It would be rude to sigh at Sadie. Really, it would be rude to mention anything at all. But there were a limited number of dishes she owned with little money to buy new ones worth having.
She washed her hands quickly, plastering her face with that smile she'd learned from her mother. Sweet and polite and easily as fake as a silk flower. "Ya know? Why don' I do it Sadie? Ya're my guest after all. Ya just sit down on the couch there and I'll be out to join ya shortly."
There was something about the blond's interior design that was just short of truly tacky. The edge that Victorian women walked so carefully. Floral prints and gold leaf and dark wood and lace. Classy, if you asked her, but without a doubt molded by her mother's own taste more than a sense of actual design.
