(no subject)

[cute_bruiser]

"...And I've been working like a dog. It's been a hard day's night, I should be sleeping, like a -

"Aw, cr... cranberry sauce."

For the first time in a long time, when Molly steps through the door, she has someone with her: a curly-haired little girl of about six years old is propped on her hip, very nearly asleep in her arms.

(Turns out, the Beatles made good lullabies. Octopode gardens and all.)

And so, for the first time ever, Molly pauses uncertainly in the doorway, unsure if walking through is a good idea.

She takes a long, long look around the place - scanning for Mr Lecter, or anyone else she'd prefer not to spot the kid - but, finding the bar to be relatively innocuous, eventually steps through; hey, she could do with a disco-ball mocha-choca-caramel latte.

Glittery, sugary, caffeinated nightmare acquired, she settles herself and the kid on a sofa: Kitt, still very sleepy, seems to be treating the place as an interesting new dream, and is watching the fish in the fireplace with fascinated, heavy-lidded eyes as her foster-sister continues to work her way through the Beatles' back-catalogue.

Come say hi? Just, whatever you do, don't wake the baby.

Comments

[cottoncandypink]

Wilford is usually all for caffeine, but what is that she's drinking? In fact, he's even got some piping hot caffeine of his own, in a large mug that's going somewhat ignored while he reads over a stack of hand-written notes.

"That looks awful," he says without preamble.

He's taken over the other sofa with more notes, and a big-ish red and white dog. The dog is chewing on a baseball bat.