The safehouse doesn't feel so safe...

[misterdillon]

Who: Roscoe, anyone else
Where: Casa del Rory
When: Sometime after thisEventually Mick had given Roscoe his own room in the house, which was pleasant enough. Small, but cozy, and big enough for his purposes. And a bit tucked away from the other bedrooms so he doesn't have to listen to various Snartsex

Comments

[98andrising]

Seriously now, does Roscoe not realize how little sex is going on in that house? For the boys, it's a rarity and for Lisa--well, whatever Lisa is doing, if anything, she's quiet enough to hide it.

But with little to do in the day, it gives Mick a lot of time to roam around the house, repair things, keep the yard in check. It's all hideously domestic, but at the very least, it also gives him plenty of time to work on his tech. (all locked up tight in a room of it's own. thank you basement.)

While Roscoe begins his wander around, Mick's already been outside with pool maintenance stuff. He misses Roscoe coming through the house, but the possum doesn't. Sitting on the kitchen table, it flicks its tail, hissing quietly, headtilting as it watches the man--simply curious.

[misterdillon]

"Shoo. Shoooooo," Roscoe scolds the possum, watching it warily. It can bite him all it wants and he doesn't care, but once Stella arrives it had better stay away from her!

However, he's not going to eat at a table with a hissing possum. It probably has fleas, he decides, and likely walks in its own poop (and then on the table).

"I killed and ate a rat," he tells the possum sternly as he raids the fridge for edibles. "If you're not careful, I'll do the same to you. I bet you would taste better."

An empty threat, but hopefully the possum doesn't know that!

[98andrising]

From all of it's living in the house, combined with regular bathes, compliments of Lisa, the possum isn't grubby, but of course, it's hard to tell with the rumpled up fur.

It gives another hiss, unintimidated by the threat and pads around the table, hopping to one of the chairs around in, perched up on the top of it. Suddenly, it's attention goes elsewhere, ears perking, head turning toward the sliding glass doors leading out to the pool.

One of the doors slides back and Mick steps in, barefoot in trunks and a t-shirt. "Well that's done..." he groans, dabbing off the sweat from his face into a sleeve. Turning toward the kitchen, he pauses when he sees Roscoe.

"--hey. Nice to see you up and moving. Just finished vacuuming up the bottom of the pool. Looking for a water or a beer. Anything you can pass me?"

[misterdillon]

Keeping a close eye on the possum, Roscoe edges over to the fridge and pulls out a beer, which he hand-delivers to Mick. It's a bit early in the morning for alcohol, but the Rogues will drink at any time of day, because they're Rogues.

Roscoe has been guzzling water ever since he got up, having found it difficult to quench his thirst since he started taking the damned meds.

"Hello. Why are you keeping that creature in here?" he asks Mick with mild distaste. "Is it even housebroken?"