The woman was mindful of their home, careful not to be a burden on a man who seemed to let nothing mind him unless it was of importance, a particular event she still had yet to witness on Bishop’s behalf. Still, neither a neat freak or a slob, she kept her messes to herself and was diligent to clear them when she remembered where they sat.
A glass of wine on the carpet, however, wasn’t something she could leave and tend to in the morning. Clumsy wasn’t an attribute easily put to her name, though the splay of color across the threads appeared as if she was professionally accident prone with a touch of disbelief of how the hell did it reach that high on the wall. She stared at the mess with a little admiration for how one glass could create such a display of art, granted it was the last glass of the bottle (second bottle) and she was too inebriated to act as quickly as she normally. But she had been alone, and when she came to some sense to not let the liquid stain she slumped down to sit in front of it and began her work. pulling the liquid from the carpet with intense concentration, and returning the droplets of ruined wine back into the glass.
@bishopashbourne