@grote5querie asked:
[ scold ] barrel scolding kerry for something .
The kitchen smells like burned toast and something vaguely chemical—maybe acetone, maybe doom. Kerry’s not entirely sure, but it’s definitely his fault. The linoleum sticks to the back of his thighs as he crouches barefoot in front of a half-smashed pedalboard, sweating from the neck down, shirtless, stained with sleep and cheap deodorant. His fingers dig through the guts of tangled wires like he’s mining for gold—or at least a distortion pedal that doesn’t sound like it’s dying of consumption.
Somewhere behind him, the energy drink he cracked open hours ago leans against an overflowing ashtray, both forgotten. A piece of toast (black on one side, raw on the other, somehow!) sits abandoned on the counter like a warning label. The apartment’s not so much lived in as survived.
He mutters under his breath—half to himself, half to the pedals—as he tries to remember if the one he traded for mushrooms was this one or the one with the red tape. Maybe both.
The kitchen is an actual war zone—there’s a smoking pan in the sink, two eggs he dropped on the floor like an offering to chaos, and the faint, ghostly wail of the fire alarm that gave up and went hoarse ten minutes ago. The whole room's fogged up like a steam room run by someone with a head injury.
He fans the air lazily with a paper plate and gestures vaguely at the stove, like that explains everything. “Was tryin’ to make breakfast,” he says, breathless and deadpan.
"Bloody hell. You're not really miffed, are ya?"