Roof Banter /./ [Simbali]
@stubborn-as-a
The Lyons Manor had stood in the Woods for nearly 200 years. It was one of the first houses built on the prime land (not the first, since the Lyons had lived in the castle until they’d sold it as the university and downsized.) However, it was old and that meant constant repairs had to be done. Some of them were specialized, like the time Simba had slid down the banisters with Nala and they’d knocked the fancy tops off them.
Those had been a specific kind of cherry wood that had been thousands of dollars to repair and needed special workmen. (Whoops.)
Lots of the little stuff, though, could be done by Simba--with help from his mum, sometimes. Occasionally, he dragged Ber with him, mostly to stand there and look pretty and hand him things while he was waist deep in the pipes beneath the sink. Oh, and because he was a good DJ.
Today was not a task Ber could help out with. And definitely not one he wanted his mum helping with, and not because she was a woman, ‘course, but because she was almost fifty and didn’t need to be climbin’ around on roofs.
So, he was doing this himself today. Was it safe? No, not really. Did Simba care? No, not really.
“Mama!” Simba called as he let himself into the house, strolling towards the kitchen. His mama was usually in the kitchen.
“MA--” he started to call louder, when she didn’t respond.
“Yes, I’m in the kitchen, mwana. Stop shouting,” his mother called back.
Simba rolled his eyes and rounded the corner. “Jam--bo.” Simba stopped in the doorway when he spotted some strange man standing near his mother with what looked like a thermos of tea or water or something. For a moment, his eyes flicked between the two (he didn’t even notice the horns, he was having Edgar-PTSD.) “Who’s that?”
“Simba,” Sarabi said, her voice cool, but then she was smiling and putting a hand on the man’s shoulder. “This is Mr. Trousdale, I’ve hired him to help out with the roofing. Djali, this is my son I was just telling you about--Simba.”
As an almost-thirty year old, Simba was doing his very, very best not to--pout.
“Hullo,” he said, with a little nod of his head.