—IT’S LATE, but not so much so as to cause alarm nor fall afoul of any of the Queen’s rules yet. No need to pay much mind to Trey, shuffling at a jovial pace. There’s an old plastic container in his hands, and while it is hard to make out what exactly it contains, there’s telltale strands of spider’s silk falling from the sides and stuck between his fingers. There’s a funny expression on his face, perhaps jovial, but with a distant glimmer in his eyes that speaks of a man with… ideas.
That distant glimmer flickers out in an instant, replaced with something marginally warmer at recognition.
“Deuce,” a nod and a greeting that doesn’t linger. “Thank you for your help in organizing our stamp rally decorations. It’s getting late, though—don’t linger too much.” It’s not a warning, just a statement for him to read between the lines—I won’t say anything if you will.
He shakes the container in his hands, enough to gesture towards them to remark, “And thank you for the ideas for your booth. It wasn’t a suggestion,” and he doesn’t take them, usually, “but sometimes the best ideas come about when you’re not looking. I’ve never prepared any sort of insect or spider before.”
And he’s on his way with a nod and a whistle, towards the kitchen—no lingering.
A glance at the clock is all Deuce needs to know that he has to get moving soon, if he wanted to avoid a morning correction. He had considered not heading toward the kitchen at all initially, but the distant pang of an empty stomach would have lead towards an unrestful slumber and Deuce would rather spend ten minutes heating up water for his cup noodles than the thirty he knew he’d spend pretending he wasn’t hungry before bed.
On the bright side, that moment of foresight he had earlier today to notify Riddle about the extra training he had planned earlier that evening was his saving grace. Explaining why he was in the kitchen past dinner time would be easier because of it if he was questioned, but he doubted that he would need it. Still, the next five minutes are spent slurping down the last of his noodles and tidying up the small mess he had left in the kitchen.
As he makes his way through the hall, Deuce can’t help but wonder if he should have spent a few more minutes lounging in the quiet of the kitchen. Rarely does he get lost in his thoughts, having been too busy getting caught up in the moment—but it seems that is not the case tonight, as he sees Trey walking in his direction with a small container in hand. Curious, considering the hour.
With a quick nod and a quiet greeting in return, Deuce lets himself puff up a little with pride over the acknowledgement of his efforts. “Wasn’t planning to, vice-Housewarden. I just—” a small look at the little tupperware in Trey’s hands quickly becomes a doubletake. Were those...cobwebs?
It takes a moment, and a few reminding words, before Deuce recalls the brief tangent that he had dragged the rest of the Heartslabyul group chat into earlier that week. “Oh! Right, that.” A small smile of understanding, turning his normally serious expression soft with childish joy. “I didn’t think you’d actually be that interested in it,” but it was nice to know that he was. Perhaps Trey would come up with a recipe that was as good as his mom’s.
Deuce opens his mouth to say more, but movement from his senior is enough signal that the time for a conversation has passed. Trey’s whistle floats quietly in the halls as he walks away toward the kitchen, dampened slightly by patterned walls, and Deuce turns back towards his room. He had heard that tone in the other’s words for what it was, after all.
And with its two lingering souls having moved on, the hallway stands empty once again.
