Giving her a nasty glare, Basil rubbed the mended sleeve and wrinkled his nose with distaste. "I like that tear," he lamented, starting where it once was, "Got it hiking in the Alps last summer." It was more likely torn stepping out in front of a street car, but he wasn't about to say that.
Lectures, he rolled his eyes. Maybe he didn't bloody need her (though he knew how much he desperately did). "I'm doing fine on my own. It's just a loan 'till I find my sodding key, alright?"
Dragging the tip of his shoe along the marble floor, he sighed and relented, asking his most pertinent thought, albeit watered down to lack the emotions it was fueled by, "What are you doing here?"
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