#kc_necropolis

He knocks.

It takes a minute, but the door is answered, and a pair of watchful black eyes stare out from behind the locked security screen. A second later, long pale fingers are unlocking the door and swinging it open for him* "Mr. Emerson." A polite enough rasp*

"Ice!" Delighted surprise. "Well hello. I thought I might drop by and see if Janet has eaten yet. Or today, for that matter." He indicates the groceries in the hamper.

"You can ask her. You want, you can come in, she should be back any time now. I was just waiting for her to get back before going to do some errands." He holds the door, and shuts it after Emerson comes in, assuming he does*

He does indeed enter, and bustles around putting things where they will be useful if he does, indeed, cook. "Now, these containers, they are for you. You might as well have them, whether or not Janet has eaten."

"Thanks. You don't have to, you know. I know how it looks, but I'm not actually starving." He locks the door, and saunters over to lean on the divider of kitchen and living area with folded arms, staying out of the way*

He's dressed for around-the-house; baggy black twill cargoes, a plain white undershirt*

He chuckles. "Oh, not really a bother. I practice the dish once, then come here, on occasion, to make it. Easy enough to set a serving or two from the first go aside.

He shrugs up a shoulder, and is watching him narrowly. If Emerson has been around long enough to know, it is not always an expression of distrust* "Okay, then. Thanks for thinking of it." *His manners have improved, gradually, too. He's no diplomat, but his chances of decapitation by angry Fae are significantly reduced*

"Very welcome." Things settled, he undoes the buttons on his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves, leaning back against the counter as he does to watch Ice. "How have you been?"

"Busy." Tersely* "How's Miz CC? Club's doing good, I see."

He lifts an eyebrow and grins, nodding. "We seem to be staying in the black, for the moment."

A bang and a rattle down the street, from some ancient beast of an engine.

*Without looking up and over* "She's here."

"Ahhh..." He nods, agreeing with that assessment.

His eye lights up with anticipation.

"That truck. I got her AAA, one of these days she isn't going to be able to cuss it into starting like she does every morning. Can only beat a horse so long, I tell her." *He's noticing the expression*

Dying or not, the truck DOES make it into the driveway... a dieselish sigh of relief as it parks.

He stands away from the counter, but doesn't quite go to the door.

*He slides up, and heads for the door, a careless, boneless stride; unlocking it and holding it open. He can hear that truck from two blocks away*

"Ma! Company." *As much of a shout as he can manage. Basically, she can hear it when she's already at the door*

She heads for the kitchen via the garage entrance, rather than the front door. After a day on her feet, there's a syncopation to her step - the limp is not entirely gone, though much reduced. "Oy, boychick!"

*He rolls his eyes, and shuts the door* "She does that to spite me, I know it."

"Ma, company."

Listening in from the kitchen, he chuckles.

"I do enjoy spite. It is my furkin' life blood. Y'finish that whole... mishegoss computer thing today?" A little wave of her gnarled hand, and a shark-toothed grin. A chin lift for the boggan. "Bilbo."

"Janet." With a merry, eager, twinkle. "I trust you are well?"

He moves out of the kitchen towards her.

"Yeah, of course I did. It's a computer. Listen, Ma, you put on that patch I gave you? Somebody holds your Facebook for ransom again, I'm not bailing you out." He goes for his jacket at the small closet*

"I was just leaving, probably be back in a couple hours."

"That email thing? Yeah yeah yeah.... you leaving? No dinner?"

"Not staying for dinner?" He sounds amused as he takes Janet's hand and kisses the back of it. "Good evening."

A smirk. "And I said I live on spite... "

OOC That last was to Janet, not byebye to Ice.

((Good lord, I would hope not...))

"Just had some things I was going to get done, not urgent." *He is watching narrowly, giving them the chance to accept his offer to leave. As he often does find 'errands' to do when Emerson visits*

He's released her hand and stepped back, letting her decide about Ice.

"Well - don't die, if you're going. I know, two alter cuckers yammering on ain't that interesting. You want I should stick out the eggs overnight, or should I expect you next week?"

A smiles plays on his lips.

He rolls a shrug* "Sometimes interesting. Going to be staying the night at Firnost, but don't have to be there yet. Going to pick up some engine cleaner for your truck, so you don't get stranded some night, I'd have to come get you."

"Picture it: flyin' pick-up. I could furkin' make it a reality. Be like a damn Stephen Spielburg moment. Wrap you in a blanket, could be ET..." She drops down into a chair, and kicks a booted foot up onto the table.

"E-who?"

"ET! E-T phone home? Ellll-ee-ot? Glowy fingers? Oy gevalt, your pop culture education sucks."

He shuts the closet, jacket in arm, and comes over to lean on the dividing pass-through again. He grins at her* "Ma, is this another of those things, like your music?"

He chuckles.

"You furkin' love my music."

"But this - this is massive blockbuster turf... " Pauses, considering "Okay, I ain't seen it in a few decades...."

"It's okay." He allows, with the same twist of a grin* "Fine, I'll check it out on Hulu. How many decades are we talking, here?"

"You know what she's talking about?" *This to Emerson*

"Oh, certainly. 'E.T. the extra-terrestrial. Film by Steven Spielburg. A bit... tenderhearted for my tastes but it certainly made an impact."