stefanged | Drift Fleet

[Eugene's toed on a slipper and, in his usual compromise for the Center, tied a pair of clean socks over the foot of his prosthetic and the bottom of his crutch (note to self - if he's going to keep volunteering here, get one of the local do-it-yourself crew to shape up a new foot and a basic cane that he can keep in here). The overlying cloth makes his steps softer, and slower for the reduced purchase, and he makes his way up not even entirely sure of what he's looking at. Which includes Stefan, who is . . . really not looking one hundred percent.

Not that he is going to start the conversation with that. Not when, in a way, what Stefan is addressing is even weirder.]

They seriously ripped out the sink?

[On his end, he's grateful that Eugene has yet to mention his true face. No matter how much he struggles to keep it down, he can't quite fight the hunger long enough. He's going to be drinking so much caffeine, he can already tell.

(Allah, please - let the kitchen be otherwise intact.)

Eugene's asking him a question, though, so he nods as he picks up everything on the ground.]

Or they tried to. I'm not sure how it would've counted as valuable.

[The backsplash, maybe? He had gotten it commissioned, there might've been some valuable mineral that he just wasn't aware of. Either way, Stefan's grateful. Save for the randomly strewn items, the rest of the Center's clean. No visible property damage, let alone fire or water of weapon marks; this had been missed, by some sheer stroke of (divine) luck.]

Edited 2017-01-17 07:32 (UTC)

One man's treasure is another man's . . . Sink. Apparently.

[He follows along a few steps behind, automatically double-checking the turns and corners, as if something's waiting to attack them out of every blind spot.]

I'm not seeing any flooding, at least, so they can't have messed up the plumbing too bad.

[That or the water pressure on the Iskaulit is dead.]

I sure hope not. I don't have the skills to fix it.

[Stefan's turned all the lights on, at least - and now, he belatedly notices the footsteps on the floor. At least the carpet can be steam cleaned (even if it's a total hassle).

He follows Eugene, listening all the while for would-be intruders and whoever would wait for round two. So far, so good.]

I'm not sure what the kitchen's gonna look like, but it seems that everything else's clear.

Hey, cleaning I can do.

[He reaches the kitchen and touches the knob, going still when he feels how loose it is. He goes quiet automatically, and even if the crutch is useful for balance, he lifts it into a position more fitting a sword than a stability aid, presses his back to the wall, and works his hand around the empty doorjamb until he can feel the switch on the wall and flick it open.

It's the same moment he shoulders the door in roughly, eyes darting for a few tense, sharp moments across-

-nothing. Some pots on the floor. The sink hanging at a crazy angle and the tap gone. But he's still tense enough that it still hasn't occurred to him that he's bristling and standing guard between the unknown and a vampire, like Stefan isn't vastly more qualified to deal with potential violent maniacs.

It's okay. He'll realize it in about an hour.]

It looks like we still have a sink, at least.

[The gesture hadn't escaped Stefan's notice - as he crosses the threshold, he has to fight back a smile. He's in a far better position to fight, vamp face or no.

Now that the non-existent threats have made themselves clear, he allows himself a breath and lets the color (and frankly, life) return to his face. He can already see a pristine, untouched electric kettle. That's all he needs, crazy sink and open cabinets aside.

(He would've thought they would've raided the pantry. He would've sincerely thought they would, but he supposes the joke would be on them for having it locked on top of a locked kitchen.)]

Amazingly. [He sighs of relief as he wanders over.] I guess they couldn't take everything from us.

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