5th Floor CR, Saturday Night

[withoutverona]

The broom sweeping the floor around Romeo's feet wasn't so bad; it was silent, and no more distracting from his book than a maid at home would have been. (The fact it seemed to be powering itself was a bit distressing, but less so than talking shoes had been.)

But when a container of Lysol started hovering near his coffee-table-propped-feet, he really needed to jump up and protest. "They do not smell bad!" he informed the air, glaring.

It had been a very strange week.