Nolan Home for Wayward Refugees, 33 Apocalypse Ave, Thursday Evening
Ronan finished twisting in the porch's new red lightbulb -- like he could resist, seriously -- while chattering away on the phone with Dairine (and by extension Spot) on potential ways to rewire the doorbell to play El Tango de Roxanne, only half of which involved any amount of wizardry.
Apparently Spot had pulled up an entire subsection of the manual on wizardries designed to assist with home improvements without actually doing the renovations with spells. Who knew?
Stepping away from the light fixture, he turned around and looked out at the lawn. "... Huh. Dairine, I'll have to call you back," he interrupted her. "Sorry, something's just come up."
They hadn't been there when he'd come out to put the lightbulb in... "Guys?" he called into the open door. "Anyone order some zombie lawn gnomes, express delivery?"
[For housemates, phone calls/texts/emails, people boggling at the new lawn decorations...]
Apparently Spot had pulled up an entire subsection of the manual on wizardries designed to assist with home improvements without actually doing the renovations with spells. Who knew?
Stepping away from the light fixture, he turned around and looked out at the lawn. "... Huh. Dairine, I'll have to call you back," he interrupted her. "Sorry, something's just come up."
They hadn't been there when he'd come out to put the lightbulb in... "Guys?" he called into the open door. "Anyone order some zombie lawn gnomes, express delivery?"
[For housemates, phone calls/texts/emails, people boggling at the new lawn decorations...]