Re: Kitsch
Morgan went unphased by Lochlan's arrival and ruckus, but had whisper-mouthed 'never' to his wife before he'd left. That gang was all... almost there. Fuckin' Ronan. "Last one in says grace," Morgan called.
Gael smirked at Lorna: "Aye, we'll start a book club, it'll be glorious. I'll make up some flyers," she half-joked. But really, summer was coming and things got dull as hell around the Murphy abodes. Well, dull for a teenage girl. "Lochlan!?" she screeched as she came around the corner after he'd complimented Lorna. "What's on your head?!" she panted, staring, eyes wide. "Oh." Her expression deflated. "It's your face."
And at that, Kiernan chuckled. "Does smell good though. And he does have a face like a Mack truck, so, all's fair." The eldest looked over his shoulder at Morgan and nodded in agreement. Ronan had a phone, he could read numbers (Kiernan had made sure of it). It was his own fault if the food was gone when he showed up. Okay, fine, Kiernan would make a plate and set it aside, as he did. "Sit down, ya wild beasts. Where's Kellan?" Pause. "Kellan?!"
"Not hungry!"
"The fuck you're not!" Gael interrupted. "He's been in here pickin' and whinin' since we started."
Kiernan shrugged, "Probably havin' a go at 'imself." Then louder. "Wash your hands!" With that, the patron took his seat.
Morgan pulled Lorna's chair out now that they'd been given permission to sit by the king's ass. "I wonder if balsamic is good for exfoliation..." he said as it started to burn his cheek, and the scrawny man rolled his shoulder to rid his face of what Lorna hadn't licked off.
Gael sat. That was it. She sat. And waited. And subtly smelled the shirt she'd stolen to wear as an apron.