Re: Kitsch
"How stupid of me," said the basic bitch. He smirked at his wife and squeezed her hand lovingly, then brought it up to kiss the back of her's before resting them both on his leg. Then there was the outburst of the fairer-haired Murphys correcting him on his timing. "So sorry, ladies," he apologized to each, free hand over his heart. Fuckin' degenerates, he chuckled.
Oh, for God's sake, Kiernan thought, unsurprised but nonetheless hassled with their immaturity. Ronan piecing together that Gael had been using his crisp Gucci as a glorified cooking rag helped to calm him. However... the situation immediately turned into an attack. "Sit yer ass down, Ruth," he laughed at Ronan. He'd paid no mind to Conlan's intense nerdisms, but he had noticed Ronan's usual leniency with Gael. 'Soft spot' was too weak a phrase.
Gael's eyebrow cocked up at the solution Ronan had given about aprons, and she waited for Conlan to give the answer for her. She wasn't allowed. She smirked when it was settled, but laughed unabashedly at Ronan's burn!dance, even ducking her face behind her hand, embarrassed for the lot of them. Once he'd sat again, Reverie's ankle was bumped, and she took a long drink of blue milk. (Yes, because it was Conlan's house and he food-colored the dairy at any chance.) From behind her glasses, her eyes moved from Kiernan's Hawaiian shirt and Ronan's form-fitting dress attire. "Ye're not wrong..." she said, belatedly. Food. Right. She took a bite of her roll and then weaved it through the gravy, idly. Chomp.
"Listen now, it's spring - Hawaiian print is fair game now," Kiernan blustered with a chuckle at Gael. "Eat, Kellan. Don't be disrespectful." Even if the meat was a little chewy.
"Yes, sir," Kellan nodded and picked up his fork. "Are ye gonna play tonight, Loch?" he asked his favorite cousin. "Can I have a listen, daid?" he asked Kiernan. (Or 'dadje', for the non-Gaelics. Ye're welcome.)