"I hear that," Orpheus replied, his head in a cabinet as he fished out a crystal vase. This would be perfect set on the dining table. He filled it with water and set it down, then set about arranging the flowers to their best advantage.
Theo had always been stand-offish with him. This wasn't unusual, this aggressive attitude. He remembered her growing up, traveling with Calliope to visit all kinds of places, and coming to stay with him as a precocious eight-year-old. Even then she'd stared at him with resentment, as if Calliope's love had limits and he was encroaching on her portion. He'd tried to tell her then that love had no limits. He was even fond of the funny little thing. But she had no interest in maintaining a relationship with him so he'd kind of forgotten about her most of the time, much more focused on his music. He only ever saw her in relation to their mother and her entreaties for them to "at least try to get along, Theo?"
Once the flowers were settled, he turned back to look at her. He eye traveled behind her to the easel and blank canvas, and he cocked his head in interest. "Hey, you doin' some painting?"