And here we go. He seemed suddenly pissy, like planting this garden of domesticity had inadvertantly unearthed the tail of a dragon in the process. He told her to shut up about it, and she laughed. She laughed because she scratched people up without even trying. She thought about the Cat then, about bloody fingers, and her gaze drifted in the direction of the fridge as she considered another drink. But laziness was more compelling, and the amusement dropped out of her eyes like a man falling through the floor, noose taut.
"You're the one that brought it up." Or maybe Russ hadn't been, but the actuality seemed trivial when blame could be pinned on anyone but herself.