Bobby's house was a small Tudor style home made from white brick and blue trim. The snowmen decorations at the front were a garish combination with the architecture (the home owner's association would have pitched a fit) but Bobby had literally zero fucks to give about clashing styles and palettes. No, his front porch was decorated with snowmen juxtaposed against classic architecture and that was that. There was even a snowman on top of a little sled! Wow, so cute.
As Kitty phased inside the house, Bobby's lack of fucks to give was equally apparent, just in a very different way. It was very clear that a bachelor lived here. Moreover, a bachelor that had never lived alone lived here. Shoes were kicked off haphazardly in the front foyer and the rug had been carelessly kicked into disarray and bunched up and otherwise not at all allowed to perform its basic function of wiping feet.
Somewhere inside the house, music played.
Following the sound led deeper into the house. Kitty passed the stairs leading up. A shirt, pants, and three socks littered the stairs. Something whirred down the hallway. Tiny little lights lit up the dark hallway before it came into view, a little tripod-like robot. The front panel was open, revealing some receptacle, and a long metallic arm was reaching out of the top and held a sock that was about to be placed inside. Maybe it was the missing fourth sock from the stairs. The little droid stopped dead in its tracks as it spotted Kitty.
The little lights blinked slowly. Silence. More silence.
Then the lights started flashing and the robot wiggled as if in panic before abruptly spinning on its tripod and whisking back down the hallway from whence it came. It seemed to have run toward the source of the music. The hallway terminated at a set of doors (currently open) that led into a parlor that buttressed against the kitchen and dining area. Here the music was quite loud, originating off an old record player in the corner. But one could be forgiven for not noticing it right away.
"All your life you've never seen a woman taken by the wind," Bobby crooned poorly, clad in merely a jock strap in the middle of the parlor. In his hands he held a large swath of fabric (shawl would be generous), stretched out behind him like some sad karaoke imitation of Stevie Nicks at a Brooklyn gay bar. "Would you stay if she promised you heaven, will you ever win? Will you ever win?"
"Rhiaaaaaaannon, Rhiaaaaaaaannon..."
And the White Witch spun and spun and spun in his little fantasy.