Briar's face twisted up in a snarl at that. She had been honest for once (mostly), and tried to explain when she upset someone and he brushed it off. Fine. That showed her, didn't it? An echo of the expression lingered, even when she snuffed it out, "If you listened you would be less whiny, see if you can carry that on your 'shoulders'" She ignored his comment about actually having a normal job as she slid past him through the open door. Bellailes street trash in her voice and her steps.
The impulse to say plague it and bail was there, bitter still at her attempt at sharing something real being cast aside. But Tucker's voice was still fresh in her head, and if she was going to be nameless-trash she might as well hang around someone who--No. She couldn't get lost in that headspace on the closest thing she'd been to a job in a year.
The Rosier House felt like stepping back in time. Though it wasn't originally Clovennian, the decorations and feel of it was theirs and it bore so many of the same hallmarks as her father's home. At least it distracted her from newfound bitterness at her ally. Silent as a, well. As a hunting scavenger, she made her way through the house where she was fairly sure the conservatory was to find a laughable lock on the door. One of her simple lockpicks was pulled from her sleeve, and she had it open in a speed that relieved her. Ah, muscle memory, her old friend.
The flowers inside were remarkable, illuminated by the moon in a way that gave them an almost ethereal glow. Quite a few as well, and Briar gave a low whistle, "Damn Beau, you need to get out more."