Darius jumped a bit, whipping his head around. He was used to having things thrown at him by angry women. When she didn't actually throw anything, he relaxed. At least she wasn't that mad at him.
His stomach took the opportunity to growl, and he remembered that he hadn't eaten. Grumbling, he went back to the fridge. He was still living there, and by God he wasn't going to let one sulky teenager stop him from eating.
He was unnaturally quiet as he pulled out the things to make a sandwich, until a jar of pickles decided to leap out and smash on the floor. The expletives that escaped his mouth were fascinating in both breadth and vehemence, though since the maternity of most cucumbers is unknown, in the end they were mostly nonsensical.