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He bites his lip, trying to conceal a laugh. “No, it is just a name.” A shrug. “What is weird is how humans actually now name objects after human names — even clothes.” With a couple of fixtures newly in situ, he takes a pause, slotting a couple of screws between his —
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in concentration. “Yeah. Itʼs categorised usually under ‘domesticityʼ or ‘domestic blissʼ. Involves — cooking together, some bake, fix flatpack, snuggle on the couch and watch TV ... loads of things.” A beat. “You never do that, huh?”
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@N0FLIES0NME ⠀⠀
He pats the carpet. “Aha!” His voice pitches in relief as the key is located and rolled over the knuckles. “I was knelt on it,” the zompire murmurs sheepishly. He begins assembling the fixings to the fixtures, tongue poking out between his lips while his brow furrows —
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He chuckles warmly, setting the transparent bags aside. “A little metal thing. Hollow. Shaped like an ‘Lʼ.” The zompire tries to illustrate with his hands. “Just something to help fix the fixings to the fixtures.” His attention lowers, scanning the carpet for —
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bags assessing the fixings zipped inside. He thumbs them in the palm. “Screws, bolts —” His gaze drifts upwards aiming to meet theirs. “Seen the Allen key babe? Failing the screwdriver?”
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@N0FLIES0NME ⠀⠀
A light scoff. “Pay them?” He shrugs. “I mean, that is a job. But it costs a pretty penny, know what I mean?”
His feet move towards the compartments. A soft groan as he lowers to his haunches and then opts for rolling onto the knees. Inked hands study the plastic —
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