"I guess I should ask the guy who all but told me he ran guns and brothels back home," he sighs, leaning his head back as the damp wood starts to smoke, catching on embers. "But, you know, super clean and empowering ones where women are only there because they have a love of the craft, or something."

He's rolling his eyes even now, standing up to leave the kettle boiling and walking far enough away that Aurora starts to look between them, like she's not sure who might need her comfort--or give her more attention for it--in this situation. He doesn't push her by making a noise or gesture in either direction.

At the window, he runs a hand along the sill to check the seals: the wood is damp, and it's entirely possible a piece of hail is going to bust a window or three before the end of the night. It just reminds him of the panes Casey had gutted from Ren's house, the start of a slow-burning fight that Kira regrets, now. Those materials are sitting in the cellar with the wood and stove, waiting to serve their purpose, and Casey isn't waiting anywhere. "I think we're always in trouble, one way or another. If the hail doesn't stop we just deal with it. Between the two of us we can probably trek out under the dining room table if we have to."

Turning back, he shrugs with half a smile: "You'll understand if I eat you before I eat the dog, right?"