[An orange tabby sits pointedly several yards in from the door, upright and regal as though he's waiting for someone and is displeased. With a sniff of the air, that displeasure continues as he huffs and strolls away, deftly giving Stark the butthole view.]
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Come on in, ah'll be right there.
[Her voice resonates from the kitchen of someone who knew how to cook, the familiar sound of his suit having tipped her off enough to his arrival for her to prepare for guests. That means he can hear the clanking of glasses and a bottle before her mess of hair appears from around the corner, attached to that's a tired smile. She's dressed casually, wearing leggings and an oversized t-shirt that falls a little off one shoulder. Gloves, of course, completed the look.]
Hey you.