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It’s not that Fig hated being caged, just preferred being able to jumpscare people at a moment’s notice. The ferret spun in circles at a similar prospect when Trish’s hands hovered near the cage lid, a melodious yip vibrating outward; stubby paws scratching in search for freedom. Or maybe an excuse to touch her owner’s familiar calloused palm. Trish allowed herself a smirk at that, her pinky finger teasing that sniffing nose as the ferret’s tongue lapped at the digit affectionately.

[color=#C51E3A]“She’s a fucking menace, honestly.”[/color] Came a begrudging acknowledgement, more habit than actually interested in entertaining someone’s curiosity. Not that she didn’t appreciate someone giving a crap about the little things and gave a curt nod at the Irish woman anyway.

Something about being amicable, probably.

The mention of a basement and voluntarily sleeping there made her smirk more noticeably than she cared to admit, thoughts immediately whirring with obvious questions to that strange decision. [color=#C51E3A]“Probably me, but I don’t think mold makes good bedfellows.”[/color] A shrug. Nonchalant, but intrigued.

She turned her attention to her brother, snagging the duffel bag with a challenging grin. [color=#C51E3A]“Could ask if she’s looking for a roommate.”[/color] She teased, her shoulder brushing against his hunched form.

Introduction could wait, however, and Trish was more than eager to call dibs on the least invasive room in the building. Preferably on the far end so nobody [i]accidentally[/i] bothered her in passing, she hated that too. Hated a lot of things, thinking about it. Heavy boots thudded on worn wood, stairs groaning when Trish deliberately tested their resistance and quietly praying they would give in with a satisfying snap. They didn’t, but a girl could dream and stomp a little harder next time. She was patient in that, at least.

While others choose their room by sheer magical guidance, weird-ass preferences or chance. Trish’s eye fell on one of the simpler bedrooms, though still flashy and bathing in that grand Gothic design. Tall windows, taller walls. Probably able to house about five people with enough space to swing a dead cat around. She slung her guitar case off her shoulder, propping it in an empty corner to keep it from dipping. The duffel with clothes and unmentionables fell onto the bed with a lazy thud.

Then, with careful hands she set Fig’s cage down and opened the lid. The ferret dooked happily, immediately slithering out and crawled up Trish’s arm to find that warm spot around the punk-gal’s neck, small paws fidgeting with tufts of dyed hair while her owner assessed the room a second time before deciding she’d better be one of those [i]social[/i] guests.

The stairs held firm at Trish’s insistent stomping, the gesture made her smirk impishly as she landed safely on the main floor. The smell of tea leaves and pastries guided her toward the kitchen, spotting their host and the old gentleman having a chat that stilled when she approached. [color=#C51E3A]“Nice place,”[/color] She offered with a huff as she dropped into one of the empty seats, eyeing the extravagant banquet with a wry smile. [color=#C51E3A]“Very rustic.”[/color] She added, glancing at her furry companion.

Fig’s nose twitched, her body crawling along Trish’s shoulder to stretch and sniff at the pastries below. Beady eyes looking expectantly at the promise of treats.