"Could you not?" Chloe hisses out from her spot in the kitchen, aiming her words at the sound of dull shuffling behind the closest wall. Pouring piping hot water into a clean(ish) mug, she might not be able to see beyond the bend towards the source, but her ears are well trained enough to catch it: soaking it up and huffing about it like a bloody offense just before she tears her nails through the top end of a tea pouch.

"Those pins are only a week old-- keep trying to sneak about on it like that and you'll wind up shooting the damn things out like popped rivets."