[The ladies look a little intimidated at first, but once Abbacchio's crouched down in front of them, they all huddle and scoot closer to him, clearly curious about The New Person. Not that he can see what they're doing with the back of the couch in the way, but Avdol's still leaning forward a little like he can, smiling a little more easily as he pours out a second cup of chai.]

They do. Michael, Prince, and Lionel. ...I was alone on an island with only the chickens for company, so perhaps my naming scheme wasn't the greatest, but it's all they answer to now. I was going to eat them if I was left alone for too long, but...

I'm glad that I didn't, and that they're here. [Over he comes, little tray of teacups on one hand and a dish of some sort of mash in the other, before setting it down on the coffee table. Soon as the girls get a whiff of the clam mixture he's whipped up for them, their attention's completely diverted and they're on the floor waiting for that good shit.

Couch: now empty. Avdol looks way too pleased with his chicken-diversion as he sits, legs crossing primly and one cup of black chai held out expectantly.]

Here, I made yours black. All the chai I drank in India was milky and loaded with su-- Goodness, no wonder my tea palate's ruined, between the American and my travels in India. This is awful. Distasteful. I can't believe I've let myself become so sullied.