"It's a fucking farce." he mutters as he pushes past into the sitting area, flopping into a large, spacious sofa where he's already made a depression indentation. He's barely explored the flat. It was too weird and big and empty. If he could spend time anywhere else, he has.

"I don't even remember what we were going to talk about when we got here." he admits, emotionally exhausted. 'Was too busy staring at your ass.' he manages to leave unsaid. He wonders, briefly, if Stede would be down to put a pin in the argument for the night so that he can rest up and be angry again in the morning.