Eridan tossed another look back at that threat, mismatched eyes slightly widened as he listened for the get out. Waited, visibly, and when it didn't come, shrugged back to his work just as he had been before. The movement of his hands had slowed a little, maybe. That was all.

"Bathtub's fine." An opaque tone. Ash collected at the end of his cigarette, unminded. "Sheet and a pillow and it's fine."

When he had been young, masking and downplaying his emotions had been unthinkable. Who was everyone else, to be spared the holy wwrath of His Imperiousness? Now the signals to his testiness were minute, muted. He slid the fish around the pan a little too hard, no longer glanced back.

"Yours is done," he finished, dumping the seared fish on one of the few plates he'd scavenged earlier. "Don' buy trash fish next time."