Marcello, unsure where best to find Scarlet, went to the kitchen, since that tended to be the best place to find Black. And also because they were baking meat pies. He waited for a tray of hot little pies leaking gravy to pass by and swiped one eagerly, finding a seat in the corner on a sack of flour.

After a moment, a woman in a flaming red gown came scurrying full-tilt into the kitchen, breathing hard and holding the heavy train of her dress draped over her arm to keep it from sliding through kitchen muck. In spite of her frantic entrance, no one seemed to notice her; the normal kitchen activity carried on undisturbed as she halted, panting, before Marcello. "Goddammit, Basciano," she said. "Why the fuck would I be in the kitchen? Black had to tell me you were looking."

"Mmmfff," Marcello answered, holding up a pie, his mouth full of minced lamb. He swallowed. "Pies," he explained. "I don't know where you usually go. Do you want a pie?" He took another bite. "And it's O'Dowd now," he added cheerily.

"It doesn't fucking matter because it wasn't even Basciano before," she said. "No I do not want a pie. Get your ass off the floor and start acting like you own the place."

"I do own the place," Marcello replied. "That's why they don't kick me out for stealing pies."

She propped a fist against her hip. "Your little wifelet may find it charming that you blend right in with the kitchen staff, but the goofy eccentric schtick is getting fucking old. Whatever conversation you planned on having, I'm not having it here."

"It's not a goofy eccentric anything," Marcello replied. "It's hungry. All the portions are sized for people a foot shorter than me, and I don't want to be rude." He got up. "Or look like a glutton in front of guests." He finished off his pie, licked his fingers, and crossed his arms. "Fine, where would you like to go?"

She pointed to the door. "Out. Anywhere I don't have to worry about getting splashed with pork fat or bumped into by people who regard bathing as a biannual necessity. Hello, social aspect. I hang out with people, not peasants."

Marcello raised an eyebrow. "Are you joking?" he asked. "Some social aspect you are." He took a pie for the road. "So why are you so pissed off today? Or are you just glad to see me?"

"Oh, I'm just jolly," she said bitterly. "Black may enjoy doing this Saint Theresa shit, dropping her entire life just to visit one afflicted wretch curled up in a hovel somewhere; I do not. And I am totally not apologizing for setting Bonet on Duncan."