The Convel residence was eerily silent for a weekday morning, unless of course you include the buzz from the outside world, ever present within the city and it's buildings — apart from extremely expensive sound-proofed walls, of which could be found upon the Convel's townhouse's fourth floor, in the acoustics room.
Within the relatively empty building, sat by herself at the island in the kitchen — rarely used for eating on unless the likes of Scarlett or Greyson were home alone and found no reason to drift to the dining room, was Scarlett, picking away at what little breakfast she had in front of her.
Interrupting Scarlett's peace was the sound of sharp leather penny loafers on the floor, indicating Greyson had finally taken initiative to getting out of bed after his late arrival back the previous night. Hardly glancing up as her brother entered the room, Scarlett popped a raspberry into her mouth. "How was golf?" She inquired, texting away on her phone as she did so.
"Tiring." Mumbled Greyson in reply, appearing plenty tired despite his smart and fastidious appearance. The boy wandered past his sister, opening the beverage refrigerator in search of a bottle of water.
At the sound of her brother's jaded tone, Scarlett raised an amused eyebrow, her eyes flickering from her phone to Greyson — unable to help but tease. "Such a hard life golfing, Greyson." She pouted, raising her eyebrows disparagingly. "Perhaps you shouldn't choose to live yours as an old businessman with multiple accusations of sexual assault against him." She mocked in referral to the oh-so-typical stereotype.
Sniffling quietly, Greyson screwed his face up as he untwisted the bottle cap, shooting Scarlett a sparing look. "Dad plays golf." He pointed out, Scarlett rolling her eyes at the hypercritical literalism. To be fair, he had a point — Though it was hardly as though he had to put much thought into her jab so much so as he could of brushed it off.
