"Dear me, we're positively domestic," said Solomon from the kitchen doorway, but he was wearing a faint smile. "And people say we've no sense of courtesy." The last time Solomon had bothered to drink anything, that he could recall, had been ... quite some time ago. About when Skulduggery had forced that talk on him, perhaps.

At least, he assumed it was a drink, rather mints or something like that. He'd heard something slosh.

"The table needs setting," he added, turning, "unless Raine beat me to it." He didn't think so, because he hadn't heard the cutlery thud. Like most kedanese cutlery, it was wooden rather than metal -- metal was too valuable to eat from, after all.

In the time he was standing in the doorway, his apron was more than well enough on display for Bakura to see it. Pink, with a unicorn running on a rainbow on the front. A somewhat sauce-specked unicorn.