“What’s the damage, Tully?” you ask hesitantly.
Tully gave up the car repair business due to what he called “overly-aggressive competition” and is trying his hand at electronics and general electrical repair. You’ve brought in your broken heirloom antique lamp, inherited from your great-grandmother, to see if it can be fixed.
Tully turns the lamp in his hands, poring over the socket and base. You can’t tell if his frown betrays dissatisfaction with the state of the lamp or simply intense concentration.
“Tully?” you repeat.
Startled out of his focused examination of the lamp, Tully turns his attention to you, still frowning but now wild-eyed with surprise. “Light o’ the Divines left this vessel a long time ago,” he says, calming a bit. “You been trafficking with dark spirits again?”
“No,” you shoot back, “I told you I was done with that.”
“Mmm-hmm,” he hums sarcastically. “Performing rituals to raise the Elder Gods from their watery slumber?”
“Six months sober,” you say smiling smugly. You offer up your blue “Arkham Anonymous” chip keychain as proof.
Eyeing the plastic dubloon suspiciously, Tully decides to move on. He squints and leans in close, then gives you a couple quick sniffs. “You been screwin’ that witch again?”
“Jesus, Tully, that was one time and I barely got to third base.”
“Yeah, whatever you say. Anyway, it’ll take some time to figure what eldritch abomination beyond human comprehension’s busted your mee-maw’s nightlight, I’ll call you when it’s done. Try not to curse any other furniture in the meantime, okay?”