Cymbeline

"You should just get Bart to do it, methinks," Minoth said, and Addam looked at him like his head had shot through his neck anew, to make him into just another horse in the pasture who didn't want to have anything to do with ground leads and lightswitch plates and wire nuts and outlet covers.

"I thought you said there was no need to hire someone," the owner of the property replied evenly, some of disappointment and some of reproach but all of cagey wile. Not that he was interested in pinching pennies; he wanted the job done right, and certainly safely, but he was also, apparently, gullible enough to trust Minoth's laconic judgement, and be steered a little more towards steers than pigs or sheepdogs (that was to say, idle lack of intellect and care).

Minoth thumbed a rickety, rotted switch. "That's right. Bart would do it for free."

"Bah. No master electrician worth his sparkplugs would do anything for free, and even if he would, he wouldn't do a house of this size."

Not that none of the hookups worked, no. Instead, that they worked in the way that old plumbing worked, with concerning sounds and thumping connections made more and more loudly every day, every time one used the proverbial outhouse or the actual sink, running.

Actually, Addam's dream was to have authentic pull-string bulbs hanging from some sort of ceiling-anti-sconces, bare, but with the peace of mind that came with professional installation. Had Minoth been the very professional in question, Addam would have been willing to spend a little time learning the ropes with his partner.

It was the offloading of responsibility that he didn't quite appreciate. He knew of Bart only what rumples of chaos echoed through to Minoth, via Billy or sometimes directly, and so if it was free courtesy of the likes of...it smelled, a little.

"Who'll do it not for free?" Addam prodded, eyeing a flickering fixture.

"I will," said Minoth simply. "Kiss me."