The lighting is soft. A floor lamp glows in the corner. The room smells faintly like butter and onions. LUPA lounges on the couch, casually alert, a football game muted in the background. HUNTER is sitting cross-legged on the other end, remote in hand, eyes on the TV.
SEAN is kicked back in the recliner, socks mismatched, scrolling on his phone with one eye open.
The door opens. BRODY walks in, gym bag slung over one shoulder, still in his practice gear.
BRODY
(grinning)
Oh shit, hey Lupa! Didn’t know you were coming over for dinner.
LUPA
(smirking, arms draped over the back of the couch)
You leave your doors this unlocked, I might move in.
SEAN
(nodding toward the kitchen)
Yeah, Brody. And Dex is in the kitchen cooking—says he’s making his grandma’s favorite.
BRODY
What, grass clippings?
SEAN
Hah, no. He says we’ll like it—that it’s a delicacy.
BRODY
(dropping his bag by the wall)
How was practice, Hunter?