Time to stop pretending and playing opossum.
While the old bat was busy tossing slime and other shit at Isobel, Christopher moved silently off the stool and crept close. When she lifted her hand, cackling in premature triumph, he plucked the old woman from the floor, his arms cinched around her middle, trapping her in his grip.
"Put me down," screeched the old broad. "You should be sleeping."
"You mean because of the drugs in the cookies?" Christopher smiled. They were delicious, however. . . "It will take more than a few pinches of opium to put me out. My mother used to lace my bottles with it as a baby because I was colicky."
"That is seriously wrong," Isobel mentioned, approaching with a shake of her head. "Who does that to their kid?"
He shrugged. "I didn't mind. And I turned out all right."
"Matter of opinion," Isobel coughed into her hand, but her soft smile turned it into a joke.
Look at them bonding.