There was a game on, at a volume which blasted proudly so all the neighbors could hear, but Ontario's eyes were focused at it rather than on it. He'd made himself a dinner of game food, poured himself beer, and they cooled, flattened, on his side table.

His fingers were laced in front of his mouth. Or, if the shades were open, his arms were on the rests. His fingertips tapped near unnoticeably on the leather to keep up appearances. His mind raced in time with the rhythm as he tried to figure out every possible person who could be meeting with him about every possible situation. He did this, and had for a long while, despite the fact that the person coming to meet him had only decided a short while ago.

Quebec didn't know this from seeing anything, as he'd hardly left his own territory at that point. He just knew Ontario well enough. He supposed this might be considered sentimental, if the knowledge that he was being anticipated didn't seem like more of a nuisance.

The only benefit he could see is that there would be an albeit cold dinner on the table that he could snatch. In all the frustrations of the day and the days before, he hadn't been the most attentive to his stomach. Within crowds, full of energy and optimism, it'd been easy to ignore. Now, though, as he tried to avoid the attentions of anyone who might realize who he was, and where he was going, it raged about his neglect.

If he were particularly lucky, there'd also be an untouched beer. That had less to do with fortune, and more with whether or not there was a possibility of California coming over. She tended to be as fickle as she was powerful, and required a finely-tread line to handle properly. If Ontario had any inclination that she might drop by, he would most certainly not be thinking much of anyone else.

Quebec didn't know how many times he'd been able to accomplish a great deal because California had distracted his brother, and he was sure the future would hold many more of those. Unfortunately, he hadn't paid enough attention to the news to know if that was even a possibility. This was a massive oversight but, with everything that'd been going on in his house, he felt that he had a decent excuse for it.

When he was far enough from the boundary line between their territories, he allowed himself to walk more leisurely. There was nobody else around interested enough to try and stop his trek, much less willing to assault him to do so.

His scalp still throbbed from where protesters had tried to rip his ahoge off, as if his ties to the country around him were as simple as that.

In his living room, Ontario had probably snapped to attention, now, sure he felt someone in his territory. Depending on who he thought it might be, he may have taken a sip of his beer. It was then he'd notice what his neglect had cost him, though depending on what situation he believed he'd have to tackle he would have replaced it or not. The Leafs would continue to play, unnoticed.

Outwardly, if the window shades were open, he wasn't nervous. He didn't pace, because someone could have seen him. But his feet did take him downstairs to clear his mind and bladder in preparation. It was a habit he'd fixed into himself, even if he wouldn't admit it, in order to allow his mind to focus on nothing but the agenda he needed to have set. He wanted to be able to sit in a meeting, distraction free, for hours on end.

Quebec neared the house, and found the ranch-style was lit up almost as if it were a model. The furniture was near ripped out of Home and Garden, each room staged to give off an air of inviting professionalism. There wasn't a single piece that hadn't been chosen with the intention of impressing business associates.

Even with everything that had happened, he continued to define himself by his position. For all the laziness, casualness, people accused him of having when he showed up in a wrinkled jersey he'd most likely slept in the night before...

This was, unfortunately, going to be much more like Quebec had anticipated it would be than he'd hoped. Such a shame.

From the living room, the roar of the crowd dominated everything around him. It was a wonder, really, that Ontario had even heard the doorbell ring over the noise. Knowing him, he may have been waiting right behind the door. When he opened it, his face was confident, smug, but free from the look of someone who'd spent his evening doing more than relaxing.

"I didn't think you'd be here tonight," Ontario said. His eyes moved over every inch of Quebec's body, causally as if it were simply incidental that a person was in his line of sight. He looked for something, and whether he'd found it or not was for him to know.

"I don't plan on being here long," Quebec replied. His speech had become unused to English, and struggled to push it out over his chattering teeth. "Stop blocking the door, it's windy as hell."

Ontario's mouth pulled up, and every hour of the preparation was on his face. Quebec didn't want that sort of knowledge, but he had no choice. He was nothing but aware he'd been prepared for as he was allowed to headed into the house.