Mary's response was a wordless grunt. She was near her desk, a set of tools opened up and laid out next to her. One of the desk's legs had split, up near where it connected to the tabletop. None of the tools she currently had, which were a variety of screwdrivers and a hammer, would do jack shit in getting the thing standing again. Of course she wasn't going to blame the boys for it; she didn't know what to blame. The thing, from her perspective, had just fallen over. Maybe the weight of all the crap she kept on it had finally proven too much for a weak connection. She didn't know.<br/><br/>All the stuff that had been on it was neatly arranged on the coffee table, or on the bookcase's shelves. Her computer, thankfully, was undamaged. With a heavy huff, she stood up and pinched the bridge of her nose, annoyed. "Joe, you know anything about furniture?" She asked, tossing the hammer she'd been idly holding onto the couch. "I wanna know if this thing's salvageable."<br/><br/>While she talked to Joe, Salem slinked past her and went into the kitchen area. It was a small, squared off section of the living room with linoleum instead of carpet and a few appliances, and barely any room to compete with anyone else who went in there searching for sustenance. Their pantry was even less roomy, with enough room for maybe 1/4th of Joe to squeeze in, but there were at least enough shelves and hanging wall nets to toss stuff into. And on the floor, in a small box, were a collection of glass jars and bottles. Not the most fancy of containers, but they'd do the job. He bent down to wiggle the box out of the corner, while Solomon just sort of wandered around and looked at things to see if they'd be effective. He made damn sure not to pick anything up though.