A boy named Sous

Priestly was futzing. The apartment looked fine, he'd put away the liquor and all the empty bottles that were a natural result of living with Dean, the bed had fresh sheets on it, and there were fresh towels available if Dinah wanted to shower. He had more food than any two (or three or four or five) people could actually eat in a weekend, all set to make whatever it was Dinah might be interested in, and Dean had been warned of her impending arrival.

He was as prepared as he was going to be. So he was . . . futzing.

[ooc: expecting one!]