"It's not bad, is it?" He rubs the back of one gloved thumb against his cheekbone as he answers, curing an itch, or removing some tickly wood dust, or something the like. "This is the only work left to be done." That same hand raps on the window frame to indicate the ongoing replacement, and then he stands up tall, moving back and into the house.

Predictably, the front door opens a moment later. He's not dressed for construction, but for his usual deputy rounds—still on call, of course, despite having arranged for some time off the beat this afternoon—including that one black hat of his. (He really enjoys that hat, okay.) "Come, have a look."