I'm bad at deciding why characters want something and how they try to get it. I may prize nonsense and minutia over storytelling as a way to get out of it. I like this scene, but it suffers from those "what's the point" problems.
Turquoise: I brought you soup.
Banada: Chicken?
T: Avacado cream.
B: What the hell?
T: It's all they had.
B: This is extravagant. Thank you. Have a bite.
T: (refusing) Please. (Replaces a flower in a vase on dresser while B stays in bed slurping.) You're a goddamn loud eater.
B: I'm sick.
T: Then you've been sick your whole life.
B: Times are changing. People don't need to eat quietly anymore.
T: It's a courtesy.
B: If we were heads of state negotiating peace during wartime, I'd eat this very quietly and I'd make a wonderful impression on you.
T: Mom's back in town, so consider it wartime.
B: God. Mom. Where's she staying?
T: I put her in your place.
B: What the hell, Turk!
T: You're not using it.
B: I was. I can't now. How'd you even get in?
T: I have a key.
B: You… how'd you get a key?
T: I made a copy two days ago when you were unconscious.
B: Oh my god!
T: She's gotta stay somewhere, Bana.
B: You take her!
T: She's moved in, unpacked.
B: Move her out!
T: She had her vanity brought down, it's already in your living room.
B: You're kidding.
T: It was too big for the bedroom.
B: So what? I'll move it out. I'll throw it out the gaddamn window.
T: It's bolted to the wall.
B: (narrows eyes)
T: She had a young man who bolted to the wall, to studs in the wall, with a crazy bolt machine. She was thorough.
B: She's moving in permanently. I can never go back.
T: She took your room.
B: I need you to get my box of love letters out of there before mom finds them.
T: (hands him box) Already done.
B: Nice. You're a good brother.
T: Please.
