clumsy_auror | (no subject)

(no subject)

When you're not terribly old, even the littlest things can get you down.

Take, for example, the whole talking thing. You've got lots of words down! You do! But the whole concept of the letter D seems to largely elude you, and you can tell it's really bumming Dad out. So you're working on it.

Slowly.

But even worse is the walking. You're crawling like a pro, and taking steps with help, even pulling yourself up without help!

And yet.

And yet.

Not so much.

So it's best to practice this sort of thing when everybody's busy. Looking the other way.

No pressure.

Nooooooooo pressure.

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Bernard shuffles into the dining room with a couple empty plates and a glass, heading into the kitchen. "...But I don't see why I should nose around the waitrats' business when they're just fine as they are--"

He breaks off, wary, and tiptoes to the kitchen door, leaning against the jamb to watch Anthony steady himself on the side of a chair with one hand.

"Well, then don't pay it any mind," she replies, oblivious and elbow-deep in sudsy water. "Gil's always kept a weather eye on the rats, there's no reason to think anything's amiss."

Bernard turns his head, sets the dishes on the nearby counter, then holds a finger up to his lips to tell Raph to shut the fuck up preemptively. Then he pads into the kitchen and pulls Nymphadora by the arm to show her their son almost walking.

Almost.

With a squeak, 'Dora clutches Bernard's arm and then falls silent.

Too silent, apparently, because the sudden quiet causes Anthony to look around, and when he spots his parents he falls to his bum with a hiccup.

"Shit," Bernard sighs, then smiles and picks Anthony up to give him a kiss. "No big deal, huh, monkey?"

"No big deal," echoes 'Dora, leaning in to kiss Anthony's lips. "Right Raph? No big deal."

Raph grumbles from ~~his~~ the chair. He hasn't moved much further than the doorway of the dining room. Not quite as fast as he used to be, this one.

"Nope. I fall all the time. Ain't no one brave enough to give me grief."

"I am," Bernard replies, backing away with an innocent, wide-eyed look.

"Brave? No, no. Stupid."

Grinning, Nymphadora takes Anthony from Bernard and walks into the kitchen to start putting away the dry dishes.

Raph chuckles.

"Got that right, Kahlo."

Very slowly Raph begins to wheel himself towards the kitchen. This is like watching April and Casey go at it, and it's just as entertaining now as it was way back in the day.

It's not so easy to wheel a chair with only one good arm.

Yeah, but it's better than having your partner in a perpetual pissing contest wheel you around like a granny.

Bernard picks up a few more plates. "You want dessert? I made ice cream the other day."

Ice cream? Even cranky people like ice cream.

"What flavor?"

"Chocolate pumpkin swirl," replies 'Dora promptly, shifting Anthony to her other hip. "With chocolate fudge sauce to go with."

Raph blinks.

"Ain't tokin' up bad for like, little kids?"

Drugs are the only reason anyone would ever make Pumpkin ice cream.

Bernard shoots him a fond look from the fridge. "Asshole. You know we only give our kids home grown organic LSD cooked right here in my study."

"And uppers only at breakfast," she chimes in, plunking Anthony down on the kitchen floor beside Ellie. "Be right back."

She darts down the hallway.

"An' they say that real families ain't like the one's on tv."

You can learn a lot about human behavior from Jerry Springer.

Bernard scoops some ice cream into a bowl and adds a liberal dose of fudge and hands it to Raph with a spoon. "Try it. I'm interested to see if you like it."

"Do I got a choice?"

It...it's orangeish.

"I mean, no offense but it kinda looks like Halloween threw up inna bowl."

"That's the idea. It's the sort of thing that woman likes when she's pregnant."

Pregnant.
Tonks is pregnant.

AGAIN.

Raph is beginning to think that Bernard is doing something wrong. Isn't the whole point of...well, that to keep from ending up...there.

Of course that line of thought makes him think of Tonks like...that and there. Thoughts like that only lead to blushing.

There's no where for him to go. He has only one recourse.
EAT AS MUCH ICE CREAM AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE.
Thankfully being raised in a sewer is helpful in this regard.

Bernard is busy getting himself some ice cream and perching on the adjacent counter. He sees Raph shovelling and pauses, mid bite. "...Wha?"

Somewhere in between his tongue going numb and the onset of one doozy of a brain-freeze, Raph begins to consider the actual flavor of what he's eating.

It's certainly not the best ice cream he's ever eaten, but it's by no means anywhere near as bad as the Durian garbage Don brought home that one time as an experiment.

He's just about to remark on the taste and texture...when his brain crystallizes in one giant shard of pain.

"GAH!"

"Shit." He throws a damp dishtowel at Raph's head. "You fucking evolutionary throwback. How old are you and you don't know how to avoid a fuckin' brain freeze?"

"Aaargh."

Says the Raph, who once again forgot that he can't move his left arm to block the oncoming soggy assault. The right hand was too busy pinching the bridge of his nose to do anything even remotely helpful.

"God damnit."

His words are slightly muffled by the towel that now draped across his face.

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