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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"Oh, I'm fine," she replies, waving them off and levering herself out of the armchair in which she landed. "Canine obstacle course."

"Now I understand why Aurors are the elite warriors of the wizarding world," agrees a voice from the hallway. It turns out to be - well, a scarf, but once that's out of the way and hanging by the door, Crowley is revealed to be as smirky as he sounds.

(Knocking is for the same kind of people who make dinner reservations.)

Raph backs into the kitchen jerkily at the sound of Crowley's voice; he'll be back.

Bernard snorts and steps forward to relieve Crowley of the detritus of his outer layer having been shed. "You're a bit late for dinner, but we have leftovers. Hungry?"

"Elite, that's me," is her cheerful reply. Anthony crawls rapidly scoots across the living room towards Crowley, watching interestedly as he hangs up his coat.

"Evening," Crowley replies to the cheerful, floor-level greeting of Coh! "Not starving, but I wouldn't mind a cuppa."

He doesn't move to make himself comfortable on the couch just yet, but that's because his movement is rather restricted by Anthony (so seemingly overjoyed to see the demon that he can only express his affection by pulling himself to his feet and enthusiastically hugging Crowley's knee).

Bernard bends down and picks Anthony up by the back of his romper, holding him at eye level.

"Hey. Let your uncle's knee breathe. It likes its personal space." To Crowley, "I'll get your tea."

Anthony flails and laughs as Bernard flies him over to his mother, making airplane sounds all the way.

"Hi, monkey," she says, catching Anthony and then setting him back down on his feet. "C'mon, let's show Crowley what you can do."

Anthony gamely clutches his mother's index fingers and takes a few sumo-wrestler steps toward the demon.

Crowley hunkers down to something approaching Anthony's eye-level.

"I can see you've been practicing," he says seriously.

Nymphadora steers Anthony to Crowley; the toddler only lets go when he can transfer his grip to Crowley's knees.

He looks pretty proud of himself.

"That was pretty good, sweet pea. Almost no hands."

Bernard kicks Raph's wheelchair on the way out of the kitchen and makes rolly-eyes at the ex-turtle, but no dice.

"...Have to say I don't really mind the fact that he's not running around getting himself into trouble yet, though." He sets the teapot on the table and pours out for Crowley and 'Dora like the big girly hausfrau that he is.

"Fair point," Crowley concedes, scooping Anthony up and settling on the couch with the toddler beside him. "Once he's fully mobile, no telling what he'll get up to. One hopes my bad influence will really start to show."

'Dora snorts into her teacup. "Oh, I don't think there's any doubt of that happening."

There's a clatter from the kitchen, and she heads off to investigate Raph's apparent hijinks.

Bernard settles back into the cushions and watches her go. "He'll be out in a second. I think he's trying to reach the booze in the cupboard."

"Admit it," Crowley says, inhaling the steam from his tea. "You put it that high just waiting for this day."

"...Well, he was bound to get his body all broken someday."

>.>

"Being a ninja, and all," Crowley concurs, sipping his tea and idly avoiding the grabby hands of a curious Anthony (desperate to investigate the contents of this drink as well).

The thing about ninja is that they always tend to turn up when you least expect them. Take right now, for instance. A second ago that open spot between the couch and the chair was empty. Now there's a ninja ex-turtle seated in a wheel chair there.

Raph is looking a touch perplexed, as well as mildly wind-blown. This happens when one is magically banished from a kitchen.

"...uh...hi."

"Hi," Bernard says, eyeing the roomy space between the couch and the armchair pointedly. "Care to join us?"

"you say that like i gotta choice," he grumbles.

His pants might be wet, and he might smell heavily of hard alcohol, but he certainly looks like he doesn't want to talk about it.

Crowley... is a little busy coughing into his drink, but manages to collect himself enough to remark:

"Losing voluntary control, eh?"

Raph scowls, and after a moment's pause flips off the demon.

"guess so."

If only he had access to his weapons. Stupid Mike.

'Dora stalks back into the living room and throws a dish towel at Raph. She shoots him a flat look, and then thumps into the armchair. "Bludger in a friggin china shop."

Anthony's been making his way along the couch toward Raph, and Bernard's been keeping a close eye on him; the coffee table's behind his head.

"...What'd he do?"

"Made for the booze without asking for help." As she speaks she tidies up the coffee table, setting aside the innumerable story books, coloring books, and toys that litter its surface.

"Because you would have handed him the bottle if he asked nicely," Crowley points out - though probably more out of a general instinct for contrariness than any particular guilt over impugning Raph's bladder functions.

Sorry, Raph.