milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

*A pink-haired witch is seated at her usual table, one foot curled up underneath her. A half-finished bottle of Butterbeer sits in front of her, as does a large stack of files. The latter, however, she is determinedly avoiding for the time being, engrossed instead in the latest issue of Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle.

Let's just call it escapism.*

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*A dusty, red-haired man sneaks up behind her and covers her eyes.*

What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?

*Grinning, she scratches her chin thoughtfully.*

Waiting for a man-shaped distraction. Know any?

*He takes his hands from her eyes and slips his arms around her, kissing her neck.*

I might.

Lucky me.

*She turns her head to kiss him for a long moment, and then pulls him down into the chair next to hers.*

Ohhhh, you're all painty. Making progress, then?

*Reaching over, she attempts to remove a streak of paint from his cheek, with minimal success.*

*He grins*

Lots.

Think we'll be ready to move in by... Friday or Saturday, maybe.

Really?

*She beams, ecstatic, and pulls a clean sheet of parchment out of the stack and picks up her quill.*

Blimey, we'll have to finish the list of everything we need -- I know Asar-Suti conjured a boatload of supplies, but some of the final touches'll have to come from the outside.

*Bending over the parchment, the tip of her tongue sticking out a tiny bit, she begins scribbling down a list.*

*He watches her write for a moment, then taps the paper.*

Bigger bed, while we're at it.

*Raising an eyebrow, she glances up at him.*

What, so you can take up even more space while you sleep?

*Notice, however, that she adds it to the list.*

*He simply shakes his head, smiling slightly.*

No.

*She catches his eye again and smiles softly, leaning over to kiss him, her thumb tracing the curve of his jaw.

Then she looks back down at her list, cheeks somewhat flushed.*

*He laces their fingers together and leans over the list with her, and if his eyes are more focused on her than they are on the paper, well.

What else is new?*

What about the living room?

*She bites her lip contemplatively.*

Well. We'll need a couch and some chairs, obviously, and a coffee table and some end tables. Lamps. Oh -- Mum said we could have their old table lamps, they just got new ones.

S'pose it'll need to be decorated, too. The lot of it, I mean.

*He looks wary*

Are they hideous duck-shaped monstrosities, or are they all right?

I have to ask, you know.

Duck-shaped-- Please. Bernard. My mum may be the bad seed of the Black family, but she's still a Black. They're wrought iron, with parchment-colored shades. Very classy, very understated.

*a pause, and an innocent look*

Of course I'm all in favour of charming them to change colours, if you think that'd be better -- I was thinking orange and pink would suit our idiom, don't you?

You're a menace.

*she jabs her finger lightly into his bicep*

And don't you forget it.

*more scribbling, as she moves onto things for the kitchen, and then pauses*

Erm. You might be a bit better at knowing what we need, here -- I've no idea at all, besides the basic things.

*He gives her a look, and slides the paper over, plucking the quill out of her hand.*

You will, you know.

*She looks almost amused.*

Hey, if you think you can teach me how to cook, more power to you. It's just a hazardous undertaking, is all. And I make no guarantees of success.

*He grins as he writes.*

We'll start slow.

*He glances up at her, then kisses her quickly.*

I don't cook alone. It's no fun.

Well. Just wear old clothes.

Black doesn't really stain.

*She opens her mouth to speak, clearly recollecting something, and then flushes slightly before taking a swig of Butterbeer.*

Course not. You're absolutely right.

*He opens his mouth to ask, but then thinks better of it.*

You're terrifying.

...Just a little bit.

*Bernard smiles and slips an arm around her waist, returning to the list.

Whatever kind of terror she is, he doesn't mind.*

What about Sunny's room?