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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*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?

*She leans her head on his shoulder, idly twining her fingers around the hand at her waist.*

She really liked her old room, so maybe we can still use everything from there, with a few extra things -- a dresser, that kind of thing.

...And I really need to look into those child-alert charms for her room. Like Muggle baby-monitors, sort of, only they also let you know when they're up and about and, ah, headed your way.

...They have those? What, are they like telephones?

More like -- oh, what're they called, walkie-talkies.

*an arch look, as she bites back a grin*

What's this, something the scientific genius hasn't heard of?

*Bernard Is Outraged.*

I'm still catching up.

*She pats his cheek condescendingly.*

Sure, sweetheart.

*A little defensively*

Well, it's not as if baby monitors were ever high on my list of priorities.

True. And if they were, I'd say you left out some pretty major details about your life.

*Grinning, she kissing him quickly before looking back down at the list.*

What're we missing?

*He leans over to press his lips to the sensitive spot just underneath her ear.*

The study.

*Her voice, as she replies, is suddenly a bit high-pitched.*

Right, right. I've promised Crowley a sofa in there...

*She trails off as his breath tickles her ear.*