[ To John's credit, or something like it, his comment does put a wintry little smile onto Augustine's face. Petrie continues to voice his objections. ]
Whyever not? You're still every bit as tan as ever; you're hardly going to blind someone with your pasty white legs, now, are you?
[ Willfully ignoring the events of two months ago, that left him with a fresh batch of deep-water-horror nightmares — who, Augustine? Surely that's a jest, no...? ]
I don't care if you only stay five minutes, John; you're still going.
[ There's an undercurrent, here, of: «I didn't spend days worrying about that boy staying alone in the house with you for you to blow him off as irrelevant now that you've got the rest of us.» Quite nearly missable! ]
[ It's easy to bat these back and forth, for all that John's expression closes off behind the levity. When he catches the sentiment, it tightens and darkens. ]
Mate, you can guess the guest list. The party does stop when I walk in.
Well, my naked legs certainly aren't, [ Augustine shoots back crisply. ] Petrie certainly isn't going alone, however — and I haven't heard yet if his sibling is attending.
[ The elegance of his shrug is dampened, somewhat, by said varmint's caterwauling, flailing, and flapping, sad to say.
Augustine presses his luck anyway. ]
You could always borrow that mask and suit I had from late May —
[ ... well, wait, the suit never did get fixed up again after — ]
The mask, anyway, [ lightly enough. ] I don't suppose the suit would actually fit you that well, come to think of it.
[ In the hypothetical universe where it was wearable again, and all that. ]
[ John makes an incredulous noise low in his throat. ]
Sure, nothing conveys good intentions like a plague doctor getup.
[ Anyway: ] Either I make a show of going, or I don't go. Still seems early for it... the storms have only just settled.
[ Which is about the most he's said, lately, about the ocean's rage, the sea-Heralds, and the wall of bone he got so weird about raising around the property to keep the floodwaters out. It's not clear, in the moment, whether he's afraid of the beach or the people on it— or whether there's a difference. ]
"Early" is "whilst the hurricane warnings are still in effect", John.
[ Pretty good, for a retort, huh? ]
You don't have to make a show of it, anyway — it's not as if it's an invitation to teach everyone the Cha-Cha Slide, after all. He just wants to see that the person who actually cared for him still does.
That shouldn't be too hard for you, should it?
[ Judgmental eyebrows indicate it had better not be — with a particularly piercing pterodactyl screech as emphatic agreement. ]
Alright! Alright. You don't have to be a dick about it. [ He waves a hand like stop that, but something in his eyes is still knotted up. ] I will go to a kid's birthday party and we'll see who comes out standing at the end. If it goes pear-shaped I get to say I told you so.
[ A beat. ]
But, you know, without killing anyone. That would just be embarrassing.
[ Augustine waves the letter, still held fast in one hand, in a moment's emphasis; Petrie cries out in mortal agony because Dad still won't let him have the crinkly thing; he continues to ignore his dragon-child's suffering. ]
Just because Kaworu asked for something specific is no reason you'll be wanting everyone else to wonder what gift you've brought, should you show up with empty hands — not bearing weapons hardly applies in your case.
[ Mostly. Mostly, because normally if he shows up anywhere in the Nine Houses, everyone falls over themselves thanking him for the gift of his presence. That one might not fly, this time. ]
You think I should start carrying a knife, just to fake people out? Might be a bit late for it.
[ The look on Augustine's face —the sort of grim, We Are Not Amused exhaustion known to parents of small children throughout the worlds — says, quite plainly, I would facepalm at you, but my hands are full. ]
Yes, John. Of course. That's exactly what I meant, my Lord. [ (Oops, hey, watch the sarcasm —) ] Nothing at all to do with the way your mind is your greatest weapon.
[ This is, of course, by far one of the most polite ways he could phrase that part of it; nearly enough to hide the whisper, impossible to tell if the voice is Augustine's or Alfred's, of «Or the loyalty you inspire in others.» ]
Give him something he'll like, whether or not he's happy with you at the time, and you might just improve the frequency with which he is, [ Augustine continues (concludes) quickly enough. ]
[ He catches the murmur, and that's a knife. He covers the little flinch in his face as he turns away, advice taken and argument lost. Birthday party it is. ]
I'll make a note of that.
[ As though gifts would do much good for this situation, old and scarred as it is. ]
Far from the worst thing I've called you, isn't it?
[ Wry, maybe a quarter-apologetic, too — and there's a crinkle, behind John, at the last; Augustine holds out the note, rather than holding out the infantile dragon, sulking and squalling as he still is. (At least he's precocial enough that he hasn't needed to be diapered, and doesn't soil himself or the house as he's out and about.) ]
Here — whether or not you intend to use it for your notetaking — unless you want him to shred it for you?
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no subject
Whyever not? You're still every bit as tan as ever; you're hardly going to blind someone with your pasty white legs, now, are you?
[ Willfully ignoring the events of two months ago, that left him with a fresh batch of deep-water-horror nightmares — who, Augustine? Surely that's a jest, no...? ]
I don't care if you only stay five minutes, John; you're still going.
[ There's an undercurrent, here, of: «I didn't spend days worrying about that boy staying alone in the house with you for you to blow him off as irrelevant now that you've got the rest of us.» Quite nearly missable! ]
no subject
[ It's easy to bat these back and forth, for all that John's expression closes off behind the levity. When he catches the sentiment, it tightens and darkens. ]
Mate, you can guess the guest list. The party does stop when I walk in.
no subject
[ The elegance of his shrug is dampened, somewhat, by said varmint's caterwauling, flailing, and flapping, sad to say.
Augustine presses his luck anyway. ]
You could always borrow that mask and suit I had from late May —
[ ... well, wait, the suit never did get fixed up again after — ]
The mask, anyway, [ lightly enough. ] I don't suppose the suit would actually fit you that well, come to think of it.
[ In the hypothetical universe where it was wearable again, and all that. ]
no subject
Sure, nothing conveys good intentions like a plague doctor getup.
[ Anyway: ] Either I make a show of going, or I don't go. Still seems early for it... the storms have only just settled.
[ Which is about the most he's said, lately, about the ocean's rage, the sea-Heralds, and the wall of bone he got so weird about raising around the property to keep the floodwaters out. It's not clear, in the moment, whether he's afraid of the beach or the people on it— or whether there's a difference. ]
no subject
[ Pretty good, for a retort, huh? ]
You don't have to make a show of it, anyway — it's not as if it's an invitation to teach everyone the Cha-Cha Slide, after all. He just wants to see that the person who actually cared for him still does.
That shouldn't be too hard for you, should it?
[ Judgmental eyebrows indicate it had better not be — with a particularly piercing pterodactyl screech as emphatic agreement. ]
no subject
[ A beat. ]
But, you know, without killing anyone. That would just be embarrassing.
no subject
[ Augustine waves the letter, still held fast in one hand, in a moment's emphasis; Petrie cries out in mortal agony because Dad still won't let him have the crinkly thing; he continues to ignore his dragon-child's suffering. ]
Just because Kaworu asked for something specific is no reason you'll be wanting everyone else to wonder what gift you've brought, should you show up with empty hands — not bearing weapons hardly applies in your case.
no subject
[ Mostly. Mostly, because normally if he shows up anywhere in the Nine Houses, everyone falls over themselves thanking him for the gift of his presence. That one might not fly, this time. ]
You think I should start carrying a knife, just to fake people out? Might be a bit late for it.
no subject
Yes, John. Of course. That's exactly what I meant, my Lord. [ (Oops, hey, watch the sarcasm —) ] Nothing at all to do with the way your mind is your greatest weapon.
[ This is, of course, by far one of the most polite ways he could phrase that part of it; nearly enough to hide the whisper, impossible to tell if the voice is Augustine's or Alfred's, of «Or the loyalty you inspire in others.» ]
Give him something he'll like, whether or not he's happy with you at the time, and you might just improve the frequency with which he is, [ Augustine continues (concludes) quickly enough. ]
no subject
[ He catches the murmur, and that's a knife. He covers the little flinch in his face as he turns away, advice taken and argument lost. Birthday party it is. ]
I'll make a note of that.
[ As though gifts would do much good for this situation, old and scarred as it is. ]
no subject
[ Wry, maybe a quarter-apologetic, too — and there's a crinkle, behind John, at the last; Augustine holds out the note, rather than holding out the infantile dragon, sulking and squalling as he still is. (At least he's precocial enough that he hasn't needed to be diapered, and doesn't soil himself or the house as he's out and about.) ]
Here — whether or not you intend to use it for your notetaking — unless you want him to shred it for you?