"Caspian," Lucy answers cheerfully, and while it vaguely crosses her mind that her brother might not think this such lovely information as she does, she's not terribly worried about it. After all, it has left her in a very obviously good mood, so what could be wrong?
Obviously, it's the tea's fault. He should've had chocolate.
This doesn't ruin her mood, mind, which is still very fine, as she watches him curiously.
"Aren't you happy for me?" She really thinks he should be. It's worth being happy over in her opinion. Or at least, all right, if not that, he certainly shouldn't be choking.
"Well, I know that. But--I mean--well, it's not like I'm really talking about anything new." And then she stops, and considers, and there's a vague sort of smile on her face for a moment before she adds, "Well, mostly not. I mean, generally speaking not new, even if some details are new. But as a thing that happens, that's been going on for nearly a year," and she doesn't understand entirely why Edmund's head looks like it's about to explode.
"It's a good thing," she says, after a moment, and it's become a bit sulkily said, really, into her mug. Because it is and every time she's in a good mood this week it seems like a boy has to go and be silly and ruin it.
It's not her fault she took the question literally, she feels, as she glares at her cup.
"I don't see why you're so surprised," she mutters and takes a gulp. It's not like he hasn't done the same, she's certain, and she and Caspian are married, so really, he should be concerned, she feels, if they're not, not that they are.
"It's not as if I were describing it to you," she mutters testily, though she also thinks if she did, it wouldn't be that big a deal, because Edmund is her brother and brothers should listen and it's not like it's anything bad to describe, but she's slightly more aware that he'd object more loudly to that than he is to the simple statements she's made already which so were not worth getting in a fuss over.
The noise Edmund makes is muffled, and best described as aaaagh.
"I'm not drunk enough for this," he informs a passing waitrat quite calmly. "Or else I'm dreaming. Or else my sister's drunk." He lifts his head as the waitrat squeaks sympathetically and scurries off. "Are you drunk?"
Lucy is in a lovely mood. Because she has chocolate.
Also, other things. Many other things! All of which contribute to her being in a grand mood, she feels, not the least of which is her husband.
But it's delicious chocolate.
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"You're in a good mood."
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"It's been a good few days, and all. You?"
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Still amused, yep.
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"Only all right? Pity." She sounds Truly Sad Indeed.
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Laughing, "What's got into you, Lu?"
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Obviously, it's the tea's fault. He should've had chocolate.
This doesn't ruin her mood, mind, which is still very fine, as she watches him curiously.
"Aren't you happy for me?" She really thinks he should be. It's worth being happy over in her opinion. Or at least, all right, if not that, he certainly shouldn't be choking.
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This, ladies and gentlemen, is genteel flailing.
"I-- you don't-- Lucy, I'm your brother."
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It's not a big deal, after all.
"Well, I know that. But--I mean--well, it's not like I'm really talking about anything new." And then she stops, and considers, and there's a vague sort of smile on her face for a moment before she adds, "Well, mostly not. I mean, generally speaking not new, even if some details are new. But as a thing that happens, that's been going on for nearly a year," and she doesn't understand entirely why Edmund's head looks like it's about to explode.
"It's a good thing," she says, after a moment, and it's become a bit sulkily said, really, into her mug. Because it is and every time she's in a good mood this week it seems like a boy has to go and be silly and ruin it.
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He's dimly certain that his face is roughly the color of a brick right now. (He's correct.)
"But -- you don't--"
"I don't need to know about it!"
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It's not her fault she took the question literally, she feels, as she glares at her cup.
"I don't see why you're so surprised," she mutters and takes a gulp. It's not like he hasn't done the same, she's certain, and she and Caspian are married, so really, he should be concerned, she feels, if they're not, not that they are.
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The tips of his ears are still nicely crimson, though.
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Sulk, Lucy, sulk.
Lucy sulks well.
"It's not as if I were describing it to you," she mutters testily, though she also thinks if she did, it wouldn't be that big a deal, because Edmund is her brother and brothers should listen and it's not like it's anything bad to describe, but she's slightly more aware that he'd object more loudly to that than he is to the simple statements she's made already which so were not worth getting in a fuss over.
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"I'm not drunk enough for this," he informs a passing waitrat quite calmly. "Or else I'm dreaming. Or else my sister's drunk." He lifts his head as the waitrat squeaks sympathetically and scurries off. "Are you drunk?"
It would, he thinks, explain a lot.
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