the_lioness | (no subject)

(no subject)

Once again, the furniture has been cleared from the middle of the living room. The couch is pushed against one wall and currently holds three baskets, and three babies, all of whom seem to follow the sound of their mother's voice.

"It's important," she grunts, swinging her sword in a downward slash, "to attack rather than defend. But not stupidly. Watch for signs of movement. Intent."

Alanna is out of breath, sweating and panting hard, but talking seems to keep the babies from crying. And maybe it's building endurance. Either way, she has to take a break more quickly than she would like.

The door is open. It often is these days, a byproduct of her bed rest. She doesn't like feeling trapped.

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Hark! What hast we here? Is that the sound of knocking on thy door?
METHINKS it might be!

It takes Alanna a moment to hear it, bent over at the waist as she is, stretching a cramped muscle. She doesn't look up, figuring the person will announce his or her identity soon enough.

"Come on in," she gasps. "Be with you in a second."

She waves her free hand over her shoulder, at the open door.

The door opens just wide enough for a very familiar face to lean in.

"Candygram."

There is something ever so slightly strained and forced about that smile of his.

Alanna straightens, rubbing her thigh, and grins at Mike.

"I'm on a very strict diet," she informs him. "I'm not sure that includes candy. Although, with my luck, neither will a candygram."

She never met the land shark.

"You're in luck. Not only is what I'm gram'ing not sweet, but it's also not candy."

The door is pushed open to reveal a very unhappy Raphael in a wheelchair. Neither brother seems particularly happy with the other one. So much, in fact, that they're avoiding even peripheral eye contact.

Not noticing the tension between the brothers -- or perhaps only too familiar with it, having a brother herself -- Alanna sheathes her sword and crosses the room in determined strides.

"Raph! Goddess, it's good to see you." She snorts, lifting her eyes to Mike. "Definitely not fruit flavored."

She's not entirely oblivious, however, and looks back and forth between them with a furrowed brow.

Raph doesn't look up, but he does kind of nod in her direction.

"'Lanna."

"That's just what he wants people to think."

Who'd have thought there could be that much...lack of humor, in Mike's voice.

"Think I could ask a favor of you?"

Hands on her hips, Alanna frowns at Raph. She hasn't seen him in forever, and he doesn't even look up. Just because she can, she makes a face at him, then turns her attention to Mike.

"Anything," she tells him. "You know that."

"I know you've got your hands full with the kids and all, but could you maybe keep an eye on one more for like...an hour or so."

Mike needs time to unwind. Things are getting just a might bit cramped upstairs.

Her eyebrows shoot up.

"You have a..." Trailing off as realization dawns, she points to Raph and mouths his name, a questioning look in her eyes. "...That wouldn't be a problem at all. Take your time."

Mike's shoulders begin to relax.

"Good. No sweets, alcohol, and if he gets cranky just push him into a corner and lock his wheels."

He attempts to pat Raph on the head, but Raph's right comes up swinging.

Ahh brotherly love.

Lips twitching, Alanna pushes her shoulders back, straightens and bows.

"Your wish is my command," she says, sweetly. "I'm sure we'll have a fair time. He can hold each of the triplets, in turns."

She takes a step back, just in case that right hook stretches farther than it looks like it should.

It's a good thing that Mike's faster than his normally stronger brother.

"That sounds like a rock solid plan. Lovely even.Thanks, Alanna."

He heads back towards the door.

"I'll just close this behind me."

And with that, Mike's gone.

There's nothing but silence in the wake of his departure.

"So." Alanna clears her throat, eyes on the top of Raph's head. "Welcome? Would you like... something?"

She's not a terribly good hostess, and this is more than a little awkward.

Raph holds up a finger. No not that one. The one that asks for a moment of silence. See, he's listening to see that Mike is actually gone.

When he's sure he's heard even the silent steps of his brother far enough away, he turns and flips off the door.

"when my bones knit, he's a deadman."

Her eyes narrow.

"Figuratively speaking, I'm sure."

He sighs, head ducking forward slightly.

"it'll take weeks for them to cut through all the duct tape to get him down from the ceiling."

"Then I'll be sure to bring him meals he can suck through a straw," is her brisk response. "Is it really so bad?

"You don't have to hold the babies. I was only joking."

"Bein' laid up an' having people have to do all sorts of crap for you day in an' out? OH no, it's a frickin' picnic."

Then he rumbles something about havin' gotten this far in life without a mother an' not needin' one now.

"I meant visiting me."

Circling the wheelchair, she flicks his ear.

"It's not permanent," she points out, tone crisp. "I survived, both times, and I'm as impatient as you are. If not more."

He tries to bat her away with his right arm, the left doesn't move at all.

"Ack! Hey, it ain't like he tol' me where we were going. He just started pushin'!"

"Well, surely there are worse places you could have ended up? He could have put you in a cell for an hour."

Her eyes drop to his left arm.

"And if you weren't so finicky about magic, I could have those bones knitting in no time." She stops in front of him, leaning down to get a look at his eyes. Quietly, "How bad is it, anyway? I haven't heard much."

Raph twitches. It's not that he's got anything against Baby, it's just the idea of being in that small a space for that long a time without being able to use his baseball and glove.

"Nah, bones are kinda fine. It's just an expression."

Then he sighs and pulls at the collar of his t-shirt. The left side of his neck and shoulder look as though they've been gnawed upon, or attacked by an psychopath with a penchant for melon ballers. In spite of the damage what appears to be a silver bite mark still glimmers.

"Mithros," Alanna breathes, upper lip curling back in a snarl. "What did that?"

Her voice is low and dangerous, but she leans forward and presses a quick kiss to his forehead. A split second later, she dances out of the way. It seems prudent.