Oh come on, this is the best part!

Flora's just sitting there, minding her own business, mending a sock on the couch. Just wife things, you know.

And then one not-quite-made-to-order Aegis flops his purple head down into her lap, borderline purring with the effort or the lack of it.

"Hello, Malos," she hums. He doesn't say hi back, but that's fine.

Soon, Addam walks in as well, and he makes an appraising face at Malos, who's got eyes shut and thus is summarily unaware. Flora thinks he's about to get offended, perhaps, but then he just grins his goofiness, just as or perhaps more exuberant than ever, and falls in on her right side to tuck his chin over her shoulder and wrap his arms around her waist.

"Having a good day, love?" A nuzzle into the side of her jaw is his only answer.

By and by, it's Minoth's turn to enter. One can't quite tell what he is or was looking for, can't hardly ever tell, even as he's lost somewhat of his cagey mystique, but upon sighting the incipient and indeed ingenious intimation of indolence, he settles down on the floor in front of Addam, takes Flora's hand from its handiwork without asking, and begins planting careful kisses over the back.

"I hope you know that I was using that." Kiss. "Mhm." Kiss.

Flora sighs. That's a pretty stupid little sentence, but it's true. As husband number two would say, there's nothing to do but sigh. Well, nothing to do besides burrow down into the cushions a little further and let herself be buried by the affections. Malos has taken her other hand and unceremoniously dropped it down to rest in his hair, and she can swear the violet-tinged thicket of midnight black sparkles as she reluctantly (only somewhat) pets through it.

Minutes pass, drowsiness sets. Don't you people have anything better to do besides sit around and be happy? But what else is there, if not the people you love?

Minutes pass, again. Minoth has leant his head against the vague region of Flora's leg between her knee and the part of her calf that's covered by the tops of her boots, and he's lolling a mite uncontrollably. What's he done, that he's so sleepy? They all are. Addam starts snoring, and try as he might, Malos can't get him to stop by any combination of flicks, pinches, or pokes.

Flora rests her eyes closed, shakes her head by minutest tip of chin, and gently clamps the princely jaw shut. The snoring stops. All is quiet. Minutes pass, a trifecta for their unassuming (more unlikely, really) quartet.

Then Milton appears: a challenger. He's got fists propped on hips, and Mikhail is hovering behind him, thumb worrying at his lip, but neither of them are wearing shoes, so they both look especially short and unintimidating.

"Hey!" A fine rhetorical start, my boy. Go on, why don't you?

"We wanted to use the couch! We were gonna play Chooby Tubes."

From behind him, Mikhail nods. Chooby Tubes. An exquisite choice of entertainment.

Flora, practically suffocating under several heaping helpings of presentable pectorals and also whatever it is that Minoth's doing, though he's basically long stopped, just makes a tired, satisfied noise. "I don't care," she manages to get out, and she giggles as the last syllable leaves her lips.

"Here, why don't you finish this? Didn't you mention you wanted to learn?" She hands off the rest of the darning with a feebly summoned hand, minding the needle as it's shoved into the egg-shaped piece of foam inside the toe, and then she's gone again.

Oh. A sock. From the size of it, well, it could belong to any of the three adult (well, that's questionable) men (and that's questionable too), but the fleur de lis patterns and the warm brown color suggest that it's Minoth's. Probably wore a hole in it from too many pirouetting moves with his guns. Milton shakes it fruitlessly in the air for a second, trying to work out his retort, before finally settling on a "Mythra!!!"

"I don't care either!" their proverbial teenage sister calls back from some unknown vantage point within the house, and with a half-juvenile half-feline grumble, Milton grabs a couple of pillows, shoves them into Mikhail's suprisingly obliging arms, and stomps back up into the kitchen. Yes, to finish the sock. What? You've got a problem with that?

When they've trawled full through their fifth game of Chooby Tubes (and all the rest of the socks in the sewing basket, with varying degrees of success and workmanship) and have moved on to making daisy chains outside on the moor with an, again, shockingly unresistant Mythra, the four proprietors of the manor finally emerge from their afternoon stupor, Flora in the lead and the other three in sheepish simpering tow.

"Wow," Mythra starts with the semblance of popping consonants that is her trademark, even when there aren't any about. "The twerps weren't lying. What did you four do down there?"

Addam wrinkles his nose at the crass question, and Malos sneers and Minoth arches an eyebrow, but Flora just smiles, shrugs.

"Oh, you know. Just wife things."