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Private PSL Vignette: Wiseacre Family Interlude: Cade Irwin, Corrindile Hunter
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Wiseacre Family Interlude: Cade Irwin, Corrindile Hunter
In the time since Blaire and Corrin’s first Occlumency lesson turned mental cleaning session, Corrin had spent most of his time sleeping. It was psychologically exhausting, trying to put his mind back into some semblance of order, having to reorganise every tiny (or not so tiny) random fact he’d learned about the myriad topics he’d read countless books about over the years. Then again, his exhaustion made sense: the brain was a part of the body, the same as anything else, and when muscles were overtaxed and torn down, you needed to let them rest so that they could rebuild themselves.
The other thing you needed to do in that situation was to give your muscles the proper building materials for their self-reconstruction project: good, nourishing food, and plenty of it.
Which was why, for the past week or so, Corrin had slept for hours, easily up to half a day at a time, before waking up ravenously hungry. He’d blearily stumble his way downstairs, eat enough food to make up for all three of the meals he’d missed while he was asleep, then immediately stagger back up the stairs to collapse into his bed again, unconscious the moment his head hit the pillow. Sometimes he hadn’t even made it that far: on a few occasions, he’d fallen asleep at the table, fork or spoon still clenched tightly in one hand, and Garrett or Blaire had been forced to carry him up to his room and put him to bed.
Most of the time, Corrin spent the whole meal in an only-barely-conscious stupor, his eyes open no more than the tiniest crack; but the more days since the “cleaning session” took place, the more lucid he was likely to be--a fact that Cade Everard Wiseacre had decided to take advantage of late one afternoon as his youngest sibling silently limped himself down the stairs and into the kitchen.
It was already obvious that Corrin was more awake now than he usually was--his eyes were open, and while they were dim and shadowed with weariness, he was clearly (mostly) mentally there.
Which was absolutely what prompted Cade to put on his best documentary-narrator voice and start in as the little Ravenclaw started to pile his plate high with food.
“And here we see the wild Corrin in its native habitat. The Corrin is a small creature that can somehow eat four times its weight in bangers and mash and toast with marmalade. It emerges from its den only to consume these large quantities of food, then returns to its burrow for further hibernation.”
Corrin--who was, in fact, scooping a fourth heaping ladleful of mashed potatoes onto his plate, which already contained half a dozen large sausages--turned a flat glare over his shoulder at his smirking older brother, and pointedly dished up another spoonful of potatoes for himself.
Cade just grinned all the wider and went on, even louder than before:
“IF INTERRUPTED DURING THESE FORAGING TRIPS, THE CORRIN CAN PROVE TO BE VERY ILL-TEMPERED. HONESTLY, IT MAKES BEARS AND MANTICORES AND EVEN DRAGONS LOOK DOWNRIGHT FRIENDLY.”
His face still set in a scowl, Corrin crossed the room and wordlessly plunked his plate and mug of lukewarm tea down on the table; the only other people in the room were Reed, who was trying (and failing) to keep a straight face during Cade’s antics, and Garrett, who was sitting at the far end of the table, ignoring them all in favour of reading a letter than had come for him in the afternoon post.
“APPROACH WITH CAUTION, IF YOU MUST, BECAUSE THE CORRIN HAS ALL THE CHEER AND GOOD NATURE OF A HUNGRY QUINTAPED-”
“Cade,” Corrin growled between mouthfuls of his rapidly-disappearing plate of food, “I will HEX YOU INTO NEXT WEEK and Mum won’t do a THING to punish me for it-”
“BUT IT’S BETTER TO JUST OWowowowowow GARRETT STOP THAT’S MY ARM-”
Garrett, who none of the other three Wiseacre boys had even seen move, didn’t ease up on the pressure he was applying to Cade’s arm, which he’d twisted up behind the younger wizard’s back...with about as much effort as it took Corrin to turn a page in a book.
“...For now,” was all he said, and there was a very meaningful tone in his calm, gruff voice. He held Cade’s arm there a moment longer, silently proving a point, then released his younger brother, but Cade had stopped struggling, and had especially stopped talking. Whenever Garrett got involved, that was his cue to shut up REALLY fast, and Corrin nearly snorted mashed potatoes up his nose as he gave a very younger-sibling-esque burble of laughter. Reed, on the other hand, had just been grinning and snickering into his mug of tea over his twin’s antics--until their oldest brother stepped in, and then he was very much trying to look like he wasn’t amused at all, nope, no sir, gosh Cade why are you always like this, how COULD you do this to Corrin? Despite his quick-change, he still got a brief warning look from Garrett also, who then purposefully returned to reading his letter.
The twins looked over at each other, sharing significant looks, talking silently with their eyes, eyebrows, and minor but (to them, at least) very telling minor body language cues. They spent a minute, two at most, locked in that quiet charade.
But even so, by the time they looked back across the table, Corrin’s plate was clean and their youngest brother was nowhere to be found.
Wiseacre Family Interlude: Cade Irwin, Corrindile Hunter
In the time since Blaire and Corrin’s first Occlumency lesson turned mental cleaning session, Corrin had spent most of his time sleeping. It was psychologically exhausting, trying to put his mind back into some semblance of order, having to reorganise every tiny (or not so tiny) random fact he’d learned about the myriad topics he’d read countless books about over the years. Then again, his exhaustion made sense: the brain was a part of the body, the same as anything else, and when muscles were overtaxed and torn down, you needed to let them rest so that they could rebuild themselves.
The other thing you needed to do in that situation was to give your muscles the proper building materials for their self-reconstruction project: good, nourishing food, and plenty of it.
Which was why, for the past week or so, Corrin had slept for hours, easily up to half a day at a time, before waking up ravenously hungry. He’d blearily stumble his way downstairs, eat enough food to make up for all three of the meals he’d missed while he was asleep, then immediately stagger back up the stairs to collapse into his bed again, unconscious the moment his head hit the pillow. Sometimes he hadn’t even made it that far: on a few occasions, he’d fallen asleep at the table, fork or spoon still clenched tightly in one hand, and Garrett or Blaire had been forced to carry him up to his room and put him to bed.
Most of the time, Corrin spent the whole meal in an only-barely-conscious stupor, his eyes open no more than the tiniest crack; but the more days since the “cleaning session” took place, the more lucid he was likely to be--a fact that Cade Everard Wiseacre had decided to take advantage of late one afternoon as his youngest sibling silently limped himself down the stairs and into the kitchen.
It was already obvious that Corrin was more awake now than he usually was--his eyes were open, and while they were dim and shadowed with weariness, he was clearly (mostly) mentally there.
Which was absolutely what prompted Cade to put on his best documentary-narrator voice and start in as the little Ravenclaw started to pile his plate high with food.
“And here we see the wild Corrin in its native habitat. The Corrin is a small creature that can somehow eat four times its weight in bangers and mash and toast with marmalade. It emerges from its den only to consume these large quantities of food, then returns to its burrow for further hibernation.”
Corrin--who was, in fact, scooping a fourth heaping ladleful of mashed potatoes onto his plate, which already contained half a dozen large sausages--turned a flat glare over his shoulder at his smirking older brother, and pointedly dished up another spoonful of potatoes for himself.
Cade just grinned all the wider and went on, even louder than before:
“IF INTERRUPTED DURING THESE FORAGING TRIPS, THE CORRIN CAN PROVE TO BE VERY ILL-TEMPERED. HONESTLY, IT MAKES BEARS AND MANTICORES AND EVEN DRAGONS LOOK DOWNRIGHT FRIENDLY.”
His face still set in a scowl, Corrin crossed the room and wordlessly plunked his plate and mug of lukewarm tea down on the table; the only other people in the room were Reed, who was trying (and failing) to keep a straight face during Cade’s antics, and Garrett, who was sitting at the far end of the table, ignoring them all in favour of reading a letter than had come for him in the afternoon post.
“APPROACH WITH CAUTION, IF YOU MUST, BECAUSE THE CORRIN HAS ALL THE CHEER AND GOOD NATURE OF A HUNGRY QUINTAPED-”
“Cade,” Corrin growled between mouthfuls of his rapidly-disappearing plate of food, “I will HEX YOU INTO NEXT WEEK and Mum won’t do a THING to punish me for it-”
“BUT IT’S BETTER TO JUST OWowowowowow GARRETT STOP THAT’S MY ARM-”
Garrett, who none of the other three Wiseacre boys had even seen move, didn’t ease up on the pressure he was applying to Cade’s arm, which he’d twisted up behind the younger wizard’s back...with about as much effort as it took Corrin to turn a page in a book.
“...For now,” was all he said, and there was a very meaningful tone in his calm, gruff voice. He held Cade’s arm there a moment longer, silently proving a point, then released his younger brother, but Cade had stopped struggling, and had especially stopped talking. Whenever Garrett got involved, that was his cue to shut up REALLY fast, and Corrin nearly snorted mashed potatoes up his nose as he gave a very younger-sibling-esque burble of laughter. Reed, on the other hand, had just been grinning and snickering into his mug of tea over his twin’s antics--until their oldest brother stepped in, and then he was very much trying to look like he wasn’t amused at all, nope, no sir, gosh Cade why are you always like this, how COULD you do this to Corrin? Despite his quick-change, he still got a brief warning look from Garrett also, who then purposefully returned to reading his letter.
The twins looked over at each other, sharing significant looks, talking silently with their eyes, eyebrows, and minor but (to them, at least) very telling minor body language cues. They spent a minute, two at most, locked in that quiet charade.
But even so, by the time they looked back across the table, Corrin’s plate was clean and their youngest brother was nowhere to be found.