(“Please be silent.”)

(She smiles vaguely.)

Lucas has transitioned very abruptly from being outside to being slung over his boyfriend’s (fiancé’s? does it count if they haven’t announced it?) shoulder, and he’s pretty okay with that.

“... um, hello?” he says, still en-shouldered.

“No, I think you’re going to have to try that again.”

“Hi!”

“Better. Be a dear and drip more onto the carpet, next time, she’s famished for rain. Why should I let my son have you?”

“... um.”

Someone does a flying leap over a table and into the room and now Lucas has a sword at his throat! Having guests over is fun, they should do it more often.

”Why should our son, a carrier of a long line of blood taken and blood betrayed, nurtured in the womb of my love and my life, be allowed to keep company with someone such as yourself?”

“It would be... decent.”

“Moral.”

“Praved.”

“Mo-ooooom, da-aaad.”

“Don’t whine, mother knows worst. You were saying, Lucas?”

“I, um, think that I’m a pretty nice person?”

“Try again.”

They’re just going to have this whole conversation while he’s on his fiancé’s shoulder and his future father in law has a sword at his throat, huh.

“I have a pet rabbit and I know how to sew and I play the ukulele and I can cook and my parents hate me.”

“Do they? Tell us why.”

“Yeah, the boss asked you a question!”, says Pugsley.

“Shut up, Pugsley.”

“Yeah, the boss didn’t ask you a question!” retracts Pugsley, proceeding to leave the room.

“They really aren’t fans of the whole gay thing, and I’m not particularly interested in joining the family business, and since they adopted me when I was thirteen they’ve been consistently disappointed in my preferences and the way I use my time?”

“Promising.”

A nearby lamp flickers, makes a faint gurgling noise, and shuts off; the only remaining light is from a single flickering candle, attached to an incredibly dusty, wrought iron chandelier. Morticia still seems fairly well lit.

“Do you want to turn against them in a bloodbath of calamity and despair, wrenching their hearts from their still struggling bodies as they gasp in betrayal and recognition?”

“... no.”

“Son, do you want to wrench their still beating hearts from their bodies? We can sauté them and you can make your heartbroken lover watch.”