"You're surprisingly tolerable," says Wednesday. "And a useful engineering assistant."

(Morticia quietly beams at this display of, for Wednesday, effusive praise.)

Miranda is aware (mostly as a fictional trope, though whether this reflects her actual distribution of experiences or simply which ones survived the memory wipe is an open question) of the sort of person from whom "surprisingly tolerable" is a compliment, and is not put any farther off-balance than she already was (which is a fair bit; she feels as though she's about to Wile. E. Coyote right off the end of her social scripts at any moment).

"A rare endorsement from my little tarantula," he says, in smiling brightly in complement to his wife's shining countenance. "Is there anything you need from us while you get settled here? I would like to be certain that your stay with us is smooth and comfortable."

(It has been too long, i.e. perhaps as many as three entire minutes, since Morticia touched her husband. She steps closer and takes his hand, intertwining their fingers in a familiar gesture of affection.)

"At some point we should probably talk about where I'm going to sleep? And whether you have any spare clothes in my size on hand."

"You can wear my old clothes if you don't mind them smelling of attic," Wednesday suggests. "Or Pugsley's more recent castoffs, if you prefer them smelling of Pugsley."

Ah, sibling rivalries. Based on her current tiny sample size she prefers Wednesday's fashion sense, but she's not going to come out and say that and saying something about 'girl clothes' as a dodge would be beneath her. "Thanks! Just point me at a box of yours whenever is convenient?" 

She nods acknowledgment.

"As for where to sleep," she squeezes her husband's hand, "I'll have Lurch prepare one of the guest rooms for now. Would I be right in assuming you want something aboveground, with windows, perhaps close to the computer?"

"Those all sound like excellent traits in a bedroom, yes. Thanks!"

(Gomez squeezes back, lacing his fingers through hers in a tight embrace. It is not long before he wants more from her touch, and so he lifts it up to his lips and begins to kiss each finger in succession, lingering over each finger as he does, smelling deeply of her and her perfume as he does.)

"Perfect," she says, smiling warmly at Miranda before turning to gaze soulfully into Gomez's eyes.

"It has begun," says Wednesday in a dry undertone.

Miranda nods. Married people being adorable: are adorable. Was she married don't go down that road. She should probably try to interact with Pugsley in some way, she's been kind of ignoring him, but also he's been kind of signalling that he'd rather be ignored. She'll hazard a friendly smile.

Pugsley isn't sure what to make of this girl his sister likes. She doesn't look like she's going to torture him, but he has no good way to be sure, and her sister likes her. He defaults to staying behind his mother, where it's safe, shrinking back a little when she smiles at him. 

Wednesday, observing this, turns to Miranda and helpfully translates, "Pugsley wants to know how likely you are to torture him."

"I'm really not interested in that sort of thing. Especially not with anyone who doesn't enthusiastically consent." She wouldn't necessarily mind having some intense sensory experiences of her own with someone who knew what they were doing what the fuck, brain, do not let an eleven-year-old cut you up just to see what it's like, you will get PTSD and nerve damage and shit. You need to do something stupid, organize a hot pepper eating contest.

(Wednesday's face shows the faintly puzzled look of someone trying to decipher a phrase they're not familiar with.)

He isn't entirely sure what the girl just said either, but he understands at least the basics of what is meant. "Oh, thanks," he says in response, quietly and still hiding a little. He's still not entirely sure what to make of this sparkle-covered girl, but he's at least a little bit less worried at the moment. He'll have to see what she does have in store. 

Super valid to be worried the unexpected housemate you didn't get a chance to vet will turn out to be some kind of asshole. She'll just have to be easy to live with until he comes to believe it. . . . Also hopefully Wednesday isn't actually traumatizing him in a way he needs someone to intervene in? Morticia seemed to think it was normal siblings-being-jerks behaviour and she'd know and Miranda wouldn't, but she'll keep her eyes open and her conscience functioning, because that's what one does.

"Would you mind telling me a bit about yourself? 'Mind your own business' is a perfectly reasonable answer."

Tell her about himself? He's not sure what to say to that. "I dunno," he tells her. "I'm Pugsley. I... live here?" He has a feeling his sister wants more from him, she's always like that, but he doesn't know what she wants from him this time. 

"Tell her about Aristotle," Wednesday suggests.

"Aristotle is my pet octopus," he starts. "He got stuck in my hair and mom said I could keep him. He was really little when I found him," he gestures, moving from behind his mother to show them his thumb and forefinger only about an inch apart, "but he grows up real fast, and he's already this big!" he holds his hands as far apart as they will stretch. "And when he's fully grown he's gonna be even bigger! A lot bigger. We started him off in a little fish tank but we made him a really big aquarium in one of the spare rooms when we figured out how big he was gonna get, full of stuff for him to do. He gets bored really easily, and won't stay put if he's bored. And he really likes playing hide and seek, even if he's still in his tank." 

"Oh my gosh that's so cool!" She's gonna research octopus psychology and make sure Aristotle has everything he needs, but provisionally: So Cool. "What species is he? How big is he gonna get? Can I see his aquarium?"