"We had such a brainiac amour."
She pushes through the door with an elbow and walks into the room on silent feet, the slender neck of a bottle of Something Doubtlessly Alcoholic in one hand and the delicate stem of an opium pipe dangling from the fingers of the other, the expression on her face falling from chiding to stoically incredulous in the same instant her eyes alight on the World's Single Most Powerful Sorcerer at the center of the space, both his large hands wrapped around something that looks rather like a mechanical ice cream cone (with its long black cylindrical base and its silver-gray spherical top-hat gleaming as he twirls in wide, pendulous half-circles, back and forth, back and forth), chirping and twitting and ululating and otherwise forcing his voice to do all manner of ludicrous sinusoidal acrobatics.
When at last he seems to sense that she is there (or, at the very least, when he deigns at last to acknowledge that she's there), he spins in a wide arc that leaves him facing her, and she observes that his hair frightfully out of order, that his robes are in an unfortunate disarray, that his cheeks are slightly pink and his breathing perhaps somewhat labored, but that he is unruffled and all-smiles, and a great deal more dignified-looking than the incongruous, squawking state in which she found him warrants.
She would ask, of course, what the hell he thinks he's doing, losing his mind here of all places, where she has to deal with the inevitable mess that will result from it, but his mouth is already opening to answer in anticipation of the question hidden there beneath the heavy flatness of her gaze.
"Yuuko, dearest." He begins, gesturing expansively with the machine in his hands to draw her eyes away from him. "I See hidden feathers, scattered everywhere."
"Feathers," She repeats dully, still not quite past the hard shock of the scene enough to react to it properly.
"Yes, feathers. And the charming young fellow is going to have to know when they're nearby, because after all, he won't be able to See them. One of our children, therefore, my dear, will have to show him where they are."
"And you, naturally, have decided that there's no better way to do this than to make absurd noises in place of simply pointing them out." Her tone is utterly deadpan. His beam stretches to blinding.
"Never underestimate the power of comic relief, my lady. And in any case, no detail is too small to be overlooked where my cute little daughter is concerned. I think that she would appreciate the forethought."
"I think I might be close to finding just the right sound." There is encroaching triumph in the brightness of his eyes. She considers hurling the bottle at his fat head, but ultimately stays her hand. No need to waste good alcohol and further impair the magician's clearly defunct little mind.
Instead, she settles for,
"You're a retard," and then turns to leave him to his incurable inanity and his strange device, and he only smiles softly at her retreating back. He returns almost at once to his noise-making, and she begins to come to terms with the fact that she may have gotten herself stuck with the most ridiculous moron of a sorcerer in the whole of existence as she shuts the door on his high-pitched wail:
Clow tries to decide what Soel's going to exclaim when the TRC Fellowship finds the One Ring.
I mean, one of Sakura's feathers.
Also, I'm insane.
--written for 31days LJ community, prompt for May 22: "We had such a braniac amour."--