[This is officially the worst week of Lyn's life that didn't take place in actual Hell. First he gets a bunch of weird and incredibly awkward memories dumped on him of a past relationship with his not!father, which then promptly vanish because they were totally fake, because that will totally keep things from being weird between them now. Second, his not!mom is crying hysterically and what even, man. He is the least equipped ever to handle this sort of thing.
Maybe he should just...like, leave her alone entirely...except there's a box for him on the table, and he totally wants to get his hands on that. So...he's probably got to at least make an attempt, here, however badly it inevitably backfires.]
[Lyn has no idea what he should be doing, if anything. His brain wants him to bolt but his legs are practically paralyzed by how awkward this is. Eventually he goes to open the window for the most pathetic-looking bird he's ever seen - which promptly falls into the butter dish - if only because it's something to do.
He doesn't actually question Errol at all. Man, this is Mayfield. Logic go home.
Does he tell Molly he's pretty sure they don't have moles? That seems like a bad life decision right now, somehow.] Look, just...what do I give him? [His own personal guess would be 'last rites'.]
Are you sure? I have some stew in the crockpot here that you're more than welcome to have. Merlin knows you and Hermione need all the food that you can get in this despicable place!
It was a disgusting trick and if you can't see the moral depravity of the situation then you've got more to worry about than what this town chooses to claws at!
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Maybe he should just...like, leave her alone entirely...except there's a box for him on the table, and he totally wants to get his hands on that. So...he's probably got to at least make an attempt, here, however badly it inevitably backfires.]
Are you...uh...okay...?
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[she starts dabbing at her eyes furiously, fidgeting with her red hair which has fallen into tumbleweed status in her distress ]
I-I'm [her eyes water up again and she DABS] Lewellyn, dear.
Would you be so kind as to let - [sniffle] Errol in and [sniffle again] -feed him some-[SOB]
-Arthur always used to give him moles!
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He doesn't actually question Errol at all. Man, this is Mayfield. Logic go home.
Does he tell Molly he's pretty sure they don't have moles? That seems like a bad life decision right now, somehow.] Look, just...what do I give him? [His own personal guess would be 'last rites'.]
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We-
We have some steaks in the fridge, I suppose.
[ Errol the Owl perks up at that, hobbling from the butter dish to fly around the room- hitting another wall before landing on the sofa ]
[muttered, sorrowfully, to herself as she lands on another page]
He looks just like my Arthur...
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[ ...Molly realizes that she has just asked James's son the same questions, and her voice begins to get shakey towards the end]
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My. Quite strong willed, even if in a foolish way.
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YOU.
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Indeed it is. This was the first time I'd seen the town bear its claws. It was hardly as bad as I'd been led to believe.
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It was a disgusting trick and if you can't see the moral depravity of the situation then you've got more to worry about than what this town chooses to claws at!
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