(no subject)

There is a table. On it is a jar of sugar cubes, a jug of milk, a bottle of whiskey, and a large and steaming pot of coffee, a judicious distance from the double baby-carrier. Melodic burbling comes from within.

Havelock eyes one baby with a look that is somewhere around mildly puzzled, while Puck cheerfully sneaks his third lump of sugar and crunches it.

It's 'meet the Missus' day, apparently.