Fine, he insisted. Well. Evander hoped so. (He wasn't entirely sure what fine looked like on his brother. Not fine, nor well, nor normal. As such, he wasn't sure what Alfred could possibly say to be comforting.)
"Cursed?!" Evander spluttered the next moment, finding it a feat in itself to save his mouthful of wine from spraying across the table. He was spared making a real scene by his brother's swift protestations about the situation, as though a curse of any severity was a standard feature of most London real estate! Never mind that John had never had a good sense of proportion to rely on in the first place, so what he thought inconvenient had probably been life-threatening to any sane party. Why, he and his... roommate, whoever that was!... might have wound up as corpses rotting under the floorboards, and no one the wiser.
Evander cleared his throat, grateful at least that it had apparently all been cleared up, which meant he would not have to submit to putting his brother up here in the meantime. Still, having a friend fix it did not instil a great deal of confidence in the repair, either - to avoid explaining that too plainly, Evander adjusted his napkin on his lap and said, a little sternly: "You realise there are all manner of professionals equipped to deal with curses. You might have at least engaged the Ministry to fix it, rather than imposing on the generosity of a friend." Evander would have rather lived with the curse than trouble a friend to fix it for him! (That was, if Evander had readily possessed such things as, er, friends.)
"Cursed?!" Evander spluttered the next moment, finding it a feat in itself to save his mouthful of wine from spraying across the table. He was spared making a real scene by his brother's swift protestations about the situation, as though a curse of any severity was a standard feature of most London real estate! Never mind that John had never had a good sense of proportion to rely on in the first place, so what he thought inconvenient had probably been life-threatening to any sane party. Why, he and his... roommate, whoever that was!... might have wound up as corpses rotting under the floorboards, and no one the wiser.
Evander cleared his throat, grateful at least that it had apparently all been cleared up, which meant he would not have to submit to putting his brother up here in the meantime. Still, having a friend fix it did not instil a great deal of confidence in the repair, either - to avoid explaining that too plainly, Evander adjusted his napkin on his lap and said, a little sternly: "You realise there are all manner of professionals equipped to deal with curses. You might have at least engaged the Ministry to fix it, rather than imposing on the generosity of a friend." Evander would have rather lived with the curse than trouble a friend to fix it for him! (That was, if Evander had readily possessed such things as, er, friends.)
