Basil frowned, pointedly. “Yes, rather,” he snapped back. “A thank you would be nice every once in awhile!” Or some acknowledgement of his efforts, at least! Atticus never realized how truly difficult these things were for him; Basil detested social events and social conventions as they tended to trigger his boughts. If the eldest could get his head out his posterior for half a moment, he might recognize the difficulty of his brother and stop to appreciate it every once in awhile!

The words that tumbled from Atticus’ lips next confused Basil, enough that the youngest paused in his tirade to listen and try to process. What in Merlin’s name—? How could Atticus have been married now if it wasn’t for him? Basil had never seen the other even court a woman, much less propose to one! And even if their father had disapproved of her, he was dead now. (The youngest did not think this without some reservation.) Why couldn’t Atticus find this girl and marry her anyhow? And what, too, had this anything to do with his, Basil’s, life choices and career?! Before he could ask any of these questions however, the eldest was walking off and Basil stood, stunned.

“Atticus!” He called out, angrily. “What on Earth are you talking about?” He hated when his brother walked away from him. Following closely behind, because he was not going to get away that easily even in this big house, Basil grabbed his brother by the arm. “What do you mean you chose me? When? How?” His tone, though still hostile, was lower now. Basil wanted answers and he knew accosting the other with a barrage of insults would get him nowhere.

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