A Night In

As Michale commented on her new friend, Jack let the footstool run up her arm and onto her shoulder, snuffling and exploring. She glanced over at Fred who was watching her. He jumped onto Jack's knee and Jack picked him up, scooping up the miniature footstool. She held them up to each other, and the footstool let out a bark. Fred squealed "Bloody hell!" and lept from Jack's arm, onto Elliot's back.

Jack glanced up at Michael, a large grin on her face. "He's absolutely perfect." The other footstools began hiding within Michael's arms, and she smirked. "Auntie Jack scared all the babies away." She smirked and jiggled her new friend. "But not you. No. Not Mongo the Fearless Stool." She grinned and said to herself, "Yes. Fitting."

She took the sock-food Michael handed to her and laughed, holding a piece out to Mongo who devoured it. She chuckled as he suggested she train them and she sad, "Why not? I can start a whole division in the Department. We'll do a case study," she joked, before saying, "I'm sure I could train them." She looked up and smiled in response of his compliments. "I only get along with them because I don't get along with people." And then she burst into laughter as the stools took over Michael's plate.

"You do realize that is a quite handy means for me to take advantage of your skills with animals and pawn them all off on you, don't you?" he smiled. The truth was that he did find himself, disturbingly, caring about what happened to them, and he didn't want them being hit with a killing curse as Thaor had done to one from the first litter, thinking it was amusing. Michael had often tried to deny that he actually cared about the footstools who were deluded into believing they were cocker spaniels. That would actually force him to look at some form of commitment or attachment--something he swore he was deathly allergic to.

"I suppose I could take the enchantment off of them, but it feels a bit inhumane to return them to being simply furniture after they have had lives of their own. Its not their fault that Otto and Faline were created by a healthy burst of accidental magic. But, truth be told, much as I objected to having the two of them and that snarky, shoplifting hat rack, when one lives in Hogsmeade, there truly isn't a whale of a large social life there. The dogs and the hat rack are good company, especially when the weaher is foul. And how many other dogs let you put your feet up on them, after all?

"The other thing you all might be interested in is a great lot of genetic misfits. I know a caretaker of magical creatures who discovered a litter of oddly rainbow colored pygmy puffs and now their barn is quite overrun with them," he laughed. "In their own way, I suppose they are rather attractive. The different colors make them unique, and these appear to be a bit more affectionate, though I have no idea why. I have suggested they sell them as pets to students in Hogwarts. I think they would sell, but their owner doesn't seem to think anyone would want them since we seem to think of them as being monotoned."

Jack smirked at Michael's words, saying, "You don't fool me one bit, I couldn't pay you to take those little buggars off of your hands." She laughed, taking another bite of her, until now, forgotten food, enjoying the uncommon high class taste of the food. She had become accostomed to cheap microwavable food, not that she minded. She laughed, "Don't worry. I have enough work without a houseful of eating, pooping furniture."

She listened to Michael's explanation, again indulging in the gourmet food. She moved from the salad and sipping the tea to the actual main course, savoring the flavor of the chicken and the whole plate in general. She nodded afterward and said, "I'd love to see some of my interns try to handle them. They seem to get so intimidated by anything out of the norm. I'd love to see my office footstool chase them down the hallway." She laughed at the thought.

Her interest was sparked by Michael's mention of rainbow pygmys, since pygmy puffs technically originated from the store which she now owned. It was surprising how many housewives, old ladies, and students wanted the little balls of fluff. Jack had never been too keen on them- too crushable, she was afraid she'd step on one. Seriously, she said, "If he needs to sell them, I can buy them off of him for Weasleys. I'd give him a good price and ensure they recieved a home."

Michael forgot to stop the naughty grin when the thought of pure mischief for the delight of it crossed through his mind. Jack was giving him ideas she hadn't intended. He said nothing and merely took a sip of the firewhiskey out of his flask. He said nothing for a minute, finding the temptation to cause chaos nearly impossible to resist.

"Sometimes, you bring out sides of me that few other people can do, Jack," he laughed, truly amused by his own visuals of misbehavior. He attempted to guide himself back to the conversation at hand. "You know, I do know that my friend would be delighted to not have a bezillion rainbow colored pygmy puffs overrunning his barn. The biggest issue is keeping them from aggravating his snarky hippogryff. He has a permit for a hippogryff and a mating pair of unicorns...amongst other things. His wife really should be working in your magical creatures department. She has a gift for it, and she has the ability to talk to animals. She finds training them remarkably easy--merely by getting them to understand what she wants and making an agreement with them. I know people I can' do that with, let alone animals."