Quinton was instantly on the alert when he heard the sound of a loud crash and bang coming from the kitchen. Being an older brother (and, more importantly, being the older brother of someone like Quattro) had a way of honing one's instincts to respond to what is most likely a disaster.
When the young man briskly entered the kitchen, he had expected the tail end of some argument (or tantrum) of Quattro's. What he had not expected was the small form of his father standing on a chair, surrounded by pots, pans, and broken plates and covered head to toe in what appeared to be some kind of batter.
"Ergh, curse these cabinets!" protested Vetrix in a high pitched voice (Quinton respected his father too much to call it a whine, even though that was probably accurate), stamping his foot and glaring at the apparently offensive kitchen furnishing with all the might of his one visible eye. He clearly hadn't yet noticed his son's presence. "Why did past me have to make everything so high up?!"
The question was an inane one, but Vetrix was currently too caught up in his childish frustration to care.
At this point, Quinton decided to awkwardly announce his presence, lightly clearing his throat and asking with as much dignity as he could muster, as though nothing strange was happening at all (something he had become much skilled at ever since he had found the diminutive form of his father), "Ve-Father. What happened here? Is everything alright?"
The childlike man whirled around on his chair, almost, but not quite, losing his balance as he did. "Oh, Qu-Chris! I didn't see you there. Everything's fine!" The statement was delivered in Vetrix's usual chipper, if not slightly devious, tone, but Christopher's internal big brother BS alarm was going off like crazy. It was just a question of whether he dared wield his older brother meddling powers against his father. A combination of respect for his father and also a slight lingering fear that still remained from the actions of the manipulative Vetrix convinced Quinton that he would be better off holding his tongue.
As it was he simply swept his eyes across the state of the room with a noncommittal "hmm". Vetrix, he decided, could take that how he liked.
All at once, his father's posture slumped, and he kicked his foot poutily against the seat of the chair he was still standing in. "Alright, so, everything may be less than completely fine," he admitted. With a slight, if not slightly harsh, smile, Vetrix confessed, "I was attempting to cook. As you can see, it…could have gone better." He chuckled (well, as high as his voice was it was really more of a giggle, though a far cry from the more manic sort he used to have) sheepishly at his own expense and Christopher could only stare a moment.
It was an odd thing, the young man often thought, how much more Vetrix had started to actually act like the father he remembered after the World Duel Carnival had ended. The Vetrix that Quinton had dedicatedly served was cruelly prideful, in stark contrast of his father's usual humble self-deprecation and easy going way. Now, often times, he could actually see his father in the small form of Vetrix. The humility at once was both more like his father, yet also accentuated his changed childlike demeanor, seeming less the man laughing wisely at his own faults and more like a child who didn't know to be embarrassed about them.
Slowly getting past the strangeness of how it was said, Quinton finally registered what had been said. He looked around the kitchen once more with this new context, noticing a tipped over bowl of batter on the counter, a cabinet door swung open, and the ingredients scattered and fallen all over the counters and floors. He toned down the scolding he wanted to give (and would have given if it had been one of his brothers in this situation), knowing that it was hardly an appropriate response to his father, commenting instead in a more confused than critical way, "I don't see why you didn't ask for assistance. Any of us would have happily helped. Micheal especially is quite skilled at-"
"No! But that's not the point!" the whine had returned to his father's voice, and he crossed his arms tightly and stamped his foot again from where he continued to stand on the chair. Quiton absently observed that on the chair Vetrix's face was nearly at the height of his chest. He wondered more absently if it made him feel like he had more control of the situation- that would explain why he was still standing on it. Absurdly he was reminded of a younger Thomas arguing with him when Christopher had had his growth spurt and Thomas had not. He would always try to argue somewhere where he had the high ground, be it on the stairs or standing on something like Vetrix was doing right now.
"It's just that…" his father looked despondently downwards, fists now clenched at his sides and all traces of childish petulance vanished from his voice. Aside from the high pitch it was plain to hear the actual adult trapped in the childish form, "I want to act like a father again. I was gone for so long, and even when I returned I spent more time using all of you rather than caring for you." He looked back up, his one eye glaring with a loving determination, "It's a father's responsibility to care for his children. I may have missed out but I'm going to make up for it!"
The earnestness of it warmed Chris' heart. For so many years he had felt the burden of being the responsible one long before he should have had to. Even when his "father" had returned, he had been more of another charge for Quinton to take care of rather than a parent. It was only recently that Vetrix took on responsibilities rather than doled them out to only sit and watch, but as he regained more and more of his old self, gradually the burden had begun to be lifted from the eldest brother. He was truly grateful to see his father regain his nurturing parental instinct. But cooking, however…
"Father," he said gently, his normally somber tone grateful, "I am very thankful that you have truly returned to us." He paused, seeing his father smile behind his mask. In a lighter tone, meant to be somewhere between a teasing and a reassurance he added, "However, if I remember correctly you were hardly skilled at cooking when you were your original height."
The small man flustered, sputtering for words to defend himself, and shaking his arms absently in frustration. This sent a spattering of batter to fly off of his sleeve and towards his son, all while Chris simply watched on passively. He gave up the fight soon enough and sighed in resignation.
"Do I even want to know what happened?" questioned Christopher, finally at ease enough to use at least a mock scolding tone.
"The cooking itself wasn't even the problem," explained Vetrix surprisingly meekly, "I mean, sure, the flour and sugar bags were kinda heavy and I needed a chair to reach the counter but overall it wasn't going that badly. But then I needed to get a pan and…" his voice harshened shrilly, "everything is way up there!" He pointed accusatorily at the still opened kitchen cabinet door.
Christopher moved closer to his father, peering into the cabinet, where only a few heavy items in the back remained - one being a casserole dish and presumably the goal of his father's efforts. He paused a good long moment, struggling to think of what to say. As controlled as he could muster, he finally stated flatly, "So you couldn't reach."
The defeated silence that followed was answer enough. Christopher once again surveyed the damage, this time his gaze lingering on the dirty form of his father. The batter that still seeped into his clothes and hair (yet had somehow miraculously - or perhaps by some design - avoided his mask) was starting to harden, and the eldest son cringed at how much more difficult it was probably going to be to get out. "Your clothes are a mess," he plainly observed.
Now that it had been called attention to, Vetrix finally looked over his blue overcoat and realized how messy it was. He cringed, and both father and son came to the unpleasant realization he would have to find something else to wear, and that the clothes may have to be replaced completely. It was inevitable, probably. Vetrix had been wearing the same outfit since he had returned, this would have happened sooner or later. But the possibility had been ignored because A) revenge was all he cared about at the time and B) No one wanted to have to bring up the also inevitable follow up that the clothes would need to be replaced. Which would mean an awkward discussion of shopping that no one really wanted to get into. (No one really wanted to have to think about shopping in the children's section for one's father.)
"Hnn," Vetrix scoffed at the observation and its implications, pulling despondently at the caked and coated shirt (he had to cook in a white shirt, couldn't let his pride down enough to borrow something from his sons just to cook in or at least grab an apron. Then again this had been a spontaneous idea and he might not have really thought it through. Decision making skills and impulse control seemed to be two adult traits that were very slow in coming back to him.) Without another word on the subject, at last the adult child knelt down to climb off of the side of the chair. As he dangled off the side of the tall chair, his feet just barely kicking the floor, he noticed his oldest son flinch out of the corner of his eye. It was with a mixture of love and embarrassment that he realized that Christopher was probably fighting against the desire to help him down. He may have been short, but Vetrix was still a long way away from needing to be carried! And at last he indignantly scrambled off the chair. Looking up at his son he almost wished to get back on it just to feel a little bit like his old self again, but he figured he wasn't getting taller again any time soon so he'd just as well get used to looking well up at all of his sons. And anyway, his head was really starting to itch from all the dried up gunk in it so he should take care of that sooner rather than later.
"I should…take care of this," he stated awkwardly, fiddling with his braid and picking out bits of mess that had made its way between the strands. He looked guiltily around the rest of the mess that was the kitchen and added, "And I suppose I should clean all of this up too…" he drifted off even as he suggested it. He knew that, as a responsible adult, he should clean up all of this mess, but looking between the heavy kitchenware and the tall cabinet he doubted if his child arms would even be able to. If he had struggled with a bag of flour he couldn't imagine lifting a cast iron skillet that high up.
His son must have shared his train of thought, though, because he waved it off saying, "I can take care of this. It's no worse than any mess Thomas has made." Christopher huffed a quick almost-laugh and Vetrix outwardly giggled at the middle son's expense.
The small man was just on his way out, and Christopher was just grabbing a broom, when he spoke once more, "Father, I do truly appreciate all of the effort you're going through for us." He paused, and finally added, "But next time, perhaps leave the cooking to Michael."
Vetrix pouted on the way to his room.