“Oh no, none of that now, not in my kitchen,” Alazne tsked, a hand reaching out to swat incessantly, albeit gently, at William’s hands, intent on shooing him away from his efforts to clear the remainder of the meal from the kitchen table. “You, sit, relajarse,” she chided, scooping up the bowl that he had been trying to take away and carrying it across to the other half of the kitchen, handing it off to one of the little ones to wrap and put away. “Time off is hard to come by, on holidays, even more so, recuerdo --” A quick press of her thumbnail to her lips briefly. “-- all too well. And that Captain of yours,” another sharp tsk, and a slight huff. “Trouble walking, always has been.”