#I think I am going to ask for a slight raise over my hourly rate at 25 hrs/wk

[whentherewerebicycles]

okay I slept nine hours again last night but it’s fine I’m telling myself that I’m just aggressively resting up now in case the coming semester is super stressful. 11 business days and counting with no reply from the foundation (not even an out of office reply??) which is driving me insane because I have such a limited window of time to do all this fall semester planning if we do indeed move forward with recruiting a new cohort. I am loath to waste these last couple weeks of break revamping the whole syllabus and prepping training materials for a new hire if we’re just going to get a no from the foundation, but I also don’t want september to be a living hell for me if I don’t do the work now while I have the time. agh! I think I’m going to try to use syllabus replanning as a chance to concretely apply what I’m learning from this learning & development research book. that way I can tell myself I’m prepping for my new job by practicing with a real world example, and I can get at least a chunk of the initial work done for the program. okay okay. I can do this.

here’s what I’ve done so far this morning:

I rewrote my learning objectives based on the book’s advice to set aside separately defined abstract goals and focus instead on the practical real world skills that I’ve noticed students need to successfully complete their projects. then I subdivided those complex bundled skills into different sub-skills I’ll need to explicitly teach them + made notes on what type of instruction would be most effective for each one. I have started loosely using that list to plan specific seminars but I am leaving that a bit more open for now… that’s going to be more sustained work.

since we are probably going to have to start a couple weeks behind schedule, I think I’m going to require them to attend a paid one-day weekend retreat where we can do some intensive cohort bonding and lay a foundation for the semester in a more deliberate way. I mapped out a rough schedule for that event.

I downloaded some templates for Asana and Notion to experiment with. I’m going to need to use more structured project management tools this year since I’ll be supervising a grad student employee, so I need to teach myself how to use them + also create replicable templates tailored to our program.

to save time for faculty and to get better recs I think we’re going to use a recommendation form instead requiring a rec letter. I sketched out a very rough version of that form though again will put off actually creating it until we have more info.

I mapped out a calendar of deadlines for august and sent it to my boss, then nudged her to nudge the dean about reaching out to the foundation again today.

I am going to pause program work for a bit and get back to reading my L&D book. I have 70 pages left so I might try to finish it in the next hour or so, depending on how dense the last sections are. then I will take a break and do podcast editing for a bit, as I find it soothing. I think a good strategy for this week is to spend 2-3 focused hours each morning on course prep then firmly set that work aside. that way I can feel like I’m making solid progress but I’m not wholly giving over my last precious weeks of vacation time to work that might not even turn out to be necessary.

[argent-gale]

“Why the hell are you bleeding!?” or “I can’t stand the thought of losing you.” for thrawn/reader please? your stories are amazing!

Thank you so much, dear Anon. I hope you enjoy this story!

Warrior’s Dance/Thrawn x Reader/Rated T

Thrawn has made it abundantly clear that his assassin droids are off limits for training to anyone but him. The reader, however, has something to prove and defies his wishes.  Things get out of hand and lead to a tender, and stunning, confession from the Grand Admiral.

Thrawn had always been rather stern about not letting you use his assassin droids to train.  No matter how much you begged and pleaded the answer was always a curt, “No. They are too much for you.”

But you felt the need to prove yourself and perhaps take smug satisfaction in proving to your lover that you were quite capable of handling those droids thank you very much.

And so while Thrawn was safely away, on the bridge, you had taken it upon yourself to steal into his private training arena.

It was stupid.  Dangerous. And yet positively exhilarating. And dammit you held your own quite nicely until one droid deftly skirted around you and landed a crushing blow to your midsection that made stars pinwheel through your vision and sucked the breath from your lungs.

As you fell, landing sprawled flat on your back, the droids immediately deactivated.  You weren’t that stupid. You knew better than to have them on full melee mode.

Sitting up, wincing as lances of pain shot through you, you thanked your lucky stars that the blow was struck where it would be easy to hide.

It hurt to breath and your vision was still swimming as you checked your chrono.

He would probably be heading to his office and you did NOT want to be here to have him catch you red handed.

Easing to your feet, weaving just a little, you uttered the command for the droids to return to their racks and made your way to your personal quarters to quickly freshen up and change for your shift.

And you managed that with nary an eye seeing you.

Dressed and presentable, you note your side is beginning to really burn now and the possibility of broken ribs crossed your mind. Not only had the droid scored a blow but had also managed to nick the tender flesh of your wrist. Just a scratch, really, but the damned thing refused to stop bleeding.

Just as you were ready to leave you hear the soft whish of the door sliding open and his smooth voice calling your name.

Oh stars why did he come here and not his private office?

Taking shallow breaths as to not aggravate your injury and plastering what you hoped was an easy, cheerful expression on your face, you enter the living area of your quarters.

Thrawn is idly studying a piece of crystal in your collection and he smiles as he turns to you. “Ch'eo visahot.”

Smiling you tip your face to his for a light kiss.

Your mid-section complains enthusiastically but you keep your composure asking, “I am surprised to see you.”

“I wanted to see you before your shift. There are things I need to attend to and I may be late this evening. You will probably be…why the hell are you bleeding?”

You pull away as if burnt and look to see that indeed the wound has decided to start bleeding again.  And since you didn’t notice, it ran unchecked, painting your wrist and palm red, making the injury look far more serious than it was.

Do you lie?  Thrawn will know. Stars, that man had perception that bordered on otherworldly.

His red eyes narrow (never a good sign) and his voice is tight. “What were you doing?  Your skin temperature is rather warm for one preparing for duty. It is as if you have just…exerted yourself.”

He then grabs your wrist to pull it in for a closer inspection, jarring your injury, and you yelp and flinch.

Thrawn’s eyes widen as he releases his grip. “Let me see.”

You offer your arm. “It’s nothing. Really. I…just scratched myself. Cut with a fingernail is all.”

The words tumble out in an almost nonsensical ramble.

Thrawn’s lips compress into a tight line and he draws in a long, deep breath.

“NO. Not your arm. Your tunic. Take it off. Let me see. You are hurt. You’re hitching your shoulder and you’re favoring your right side.”

Your cheeks burn as you comply with his wishes.

Thrawn’s eyes widen for just a moment as he sees the bright red splotch on your side.  It will be a rather remarkable bruise come morning.

“You defied me. You used my droids to train, didn’t you?”

You say nothing, ashamed.

“I said, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Your voice is so soft you aren’t sure he could even hear it.

“Do you realize you could have been seriously injured?  Or worse?”  Thrawn’s voice is low, controlled, but holds simmering anger in it.

“I can handle myself. I DID handle myself just fine,” you blurt out.  Now a bit of anger was creeping into YOUR voice.  How dare he?  Treating you like a child.  Ignoring the searing pain in your side you definitely tilt your chin and meet his gaze. “I did rather well, actually, and was just about finished.”

Thrawn cocked an eyebrow.  “Yes. I see that.  You did very well allowing one to skirt around you and land a critical blow.  I am pulling you from duty and sending you to the med bay.”

Your mouth gapes open in disbelief. “I…I can’t…I have things I need to do that I don’t trust…”

Thrawn silences you with a raised hand.

“I cannot believe you defied me in such a way.”  His eyes narrow into slits.  His face is tight.  You have seen him displeased, certainly. But not like this. And worse yet, not at you.  Was this it?  Was the bond of trust broken between you, all for your stupid ego?  You feel sick to your stomach.

“The discussion is closed. Now, can I trust that you will go on your own or do I have to escort you? Like an errant child?”

You shake your head, ���No. I would never pull you away from your obligations. I’ll go.” As you pass him you tilt your face to give him a quick, hopefully reassuring, kiss but he deftly sidesteps and avoids you.

“Perhaps I will check on you later.” His voice is cool and holds a note of detachment.

You ruined everything.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The medical droid’s assessment was delivered in a practical, soothing tone.

“Two lacerations, superficial. No stitches required.  Contusion medial torso. No broken ribs.”

Well, that was a relief. Nothing broken.

The droid piped up, “We’d like you to stay for observation. You have a slight concussion.  You may rest here for a few hours, but please do not sleep.  A tone will wake you if you drift off.”  The droid then deposited a bottle onto the bed.  “These pills will help with any discomfort.”

Great. You get to lay here for stars knows how long, can’t sleep. Nothing to do but think over what you just did.

Sure enough as your eyes closed and you began to drift off, a sharp tone sounded immediately rousing you from sleep.

The medi droid came back to check on you hourly, and during its last rotation cheerfully announced that you would be free to go within the hour.

You had just settled back into the pillows, quietly rehearsing what you were going to say to Thrawn, when the droid came bustling back into your room.

“Miss, you have a visitor.”

As Thrawn stepped through the doorway, your heart clutched.  His face was drawn. He looked tired. No, he looked…worried.

“Leave us, please.”

The droid bustled from the room, leaving the two of you alone.

Thrawn moved to your bedside and you find you cannot meet his gaze.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. A bad bruise and a few cuts. A slight concussion. But nothing is broken. I’ll live.”

“Good.”

Thrawn’s voice is tight.

You can feel his gaze and yet you cannot meet it.

“You are my bsizo in'a.“

You hate yourself but you feel tears burning your eyes. You try your damnedest to speak but just can’t find your voice.  Finally you manage to squeak out, “I…I am so sorry I defied your wish.”

Thrawn says nothing. You hear a long intake of breath and then, finally, he responds.

“I know you can handle yourself.  You enjoy the warrior’s dance.  That is part of what drew me to you…ch'eo visahot.”

Finally you meet his gaze.

His face softens. “You must understand that if anything happened to you…you getting hurt or worse.” He gathers your hands in his. They are so soft, warm, and strong.

Hearing his heartfelt confession, tears roll unchecked down your cheeks.

“I…I thought I ruined everything.  I am so sorry.”

Gently Thrawn tilts your face up to his and brushes his lips over yours.

“I can’t stand the thought of losing you,” his voice is the barest whisper, “because you see, I have fallen very much in love with you.”

[selenelavellan]

After The Shot

Strip Club AU

Dirthamen, Falon’din, June, Sylaise, Mythal, Vena belong to @feynites

Melarue, Maibrit belong to @justanartsysideblog

Ana belongs to @lycheemilkart

Takes places after This Fill

TW for blood, mentions of time in the hospital, food, and medication.

It takes a week for the hospital to agree to release Selene, along with a long, detailed list of follow-up appointments and procedures to ensure everything that was damaged when the bullet went through her is healing properly, and there are no infections.

Falon'din is still under watch, when she is wheeled out to Melarue's car.

They drive in silence, windows rolled all the way up back to Selene and Ana's apartment.

Melarue has lectured her enough during her stay, she supposes. Enough talks about 'screwing up' and 'getting sloppy and overconfident' from them. They're worried too, she knows. She can see it in their eyes, even through Deceits attempts to bury it.

Selene accepts the lectures with as much grace as she can manage in her current state of pain-killers and bandaged stitches.

She put them, and the whole club in danger. She deserves it.

We should have killed him, Des gripes for the hundredth time.

I know, Selene agrees. Maybe next time.

Melarue finally breaks the silence as they step into the apartment. “You won't be able to perform until your wound heals.”

“I'll be able to seal it off in a day or two,” Selene dismisses as she limps onto the couch, already far too tired from the walk up the stairs of the building “At least enough to perform. Perks of our 'profession', right?”

“No,” Melarue asserts. “No performing until you actually heal, at a normal rate. Mythal will likely double the number of spies she sends over, and they'll have orders to keep a particular eye on you. Consequences of trying to kill her eldest son, after dumping her second. If they notice you don't have a scar, or you're healing more quickly than you should be, they'll know something is wrong. That means an investigation into you, and into the club.”

“And into you,” Selene sighs. “What if I keep the scar, but heal everything else?”

“No shortcuts, Selene,” they order “You do this like a normal elf, or you're fired. I'll help you where I can, but if you endanger myself or our family any further...”

“Alright, alright, I got it,” she snaps back, nerves still fried from spending a week in a hospital bed on high alert.

Melarue nods, and makes their way over to a flower arrangement on the counter, newly dropped off this morning. They glance over the card and let out a soft snort before bringing it over to Selene. “I assume this is for you.”

Selene raises a curious eyebrow as she takes the small card.

Dear Selene,

Better luck next time!

Sincerely,

June E.

P.S.

I have the number of Sylaise's Kevlar guy, if you want an extra advantage in your corner for Round 2.

Selene laughs hard enough that her wound aches, and she has to adjust her position to make sure her stitches don't pop out.

Ana walks in the door then, plastic bags of gauze and bandages and disinfectants in hand.

“Feeling better?” She guesses, at the sight of Selene giggling on the couch.

“She's just hysterical from the pain killers,” Melarue covers, striding over to Ana and placing a soft kiss to their daughters head.

Ana just nods with the quiet contemplative noise she makes whenever she can tell Melarue and Selene are keeping a secret. It's happened quite often, and Ana knows it's better not to push it by now. After ensuring they have everything necessary to definitely not have to go anywhere, and Ana promises to send bi-hourly updates via text with their codeword in each, Melarue finally takes their leave. Selene sighs with the relief of it. She loves them, but the weight of Deceit is just too thick for her to handle for long periods of time right now.

Stupid bullets.

She attempts to move into her own bedroom-It's Tuesday, and that's usually the night Vena comes by lately, but Ana insists she stay on the couch where she can keep an eye on her.

“I'm not going to bleed out any faster in my room than I am out here,” Selene gripes.

“Well, at least out here I can keep an eye on you,” Ana points out.

“You should be doing things with Vena, not looking after me.”

“Vena knows what's going on. He's giving you a few days to get reacclimated, and then he's coming over to make you feel better once you won't bust your stitches open at his jokes.”

“....Those were his exact words, weren't they.”

“Pretty much. I cut out the puns,” Ana grins.

Selene sighs, and relaxes into the couch while Ana flips on Netflix, one of their favorite sci-fi movies playing quietly over the screen.

She's not sure when she dozed off, exactly. She wakes up when Ana nudges her to drink some juice and take her medication, and the movie's already reached its final battle. By the time Ana takes away the empty cup, Selene's eyelids feel heavy again, and she's back in the dreaming.

The next time she wakes, there's a knock at the door.

Ana tenses, and slides open her pocket knife, handle tight in her grip as she glances through the peep hole. She only relaxes slightly, and looks nervously back at Selene.

“It's Dirthamen...” She mouths.

“Let him in,” Selene groans, sitting up and trying to look like she's handling all of this better than her body actually is. Healing at a normal pace sucks.

Slowly, pocketknife still in hand, Ana opens the door. Selene can hear a hushed conversation between the two in the doorway, before Dirthamen walks through the door, a small bouquet of flowers in hand. He pauses when he sees the larger, more colorful arrangement already on the counter, fear flashing briefly over his face before his eyes land on Selene. Who has managed to get into a sitting position on the couch, but has yet to master standing on her own again.

Not that there's much of a need, Dirthamen all but runs over by his standards when he sees her, before hesitating once he's within arms reach again.

“How are you feeling?” He ventures.

“Like I got shot, but survived. You should see the other guy,” Selene jokes.

“I have. He is...not doing well.”

“I'd apologize, but he tried to kill me, too.”

“I would not ask you to apologize for what he has done,” Dirthamen asserts. There's a beat, and his arm shoots out, flowers shoved towards Selene quickly enough that her head moves back a few inches in reflex. “I meant to visit you in the hospital, but I was...misdirected.”

“Melarue and Maibrit wouldn't let you in, you mean.”

“Yes,” Dirthamen nods. “I am sorry. Flowers are supposed to help convey that. I...did not realize you had already received some.”

Selene nods slowly and takes the bouquet from Dirthamens hand. His arm must be getting tired, and she's not sure if that's what's causing him to shake or if he might start crying, but she'd like to head the problem off either way. “Thank you. They're lovely.”

“You are very welcome.”

There's a few more beats of awkward silence, questions hanging in the air between them, and Selene is tired of pretending they aren't there.

“Go ahead and ask,” she sighs “Just...can you get a vase and some water for these while you do? Standing is a bit of an issue.”

Dirthamen nods, and heads back towards their kitchen, searching through the top cabinets for a suitable container. “I am not sure where to begin...” he starts, before his eyes drift back to the flowers on the counter “Who were these from?”

“June.”

“...Ah. You were at his home the morning you were shot, yes? And...the evening before?”

“Sylaise showed you the picture, I assume. I was, and I did sleep over, but it was only because June was very drunk, and didn't want to be alone.”

“You are not planning on entering into a relationship with him and my sister, then?” Dirthamen asks with a slight tint of hopefulness in his voice as he rinses out the glass vase he found. “Not that it is my business, either way. You are free to see or sleep with whomever you choose, of course. Not that you needed my permission, or acknowledgment of that fact-”

“I know,” Selene assuages “And no. I wouldn't...June and I are just friends. He came over to talk, and we ended up at his place. That's all.”

“What did you discuss?”

“You.”

“...Ah.”

The conversation seems to reach an impasse there, as Dirthamen adds water to the vase and carries it over to Selene on the couch. She carefully maneuvers the flowers into the container, and asks him to place it on the side table.

“Are you really a stripper?”

“I am,” Selene nods “Or I was. Not sure what direction my career is going to have to take, now that I'll have a scar so prominently placed on my stomach.”

Dirthamen winces slightly “I am sorry for my brothers actions. He was out of line.”

“Not an uncommon occurrence for him.”

“No, it is not. I am still sorry.”

Selene just hums in acknowledgment.

Dirthamen fingers the edge of his coat, still radiating nerves. Hoping to ease him, at least somewhat, she offers him a seat beside her on the couch. He hesitates, but accepts, and calms considerably as he thanks her.

“Does it bother you I was a stripper?” Selene asks, deciding that it's her turn to ask some questions, now.

“I suppose it is supposed to,” he offers “But so long as you were not engaging in intercourse with others, I do not think there was a breach of our relationship. Were you?”

“No. That sort of thing isn't offered where I work. It's a strict no touching policy.”

“Then I see no reason to be bothered by it. Your body is your own, after all.”

“...Thank you,” Selene whispers, feeling oddly touched by the sentiment of it.

A calm quiet falls over the two of them then, punctuated only by the quiet creak of the door to Anas bedroom as she tries not to draw attention to her eavesdropping.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Dirthamen finally asks, in a soft rush.

Selene hesitates. Considers lying, considers making a final blow to the end of their relationship. But she has missed him. She's missed having him around, she's missed being able to talk to him at the end of his day, missed him. He has been respectful of her boundaries, after all. He's made no move to claim her, or punish her, and has respected her decisions at every turn.

“No,” She finally answers. “Are you?”

“No,” he responds. His eyes dart over to her nervously, before sliding down to her abdomen. Dirthamens face morphs into a frown then, and he stands from the couch. “You seem to have bled through your gauze,” he informs her.

Selene blinks and looks down. Lets out a heavy sigh at the dark red stain on her tank top, and goes to slide it off before wincing in pain at the movement. Dirthamen reaches out to help her, before stopping himself.

She should probably cut him a bit of a break, she supposes.

“Can you help me?” She asks.

He nods, and carefully helps pry the shirt off of her, and takes it into her bathroom to soak in cold water before the stain can set. “Do you have anything to clean the wound with?” He asks, re-entering the living room.

Selene nods, poking and hissing in pain at the wound. “Ana brought some things home. They're in the plastic bag on the counter.”

He doesn't waste much time, as he takes out the disinfectant, sterile wipes, and a gauze pad. He kneels down on the ground before her, and gently wipes at the wound, apologizing each time she flinches. His fingers move swiftly, and with great care, and to his credit he only stares at the rows of stitches for a few seconds before he gets back to work. Once he's finished, Selene is feeling far too aware of her stitches, and asks him to get her a few of her prescribed pain pills.

“I am so sorry,” he whispers again as he hands them to her, alongside a glass of water.

“It's not your fault,” She assures him, handing back an empty glass once she has finished swallowing.

“That is not true. My brother is the one who shot you.”

“I tried to kill him, too.” Selene shrugs. “He deserved it.”

“But you did not,” he insists.

Selene sighs. “Dirthamen...I'm not as good as you seem to think I am. I've done terrible things, too.”

“I know.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together “No, you don't.”

He hesitates, before casting a subtle silencing ward over the two of them. “You are an abomination, yes? And you killed that magister, and set the fire?”

Selenes eyes go wide, and a cold panic settles in her stomach. “I...how did you...where did you...”

“My brother was telling me about the attack. He claimed you turned into a monster, and tried to 'burn his face off'. Given the questions I already had about your past, and my knowledge that you are a mage, this seemed to make the most sense.”

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

“Who else has your brother told?”

“Our family, mostly” Dirthamen informs her “But he has a history of over exaggeration. It is unlikely to lead to anything. I have been dismissing any further questions. My sisters have already assumed he was lying. It is more suitable to his personality and history that he attempted to coerce you at work, and when you turned him down, things became violent.”

“And no one has ever thought to put a stop to his behaviors before now?” Selene frowns.

Dirthamen at least has the shame to look guilty before pressing on “I will not tell anyone what I have figured out,” he assures her “I promise you.”

“I...” Selene hesitates. What should she do now? Melarue will definitely fire her. She'll have to move. She'll lose her protections, she'll lose Ana, she'll lose Dirthamen.

She's going to lose everything.

Selene feels at once, very, very tired. Likely a combination of the stress of the conversation, and the painkillers, the logical part of her brain tries to explain. But she needs to sort this out. She can't just...she can't just let him leave.

“Stay here,” she manages to mumble out, taking his hand in hers, even as her eyelids grow heavy. “Stay here for now, please.”

Dirthamen hesitates once more before nodding. “I will.”

Selene lets out a sigh of relief, and her eyes slide closed as her head finally falls against Dirthamens shoulder.

She...will likely have to figure this out when she wakes.

But for now...for now, all she can do is rest. And hope.

[andrea-odown]

Keep on Singing - Chapter 28

A Sing (2016)-fanfic.

Read it on FF.Net and AO3.

Description: A few months have passed since the grand re-opening of the Moon Theater. All in all everything seems to be fine. But under the surface, everyone has to deal with some problems. Ash is facing writer’s block with her new album, Rosita is enjoying her new life as a famous singer, but has less and less time for her family, Mike is still hiding from some angry bears, Meena may has overcome her insecurity when it comes to singing, but interviews are still a challenge for her, and Johnny wants to turn the garage he and his father used to live in into a youth center. And Buster has to keep the theater running while keeping Ms. Crawly from driving the new secretary crazy and writing a new play.

Chapter 28: Rosita

Rosita is glad that she doesn't have to sleep at the hotel any longer. She's glad that she and Norman don't have to pretend that everything is just fine between them any longer.

And she's totally happy that the spirit of their date still seems to linger around because Norman does all these little things he used to do before the daily routine got the best of their relationship, like giving her hand a little squeeze when he stands next to her longer than a few seconds or giving her a real kiss before leaving, not just a peck on her cheek. Or actually talking to her before they go to bed, just minor stuff, how their days were, what funny things the kids did that day, but Rosita loves it so very much.

What she doesn't like is the fact that she doesn't seem to be able to come up with a solution. She wracks her brain every free minute she has, even spends entire nights thinking about it, but so far, nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Like always when she thinks about it, Rosita feels how her chest tightens.

She should have a solution after hours and hours of thinking about it. Yes, she should, but she doesn't. And it leads to that terrible lump in her throat that makes breathing so very hard.

She hates it.

And what she hates even more is what this might mean. If she hasn't been able to come up with a solution yet, this could mean that there is no solution.

But it doesn't.

Rosita forcefully shakes her head.

No, it doesn't.

Because there is a solution. There has to be.

She just needs to think about it a little more.

Yes, that's what she's going to do.

She still has weeks to think about it, and if she spends every free minute, sometimes even more, on this problem, she'll find a solution.

If there is one.

Which there is.

She knows it.

She really does.

Rosita takes a deep breath before she enters the office space.

She can go back to thinking about her problem and the solution later. Now she has to talk to Cia.

"Hello, Ms. Crawly!" she greets the iguana, only surprised a little by the fact that she's sitting at her table quite relaxed and drinking a cup of tea or coffee or whatever it is. Usually, Ms. Crawly is doing something, really slowly, yes, but still something.

Rosita can't remember seeing her sitting at her table like that.

"Hello, Rosita!" Ms. Crawly returns the greeting. "Do you have a meeting with Mr. Moon today? I don't remember seeing that on today's calendar."

"No, no," Rosita says quickly. "I'm here to say hello to the new secretary."

"Ah, okay." There's something in Ms. Crawly's voice Rosita doesn't quite like, but she decides to ignore it and looks around the room.

She sets eyes on a young snow leopard-girl.

With a smile she steps closer.

"You must be Cia," she says, holding out her hand. "I'm Rosita."

The snow leopard looks up from her work with a frown, her eyes looking a bit unfocused before she smiles, too, clasps Rosita's hand and shakes it.

"Yes, I am," she replies. "Nice to meet you, Rosita!"

"Nice to meet you, too." Rosita's smile deepens.

A moment in silence passes where Rosita tries to think of the right words before she speaks up again.

"Look, Johnny told me you helped him out with the kids last Friday," she finally says. "I hope they weren't too much trouble."

"It was nothing!" Cia replies. "Your kids are sweet little angels."

"Why, thank you!" Rosita says. "They are. But they can be a handful sometimes. So thank you very much for helping Johnny out! I think he got a little ahead of himself there."

Cia bites down her lip at that, and Rosita can only presume what she's thinking right now. But if she had to guess she'd say that Johnny getting a little ahead of himself might have been a slight understatement.

She feels a bit bad at that. Poor Johnny! She tried to warn him, didn't she?

Well, it means she has even more reason to thank Cia for her help.

"I don't know how to thank you," Rosita says, reaching into her purse for her wallet, "so let me at least pay you for your services."

Cia looks at her with a raised eyebrow and with such a serious look on her face that Rosita chooses to lower her eyes.

"I don't know what hourly rate for a babysitter is right now, so would …"

"No," Cia cuts her short.

Rosita raises her eyes. "But let me at least…"

"No," Cia interrupts her again.

"But…"

"Rosita, I was helping out a friend," Cia explains. "I am not going to take your money."

"But…"

"I repeat: I am not going to take your money."

Rosita bites down her lip as she puts her wallet back into her purse.

How is she going to thank Cia now?

Her face lights up when she remembers something.

"I invited Johnny over for dinner tomorrow," she says. "Do you want to join us?"

Cia did speak of Johnny as a friend, so it should be fine if she invited her, too, right?

Cia just looks at her.

"If you're still free, of course," Rosita adds quickly. "And if you don't mind spending another evening with my kids."

"No, no, of course not!" Cia says hastily. "Your kids are great! And I am free tomorrow. So thanks for the invitation!"

"We eat at seven if that's okay."

"It is!"

"Are spaghetti fine for you?"

"Totally!"

Rosita smiles at her.

"By the way," she says, "I don't know what you did, but my kids keep asking me when you'll come over again. They say something about a little bag of wonders, but I have no idea what that means."

"Oh, that's our little secret," Cia replies with a wink.

"You have to tell me!" Rosita almost shouts. "I mean, you got them to clean up the living room!"

Cia laughs a little at that. "I'm sorry, Rosita, but us babysitters have to have our secrets or the little tricks won't work anymore."

"Oh." Rosita tries not to let her disappointment show, but fails miserably. "I see."

"I'm really sorry, Rosita!" Cia bites down her lip, and Rosita doesn't like that she seems to struggle with herself.

"How about this?" Cia speaks up before Rosita can say that it's really not that important. "I'll tell you after dinner tomorrow under two conditions."

"Okay."

"First, you must not tell anyone," Cia continues. "And second, you can't use the bag of wonders for yourself. Deal?"

"Deal!" Rosita says, and they shake hands on it. She's too curious to not agree to these conditions. "See you tomorrow, Cia!"

"Bye, Rosita!"