#meanwhile everyone makes sure that no one sleeps in the full cousin chat

[royalhouseofcarrington]

Various Locations Around Carrington

Transcript below cut!

Douxie: Cece would like to tell everyone, and I quote: 

“Quack”

Robert: I fucking love this kid

She’s hilarious

I love all of them don’t get me wrong 

But Cece 

Douxie: She was quacking at my moms on the phone yesterday too

She’s been making animal sounds for like… 

3 days straight

Eric: So has Ari

Did Mom give her a farm book too?

Ana: Yes

Michael: How do we avoid this?

Douxie: Burn it as soon as you see it 

It’s too late for us

Not for you

Michael: Noted

Ana: Speaking of Mom, anyone talk to her recently?

Thalia: I haven’t, no

She’s texted but I haven’t gotten to respond

Alice: Unfortunately 

Ana: Well now’s as good a time as any I guess

Aunt Kate talked to me yesterday at the DR and said that Mom’s planning on getting remarried

Ben: Heh

Ana: And then I called Mom and asked if it was true and she said yes

Sophie: WHAT THE FUCK

Alice: Welp imma go cry

Robert: WHAT THE EVER LOVING FUCK

Michael: HUH

Ben: TO QUOTE OUR LORD AND SAVIOR CHRIS HEMSWORTH: SINCE UH WHEN

Charles: oh

Thalia: Who?

Ana: Lucas Munch

Alice: He’s my godfather

Charles: And mine too

Ana: ANd mine? 

Robert: Hyuck

Ow

Ben: Stop

Alice: Oh I am SO GLAD that I’m out of Lyne Priory

Ben: Same

[terrovaniadorm]

Part 2 of this thing

As usual Elvina, Ahmanet and Vladimiras belong to @/the27th

Nicholai belongs to @/twsted-princess

Johan belongs to @/rookvonhunt

IV-Dinner

After the three friends finished their little tour, they headed to the dining area as asked. Samuel’s thoughts were at the portrait but he just thought it might be a trick of Johan. "Hey! Earth to O'Devlin!" Samuel looked up when Johan waved his hand in front of his face, Samuel shook his head "I'm fine! It's just that everything here is sooo fancy~!" the boy giggled, waving his legs back and forth on the chair as his legs didn't reach the ground like everyone else. "Well yeah we're in a grand hotel genius of course it's fancy." he mocked, making Samuel pout. 

Soon everyone's attention turned to Elvina as she clapped her hands to start the dinner, she made sure everyone got their favorite food. - She asked her father for help. He was a great cook after all - "I'm happy you're all enjoying your time already." Elvina smiled, it seemed genuine. Garfield snorted, no one noticed before but the scarred side of his face seemed redder than usual, "It'd be better if SOMEONE didn't slam the door in my face." he mockingly complained, to which Ahmanet frowned. "I'm telling you. It wasn't me!" "Sure sure! It was a ghost!" The irony of the statement caused a few giggles on the table as the two adults bickered. 

Though no one noticed the look of distress in the hostesses face as she took a sip of her wine. 

V- Lovers

After everyone had their dinner, they kept on chatting, about old memories - as much as some remember - skipping over the sensitive parts of their pasts. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, even Vladimiras and Hecate who weren't at Night Raven in their time joined in the friendly environment. Hecate especially, she had a great time talking about the embarrassing memories of her two undead companions. Garfield hid his face under his hat as Johan laughed right next to his ear. 

As the night went on, Elvina led everyone to their rooms,letting them settle and rest for the rest of the night. Though a certain family head decided to stay up late. 

"I wasn't expecting you to be drinking whiskey." 

Ahmanet turned around, she was watching the outside from the roof, seeing her cousin she smiled. "It's been a while since I relaxed at all, Vina. Cut me some slack." she took a sip "How are you holding up?" the dark haired woman asked. Elvina stayed quiet, watching the night sky "I suppose you feel out of love but -" "It's alright, I've been doing well. He's dead and that's all that matters." she didn't want to answer, at least answer with the full truth, she wasn't going to let him win. "How are YOU holding up?" Elvina turned the question to Ahmanet. 

Elvina knew about Ahmanet's dead love too, even if they never knew about each other's feelings it was obvious. Poor Quinn. His death changed a lot of things, including Ahmanet. "It's been decades." "Are you over him?" "... No." another sip. Suddenly they both got quiet neither of the Brahms ladies spoke, with a hesitant hand on Ahmanet's shoulder the silence broke. "You should rest too. You came from a long road." as the sun started to rise, Ahmanet sighed "Fine I'll rest, you go sleep too Vina." 

As the two cousins left the roof, the ghostly apparition of a man frowned. 

VI- Alone time

Garfield was still upset about Ahmanet slamming the door in his face, he was just making a harmless joke about her family he didn't expect her to be this offended. Though Nicholai gave him some ice to ease the pain he found his dear friend's reactions unbearable. Getting bored of Samuel and Johan's laughter Gary left the room, still holding the ice pack. 

"He seems upset." Nicholai commented 

Johan, managing to calm his laughing down, wiped a golden tear from his eye. "He deserved it." Samuel stopped laughing too, "Though Ahmanet must've been pretty upset if she slammed him like that. He probably deserved it!" and the duo kept laughing. 

Meanwhile Gary was walking around the hotel, looking at the portraits, photos and many articles about the hotel. Though one got his interest and ire, Gilles Beaudelaire, another old classmate, one that - maybe fortunately - didn't return. Despite everyone's fondness of the man Gary never liked him. He always thought of the man as someone who's dishonest, the picture made him snare. Gary didn't want to look at his face any more, as he turned to leave he saw Elvina in front of him. 

"Heh, you're really quiet you could've give me a heart attack."

"Only if you had one." 

"Ouch." 

"Huhu i was joking! What are you doing here? Aren't you with Sammy and Johan?" Elvina tilted her head, red eyes staring deep into Gary's soul, he pouted "They were laughing at my face! I ain't staying there!" to his response the hostess gave a laugh, now Gary was even more annoyed. 

"Sorry.. Sorry about that. I know you like to drink, we have a bar here. I can fix you something as an apology?" Gary smiled, Elvina was a great host, he wasn't completely surprised but it was a nice change compared to life in Night Raven. 

"Well if it's on you sure, Vina."

The pair made their way through the hotel, chatting about their respective jobs, Elvina was surprised to hear Gary returned to his job in NRC and he was surprised she became an economics teacher, they came to Hotel's bar. Gary was amazed, the interior was beautiful, it was like-

"A blast from the past?"

"Y-Yea... It does look like places from our time."

"Knew you'd like it." Elvina said with a proud smile, she went behind the bar to prepare drinks for both of them "Anything you want?" "Anything you want." Gary replied, he could really drink anything now. So Elvina did what she could.

The two took their sweet time, drinking and talking, they were laughing about their school days, mostly about Gary's school life, Elvina patted him on the back and looked at her glass "Hm. Do you want another glass?" Gary nodded, "I can get another one or two glasses of this."

Checking behind the bar Elvina made a face "Strange... Did we really drink a lot..I'll be back Garfield." Gary raised his glass, smiling sheepishly "See ya Vina." he downed the last bit of his drink as Elvina left, as he waited he lay his head on his arms, looking around. He realized he was spending time alone with Elvina, away from others, just the two of them. It made him smile, back then he wasn't able to confess to her, she was already with Giles. Even as adults he still liked her, though he would never tell Elvina about it.

"You seemed bothered, sir." a male voice made Gary look up, his vision was a little blurry, was he really that drunk? "This one is on the house." the male voice said pushing a glass of alcohol in front of him. "Well.. Thank ya i guess..."

"Gary? Who are you talking to?" he turned around to see Elvina standing in the doorway with another bottle of wine in her hand, his vision clear as day, confused he raised a brow.

"To your bartender-" then he turned to the booth, the empty booth, that was definitely weird. Elvina sighed, "We probably should stop, we forgot about the other too." she sounded a little tired, Garfield wanted to spend more time here alone but she was right. Samuel might start nagging them about not including the others.

"Yeah you're right... Let's go." he got up and left the bar with Elvina.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

The Love Yet Known Part 3

Summary: Tommy Shelby needs to make sacrifices to ensure the safety of his family. So he concocts a plan to marry off his sister to the one and only Alfie Solomons.

             Late that summer after everything was settled with Luca Changretta, Tommy invited Eliza and Alfie to visit Arrow House in Warwickshire. Since Tommy was the one who initiated it, he figured it would be a nice, quiet few days. Charlie clearly missed his aunt dearly. The little boy was used to always having her around to entertain him. He always asked after her and became cross when Tommy said she was married, that’s why she didn’t live with them anymore.

            “Well, when is she not going to be married?” Charlie would ask.

            Tommy just chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t think there will ever be a day when that happens, my boy.”

            No one was blind to the growing affection Eliza and Alfie had from their wedding day on. In fact, it was quite a sight to see when the two were together. Such a shy thing like Eliza had a calming effect on Alfie, who rarely seemed to be in a sour mood when she was around. Likewise, he seemed to bring Eliza out of her shell a little bit. She had many friends in Camden and found herself more active in the community than she ever imagined she would be.

            Tommy never gloated, well he tried not to, but he liked to boast about how he made the match between Eliza and Alfie.

            Still, Arthur and a few of the other Peaky boys were having a hard time accepting Alfie into their sacred spaces. They considered him their sister’s husband, not a brother-in-law. They had a petty habit of writing to Eliza and addressing it with her maiden name. Arthur felt sick to his stomach if he saw his dear sister’s name next to a name like Solomons.

            Alfie wasn’t very hospitable either. He wouldn’t let go of old habits of trying to rile Arthur up. He only ever invited a few of Eliza’s family members to visit them in Camden. None of them even knew the married couple shared a beachfront home in Margate. Alfie would shudder to think if the Shelbys got an idea of inviting themselves over for a holiday.

            But all things considered, life was going well.

 ~~~~~~~

            Alfie helped Eliza out of the car. “This place gets bigger every time I visit; I swear it does.” He muttered.

            His wife laughed softly. “Well, hopefully, you don’t get lost.”

            Charlie came running outside to greet his aunt. “Auntie Liza!”

            “Hello!” Eliza beamed and stooped down to pick her nephew up.

            “Oh, love, be careful.” Alfie winced. It was a good thing Eliza wasn’t easily irritated. Because once Alfie found out she was pregnant, he became overprotective. He insisted on carrying things for her, let her sleep in as long as she liked, and had someone come in to take over any housekeeping duties that she might’ve done. Not that Eliza was keen on keeping anything clean anyway. Alfie knew he was being annoying, but he wanted to make sure that his child and the mother of that child was well kept. He felt it was his duty to ensure their safety and health.

            Charlie gave Alfie a side-eye. “Hi, Uncle Alfie.” He said in a less jovial voice.

            “You well, Charlie?”

            “Mhm.” The little boy shrugged.

            Eliza set him down and reached for her suitcase but Alfie stepped in. “I’ve got it. Go on ahead.”

            She gave him a kiss on the cheek and followed Charlie inside to find Tommy.

~~~~~~~~~ 

            At dinner that night, it was just the four of them. Tommy, Lizzie, Alfie, and Eliza. They chatted casually about things, nothing too consequential. Then, during dessert, Eliza felt it was a good enough time to tell them.

            “So, Alfie and I have news.” Eliza reached for her husband’s hand under the table and gave him a smile.

            “You’re pregnant.” Tommy finished for her.

            Alfie’s brow furrowed. “And what on Earth gave you that impression?” He snapped. He knew how important and special it was for Eliza to tell everyone about the baby, so Alfie was a bit ticked off that Tommy had affectively ruined the moment.

            Tommy glanced up from his whiskey glass. “Am I wrong?”

            “Well…no.”

            “But how did you know?” Alfie asked again.

            “Because of the way you’ve been acting around her. Anyone could tell if they’ve known you long enough, Alfie.” Tommy answered casually. “I haven’t seen her carry anything at all today.”

            Eliza just chuckled. “Well, I didn’t know we made it that obvious.”

            “You and I will have a lot to talk about then,” Lizzie spoke up.         

            “Why? Oh…oh really?” Eliza’s eyes lit up. “You’re pregnant?”

            The two sisters-in-law got up to hug one another. Surely it was special knowing there was someone else walking a similar path. After all, it’s not like their husbands knew what it felt like.

            “Well, seems we’ll be coming around much more often then, Tom.” Alfie sighed. Well, if his wife was happy, then he would drive her back and forth from London to Warwickshire as many times as she liked.  

~~~~~~~~~

            Lizzie gave birth to Ruby when Eliza was still seven months along. Seeing and holding the baby girl in her arms was such a lovely occasion. It was almost like a hint at what was to come. It would be much more surreal though, that’s what Lizzie told her.

            “It’s so strange holding her. All of a sudden, you’ve got this little life. One you’ve waited so long to hold and she’s yours to care for and love. It’s really overwhelming.” Her sister-in-law tried to explain as best she could.

~~~~~~~~~~~

            Now all there was to do was wait a little longer. The nursery was all set up and ready. Meanwhile, the midwife was on call whenever the first signs of labor came.

            In the blistering cold of February, Eliza was due any day. Alfie started to work from home just in case she went into labor and he needed to be there for her. He didn’t get out of bed as early, but he was awake much earlier than his wife on most mornings.

            It was a peaceful time where he could just bask in the warm feelings of holding his beloved wife close to him, all cuddled up in bed. Cyril keeping their feet warm at the end of the bed. His soft breathing sometimes syncing up to Eliza’s heartbeat.

            Alfie would wrap an arm around her waist, resting a hand over her swollen stomach. There, he could feel his child kicking. The emotions that overcame him when he felt that little pressure against his hand were indescribable. He was thrilled, excited, nervous, afraid. He didn’t know how he would measure up as a father. Didn’t know how his line of work would impact the life of his child.  

            Every possible worst-case scenario had run through his head since Eliza told him she was pregnant. His worst fear was losing her and the baby. Or losing the baby and having to cope with their shared grief. Or losing Eliza and having to be a single father while grieving his wife.

            The possibilities kept him up at night, practically driving him mad with anxiety. But then there were the good thoughts. The joy he would feel when he first held his child. The pride of seeing every milestone from first words to first steps.

            It was overwhelming to think about and it didn’t help that the wait was making him even more anxious.

 ~~~~~~~~~

            But finally, the day came when Eliza gave birth to a healthy baby boy. It was a relief to hear that his wife and son were both going to be perfectly fine. As Alfie climbed the stairs to see them, he felt his hands trembling with anxiety and anticipation.

            What if he did something wrong?

            What if Eliza thought he wasn’t a good father?

            What if he just wasn’t enough?

            All the self-deprecating thoughts seemed to vanish into thin air when he saw his son swaddled in his mother’s arms.

            Eliza gave her husband a tired smile. “He’s beautiful, Alfie.” She whispered with tears in her eyes.

            Alfie walked over to the bed and peered over. “Fucking hell, look at all that hair, aye?” He chuckled with tears welling up in his eyes as well. “Look at him, he’s about as perfect as you can get, ain’t he?” He kissed Eliza’s forehead. “I can’t ever repay you for giving me such a perfect gift.”

            “I think you can with a few dozen nappy changes.” She teased back.

            “Done deal.” He grinned and gently cradled his son’s head.

            “You can hold him.”

            Alfie’s nerves pricked at him again as he sat down on the edge of the bed. Eliza gently placed the newborn in his arms, looking over him with such fondness.

            “There you are.” He said softly. “Been waiting quite some time for you, mate.”

            Eliza rested her cheek on her husband’s shoulder as he spoke to their son. “What should we name him?” She asked.

            They had passed around a few names over the course of her pregnancy but none of them particularly stood out to either of them.

            “How about Asher?”

            “Is that Jewish?” Eliza asked.

            Alfie nodded. “Means blessed. Was one of the twelve tribes of Israel, back in ancient times.”

            She smiled. Truly, she felt blessed. Not just by the birth of her son, but by everything. She had found her soulmate, fell in love with him, married him, and now produced such a beautiful little boy. Her heart felt so full in her chest. “I love it. I think it’s absolutely perfect.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~         

            A month after Asher was born, Eliza brought up the idea of bringing him to Warwickshire to meet her family. Tommy was apparently arranging a dinner to bring the whole family together. That way they could catch up on things without being busy with work and the children could all see their cousins.  

            Alfie bristled at the idea. It was one thing to spend a couple of days with just Tommy and Lizzie. But to be around the whole Shelby family, it was not a pleasant thought. He almost felt as if he’d be alone, surrounded by people who didn’t quite trust him. People he didn’t really trust either.

            “Won’t be a pleasant trip, tryna get there with a newborn.” He thought of the mistake on the fly.

            “It’ll be fine, it’s not too far and I’m sure Asher will sleep the whole way there. If he doesn’t then it isn’t the end of the world.” Eliza assumed her husband was just concerned about the baby’s sake.

            “Dunno…”

            “Then maybe we invite everyone here. It’ll be a little crowded but we’ll make it work.” She suggested to eliminate the idea of traveling.

            Having the Shelbys in his space, his territory was an even worse idea. “Tommy’s place is big enough, we ain’t gonna have that many people over here.”

            “So…” She looked at him. “Then we’ll go to Tommy’s.”

            Alfie didn’t want to outright say he didn’t want to be around her family. He was afraid it might break her heart. But he wasn’t going to pretend that it was a joy to be around them either. He stifled a groan, feeling backed into a corner for sure. “I mean…if it’ll make you happy, love.”

            “I want to see Ruby and I want everyone to meet Asher.” She replied, able to hold her ground against him when she chose to. “So yes, it would make me happy.”

            There was no arguing that. His wife’s happiness was one of the few things that mattered to him. “Alright then, we’ll go. I won’t be a bother about it.” He promised, earning a smile and a kiss from him.

~~~~~~~~~~~

            Asher slept through most of the car ride over to Warwickshire. Eliza appeared happy to be seeing her family and to introduce them to her son.

            The sun was starting to set as they entered the estate. Alfie felt on his guard as he walked in beside Eliza, already hearing the colorful language coming in from the parlor. There was laughing and yelling coming from upstairs, most likely the children playing with one another.

            Polly saw them coming in first and rushed over to embrace her niece. “Look at you. Motherhood suits you, my dear.” She turned to Alfie who was holding his son. “And there he is. Looks very healthy. You must be very proud, Alfie.”

            “Yeah.” He smiled slightly. Leave it to Polly to get on his good side even when he was tense. “He’s a lot of work, ain’t he, but it’s rewarding.”

            Polly could see the hesitation in Alfie’s eyes. He was holding Asher protectively to his chest, his eyes scanning across the room almost looking for potential threats. She decided he would have to warm up to the idea of handing his son over for anyone to hold.

            Eliza didn’t appear to catch onto her husband’s discomfort. “Alfie, I’ll take him.”

            “S’alright, love. I don’t mind.”

            “Well, let Polly hold him for a bit.” She suggested.

            “It’s alright,” Polly replied gently to her niece. “You two make yourselves at home. I’ll get you a drink, love. Alfie would you like something?”

            “No, thank you.” He replied a bit relieved that Polly hadn’t pushed the matter.

            But then Arthur swooped in and gave his sister a bear hug. “Glad you came, chey.”

            Eliza giggled and hugged him back. “Hi, Arthur.”

            “Good to see ya. Now, where’s the little one, aye?” The eldest Shelby’s eyes settled on Alfie with a look of slight distaste.

            Eliza stepped in to try and keep the atmosphere light and festive. “This is Asher, he just turned a month old.” She reached over to adjust the little cap on the newborn’s head. His dark hair was sticking out from underneath it.

            “A month already.” Arthur shook his head. “Well, wish we could’ve been there earlier.” He gave his brother-in-law a stern look. As if Alfie was purposefully keeping Eliza hidden away in Camden Town to keep her away from her family.

            “Arthur…” She sighed. But it was too late. The powder keg had already been lit.

            “Well, mate, it weren’t the easiest delivery. Eliza had to take a bit of time to recover.”

            “If Pol had been there like she wanted then maybe it wouldn’t have been so difficult.” Arthur wasn’t standing down from the challenge. In fact, he welcomed a reason to argue.

            “Arthur, that’s enough.” His aunt interrupted. “We’ve had this discussion before but it’s over. The baby’s already born.”

            But neither man listened to a voice of reason. “She had the best midwife in Camden Town there. Are you insinuating I wouldn’t get the best for me wife?”

            “I’m saying you’ve been keeping our sister from seeing her family.”

            “She’s got a mind of her own, mate, she can go wherever she wants whenever she wants.” Alfie crossed his arms over his chest.

            “Please, will you two just stop?” Eliza begged.

            “Did she have a choice when Tommy sold her off to you?” Arthur’s voice raised and Eliza knew she had to step in before the rest of the party started to take notice of the brewing storm between her brother and husband.

            “Alright, enough. You two are making a scene and it’s ridiculous.” She took Asher from Alfie’s arms when he was caught off guard and handed the baby to Polly. Before her husband could protest, she grabbed his arm and dragged him into another empty room of Arrow House.

            “You’re just going to leave him?” Alfie spat.

            “With my aunt who I trust with my life? Yes!” She snapped in an exasperated tone. “What on Earth has gotten into you? I thought this would be a nice visit, I didn’t think I had to tell you to be on your best behavior. But apparently, I should’ve because you’re acting like a child!”

            “Your brother started it!” His normally soft-spoken wife gave him a death glare. Alfie backtracked when he realized the childish response was exactly what Eliza was talking about. “I’m sorry.” He mumbled. “I just don’t like him treating me that way. Like I’m some monster who kidnapped you.”

            “Oh, Alfie.” She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him close. “You know Arthur and you know that’s not true. You’ve given me everything and I’ve never been so happy. But we can’t make them see that. If they don’t see it then that’s their fault.” She kissed his cheek. “We know the truth.”

            He grumbled. Of course, she was right, seldom was she wrong. It just didn’t help that when they went back to the party, Arthur would still be the same. “M’trying, love.”

            “I know you are.” She smiled. “They’re difficult. But you are too.”

            He chuckled. There was no arguing that.

            “But now Asher is sort of a buffer. You just have to let them hold him.”

            Alfie looked disgruntled. He knew intuitively that none of the Shelbys would bring harm to the child. But there was still that protective instinct that he could never totally shake. If he let his guard down, bad things happened. The only time that wasn’t the case was when he was alone with Eliza and Asher. That quiet space where everything good in the world seemed to line up. Nothing outside of their warm home mattered.

            “Alright.” He relented. It seemed reasonable that if he played along, the sooner they would be out of there.

            Eliza smiled and kissed him softly. “Try to enjoy yourself.” She said before going to return to the party.

~~~~~~~~~

            Alfie followed and found Polly was still holding Asher. But Ada and Lizzie were cooing over the baby. Tommy was sat next to his aunt, holding Ruby and smiling at his new nephew. Even Arthur was nearby smiling at Asher.

            Alfie did his best not to hover even when his son was passed from relative to relative. It seemed to make Eliza happy to see her family holding her newborn. She spoke proudly about him. The meaning of his name, his blue eyes, how much Cyril adored him, and everything else that had happened in his short life.

            After a while, Alfie began to relax slightly. Although he always kept an eye out to see who was holding Asher.

            Toward the end of the night, his son was finally placed back in his arms. Asher was fast asleep despite the Shelbys having a good time with a good amount of alcohol. Alfie gently touched his cheek with his thumb. “They can be exhausting, aye?” He murmured quietly. “Better get used to it I suppose. Don’t think they’re going anywhere.”

            Asher yawned and shifted slightly in his swaddle.

            Alfie glanced up when he heard someone clear their throat. Arthur was standing nearby, a glass of whiskey in hand. “Mind if I sit?” He gestured to the empty armchair near the sofa Alfie was sitting on.

            “Ain’t my house, mate.”

            Arthur shrugged and sat down. “So, how does it feel, aye? Must get no sleep with him. And Liza, I doubt she ever gets up. Would take a train to wake her when she was younger.”

            It was a strange olive branch but Alfie chuckled. “Yeah, it’s tough tryna get her up to nurse him. S’alright though. Never been a big sleeper myself.” He admitted.

            “Yeah, war will do that to you.” Arthur agreed after a sip of whiskey.

            They were so similar, it was a wonder that they butted heads so often. They were veterans with deep scars, liked to solve problems with their fists, hardly flinched at death, and yet fiercely cared about their kin. But bad blood was hard to wash out, especially in their line of work.

            “I’d always be up with Billy when he was that young. It’s good, keeps your mind busy.” He added.

            “They’re a good distraction.” Alfie nodded, looking down at his son. “Changes a lot of perspectives on life.”

            Arthur looked across the room to see Eliza smiling at him. Of course, she’d put him up to it, insisting that if he wanted to see more of her, he would be nicer to her husband. Arthur complained but she wasn’t hearing it. It seemed that marriage and motherhood had really taught her when to put her foot down. But sitting there with his brother-in-law, Arthur seemed to realize that there wasn’t much else he could do. Here they were, both fathers to a son, both husbands. They were too old to be the vicious fighters they were as young men. It was too tiring.

            Alfie came to a similar conclusion. They could fight about the same things that happened so long ago. There wasn’t anything new to argue about. Just the grudges they both held. Which were equally as tiring. “Here.” He held Asher out.

            Arthur looked a bit surprised but decided not to make a scene out of it. He set his whiskey glass down and cradled his nephew to his chest. “Looks like Liza when she was a baby.” He chuckled. “She had so much hair. Our mother was shocked. I hope he doesn’t cry as much as she did. God, she was noisier than John ever was.” His eyes saddened at the mention of Eliza’s twin. It felt like ages ago that they’d lost John and yet, it was still so fresh.

            “That’s his middle name, you know,” Alfie said. “Asher John.”

            Arthur got a little choked up. “He’d be thrilled if he was here.” He tried to laugh off his grief but it was obvious how much it hurt. “Don’t think he’d ever stop bragging about it.”

            Eliza came over, so happy to see the two men getting along for the first time ever. She kissed Alfie’s temple as she sat down next to him.

            A quiet lull fell over the room. The warm chatter of family radiated with the fire and drinks. Alfie felt his shoulders relax while he wrapped an arm around Eliza’s shoulders. Things could be okay if he allowed them to be. So he did.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @biba3434​ @kimmietea​ @karmezii​ @enrapturedbythemoon​ @vampgirl1997​ @tarafaithe​ @evelynshelby​

PB Masterlist

[confusednarcissistwrites]

Hotsy Totsy PT. 2 (T.C.)

Soooo obviously the posting schedule isn’t all I had planned 😅 I’m just going to start posting as I have them ready for you so I don’t put undue pressure on myself and procrastinate my life away lol

Enjoy!!

Stepping out of the wild club and into the cool of the summer night gave Timothée a dizzying sense of deja vu, sending an ache through his chest. Your name reverberated through his mind like a shout in a cave. His trembling hands reached up and ran through his hair as he fought to gain his bearings.

“Tim? What’s going on?” Nick’s brow was drawn together in concern as he followed his friend out into the alleyway. Timothée had always been a hard person to keep up with as he was very connected to his emotions. It often was stressful, but being so close to someone so eccentric was refreshing to Nick; he’d dealt with far too many fake people in his life.

Timothée’s hands fell, meeting his friend’s eyes. “That’s her, man. That’s the girl. That’s-

“Y/N,” they said in sync.

Suddenly, it clicked. Nick felt stupid for not putting the pieces together sooner. He’d known that you had attended college to study musical theater on your parents wealth and your gifted vocal talents, but he didn’t realize that it was the same college Timothée had attended there in New York; he hadn’t even known of the young actor at the time. There had only ever been murmurings of this girl Timothée had met before he’d been drafted, all of which were prompted by heavy alcohol consumption. He’d known her name was Y/N, but he didn’t ever think that it could be his Y/N. He’d only really known you when you were both small children through family events. A little surprised smile crept onto Nick’s face. “Well, this is perfect then! I can get you in to see her-”

“Are you insane? I can’t see her” Timmy interrupted as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He shook his head and anxiety filled his stomach, his arms locked tightly around his torso; there was just no way, not yet at least. He wasn’t prepared for that at all.

“Well, why not? Weren’t you two close?”

Timothée scoffed, turning away from Nick. “I just- I can’t even begin to explain this to you now. I’m going home.”

Nick felt that tug at him a bit. Timothée told him everything, sometimes to a degree that was uncomfortable. However, he continued to refuse to speak about you and what had caused all this tension between you. He stood and watched his best friend’s lanky form disappear around the corner, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

***

The next day, you woke up in your husband’s arms from dreams that made you wish you could sleep all day. Flashes of bouncing brunette curls and honey-pot eyes made you ache to your very soul. However, that was pushed to the back of your mind as James’ blue eyes blinked open, feeling you shift in his arms. “Hello, dollface,” he smiled, his voice rough with sleep and his stick-straight, black hair sticking his way and that, making you laugh softly.

“Good morning, Jamesy,” you smiled. Giggles escaped you as he began pressing tickling kisses along your neck before slipping out of bed and heading into the en suite bathroom in all his naked glory. He was handsome, charming, and a businessman, but now, it suddenly felt like something was missing. Perhaps there always had been. You stood, cursing yourself silently and pushing the corrosive thoughts away once again. You followed after him, slipping into your silky kimono before allowing your hands to snake around his middle while watching him carefully shave his face in the mirror.

“What’s gotten into you this morning?” he chuckled, feeling you press kisses along his shoulder.

“I just… miss you, sugar” you murmured, pressing your nearly naked body against his. This made it obvious to you when he tensed up, rejecting your touches.

“Sorry, toots, don’t have time to play. I’ve got to meet up with a new girl today.”

You cringed at his words, retracting from him to rest your back against the wall, your robe drawn tight and your arms crossed over your chest.

Seeing your face in the mirror, he quickly rephrased. “A new act, darling, a new act.” You just sighed and left the bathroom, a scowl on your face. He didn’t make it any easier for you to pretend you weren’t still thinking about the night before.

***

Nick hung up the phone and stood, slipping on his jacket.

“Where are you headed? Don’t tell me you’re still out chasing that bearcat, are you?” Timothée questioned, a tired but teasing look on his face. He sat cross legged on the floor with his shirt sleeves cuffed up to his elbows and his hair disheveled as he read over a new script. A hundred fine, luxury options for seating in his home, and yet he chose the rug next to the fireplace every time. Nick had never seen him look quite so aged.

Nick laughed, shaking his head. “Mildred? I’m afraid she’s engaged to marry next weekend,” he said in a bittersweet tone.

“Ah,” Tim replied awkwardly. “Don’t worry about it, Nick. You’ll find her soon.”

However, his girl problems were far from the first thing on Nick’s mind. He had just received a call informing him that he was invited to join his cousin for lunch. Before Timothée could ask more questions, he gave him a curt nod and left the room, travelling down the long flight of stairs to the front door. Thoughts swirled in his mind as he hailed their driver. He figured you had seen him with Timothée the night before, and that was what had prompted your call. Perhaps he’d have better luck getting information out of you than he had with Timothée. He hopped into the backseat, relaying the address you’d given him to the driver, trying to put the pieces together.

Meanwhile, you were preparing for his arrival. You wore a simple shift dress with a long string of pearls and wave in your hair as you laid out on the loveseat.

“Why are you having him all the sudden? Hasn’t he lived in the city for awhile now?” Jordan asked, sitting down on the coffee table in front of you.

“Well... because I’m setting you two up, of course!” you replied with a teasing grin, feigning innocence. You weren’t sure if even you knew your true intentions behind having your cousin come to visit, if you were honest with yourself.

On cue, the doorbell sounded.

Nick was greeted by the butler who kindly welcomed him and escorted him into the parlor where you were chatting idly with Jordan. You sat up, peeking at him over the back of the sofa. “Cousin Nicky! Oh, you are so much taller than I remembered you! My goodness, just look at you! You are a real charmer now,” you beamed, making him blush and look at his shoes a bit.

“Oh, stop it, Y/N,” he grinned. You hopped up, hurrying over to him and enveloping him in a tight hug. Something about seeing him eased anxiety pinching in your chest. Nick grinned and hugged you back, relishing how familiar you were to him even after so long.

“Look at me? Look at you! You’re a star, darling,” he flattered, giving you a little spin and making you giggle. Nick felt the warm glow radiating off of you that always lured everyone in, making you so irresistible. However, unlike the others, he could also still see that little girl who had performed loud and proud to all their captive family members at every Sunday brunch. You’d always been a crowd pleaser, often to a fault.

Jordan cleared her throat a bit, reminding you of her presence. “Oh, yes! Nicky, this is my best gal, Jordan,” you said, gesturing to her. She approached Nick, allowing him to take her hand and press a gentle kiss against the back of it. Jordan was tall with an athletic build and an overwhelming aura of confidence. He had short, black hair that framed her sharp facial features, but warm eyes full of mischief. Nick was instantly intrigued and also incredibly intimidated.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she smiled, trying to play nice though it was hardly in her nature.

“The pleasure is mine,” Nick replied coolly, giving her his charming smile.

The afternoon was spent over tea and sandwiches and scones, the three sharing many laughs and stories, becoming acquainted with one another. The girls spoke of show biz while Nick expressed his newfound interest in writing.

However, you were all interrupted by the arrival of the man of the house. You stiffened a bit at first but quickly slipped back into yourself. “Darling, you’re home!” you cooed, hopping up and wrapping yourself around his arm.

James grinned, giving you a little spin, completely opposite of his attitude that morning. “Hello, doll,” he hummed, pulling you to meet his lips.

Nick tried to hide his shock and sipped his tea. He felt silly for thinking she lived in this big house alone, but he really hadn’t even considered a husband being in the picture. He took the man in as he stood to shake his hand; he was average height with a stocky gait and, though he was dressed as a businessman, he was clearly disheveled and smelled of alcohol. Jordan let out a little sigh at his presence before getting up and fixing a cocktail.

Nick struggled not to grimace as James took his hand, giving it a hardy shake. “You must be Nicky, my girl’s cousin. Nice to meet you. James Elliot is the name” he greeted.

“It’s just Nick, actually, but it’s nice to meet you too. I’m afraid I really should be going-“

“Oh don’t be ridiculous! You must stay for dinner,” you interjected, hoping he could sense your underlying tone.

Nick forced a little smile. “Alright, Y/N. I would hate to be a burden.”

The group gathered around the table making idle chat over a chicken dinner. You giggled over James’ every word and spoke as if everything was a shade of rose, nauseating Nick and Jordan who kept matching sideways glances at each other. It was as if you were playing a scripted role. About three quarters of the way through dinner, however, the phone rang from the parlor, silencing you in the middle of your story. Nick sensed tension settle over the table and watched curiously as James hopped up to answer it. He quirked a brow at Jordan, but she simply shrugged and sipped on her wine. You were quiet for the first time that evening, looking down at your food with sickness settling in your stomach. Nick could see that James was smiling into the phone before he hung up and returned to his place at the head of the table.

“Who was calling, James? It seems a bit late,” Jordan questioned.

“Oh, just business,” he replied nonchalantly.

The phone began to ring again.

You audibly sighed, giving James a look. Every night, it was the same game; only this was even more humiliating with your cousin there. You never asked because you didn’t want to know. Maybe because you already did. He placed a warning hand on your shoulder and squeezed as he brushed by to go answer the phone for the second time, making your hands shake.

As James left again, you stood, deciding you’d had enough. You stepped out onto the patio attached to the dining room and fought to breathe. The anxiety attacks had come for about as long as you could remember, but they’d recently evolved into near episodes. Your knuckles were white around the railing as you stared across the bay through tear-fogged eyes, trying to get a grip. You barely registered the sound of Nick stepping out onto the balcony with you.

“Y/N, are you alright? What’s wrong, darling?” He couldn’t help but feel protective over you despite all the time you’d spent away from each other.

You swallowed the knot in your throat, trying to focus enough to speak. “I think everything is pretty terrible, Nicky.”

He took your hand in his, his back against the railing as he faced you with pleading eyes. “Why do you say that?”

“I have everything. I found everything I wanted in life, but it’s never enough.” You continued to stare blankly out at the water. “I fight every day to stay ignorant, to be a beautiful fool. That’s the best thing a girl can be in this world.”

Nick watched you sadly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Never could he have imagined the girl he’d seen on the stage the night before coming home to be the wilted flower before him. He gently tugged on your hand, pulling you into a hug. You relented, feeling some of the tension release from your chest as you exhaled against his shoulder. Nick was just as safe as you’d remembered.

***

After a few awkward, tension-filled goodbyes, Nick and Jordan were escorted out to their drivers.

“It was nice to meet you,” Nick said, trying to be polite despite the obvious discomfort the evening had brought.

“He’s sneaking around with girls from the club,” she said bluntly, stopping Nick in his tracks.

He stared at her dumbly, trying to understand.

“I thought everyone knew,” she sighed, kicking at the gravel. “You know he owns the speakeasy, don't you? He’s sneaking around on Y/N, but she won't confront him because she’s afraid he won’t let her keep performing. He’s given her everything she has here.”

Suddenly, everything you had said on the balcony made sense. Nick ran his hand over his face, still speechless. “I-I just.. wow, um-“

“Yeah.” Jordan was your only confidant through everything that had been going on, and though she carried the weight like a champ, she did ache for you. The only reason she didn’t take things into her own hands was for your sake. “Well, Nick. I’ll see you around,” she said finally, giving him a sad smile before climbing into her cab. Nick did the same, feeling about a thousand pounds heavier than when he had arrived. It wasn’t until then that he remembered his mourning roommate back home. How was he going to relay all of this to him? Letting out a sigh, he laid his head back against the headrest, watching all the people and twinkling buildings pass by outside his window. Perhaps it could all just wait until tomorrow.

When he finally made it back to the mansion, Nick dragged himself up the stoop and inside. As he made his way up the staircase on his way to his room, he spotted Timothée in the same place he’d left him. He was gazing into the fire now with his script abandoned beside him.

“Aye, Tim. What are you still doing up?” Nick asked, leaning around the doorframe. Tim jolted and groaned, rubbing his eyes, clearly startled by his roommate’s return. Nick made his way upstairs toward his room, ready to be out of his suit and not yet ready to tell Timothée where he really had been and what he had learned while he was there.

Timmy held his head in his hands, his elbows propped against his knees. He’d spent the whole night concocting ideas of how he could see you without actually having to see you. All this along with feeling sorry for himself, of course. He’d imagined seeing you again for the past five years and yet, now that it was actually right before him, he had no idea what to do. He stood up with a heavy sigh, anger building internally with himself. Sipping down what was left of his whiskey, he resolved what he had to do.

Long legs carried him swiftly to Nick’s bedroom door where he knocked softly before opening it.

Nick raised a brow, in the process of getting changed. “What is it?” he questioned, seeing the slightly wild look in Timothée’s tired eyes.

“I need you to do me a really big favor.”

TAGLIST: @londonmademedoit @cathyoliveros10

[roman-writing]

two, across (8/8)

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Hilda Valentine Goneril / Lysithea von Ordelia

Rating: T

Wordcount: 14,256

Summary: Lysithea can barely keep afloat under the workload of giving undergrad lectures and finishing off her PhD thesis. Meanwhile Dr. Hilda V. Goneril is somehow both the laziest person as well as the most successful young professor she has ever known. It’s absolutely aggravating.

Author’s Note: Please be aware that one of the previous chapters has adult content, but that this chapter does not.

Read it here on AO3 or read it below the cut

According to Hilda -- whose opinion is the only one that counts in this matter, thank you very much -- they have been dating for over a year. It's very important that they've been dating this long, because Hilda has always refused to bring anyone home if she hasn't been dating them for at least a whole year. Meeting the family is no joke. Especially when it's her family.

They are big. They are loud. They are legion. And they are big. Did she already say they were big? Well, they are.

"Jesus, that man is big," Lysithea mutters under her breath.

Hilda glances around the airport terminal, and immediately spots him. It’s difficult not to. His head and shoulders stick out above the rest of the crowd waiting for loved ones to disembark. 

He wears the same faded plaid and jeans combo from forever ago. Even though Hilda knows from experience that the clothing size is all XXL, he still manages to give the appearance that his broad shoulders and biceps will burst through the seams at the slightest provocation.

He sees her, and waves.

Returning the wave, Hilda sighs. She adjusts her pink-lensed sunglasses, and shoulders both her and Lysithea’s bags. “Yeah. That’s him alright.”

Hilda begins to stride through the crowd towards him. Lysithea trails along in her wake. “Wait. Seriously? That’s your brother?”

“I’m, like, ninety-nine percent sure.”

When they get close enough, Holst envelops Hilda in a hug that lifts her a good foot off the floor, crushing the air from her lungs. She grunts.

“It’s good to see you!” He places her back on the ground, but doesn’t let go of her shoulders. His brow furrows, and he gives her a once over. “Are you not eating enough? Look at you. Skin and bone.”

“Lay off, would you? You sound like Uncle Herrick.” Hilda shrugs his hands off, so she can readjust the bags before they fully slip down her arms.

“You know he and everyone else want to come over this weekend, right?”

“That better be a joke, Holst.”

“You rarely visit, and everyone wants to see the menagerie. Who am I to tell them they can’t see you?”

“I told you: no cousins! No uncles! Just you and dad!” As she lists them off, she drives a finger against one of his bulging pecs, and glowers up at him. “You two are enough to scare away potential suitors as it is.”

Holst is entirely unrepentant. “If they can’t handle me and dad, then there’s no way they could survive you.”

“Oh, fuck off.” 

Throughout the entire exchange, Lysithea has been standing to the side, watching them, silent. When Holst’s head swings in her direction, she blinks owlishly. 

Everything Lysithea thinks, she wears on her face. Every thought. Every passing notion. Even from a distance, Hilda can always tell what's running through her head. If a student asks a question that Lysithea thinks is dumb, her tiny shoulders will hunch up around her ears like she's trying to physically restrain herself from saying aloud what she really thinks.

Hilda likes to play a game. It is a dangerous game. One that involves saying increasingly outrageous things just to see what new expression it might elicit on Lysithea's face. 

So far, she is winning.

Right now, Lysithea looks belligerent. Her lower jaw is held forward the way it does when someone tall doesn’t notice her existence, and nearly walks over her. Hilda had seen that happen once in a grocery story. The man had fled from Lysithea’s wrath like a dog with its tail between its legs, while Hilda had gleefully witnessed the whole thing from the sidelines. 

Holst must notice the look in Lysithea’s eyes, too, for he holds out his hand almost warily. “You must be Dr. Ordelia. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Holst.”

Immediately, the tension melts from Lysithea’s shoulders. She clasps Holst’s hand, and her own is utterly dwarfed by Holst’s massive paw. “Just Lysithea, please.”

Hilda rolls her eyes, and grumbles at her brother. “Wow. Really?”

Holst pulls his hand back, and gives her an innocent look. “What?”

“Why don’t you ever call me doctor? Huh?”

“I changed your diapers.”

“Well, whoop-de-fucking-do. You change one diaper, and suddenly twelve years of academic experience means fuck all.” Hilda tosses him one of the bags. “Here. Make yourself useful, Muscles for Brains.”

Holst catches the bags as though he had been expecting them to be flung at him much earlier. He smiles, and his teeth are as annoyingly perfect as ever. He has always looked like a poster boy for dentistry aimed at young veterans with hereditary gigantism. Square-cut jaw. Brown-eyed. Sandy-blonde hair that’s somehow immaculately coiffed and artfully messy all at once. She wants to ruffle his hair just to mess it up, but she knows it will only make him look better. Curse their good genes. 

He draps an arm around her shoulders, and ignores her squawk of protest to pull her into another bear hug. He kisses the side of her face. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Duh. I’m amazing. And you need to shave.” She shoves at his face to very little effect. “Your stubble is all scratchy.”

Holst lets her go. He runs an experimental hand over his jaw. “Thought I’d go for a clean lumberjack look. Is it not working?”

“Do you have dad’s straight razor at the house?” Hilda asks, waiting for his nod. “I’ll fix you up tonight, then. Now, where are you parked? I need a shower and a change of clothes.”

Jerking his head, Holst begins walking in that same direction. “This way.”

He leads them out and across the parking lot. The pickup truck that he drives gleams like it is owned by a pampered business executive and not a jock wannabe. When Holst tosses one of their bags into the cab, he says, “You two packed light.”

“I had to smuggle seven extra outfits from Hilda’s bag when she wasn’t looking,” Lysithea says, pulling at one of the door handles to open it.

“And she let you live?” Holst lets out a long appreciative whistle. “She really must love you.”

“I like to think so.” Lysithea’s tone is dry, but she flashes Hilda a small smile that warms all the way down to her toes.

For all the vehicle’s oversized cab -- with factory made sides no less, which Hilda has always told him are useless because she’s right -- it has no proper backseat. Trust Holst to buy a utility vehicle with literally no utility upsides. He could fit a whole five more sheep in the tray if he’d bought the model she recommended. What a waste. 

“Smallest goes in the middle,” Holst informs Lysithea as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “Normally that’s Hilda, but today it’s you. Them’s the rules.”

Lysithea shoots Hilda an incredulous glance. “You’re the small one in the family?”

“The littlest of them all,” Holst confirms with a grin.

Hilda gives him the middle finger, which only succeeds in making his grin widen. She clambers into the vehicle after Lysithea, who is small enough that she needs a boost to get her up the first step.

“She’s also the only girl. Various aunts who married into the family don’t count,” Holst adds while he does up his seatbelt.

“This explains so much,” Lysithea says in an almost wondrous tone. 

“Yeah.” Hilda slams the door behind her. “Like how it’s a miracle that I turned out so awesome when I was raised by these bozos.”

Holst doesn’t start the car until everyone’s seatbelts are in place. He checks, like an absolute dad. Only then does he turn the key in the ignition. The engine rumbles to life.

“Excuse me,” he murmurs politely to Lysithea as he reaches for the gear stick. It’s between her knees, and she has to widen her legs a bit so he can throw the truck into gear.

“How far is your family’s place from the airport?” Lysithea asks.

“Forever,” Hilda answers, already gazing out the window in glum anticipation of the long drive.

“About three hours.” Holst flicks on the radio. “Middle seat gets control of the tunes. Don’t let Hilda bully you into picking a pop station.”

“At least there’s one upside to this seat.” Lysithea reaches forward and begins fiddling with the dials. She switches from the news station that Holst prefers and which never fails to bore Hilda out of her mind.

Hilda could have kissed her. Then, remembering that she is allowed, she does just that. She leans over to press a quick smooch to the side of Lysithea’s head.

Lysithea does not stop scrolling through various radio stations. “What was that for?”

“What? Is it against the rules to shower my super cute girlfriend with affection?”

“It is when I’m in the car,” Holst grumbles. He pulls on the steering wheel to round a corner, clearly indicating for the full three seconds as legally required.

At that, Hilda taps on Lysithea’s shoulder. “C’mon. Make out with me.”

Not even bothering to look away from the radio, Lysithea pushes Hilda’s face away with one hand.

Holst chuckles. “Okay. I like you already.”

“I’m very likeable,” Lysithea fires back without a moment’s hesitation. She tunes the radio to a classical station.

Holst’s expression brightens. He does not take his eyes off the road. “Oh! Mendelssohn!”

With a great groan of complaint, Hilda leans her head against the window. “Oh my god. I’m going to die in this dumb truck before we even make it to the hills.”

Her brother and her girlfriend start chatting about classical music, which is normally enough to send Hilda directly to sleep. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Except that now it’s noon, and she’s already had two cups of burnt coffee on the plane. Her leg jitters with caffeine. It’s going to be a long journey home. 

Fifteen minutes into the drive, Hilda is bored. She plays with the lock mechanism on her door, flicking the switch over and over in various patterns in time with the music. She makes it into a game, trying to find the best rhythm. 

“I’m amazed Hilda hasn’t tried to wrest power from the Radio Throne yet.”

Lysithea smooths an absent-minded hand over Hilda’s jean-clad knee. “She can pick the next station in an hour.”

“Thank god,” Hilda mutters. 

"Since you clearly have witch-like powers -" Holst begins. "No offence. I am simply stating a fact."

"None taken," Lysithea says.

"But since you clearly have witch powers, then perhaps you can convince Hilda to write to me more often."

Hilda locks and unlocks the car door a few more times. "I told you: I'm busy."

Holst lifts one hand from the wheel to mime little air quotes. "Busy. Is that what we're calling it these days?"

"Just because I take the time to look after myself doesn't mean I'm not working on a squillion things at once. It's called 'work life balance.' Look it up."

"Never heard of her," Lysithea says.

Hilda sticks out her tongue at Lysithea. "Yeah, I know you haven't, Miss Workaholic."

"That's Doctor Workaholic, I'll have you know." Lysithea turns back to Holst. "And I'll see what I can do."

"Traitor," Hilda says. 

It's not that she doesn't like receiving a constant stream of letters from her brother. It's just that he always comes off as so needy. She would rather be blonde than appear needy. 

Lysithea points to Holst. "Is that also Hilda's original hair colour?"

Holst nods. He runs a hand through his hair, which only makes it appear even more artfully disheveled. "It sure is. She's had it dyed different colours since the age of -- oh, I don't know -- thirteen?"

"Are there pictures?"

At that, Hilda snaps upright from her slumped position. She rounds on Holst with murder in her eyes.

He ignores her, like someone with a death wish. "So many pictures. I'll show you when we get there."

"Thank you. I'd like that," Lysithea tells him.

Hilda mouths at Holst over Lysithea's head. 'I'll kill you.'

She grunts when Lysithea elbows her lightly in the gut. "Don't be a hypocrite," Lysithea drawls. "I've heard it's very last season."

Before long, the cityscape outside gives way to sparse towns, then to nothing but trees and mountains as far as the eye can see. Which isn’t very far. A cold mist clings to the peaks, and flecks the windows as they begin to ascend. Slowly. Painfully slowly. Holst may be the proud owner of a douchebag truck, but he takes every switchback like he’s an old lady driving on the edge of a cliff. If she were the one driving, it would only take them two hours to reach the house.

Hilda isn’t allowed to drive with him in the car for a reason. But she only almost killed them on the road once! And it wasn’t her fault!

Okay, maybe four times. So what?? He’s such a big baby.

When Hilda begins to rummage through the glove compartment to find new means of entertainment, Lysithea absently reaches over to take her hand. Toying with Lysithea’s fingers provides enough distraction for exactly twelve minutes, at which point Hilda bends down to shuffle through her handbag for her phone. She unlocks the screen.

No reception. Fucking typical.

Flinging the phone back into her bag, Hilda crosses her arms with a huff. “For the love of god, please tell me you’ve installed wi-fi at the house.”

Holst pauses in his animated discussion of seventeenth century syncopation with Lysithea to say, “Sorry. You’re going to have to actually interact with family during your visit. It’ll do you good. You spend too much time on your phone as it is.”

Hilda buries her head in her hands. 

She feels Lysithea pat her on the shoulder in a commiserating fashion. “Do you want to pick the radio station?”

Immediately Hilda’s head jerks up. “Yes.” 

Lysithea lets her pick the music the rest of the ride into the mountains, and it’s the best because Holst can’t complain even though Hilda can see his jaw twitching in that way that means he desperately wants to go back to his boring news talk show. But middle seat picks the radio station. Them’s the rules. And if middle seat says Hilda gets to pick the radio station, then that’s set in stone, baby.

Hilda perks up when she finally spots the sign for the village of Locket, which heralds the last twenty minute stretch of drive to her family’s house. The afternoon has well and truly set in now. Hilda’s stomach growls at the sight of the local pub on the street corner. Its familiar faded sign is comforting in the way only unchanging things can be. 

People wave at Holst’s truck as they trundle along the main drag. Despite the mist still dampening the cool air, Holst stops the truck and rolls down his window at one point to exchange neighborly words with Uncle Henrick’s youngest boy, who Hilda remembers best as a sulky nine year old. 

“Who’s that?” Lysithea whispers for Hilda’s ears alone.

“A cousin. I’m related to basically everyone in this valley.” Hilda waves out the window as her cousin peers inside. “Hiya, Hayden!”

Hayden tips his cap back to get a better look at them. “Oh, hey, Hilda! Holst mentioned you’d be back in the area.”

“Just for the weekend,” Hilda confirms. 

“That’s a shame.”

Hilda lowers her voice so that Hayden and Holst can’t hear, “It really isn’t.”

Holst pulls away from the curb, not because someone is behind him -- there aren't enough people in Locket to rustle sheep let alone the will to use a car horn. Besides, chances are that if you honked at somebody, you'd get a telling off from your mother for being shitty to a cousin later that night over dinner. That or you just get into a good honest blood feud over firewood during wintertime.

No, the reason why Holst hurries along is because the sun is starting to set on the mountains to the west, and dad can't cook for himself anymore. Holst apologises to Hayden for as much, and Hayden waves them along with the promise to talk to Uncle Herrick for them about rotating some of the cows over to another field for grazing. 

Hilda hates that she knows exactly what they're talking about. Hell, her first ever degree was in large animal sciences before she realised that she never wanted to stick her arm up a cow ever again, thank you very much. 

The truck trundles along through the village. The main drag of Locket is the only paved road in these parts. Holst turns left and onto dirt. For all that Hilda berates her brother for his poor taste in vehicles, at least his truck can take all terrain. 

The side of her head bounces against the window, dislodging her sunglasses. "Are you trying to hit every pothole between here and the moon?”

“You know it's impractical to gravel everything apart from the driveway,” Holst counters. 

Their bodies sway as he hits yet another pothole. Hilda adjusts her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose with a huff of irritation. 

“I thought it was cute,” Lysithea says. “The town, I mean.”

“Village,” both Holst and Hilda say at the same time.

“It’s not a town,” Holst clarifies, when Lysithea gives them each an odd look.

Hilda nods, but only because the truck’s tyres are bobbing her up and down like a jackhammer. “Town is where the bigwigs live. Or, as we like to call them: ‘townies’.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Lysithea mutters under her breath. “How many people actually live out here?”

“About .09 people every hectare. Which is to say: three hundred and seven inhabitants,” Holst answers.

Hilda’s eyebrows shoot up over the rims of her sunglasses in surprise. “Oh, shit? Who died? Was it Great Uncle Hartwig? My money was on Great Uncle Hartwig.”

“You are vulgar for taking part in that betting pool.”

“But was it him?”

“No, it was not.”

Hilda raps her knuckles against the dashboard. “Damn.”

“Yes, we are all very sad that Great Uncle Hartwig is still alive,” Holst says dryly. 

The dirt road twists and turns all along the hills. They pass paddocks full of cows and mobs of sheep. The grass is so green it makes Hilda glad she'd brought her sunglasses, even though the sunlight is hidden behind the thick mist that shrouds the mountains. 

Holst rounds another bend, and the dirt road gives way to gravel. They drive along for another minute before the house finally comes into view. 

The house is everything that Hilda is not. Rustic, and tidy, and homey. It’s why she always frequents Claude’s bar. She likes the woodsy feel. It makes her feel at home.

Also, Claude is cute, and good company, with great taste in little underground live bands. Plus the drinks are killer.

Hilda undoes her seatbelt, and hops out of the truck before Holst even had time to shut off the engine. She offers a hand to help Lysithea down, and then reaches into the back for their bag. One of the herding dogs comes hurtling from the house towards them, and Hilda has to shoo it away. 

"No, Brindle! Down! Brindle! This is Gucci!!" Hilda pushes the dog away before it can make a complete mess of her outfit, but it's too late. There's already dog fur ingrained into the fabric of her black slacks. She sighs in resignation. 

Lysithea pets the dog when it snuffles around her feet, its tail wagging excitedly. She quickly retracts her hands, though. 

“Oh.” Lysithea scrunches up her nose. “He’s quite filthy.”

“He’s one of our working dogs,” Hilda points out. “We don’t let him in the house. I would recommend washing your hands before eating.”

Lysithea is already wiping her hands off on her skirt. “Noted.”

Holst is the first in the house. He bellows their arrival with a single "We're home!!" while taking off his boots in the narrow hallway that acts as an atrium. While Hilda and Lysithea are taking off their own shoes, they can hear another voice from further inside the house calling back to them. 

Hilda sets their bags down before walking further along. She makes sure Lysithea is following while they traverse the familiar twists and turns of the sprawling single-story farm house. Everything is wood accented. The white-painted walls and panelled floors and exposed beams. Everything is also properly sized for Hilda's family, which means that Lysithea looks like a pale doll walking through a human house. All of the shelving is higher, all the pictures hung at a level where Hilda and Holst can see but which Lysithea has to crane her neck to simply catch a glimpse of. And when they enter the living room, all of the furniture is massive.

Dad sits on his old leather armchair in front of the television. A stack of books and magazines are piles precariously at his elbow. An empty cup of tea teeters atop one the books. The television is on, but his gnarled fingers fumble with the remote for a few seconds while he figures out how to mute it without stabbing a million other buttons at the same time. 

Her father struggles to his feet. He has to push himself up from the chair, painstakingly slow. Hilda bites back the urge to help him; he would’ve hated it. Watching him makes her chest tighten, as though her sternum is trying to meld with her spine. 

He used to stand taller than Holst and just as broad. Her memories of him are always of a man with energy and exuberance to spare. Now he stoops. His hands shake, his fingers gnarled and worn to the bone beneath skin that’s paper-thin. 

Hilda hugs him as soon as he’s on his feet. He pats her on the back, then uses a heavy hand on her shoulder to steady himself. 

“You’re taller,” he says. 

“You’re shorter,” she replies. 

He squints at her, as though suspicious. His eyes are magnified behind the thick lenses of his glasses. Hilda dreads the day that her own eyesight deteriorates to that stage. Dior does not make prescription glasses that thick. Her amassed collection of sunglasses is already in need of a fresh trip to the optometrist as it is. 

His gaze swings past her and lands on Lysithea, who stands behind Hilda. He nods at her, a jerky motion more than anything else, and says, "You must be Hilda's new beau."

Lysithea clears her throat. "Ah. Yes. Hi."

"What he means to say -" Hilda fills in for her dad, "- is 'It's so nice to meet you, Hilda's super cute and awesome girlfriend! My name is Harald! Welcome to my ancestral home, where generations of Gonerils have been born and raised!"

"Don't call me Harald," Harald grumbles. 

"Dad. It's your name."

"It makes me sound old."

"You are old."

"Months without visiting, and then two minutes at home and already you slander your poor martyred father." He gestures at Lysithea and then at Hilda. "You see what I have to put up with?"

Hilda puts her hands on his wrists. "Okay. I'm going to drop you to the floor now."

"My point exactly." Rather than complain, he pats at her arms. "Help me back into my seat."

She does. It takes a while. His legs don't want to support him properly, and his back doesn't seem to want to bend. 

"Where’s your cane?" Hilda asks, when she's finally got him situated back in his chair. She turns to where Holst is leaning in the kitchen doorway. “Holst, where’s his cane?”

Holst shrugs. “I saw it before I left.”

From the sidelines, Lysithea reaches behind a chair and produces a darkly polished wooden cane. “Is this it?”

Hilda takes it, and props it against the armrest of her dad’s chair. “Stop losing this.”

“It makes me look old.”

“Oh my god. Dad.” 

He ignores her. "Hilda, go help your brother make dinner."

Hilda whines, "Holst doesn't need my help. He's fine."

"Actually -" Holst begins from the kitchen doorway.

"Nobody asked you," Hilda says. Then she grabs the bags she had set on the ground. "Besides. I need a shower, and to give my girlfriend a tour of the place."

Dad grumbles, but he's now expended too much energy trying to sit back down to really argue. Once upon a time she would have needed to really wheedle her way out of making dinner, but these days all it takes is for her to be out of sight. Dad can't go racing after her anymore and haul her back over his shoulder to do chores while she pounds her tiny fists ineffectually against his back. Though in truth she wishes he still had that mobility. Seeing him like this is far worse.

Hilda tilts her head to one side, "C'mon. My old room is this way."

"It was nice meeting you," Lysithea says to Harald, who waves her away with a brief smile. 

Hilda has already started off down the hall, and Lysithea trots after her. Behind them they can hear the sound of the television starting up again in the living room. Hilda nods towards various doors and rooms as they go, giving a running notation of what everything is.

"That's the master bedroom. Dad sleeps there. Holst's room is over there. There's the downstairs bathroom for the living room. Here’s my room. It has its own ensuite bathroom, so we don’t have to fight Holst for it.”

“Let me guess -” Lysithea steps into the bedroom, which looks exactly as Hilda remembered. “-They gave you your own bathroom because you spent so much time in it that nobody else could use it.”

“I am insulted you would even suggest such a thing!” Hilda tosses their bags onto the bed, and begins to unpack. 

“That doesn’t mean: no.”

“Anyway!” Hilda changes the topic by gesturing to the room at large while she hangs her outfits in the closet. “This is where I grew up. Surrounded by farmland sans internet. Starved for culture.”

Lysithea joins her in unpacking. “You’re being a bit dramatic.”

“Who? Me?” Hilda pulls out her spare hair dryer, along with a whole host of emergency make-up supplies that were packed alongside Lysithea’s medication case. “But seriously, though. The nearest library is an hour away by car. And that’s only if the rain hasn’t flooded the main road into Locket.” 

“Where’s the school?”

“With the library,” Hilda answers from the bathroom. 

She arranges all of her supplies, and sets down Lysithea’s travel cup on the sink counter so that Lysithea can use it for her morning Routine. When she emerges from the bathroom, Lysithea has neatly unpacked the rest of their things in all the exact places that Hilda likes them to be. 

Hilda points in the direction of the kitchen. “Do you want a cup of coffee?”

Mischief crosses Lysithea’s face, and she says, “No, thank you.”

Hilda narrows her eyes. “What?”

With a nonchalant shrug, Lysithea says, “Nothing! I just saw all those picture frames over the fireplace earlier.”

For a moment, neither of them move or say anything. Then, Lysithea makes a dash for the bedroom door. She’s out before Hilda can close her in, and prevent her from seeing said photos. Hilda almost catches her in the hallway, but Lysithea’s height means she’s slippery and sly and difficult to grab hold of. 

Harald barely even glances up when the two of them barrel into the living room. Everything in this house is Goneril-Proof anyway. They couldn’t break things if they tried. And Hilda and Holst had tried before. Many many times. 

On the mantlepiece over the smoke-blackened fireplace, there are a host of picture frames cluttering around the riverstone chimney. Lysithea makes a bee line for them. Most are family reunion pictures. The family is too large to photograph altogether, so they are sectioned off by age group. Hilda is the only girl amidst a mountain of boys. 

“Tell me about this one,” Lysithea demands as she picks one up.

With a sigh, Hilda relents and does just that. 

There are a few other more personalised pictures. Hilda points to each of the ones that Lysithea asks about. There's mom looking young with her sandy-blonde hair before the cancer took care of all that at the age of fifty-two. There's her parents getting married. There's Holst at his first shooting competition. There's a baby picture of Hilda all swaddled up (and the cutest image on the shelf, if she does say so herself). 

Hilda tells stories about each of her cousins. Dad pipes in from the peanut gallery to add corrections or embellishments. About how Hans busted her tooth when they were kids and had to share a bed. About how she waged war on the boys by weaponising cow pats. How she would do anything to win -- scratch, bite, cry, you name it.

Lysithea leans forward on her toes to observer a photo down the back. It's a picture of Hilda at the age of twelve, a baby-faced version of herself that she hardly recognises. Dad had snapped it after her first successful hunt with Holst. The two siblings are frozen in a pose over a freshly killed buck. Holst is looking at her rather than at the camera, a broad smile splitting his face in two.

In the picture, Hilda is caught mid sentence. She holds the rifle easily at her shoulder. Her jeans are torn at the knees. Her hair is dishwater blonde and loosely gathered in a simple ponytail at the base of her neck. Her plaid is baggy and rolled up at the sleeves to reveal her scrawny forearms. Her chest is covered in a high-vis vest. A pair of Holst's dark sunglasses are perched atop her head. She used to always steal them when she was younger. 

Slowly Lysithea picks up the picture. "You look so different."

"Ugh. I know. It's awful." 

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Please. Look at me. I'm wearing -" Hilda shudders in disgust, "- sneakers."

Lysithea’s thumb traces over the edge of the picture frame. “I would’ve liked to have known you then.”

Hilda snorts. “No. You don’t. Trust me. I was a little shit.”

“And you aren’t anymore?”

Making a face at Lysithea, she continues. “Very funny. Besides, you would’ve been, like, seven. And even if you had been my age, I probably would’ve picked on you so hard.”

“I doubt that.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Edelgard would’ve had me assassinated.”

With a huff of laughter, Lysithea says, “I can’t imagine you being mean to me in any lifetime.”

“Listen. That’s flattering. Really. But I’ve seen pictures of you when you were younger, remember? And I know what I was like back then.” Hilda picks up another photo, this one of Holst holding Hilda in one arm, and the Commonwealth championship trophy she’d won at the age of fourteen in the other. Her hair is dyed a sickening electric blue in the photo, and her makeup is way way over the top. 

“Alright, then. I’ll bite.” Lysithea gestures with the picture in her own hand. “Why would you have picked on me?”

“Because you were so cute. Obviously. I mean you still are,” Hilda assures her, to which Lysithea just rolls her eyes. “But back then, I would’ve been super jealous. And also very in the closet to myself.”

“Ahh,” Lysithea nods in understanding. “You’re were one of those.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I got over it. Thank god. Still took me until the age of sixteen or so to realise I wasn’t jealous of other girls, I just wanted to kiss them. And their boyfriends. You know. Because I’m not a coward.” 

Placing the picture back on the mantlepiece, Hilda scrunches up her nose. She runs her finger along the varnished wood, and it comes up with a thick layer of dust. “Ew. Nobody ever cleans around here while I’m gone!”

“At least it’s tidy,” Lysithea points out. She places the other picture back, and discreetly wipes the dust from her own fingers off on her cardigan.

“What’s the point of things being tidy if they’re not clean? Excuse me. I need to go yell at my brother for polishing his Olympic medals, but nothing else.” Hilda turns and starts to march towards the kitchen.

 --

In the end, she does wind up helping with dinner despite her best protests. Lysithea is no help, either. When Hilda pokes her head from the kitchen, it’s to find that Lysithea has sat down on one of the couches and is engaged in conversation with dad. And they seem to be having -- Hilda has to check her sunglasses to make sure they’re the right prescription -- a good time. Unbelievable. 

Hilda’s only consolation is that she manages to weasle her way out of doing the dishes. She only feels slightly guilty when Lysithea and Holst do them together, chatting all the while. She did end up doing the bulk of the cooking, after all. No matter what Holst claims.

Instead, Hilda wanders back to her room for a shower. Short, because the hot water tank at the farm doesn’t last long, and she doesn’t want dad yelling at her on the first day of the trip. When she emerges from the bathroom amidst a billow of steam and wrapped in nothing but two towels -- one for her body, the other for her hair -- Hilda pauses in the doorway. 

Lysithea is curled atop the bed. Her legs are folded beneath her. She reads from a tablet loaded with more books than are contained in most libraries. Hilda knows. She's seen Lysithea's online library account. 

Hilda crosses the room, and jumps onto the free side of the bed. Lysithea does not look up despite the mattress bouncing beneath Hilda's weight. She is utterly engrossed in whatever book she is reading. 

"Whatcha reading?" Hilda asks. She takes off the towel wrapped atop her head, and pats her hair dry before tossing it back towards the bathroom. 

The tips of Lysithea's ears go an appealing apple red. "Nothing of interest."

Hilda immediately zooms in on the blush. It must have been a smutty book, in that case. "Oh, really? That's a shame."

Letting her hand smooth over one of Lysithea's knees, Hilda pretends that it's an idle motion. All the while she watches for a change in Lysithea's expression. The white stockings are fine beneath Hilda's palm. The corner of Lysithea's mouth twitches, and Hilda lets her fingers trail a little further up Lysithea's thigh. Just far enough to play with the edge of her skirt.

Still, Lysithea makes no comment. She continues reading in a valiant effort to ignore Hilda. 

"Soooo," Hilda drawls. Her hand continues to stroke along Lysithea's leg, but never too high to be considered indecent should they be happened upon by snooping older brothers. “Is my humble family abode everything you’d imagined and more?”

Lysithea taps at her tablet screen to turn the page in her book. “It sure is something.”

“Wow. Yikes. That bad, huh?”

“No, not bad. Just different. Not what I expected, knowing you.” 

“Would I fit in better if I wore cowboy boots and assless chaps?”

“I think you would rather die than be caught wearing something like that.”

“You underestimate the lengths I will go to for a bad joke.”

Lysithea snorts in amusement, and turns another page. “Well, if you do, then let me know. El would love a picture.”

“Oh, I’m sure she would.” 

A comfortable silence falls over them. Hilda memorises the pattern of the stocking beneath her hand. "I'm bored."

"Sucks for you."

"Can I go down on you?"

“Didn’t you just take a shower?”

“Yeah? And?”

Lysithea glances at her over the top of the tablet. Then she eyes the door. "How thin are these walls?"

Hilda taps her knuckles against the wall behind their bed. "Like bedrock."

From another room, they hear Holst sneeze. Clear as a bell.

"Surface bedrock," Hilda amends. "Compacted gravel, even. Okay, maybe more like asbestos. But that’s still a rock!"

Lysithea purses her lips, but there's a considering air to that particular furrow in her brow. It's the same expression she wears when she's offered one slice of cake too many, but is still tempted to eat.

"We don't have to," Hilda assures her. She swings her legs over the side of the bed. "I can go blow off steam by splitting wood."

"Is that a euphemism?"

"Nope." Hilda jerks her thumb towards one of the night-darkened windows. "There's an axe and a bunch of logs out back near the porch light. Out here, we always need firewood."

Just as she’s about to take a step towards the door, Hilda feels something pull at the edge of the towel. She turns. Lysithea has reached out and is pulling her back towards the bed. The towel is tugged free, and falls to the floor. Lysithea’s eyes have an intense look that never fails to make Hilda’s pulse spike. 

When Hilda flops back onto the bed beside her, Lysithea sets her tablet aside. She rolls over to straddle Hilda’s waist, steadying herself with hands at Hilda’s chest. 

“You’re going to have to be quiet,” Lysithea warns.

“I can be quiet! Can you?”

As it turns out, they both can. But one of the pillows suffers for it. 

--

Holst cooks breakfast the next morning. Hilda has to cut up dad's food for him, while bickering with her brother over the radio station, and Lysithea queries Harald about the farm. By the time Hilda is actually able to sit down and eat, her own food has gone cold.

Holst slides a cup of hot tea her way. "Here."

"Thanks," she sighs, taking a sip despite its scalding temperature. 

Holst lumbers into the spare seat beside Lysithea. He gently bumps her elbow with his own as he tucks into breakfast. "I thought you might like to go shooting this afternoon."

Lysithea blinks at him. "I've never handled any sort of firearm before."

"Don't worry. Hilda and I can show you the ropes." Holst winks at his sister. "Unless she's so rusty from living in town, that she can't tell which way to point the barrel."

In response, Hilda meets his gaze with a steely expression. "Oh, you're on, pretty boy."

"Excellent. I love wiping the floor with you."

"As if. I'm going to win, and I'm going to do it in style."

Chewing at his eggs and toast, Holst takes a moment to swallow before speaking. He gestures at Hilda with his fork. "You're not really going dressed like that, are you?"

Hilda rakes a hand through her long pink hair. "I said what I said."

He snorts. "Yeah. Alright. Sure."

"You couldn't rock this look, let alone do it while shooting."

Holst's chewing slows. He leans back in his seat, and pats at his mouth with a napkin. "Is that a challenge?"

She grins at him. "You bet your ass it is."

Dad stabs at his own eggs with a fork, and mumbles to Lysithea, "They've been this way since forever. You get used to it."

"If you say so," Lysithea says. She watches from the sidelines with an expression that is intrigued, but in a wary way. Like she half expects there to be bloodshed by the end of the day.

Rising to his feet, Holst tosses down his napkin. He points at Hilda. "You. Me. Bathroom. Now. Bring your girly hair products."

"Oh, fuck yes," Hilda breathes, shoving herself away from the table to stand. 

"Is this really a good idea?" Lysithea asks.

Neither Hilda nor Holst are listening. They are already racing each other to the restroom. Hilda has to take a diversion to shuffle around in her old room for the hair dye she had left behind from her last visit. After a minute or two of searching, she finally finds what she's looking for, and pushes her way into the bathroom, where Holst is draping a towel around his broad shoulders and getting his hair wet in the sink.

"Bleach first," Hilda instructs, leaning over the sink to help him. "We need to get your hair a lighter shade before putting any colour in."

He doesn't even ask what colour she'd picked. "Do your worst, Dr. Gonorrhea."

She brandishes the little bottle of bleach at him. "Call me that again. I dare you."

By the time they finish dying his hair, it's two in the afternoon. Hilda wields a hairdryer and a brush. Not that he needs to have his hair styled. Somehow, it always comes up perfect.

Holst admires himself in the mirror after she has finished. He runs a hand through his hair, which is now the same shade as her own. "Not bad."

“You’re welcome.” Hilda ruffles his hair, which only makes him look rakishly tousled. 

Leaning in the doorway, Lysithea says, "Now you two look like twins."

"Could be worse, I guess," Hilda shrugs and puts the hairdryer away. "Let's go shoot something." 

They take Holst's truck to an empty paddock facing the hills. There's already an Olympic sized skeet range in place there. Dad had installed it years and years ago, and Holst had been maintaining it ever since. 

Hilda takes out the munitions box, while Holst handles the soft shotgun cases. Lysithea follows after them with a wary expression when Hilda hands over hearing protection. 

"Keep them on unless the range master declares the range closed," Hilda says. 

Lysithea immediately puts the hearing protection over her head and ears. "Who's the range master."

"Me," both Hilda and Holst say at the same time.

Holst pulls a coin from his pocket. "Heads or tails?"

"Tails."

He flips it. Glimmer of gold and aluminium, which he snatches out of the air and slaps onto the back of his hand.

Tails.

Hilda pumps her fist in triumph.

“And what exactly does it mean to be a range master?” Lysithea asks slowly.

“It means you have to do everything I say.”

“It means she’s in charge of the safety of the range until she leaves.” Holst starts taking firearms from their bags and propping them up on the stands beneath the firing platform awning. “And that we have to do everything she says.”

“Surely not everything,” Lysithea says.

Hilda points at Holst without looking at him. “Give me five push ups.”

Lysithea watches in horrified fascination as Holst sighs, drops to the ground, and does five push ups.

“See?” Hilda says smugly. “It’s rule number five. Which brings me to the next point: Safety.”

Holst finishes setting up while Hilda gives Lysithea the ‘Goneril Family Gun Safety Talk.’ 1) No pointing guns at other people even if unloaded, or you get a punch to the mouth. 2) No pointing guns in any direction other than down the range, or you get a punch to the mouth. 3) Treat every firearm as if it’s loaded, or you get a punch to the mouth. 4) No alcohol or other intoxicants on the range, or you get a punch to the mouth. 5) Obey the range master at all times, or the range master will personally punch you in the mouth. 

“Why is there so much punching in this?” Lysithea asks after number five. “This seems like the opposite of safety.”

“It’s part of the time honoured traditions of the Goneril Family of Idiot Boys and Also Hilda,” Hilda says, still holding up her hand where she had been ticking off each rule on her fingers. “Lastly, number six: only load a firearm when ready to fire, or you -”

“- Okay. Yeah. I get it.” Lysithea says. 

“Good!” Hilda claps her on the shoulder and steers her towards the platform. “You’re first.” 

“W-Wait. Me?” Lysithea glances at one of the shotguns as though it will suddenly rear up and bite her. 

“Relax. It will be fun. I promise.” Hilda puts on her own hearing protection, the muffs bright red. “Range open!” 

Holst immediately follows suit. His own pair of ear muffs are the same colour and brand, but older and faded from years of use. He drops down into a chair behind them, folding an ankle over his opposite knee, watching with the claybird machine remote in his hand. When Lysithea shoots him a nervous look, he flashes her a thumbs up and a grin. 

Under Hilda's instruction, Lysithea sets the shotgun firmly into her shoulder. Hilda uses her hands to guide Lysithea's legs apart so that her stance is more stable, and then places her hands on Lysithea's waist to steady her.

"Whenever you're ready. Just tell Holst to pull, and go for the claybird." Hilda gently squeezes Lysithea's hips. "And remember: try to keep your movements fluid. Track the target."

"Shouldn't we be starting off with something stationary?" Lysithea asks.

"Animals aren't stationary when you shoot them for the most part. Now, go ahead."

Hilda can feel Lysithea take a deep breath. Lysithea shrugs at the firearm, and then barks out firmly, "Pull."

There's a two second delay before the target zips across the air. Lysithea fires immediately, flinching from the shotgun before she has even pulled the trigger. She would've been blown back onto her butt if Hilda hadn't been standing directly behind her. 

Lowering the shotgun, Lysithea rubs at her shoulder with one hand. "Ow."

"You get used to it," Hilda assures her. "This is a pretty light shell as well. Tuck the shotgun into the meat here -" she rubs at the right spot on Lysithea's shoulder. "- and lean into it a bit. But don't flinch! It’s a bad habit!"

Lysithea’s jaw takes on that familiar bullish slant, and she hikes up the shotgun once more. “Pull.”

She misses. And again. After the fifth try, she finally manages to clip the claybird, which sends a puff of bright purple smoke trailing through the air. Lysithea turns to Hilda and Holst, flushed with pride, and Hilda has to grab her arms and point the shotgun back down the range.

“Rule number two!” Hilda reminds her.

“Sorry! Sorry.” Lysithea grimaces apologetically. “Please don’t punch me in the mouth.”

“Rules are rules,” Hilda says resignedly. And then kisses her.

Behind them, Holst yells, “Boooo! That’s not how the rule works!!”

Hilda flips him off while she’s still kissing Lysithea. By the time she lifts her head, Lysithea’s cheeks have gone pink, and her grip has slackened around the stock of the gun. Hilda taps the shotgun with her finger, and murmurs, “Seriously, though. Don’t break the rules.”

“Y-Yeah. Got it.”  

It takes Lysithea a few more rounds to be comfortable enough that Hilda doesn’t have to keep a steadying hand at the small of her back. But Hilda does so anyway. She strokes her thumb at the divot of Lysithea’s spine. Lysithea’s next shot misses wildly.

“You’re very distracting,” Lysithea mutters. 

“I could be more distracting.”

From behind them, Holst cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “Rule number seven: No hands on butts, or you get a punch to the mouth!”

“That’s not a rule!” Hilda shouts back.

“It is now!” Holst stands and approaches one of the other stations beneath the platform. He picks up a shotgun from the rack, and tosses the claybird remote to Hilda. “Pull for me, so I can get a higher score than you.”

With ease Hilda catches the remote. “You talk a big game for someone who still hasn’t beat my high score.”

“Only one Goneril sibling has won an Olympic medal, and it’s not you.” 

Hilda gives Lysithea a quick peck to the cheek, before turning away from her to confront Holst. She crosses her arms. “If I win, you have to take us to the the pub for dinner with your hair the way it is.”

“Fine.” He loads two shells, and then snaps the shotgun into place. “And if I win, then you dye my hair back to its normal colour, and acknowledge that I am The Supreme.”

Hilda rolls her shoulders, cricking her neck back and forth. "Alright. Let's do this."

From the sidelines, Lysithea raises one of her hands. “Do I shoot as well, or -?”

“You see that over there?” Hilda points at a mound of dirt with what looks like a rack of spoons dangling from a steel bar. “That’s a reactive target. Go for those, while I show this guy who’s boss, and then we’ll go back to pulling for you. Or, you can put the gun down, and watch if you prefer.”

“Alright.” Lysithea breaks the shotgun in two, and throws the shells in one of the bins just like Hilda showed her. Much to Hilda’s surprise, Lysithea reaches for another two shells and loads them into the over-under barrels. 

Behind her, Holst clears his throat.

Hilda turns back to him. “Yeah, yeah. Keep your tighty-whities on.”

He shoulders the shotgun. "Pull."

She clicks the button on the remote. A three second delay, and two claybirds zoom out across the air. Holst's movements are fluid, controlled, and precise. He seamlessly tracks the projectiles one after the other, and utterly obliterates them.

"Pull."

In the end, it's a near perfect set. It would have been perfect had it not been for Lysithea sneezing to the side. Hilda could have kissed her, but Lysithea apologises so much that neither Hilda nor Holst believe for a second that it was done on purpose. Holst is a good sport when he's not facing off against family members, and he pats her on the arm good-naturedly. 

Finally, Holst offers the shotgun to Hilda. They swap out the gun and the remote. Hilda takes his position. She rolls her shoulders and adjusts her pink-tinted sunglasses to calm herself. The firearm is a familiar weight in her hands. Even years after giving up the sport, holding a shotgun in her hands feels like breathing fresh air. 

"Getting cold feet?" Holst asks. 

Hilda tosses her head, and sniffs. "You wish."

Lysithea has stopped shooting, and her shotgun is leaning up against the stand. She observes from the sidelines next to Holst. Suddenly there’s a prickle of sweat running between Hilda’s shoulder blades, despite the fact that the air holds a chill, and the mountains are shrouded in dense fog. Hilda wishes that she had opted to wear a scarf along with her classic Burberry trenchcoat. 

Turning back towards the range, Hilda says, "Pull."

It's a perfect set. Hilda celebrates like she’s fourteen again and just won a tournament. Holst drops down to his knees and clutches his pink hair with a groan. Beside him, Lysithea golf-claps politely, even as she assures Holst that she personally thinks he looks very nice. 

Pushing to his feet, Holst concedes defeat. "Guess dinner's on me."

"Damn right it is," Hilda says far more confidently than she had felt just minutes before. She unloads the shotgun, and then hands it back to her brother. "Here you go."

They trade, remote for shotgun again. "You don't want to keep going?"

"After that set? No way. Better to end on a good note." 

Hilda walks back over to stand beside Lysithea, who slips an arm around her waist and leans her head against Hilda's arm. She is warm, and her pale hair is soft. Feeling like she is floating on a cloud, Hilda kisses the top of her head. Hilda can feel a thrill of pleasure working its way into her lungs like she's taken a sip of warm tea. 

Another hour or so passes before the sun starts its descent, and the winds pick up speed. Hilda declares the range closed. They pack up, and clamber back into Holst’s bro truck.  

"Is your dad going to be okay on his own tonight?" Lysithea asks when Holst starts the truck.

"He'll be fine," Holst assures her. "I cooked him dinner already. It's in the fridge, so he can just heat it in the microwave."

The truck trundles its way down the one of many dirt paths that run along the farm to various paddocks. As they pass, a few curious cows lift their heads and watch them go by. The sheep shy away from the noisiness of the vehicle, but are otherwise unconcerned. Hilda strikes up a conversation with her brother about when he's planning on tupping this season and if that new ram panned out. Holst enthusiastically tells her everything about his plans. 

It takes a good twenty minutes to drive down to the main drag of Locket. The farm roads are steep in some places, and Holst drives like an arthritic grandma. By the time they arrive at the pub, the sky has darkened to a dark lavender grey, and Hilda is starving. 

Hilda holds open the door to the local watering hole. Holst goes in first, and is immediately flocked to by a group of local girls. From the doorway, Hilda watches, mouth agape, as her brother does the big bashful gentle giant act, and they all fall for it. Hook, line, and sinker. 

As he’s being dragged away by both hands, Holst mouths over his shoulder at her, ‘I told you so.’ 

Hilda rolls her eyes. She stomps over to a free booth, and sits down, followed by Lysithea, who sits across from her. When a waiter comes over to take their orders, Hilda gets the strongest drink she can find on the menu to go with their meals. 

"God,” she groans. “He's going to be so insufferable later." 

"You two really are related," Lysithea teases.

Hilda shoots her a warning glance. "Don't."

Holding up one hand in surrender, Lysithea grins around her soda. 

Their meals arrive. People periodically wander up to their booth to talk to Hilda. They use small talk and catching up with Hilda after so long as an excuse to snoop. Word of Lysithea has whipped through the small town like wildfire. Hilda does her best to shoo people away with her usual charm, or -- failing that -- painfully sweet passive-agressiveness. 

For the most part it works. There are still those that aren’t the least bit dissuaded, despite Hilda’s best efforts. Luckily, Lysithea is as immune to small country, backwater charm as ever. She takes every new introduction in stride, coolly shaking hands, and nursing her sodas. Meanwhile, Holst is making the rounds. The belle of the ball. As usual. 

Hilda sighs, and orders another drink along with an extra basket of wedge-cut fries. 

Lysithea abstains from alcohol, but Hilda indulges just a little. She doesn’t realise she’s a little buzzed until she catches herself watching Lysithea over the top of her glass, and thinking about all the ways she could try to get Lysithea to sneak around the back of the pub and make out with her. The thought of pinning her against a wall and slipping a hand through a gap in that button down shirt sends a flush rushing to Hilda’s cheeks, and a heat directly between her legs. 

Lysithea is, of course, oblivious. Even after all this time, it takes all of Hilda’s blunt straightforwardness to get Lysithea’s pants off. Or skirt. Whatever. She looks cute in either. She looks cute in anything. And in nothing. 

Someone puts money in the old jukebox, and Hilda is genuinely surprised when music starts to play. She and her cousin, Hans, had broken that piece of junk back when she was seventeen. She could still see the dents from here. Holst must have paid to have it fixed. That, or he will have fixed it himself, like the cool and honourable guy she had always admired, loved, yet also resented.   

Said cool and honourable guy is currently gesturing at them from across the pub. 

“What on earth does he want now?” Hilda grumbles, and Lysithea turns in her seat, craning her neck to look at Holst.

Holst mimes dancing with his beer, and then points at the two of them. 

Okay. His ‘cool and honourable brother’ status has officially been rescinded. 

A few other people have indeed begun to clear a few chairs away to make space for dancing. They are pairing off. One of the girls who had been fawning over Holst earlier is now dragging him onto the dancefloor away from his beer and conversation with cousins. Meanwhile, Lysithea has hunched up her shoulders and is studiously staring into her half-empty soda as though the idea of dancing in front of a bunch of strangers causes her physical pain.

Hilda plays a bit of footsie with her under the table until Lysithea glances up at her. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Fuck Holst.”

The song has changed into something a little more classic yet lively. Old rock with a heavy strain of twelve bar blues. 

Lysithea lifts her head somewhat. Her pale hair is done up in a loose bun at the base of her neck, so that she looks like an escapee librarian from the 1930s. She tucks a loose strand behind one ear. “We could, if you wanted,” she says, eyes darting to Hilda. “I know you like dancing, even if it’s not something in which I typically partake.”

She wants to. She wants to so badly there's an ache in her chest. But Lysithea is watching her with an almost wary expression, like she expects Hilda to leap up and drag her onto the dancefloor without a moment's hesitation. That alone gives Hilda pause.

A few months ago, she would have done just that -- grabbed Lysithea at the first say so, and danced until Lysithea was pink in the face and needed to sit down to catch her breath. Now however, Hilda sits, frozen, in her seat. The old plasticky booth is somewhat sticky against her legs despite the cold. In the summer time it would be warm enough that you would have to scrape her bare thighs off with a spatula. The idea of pushing Lysithea too fast is, as always, a constant fear in the back of her head, like the buzzing of a phone alarm reminding her not to do what she usually does and fuck this up.

"No," Hilda says. "I'm fine."

At that, Lysithea blinks in surprise and -- surprisingly -- disappointment. "Oh. Alright. Do you want another drink? I think I'll get another drink."

The words are on the tip of Hilda's tongue, burning at her throat, wanting to retract what she said. Instead, she holds up her empty glass and waggles it back and forth. "Just water, thanks. I think I've had one too many of these."

"Okay. Be right back."

--

It's not too deep into the night before Holst wanders over to their booth. He shares a few snacks with them. He downs another beer. When he orders a third pint, Hilda holds out her hand for the keys to his truck and he promptly passes them over without complaint.

“Do you really think you should be driving?” Lysithea points out. “You’ve had a few tonight as well.”

Hilda swings the keys around her finger. “Can you reach the pedals?”

Glaring, Lysithea snatches the keys from her. “Give me those.”

In the end, Lysithea is the one to drive them home. The headlights cast the farm road in eerie shadows, and she drives extra slow to try to avoid as many pot holes as possible. 

The downside to Lysithea driving is that Hilda has to sit in the middle (which is The Worst). The upside is that Hilda can keep a surreptitious hand on Lysithea’s thigh the whole way. 

Back at the house, Lysithea takes off her shoes in the long entryway. Holst's muddy gumboots are neatly lined up against the wall beneath the series of wooden coat pegs. Out of force of habit of being on the farm again, Hilda takes off her own stylish boots, and immediately sinks down three inches. It means that the top of her head now barely reaches Holst's shoulders. 

She is seriously considering putting heels back on, when Lysithea says, "I think I'll take a shower."

"Want some company?" Hilda asks. 

Lysithea hums a contemplative note. "I’ll just take an actual shower, thanks."

"Boring," Hilda says in a sing-song voice, but winks at her anyway. "I'll come to bed in a bit."

With a wave, Lysithea wanders off through the spacious living room and down the hall. The house is dark. Presumably dad has already gone to bed. Lysithea leaves on a trail of lights as she goes. 

Holst waits until the door to the bedroom is shut before going after Lysithea and turning off most of the lights in her wake. Another force of habit. Hilda herself had to resist the urge to the same. Instead, she stands by the old chair that her father favours. The leather is cracked and shiny from years of use, but none of them had the heart to throw it out. It’s too comfortable. It holds too much emotional value. 

A knitted woolen blanket is thrown over one of the glossy arms. As a kid, Hilda had always thought that mom had made it. It wasn’t until she was older that she realised mom was truly terrible at knitting and sewing, and that dad had made it all along. 

Despite the long shadows cast over the house, Holst manoeuvres his way back through the living room with ease. The only light is that of the moon, the porch, and the sliver of pale yellowish light from beneath Hilda’s closed bedroom door, where Lysithea is having her shower. Neither of them need light to wander this house. Not when the layout hasn’t changed in over thirty years, and every creaky floorboard is firmly ingrained in their every childhood memory. 

Hilda nods towards him. “You looked good tonight.”

“I look good every night,” Holst says. 

She rolls her eyes. “Shut up, and accept my compliment.”

“Thank you. I will.” The grin slowly slips from Holst’s face. He clears his throat, and rubs a hand at the back of his neck. “Hey - uh - can we talk?”

“Oh, no. What’s wrong?” Hilda asks, already expecting the worst. 

“Nothing,” Holst says. When Hilda just arches a cool eyebrow at him, he shrugs and lowers his arm. “I appreciate that you’re just here for the weekend, but we need to discuss dad’s will before you go.”

Hilda darts a look over her shoulder. Lysithea is already in the shower; she can hear the roar of the pipes. Still, the walls in this house are thin. She lowers her voice to a hiss. “Can we please talk about this some other time?”

His brow is furrowed, but he keeps his voice to a low rumble rather than the usual raucous level their family employs. “I don’t understand why you’re so dead against taking ownership of the farm.”

“Because I have things I want to do with my life that don’t involve the latest in Rotary Milk Sheds Magazine.”

Holst brandishes an admonishing finger under her nose. “Now, I won’t hear a bad word said about RMS Mag in this house.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” 

“I can’t keep doing this forever, Hilda. Uncle Henrick and his boys are helping me out when they can, but there will come a time when you need to step up to the plate. Dad won’t live forever.”

“Yeah, thanks. I know that.”

“You wouldn’t even have to visit more often than you already do,” Holst says, and he’s using that annoying older brother voice like she’s six again. “We just need to sign some papers, and then arrange for a farm manager to act in your stead for the time being.”

Shaking her head, Hilda strides past him towards the kitchen. “I need a cup of coffee.”

“We’re out of freeze-dried.”

“Fine! Tea, then.”

He follows after her. He has to duck through the doorway so that his head doesn’t hit the arch. “Caffeine this late at night isn’t good for you.”

Hilda flicks on the kitchen light. She fills the electric kettle with water from the tap, and sets it to boil. “I’m thirty-one years old. I have a PhD. I’ll damn well have caffeine when I want to have caffeine.”

With a sigh, Holst lets it go. He steps by her and makes a start into the dishes that dad has left in the sink, because these days dad is too old and shaky to be cleaning his own chef’s knives let alone running a farm. 

The kettle boils, and Hilda grabs the jar of teabags that’s been in the same place since she was born. “Do you want a cup?”

Holst shakes his head. He has a dish towel draped over one massive shoulder. “No, thank you.”

She pours only a cup for herself, grabbing the bottle of fresh milk from the fridge and adding a healthy dollop. The tea isn’t nearly bracing enough, but it gives her something to do with her hands that doesn’t involve nervously wringing them together.

Warm water sloshes in the sink as Holst scrubs at a plate. “You’re awfully antagonistic this trip. More so than usual, I mean.”

The tea is too hot to drink quickly, but Hilda takes a large slurp anyway. “It’s almost like I expected to be ambushed by inheritance talks the moment I walked through the front door.”

“You’re acting like this is the end of the world.”

“I like what I do.” The porcelain sears between Hilda’s hands. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I worked hard to get there.”

“I know that.” 

Silence settles over the kitchen. Hilda taps her fingers against the mug. Her rings clack. They can hear the hiss of the shower from the other room shut off.

After a long moment, Holst says, “Lysithea’s nice. I like her way more than that last guy you brought home. The short one with the blue hair.”

She shoots him a scathing look. “Gee. Thanks.”

“I didn’t mean it like -” He breaks off with a sigh. Pulling the dishcloth from where it is draped over one shoulder, he begins drying everything that he has just cleaned. “I just want to see you settled down with someone nice. And I think she’s very nice. You’re calmer around her. And I think she would make a good addition to the family.”

Hilda lightly swats one of his brawny arms. "You didn't say any of this to her, did you? Don't go scaring her off, you asshole."

"I didn't say anything!" Holst insists. Then he adds, "Yet."

Hilda points to the night-dimmed window. "I swear to god, I will go outside, grab an axe, and cleave you in half."

He waves the white dishtowel in surrender. "Relax."

"I really like her, alright? Don't screw this up for me."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Holst returns to drying the dishes. After a moment, he says, "Dad likes her, too."

That sends Hilda's stomach into a whirlwind of somersaults. Dad had never liked any of her previous beaux before. Then again, most of her previous beaux had been thick country boys, who were lacking in every category except the sack. She has always liked her men to be the same way: big, dumb, and easy to manipulate. 

Lysithea is, of course, none of those things.

And then Holst says, "So, when are you going to propose?"

Hilda chokes on her tea. Her face goes bright red. She doesn't need a mirror to know that her complexion is now clashing terribly with her clothes. She splutters. "That's -! Well, I mean -!"

"Haven't you thought of it?"

"I have," Hilda admits slowly. "And -- not that it’s any of your goddamn business -- but we've, y’know, talked."

"And you haven't put a ring on her finger yet? Oh, Hilda..."

Slamming her teacup on the bench, Hilda growls, "What? Why am I the one who needs to propose here?"

"Well, because you're -" he gestures at her with a wave of the drying towel. "You know..."

Her glower is sharper than the knives on the drying rack. "No, go on. Say it."

Holst has never had a very strong sense of self-preservation. It shows, because he does in fact continue. "You're a very forceful personality. Always have been."

“Forceful personality?! I am a delicate flower!" Hilda stamps one foot on the ground. "And maybe I'm the one who wants to be proposed to! Have you ever thought of that? Huh?"

"It's not me who needs to think of that," he replies dryly. 

That stops Hilda dead in her tracks. Her mouth works, but no noise comes out. Finally, she swipes up her cup of tea, and drains it dry. 

“I am just looking out for you,” Holst insists. “And don’t be an ass. Not about this.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” she says once she’s finished.

“No. You should be having it with her.”

She clamps her mouth shut so hard she can feel her jaw ache. “I’m going to bed.”

“Just -” he sighs, “- think about what I said. About everything.”

Hilda shoves the now empty cup in his hands for him to clean. “Good night.” 

--

Hilda sleeps poorly. She tosses and turns all night, and still wakes early enough to see sunlight creep through the window to the sound of distant birdsong. She whittles away an hour by curling up behind Lysithea, and sticking her nose into the back of Lysithea's neck. 

Lysithea remains asleep. She is warm, and soft, and smells like clean soap and freshly washed sheets. Her long pale hair tickles Hilda's face. Hilda wouldn't move for the world.

Eventually however, Hilda is very much awake. And when Hilda is awake, she cannot keep from fidgeting. When she feels her own feet start to twitch, she gets out of bed to ensure that she doesn't wake Lysithea.

Wrapped in a cosy last season sweater, Hilda creeps out of the room. She closes the door quietly behind her, and wanders towards the kitchen.

Holst is already awake. He is cradling a cup of freshly brewed tea. When he sees her enter the kitchen, he blinks in surprise. "You're up early. The pot is on. Do you want a cup?"

"No," Hilda yawns. She runs a hand through her hair, which is still slightly mussed with sleep. "Can I have your keys?"

Fishing them from his jeans pocket, he tosses them to her. "Going to the village?"

She catches them. "Just for a bit. I'll be back in a hot second."

"We need more bread. And can you pick up the mail?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm on it."

In the entryway, Hilda stomps her feet into a pair of ugly boots that are nonetheless very comfortable, and more importantly she isn't afraid to get them dirty. 

The mailbox for the farmhouse is over a mile away. Hilda doesn't get out of the truck, just leans through the open window to grab whatever is in the mailbox. It's a quick jaunt to Locket through the low-hanging fog. She picks up a few loaves of fresh bread and a local newspaper. 

By the time she makes it back home, Lysithea is awake and having a cup of tea in the kitchen with Holst. Stepping out of the truck, Hilda pauses outside. She can see Lysithea through the mist-clung window; she has dressed into casual clothes, but her pale hair is still cowlicked from pressing against a pillow for so long. 

When Hilda enters the house, and makes her way into the kitchen. She makes a point of putting down the bread, the newspaper, and the letters so she can run her fingers through Lysithea’s hair. It does little to tame the persistent cowlick. 

“Morning,” Hilda says. 

“Hey.” Lysithea does not tell her to stop, though her eyes do alight upon the newspaper. “Is this the local rag?”

"Mhmm. It's not the paper you're used to," Hilda says. Pulling her hand away from Lysithea’s hair, she flips a few pages of the newspaper over. "But it has a halfway decent crossword! Want to do it with me?"

Lysithea surprises her utterly by saying, "How about later? We can do it on the plane ride back this afternoon. Holst was telling me about one of the gentler walks on the farm. Think you can show me around?"

Holst himself has busied himself by taking the loaves of bread -- but for one -- and putting them into the freezer. The one he has kept out, he breaks into, placing a few slices into the toaster to start on breakfast. The moment his name is mentioned, he flips the bag of sliced bread shut, and reapplies the twist tie. "I can have brunch ready for you when you get back."

"Sure." Hilda tugs at a lock of Lysithea's hair. "You ready to go now? You might want to grab a jumper. It's chilly out there today."

A few minutes later, Lysithea is dressed in one of Hilda's oversized woolen sweaters. On Hilda it would have been just slightly too big, masking her bulky shoulders somewhat. On Lysithea, it could have acted as a dress. As they head out, one of the dogs thinks it can join on walkies, but Hilda shoos it away.

"We could bring him," Lysithea offers.

"Nah. He'll just be a pest." Hilda points back to the farmhouse. "Go on, Brindle!" 

Dutifully, the dog trots back, and flops beneath the shelter of the eaves. 

The house recedes as they go on their way. When Hilda had driven into Locket earlier, the fog had been thick enough to obscure the mountains and make the trees loom through like shadows. Now, the sun has begun to burn it away, giving detail to the world once more. Hilda guides them towards the gentlest walk on the property, but still she makes sure to take frequent stops. Lysithea's breathing only grows slightly laboured, but she has sounded more winded in bed to be honest. 

"Uuugh," Hilda's feet squelch through the mud and grass. She grimaces down at her old hiking boots. They keep all the muck at bay, but they also clash terribly with the rest of her outfit. "This is a disaster."

"I kind of like it." 

“Impossible. These boots are horrible.”

“I wasn’t talking about the boots,” Lysithea says behind her in a small voice.

Glancing over her shoulder, Hilda sees that Lysithea is trailing along in her wake. She looks -- and this really is strange -- nervous. Hilda doesn’t stop, but she does slow down slightly. 

"What is it?" Hilda asks. Her eyes narrow. "Did my dad say something to you. Did Holst?"

Lysithea shakes her head. "No. It's nothing like that."

"I'll kill him."

"Hilda, I swear. They didn't say anything. They've been nothing but lovely since we've arrived."

"Hmm," Hilda hums under her breath, disbelieving. 

Lysithea trots a few steps forward so that they walk side by side. She slips her hand into Hilda's and holds her fast. "Though I must admit -"

"Oh, here we go." 

"It's not bad. I just have to say that when we first arrived I was -" Lysithea takes a second to fish for the right word. "- puzzled. This place seemed so unlike you. I had a difficult time reconciling that you grew up here. But the longer we've stayed, the more apparent it becomes. You really are at home here."

"It's the boots." Hilda lifts one of the offending shoes as they walk like she’s goose-stepping. "They ruin my whole ensemble."

"It's not the boots," Lysithea says. Then, after a moment, she adds. "Well, the boots don't hurt."

"They do. Specifically, they hurt my eyes."

"Hey," Lysithea's voice has gentled. She squeezes Hilda's hand to get her to stop. 

They are standing in a clearing. The trees rise up on all sides. The grass is green and lush beneath their feet. Late morning sunlight slants through the low-hanging mist, and through the boughs of the trees can be seen the distant snowy mountain peaks bearing their misty capes. 

Lysithea's words are a soft murmur. "You've been so uptight during this trip. Is there something I can do to help?"

Hilda lets out a long breath she had not known she was holding. It escapes her in a rush of air. She glances back in the direction of the house, but they've put it far behind them. Nobody is following them. They are alone. 

"It's -" Hilda grimaces. "To be honest, I'm nervous."

"I already know that. I am a genius, you know."

Hilda laughs, but it's shaky and short and sharp. She has to clear her throat. Lysithea is still holding her hand, and her skin is cool against Hilda's own sweaty palm. "Every time I've brought someone back home, it's always turned out badly."

"Your family scares them away?" Lysithea asks. “Because I’ve met way scarier people. You remember Hubert, right?”

"Yes. No. Not always." Hilda shrugs. "It's just - nothing ever goes right for me after this step. And I don't want that to happen again. Not this time. Not with you. I kind of like you, you know."

"Yes, I got that impression, thanks." 

“Just a little, though. Can’t have people thinking I’m going soft.”

“Your secret is safe with me."

"So, yeah. I'm nervous. And you know what the only thing I can think of is?"

Lysithea cocks her head to one side.

"That I really really should've danced with you last night." Hilda lightly smacks her own forehead with her free hand. "I've been kicking myself over it all day."

With a smile, Lysithea shakes her head. She turns Hilda's hand over, and seems to be deep in thought for a moment. Then, she says, "We can now, if you want."

"Here?" Hilda gestures to the gently sloping woodland around them. "And without music? What do you take me for? A loose woman?"

"Oh, shut up, and dance with me already." 

Lysithea has to reach up to grab Hilda's other hand and bring it to her waist. Hilda's mouth goes dry. Her heart flops around in her chest in a dumb romance novel kind of way.

She's supposed to be past this point in the relationship already. She’s supposed to be restless and distant. She's supposed to be bored. It terrifies her that she isn’t. 

Lysithea hums under her breath. It's a warm sound, surprisingly light and airy. She tends to only ever sing if she thinks nobody else is around. Even Hilda only hears Lysithea singing softly when they're in separate rooms in the apartment. Usually when Lysithea is in the bathroom for her morning routine, or in the kitchen brewing coffee.

It’s not a dance so much as it’s a sway. Hilda guides them around in small circles to make it more of an actual dance. Lysithea never dances with her in public. Normally, Hilda has to coax her into dancing in the kitchen. She’s only done it in public once at Claude’s three months ago. A trendy new band was opening there, and the bar had been packed. 

The fact that she had been willing to dance with Hilda last night at the village pub is unprecedented. 

“Holst and I were talking last night.”

Lysithea hums an inquisitive note, prompting Hilda to continue.

“Not going to lie, it got a little awkward. He was basically trying to foist off the inheritance onto me. Dad’s not getting any younger, and Holst wants me to officially start to look after the estate. It’s such a pain.”

For a moment Lysithea did not reply. Then she asked, “And what did you say?”

Hilda exhales a long breath that she turns into blowing a raspberry. “Well, he’s very insistent. But I don’t think I can be responsible for something like that. I can barely look after a house pet, let alone a thousand cows.”

“That’s -” Lysithea blinks. “- a lot of cows.”

“You’re telling me.” Hilda leads them around in a slow circular pattern. The long grass catches on the edges of her hiking boots with every step. “Anyway, I haven’t decided yet. I wouldn’t have to move out here for, like, ten years to really take over, but still. It’s a big commitment. I don’t know if I’m ready to give up what I have to come back to this old place.”

“You could be the most stylish farmer on this coast, though,” Lysithea points out.

“Hmm. Tempting. But not very challenging.” 

"It's not a bad early retirement plan." Lysithea adds. "I kind of like the idea of just disappearing off the map one day. Though we would have to put a proper airstrip into Locket for El's jet."

"She can use one of the paddocks."

"I don't think jets work like that."

"She'll be fine."

"You know your brother is just going to keep worry about this until you give him an answer, right?"

Hilda rolls her eyes. "He's always worrying about something. Might as well make it something that will turn out right in the end."

Lysithea furrows her brow. "You never intended to say no to him, did you?"

"I am incapable of saying no. Especially not to a good cause. It's just a part of my giving nature."

Slowing to a stop, Lysithea studies her face carefully. “I hope I’m one of your good causes.”

With a snort of laughter, Hilda asks, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I -” Lysithea chews at her lower lip, one of her signature nervous ticks. “I may have overheard a little of your talk with Holst last night, and -”

When Lysithea begins to fish around in one of her pockets for something, Hilda’s eyes go wide. She has to turn around and catch her breath. It feels just like that time she was playing rugby in an empty paddock, and was kneed in the gut by her cousin, Hughes.

It's one of Hilda's worst-kept secrets, that she is flustered by genuine romance. The best way to avoid getting all blubbery over even the most cheesy of romance movies is to either a) not watch them at all, or b) tell horrible jokes throughout all the bits that would normally get her misty-eyed. 

It's embarrassing. It’s debilitating. It's something that would've gotten her severely mocked by a horde of male cousins since the age of zero.

“Hilda?”

Hilda peeks over her shoulder as if expecting a zombie to leap out of the bushes. Instead, it’s just Lysithea standing there with a little velvet box in her hand. Which is even more terrifying, arguably. 

“Is this -?” Lysithea tilts the box back and forth like she’s debating whether she should just chuck it and run. “Is this not the right time or place or -? Have I messed this up?”

“No,” Hilda breathes. Then, realising what that sounds like, she hurriedly tries to correct herself. “No! I don’t mean: ‘no.’ I mean ‘No!’ I mean -! Yes! No, it’s not not the right time or place. And yes, yes.”

She is blabbering. She’s too far gone. She can feel a tell-tale burning in her eyes, and has to swallow down a swell of tears. 

Lysithea stares at her, but if anything her expression is determined rather than completely baffled or put off by the way Hilda is rambling. She hesitates for only a second before saying, “I know you like a bit of showmanship, but I really don’t want to kneel down in the mud. Is it okay if I don’t -?”

“Yes!” Hilda is so excited she’s jumping up and down a little in place, and clapping her hands together. She sniffles. “Ohhhh! Open it! Open it!” 

“Edelgard may have helped me pick it out a few weeks ago. Because I’m bad at jewelry, and tend to just go for something I think looks pretty,” Lysithea admits as she opens the box to reveal the ring. 

It’s not gaudy, but it is eye-catching. Rose gold. Diamond. Pink sapphires. Without hesitation, Hilda sticks out her hand for Lysithea to put the ring on. For a moment Lysithea fumbles at the ring to pull it from the case -- it’s pretty firmly stuck in the velvet lining -- before slipping it onto Hilda’s finger. Her touch is warm and soft, and Hilda can’t keep the burning behind her eyes at bay any longer. 

“Please don’t cry. You’re going to make me cry.” 

“I can’t,” Hilda is already wiping at her eyes with her free hand. “Thank god I’m not wearing mascara.”

Lysithea laughs, but it sounds a little watery. She shakes her head with a grin. The silly cowlick still in her hair and the oversized jumper with a plaid collar poking through are so endearing that Hilda can’t help but kiss her. Lysithea’s hands grip the front of Hilda’s woollen sweater to pull her close. 

When they part, Lysithea breathes, “I’m so glad you said yes.”

“Was there any doubt?”

“A little.”

“I’m shocked. Appalled, even. That you could even dream that I would say no to you.” Hilda kisses her again, briefly this time. “Honestly, it’s like you don’t know me at all.”

With a huff of laughter, Lysithea pulls away, but drops her arm to lace their fingers together. She tugs at Hilda’s hand. “Come on. Show me the rest of the walk. And then let’s go home.”

[trashforhockeyguys]

Wholeheartedly /7/ Auston Matthews

The Leafs lost round three, and so their playoff run ended for the year. You thought both of your boys were going to cry when the clock ran out and the loss was official. Truth be told, you thought you might cry too. It was the way that Auston looked up at you that broke your heart.

Watching him go through the handshake line and hug people he’d known for years, hurt more than you wanted it to. Watching the Leafs all hug on the ice hurt even more. The end of the season always brought a lot of uncertainty that you weren’t prepared for. You didn’t know who’d be back next year and who wouldn’t.

Getting the boy’s down to the locker room without either of them having a breakdown was hard. They hated the end of the season more than you or Auston, and they knew that if they lost tonight then it was all over.  

The first thing B and Jakey did when they got to the locker room was run right to Auston and hugged him. He had one boy in each arm, you could see his whole body visibly relax as he held both of them. You could see him sag a little as he gripped both boys tighter.

Jake grabbed Auston’s face, smashing his cheeks together a little, “It’s okay Daddy! I think you played great, even if you didn’t fight.”

Auston smiled slightly, “Thanks bud. Why don’t you go and give Uncle Willy a hug?”

Jake quickly kissed Auston’s cheek and ran over to Willy, who’d knelt down and had his arms spread wide for the little there year old. Brian squeezed Auston one more time before going over to Mitchy. Auston slowly stood up and made his way over towards you.

You wrapped your arms tightly around him. He buried his head into the crook of your neck. You could feel your heart break a little as he held onto you tightly. Across the locker room, Jakey was now sitting in Willy’s lap, talking about something other than hockey. Brian had now made his way towards Freddie, and was trying to give the goalie the biggest hug he could manage.

You’d be going back to Arizona in just a little over a week now. They’d have locker clean out day by the end of the week, and then all that was left wad for all of you to pack up and say goodbye to your family for the summer. The boys were more than excited to go back to Arizona, they loved it there. Mostly because they finally got to spend time with all of Auston’s family.

“I thought we had it this year,” Auston mumbled.

You ran a hand through his wet hair, “I know baby. I know.”

You knew he’d pull it together for the boys’ sake, but once they went to bed, you weren't exactly sure what he was going to be like. After nine years of being together, you’d been around him when they’ve lost before, so you knew how to handle it. You were normally able to gauge his reaction and then know where to go from there, but he’d gotten good at hiding it from the boys. So good in fact, that half the time you couldn’t even tell anymore.

You didn’t know if he was going to be so dejected that all he’d want to do was have you hold him, or so mad that he couldn’t speak and would go sleep on the couch. You didn’t know if he’d just want to stay in the shower, under the burning hot water, for hours, or instantly want some of his mom’s cooking.

He suddenly let go of you, taking a few steps back. He looked broken, you did know that. But you watched as he tried to put a smile on his face for the boys. You were sure the whole locker room could hear your heart snap then. It didn’t matter what was going on, Auston would never let his boys see how upset he was.

“Alright, c’mon you two, it’s time to go,” Auston told them.

“But Daddy!” Brian complained.

“Nope, it’s passed your bedtime,” He replied, holding his hands out for them, “Don’t worry, you’ll see everyone before we leave for Arizona.”

Both boys sighed before reluctantly walking towards Auston. They both waved and said goodbye and goodnight to everyone before you both lead them out of the locker room. They were both asleep in the back seat before you even got out of the parking lot.

Auston didn’t say anything on the ride home. The radio was playing so low you could barely hear it. You were almost worried, he was never this quiet, even after a bad loss. He wasn’t even this quiet when he’d gotten hurt, a little while before he proposed, and couldn’t play for a couple of weeks.

You didn’t know how to handle the quiet, so you just let it be. You figured that he'd talk when he was ready. You couldn't push him to talk, because you knew it wouldn’t  go well. He would just end up getting mad and sleep on the couch anyway.

The boys were still asleep when you got home, so you both carefully carried them upstairs and put them in bed. Brian stirred slightly as you tucked him in, mumbling a soft ‘I love you’ before rolling over and falling back asleep.

Auston was already in the shower by the time you made it into the bedroom. He’d already showered once while at the rink, so you figured it was going to be one of those nights. You didn’t expect him to be out anytime soon, so you changed and got into bed. You even turned off all of the lights, save for the small lamp on his bedside table.

You were more than surprised however, when Auston emerged from the bathroom only a few minutes later. He’d thrown on a pair of sweatpants and quickly tried to towel dry his hair. You watched as he tossed the towel in the hamper in the closet and then slowly made his way over the bed.

You figured he’d just say on his side of the bed, with his back to you, and call it a night. You’d accepted the fact that he didn’t want to talk, and you were fine with that. You’d gotten used to it by this point.

But you didn’t expect him to lie on top of you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his head in your chest, practically using your boobs as pillows. He tangled his legs around yours. He didn’t say anything, nor did he move again once he got situated.

“Auston? Baby?” You asked quietly.

His shoulders started to shake, he was crying. You quickly wrapped your arms around him, and started to slowly rub his back. It had been years since Auston had cried like this after a loss. You were shocked to say the least, but your eyes couldn’t help but water.

“It’s okay,” You whispered, “It’s just a game Auston. You still have what’s really important.”

You continued to hold him and try to comfort him. You weren’t exactly sure what you could do. You’d become used to comforting B and Jakey, or having Auston comfort you. You hadn’t had to comfort Auston like this in years.

“I wanted it, for the boys. I wanted them to be able to say that their dad was a champion.”

“Auston, honey,” You sighed, “The boys don’t really care if you win or not, they just love to watch you play. You’re already so much more than just a champion to them.”

“It was my job to get us the cup. I failed, Y/N.”

You wanted to pull him up to look at you, but you knew that you wouldn’t be able to move him more than an inch. It’s been a joke for years whenever you tried to actually pull him or move him.

Instead you scratched his head, “Look at me Auston,” You begged him, “Please.”

He finally picked up his head enough so that he could made eye contact with you. You smiled softly, feeling your heart ache. You stroked his cheek gently. You wanted nothing more than to make him smile, but you understood what he was feeling. Maybe not on this scale, but you understood what it was like to lose something important like this.

“You didn’t fail Auston. Go look at those two boys down the hall if you don’t believe me,” You told him, “You’re far from a failure, okay? You couldn’t single handedly carry that team into the championships, no matter how hard you wanted to. It’s not your fault.”

“I should’ve played harder.”

“Stop right there. You did the best you could, okay? You’re allowed to be upset. But don’t start blaming yourself, because you weren’t the only one in blue on the ice tonight,” You explained.

He shook his head before resting it on your chest again. You sighed and started to run your fingers through his hair again. You knew he’d need a couple of days to bounce back, and you were okay with that. You’d already made arrangements for the boys because you knew it would be a rough week.

“Look, my parents are coming to take the boys for a few days, so they can spend time with them before we head back. They figured that way we can get the house together for the cookout at the end of the week, and have some alone time.”

“They didn’t have to do that,” He mumbled.

“I know,” You replied, “But they called right after the game and made a very compelling argument. After all, this is the last time they’ll see the boy’s until we come back.”

Three days later, your backyard was full of all the Leafs players and their families. You and Auston had started the tradition of having a cookout on Locker Cleanout Day when you’d first moved in together eight years ago.

Since then, it was the best part about the season just ending. Everyone got together one last time before summer, and just had fun. Most of the kids played mini hockey while the adults chatted in the corner.

Honestly, it was just nice to all be together without having to think about hockey. Auston normally manned the grill, unless someone tried to take it away from him, which normally happened more than once after he almost burned all of the burgers one year.

You had to dodge kids as you brought out more food. Jake was off running around somewhere with his hockey stick. Brian was playing NHL on the xbox with one of the Marleau boys. Meanwhile, Auston looked like he was ready to hit both Mitch and Willy, who were trying to tell him he wasn’t grilling right.

Summers had always been about spending time with family. But one thing you’d learned over the years was that, the hockey season was also about spending time with a different family. Your kids considered everyone here to be their family. They didn’t stop to think if it was true or not, everyone here was an uncle, or an aunt, or a cousin.

This team was just as much your family as your actual blood. They’d been there for everything. They were there when Brian was born, in fact Mitch and Steph had been at the hospital with you the day he was born. The whole team came to see Jake just hours after he was born, bringing more followers and stuffed animals for both boys than they’d ever need. Brian’s first steps were taken at the ACC, and Jake’s were taken at just before an outdoor game. Jake’s first word was even hockey, even though it sounded like ‘ikey’.

“So, are we going to have another Matthews on the way by the time the next season starts?” Willy asked once you walked towards the grill.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there already is one,” Mitch said, wiggling his eyebrows a bit, “How many times have you had someone watch the kids in the last few weeks?”

“Shut up,” Auston said, shoving Mitch to the side.

“I’m just speaking the truth!” Mitch defended.

“If that’s your way of asking if I’m currently pregnant, then the answer is no,” You stated, “So you can shut up about that. And as far as everything else goes, it’s none of your business what we do behind closed doors.”

“Except for that time the door wasn’t closed!” Mitch argued.

“Mitchell, that was years ago. Get over it,” Auston groaned, “Besides, you shouldn’t just barge into other people’s houses.”

“You gave me a key!” Mitch yelled.

You laughed and started to walk away, “Doesn’t mean you should use it Mitch.”

You could hear Auston and Willy laughing as you slipped back into the house. Kappy was now chasing Jakey around, because Jake stole his hat. Brian was bating them, yelling for Jakey to run one way or the other. The other Baby Leafs started to join in on the fun as well.

“Hey! Stay away from the lamp please!” You yelled to your boys, “C’mon Kasperi, you’re supposed to be the adult in this situation.”

“He took my hat!” Kappy whined.

“Not my problem, he’s three, you can get it back,” You shrugged.

You grabbed a glass of wine, and gave Kappy one more warning glance, before going back outside to join the girls. A few hours later, you’d all finished dinner and were sitting around the firepit.

Jakey was asleep in Willy’s arms, while Brian was barely awake in Freddie’s. You knew your boys would miss all of the guys over the summer, but a few of them had already planned visits. Either you’d go to them or they’d come to Arizona. It was funny really, you’d think after spending almost everyday together for months, that some of you would want a break. But that wasn’t always the case, but you loved that.

You loved that everyone still wanted to see each other. You loved the chemistry of the team and the way that you were all a family. Auston had talked about it so many times. They were a family on and off the ice, and that’s what made them so great.

“Another season in the books,” Auston sighed, tucking you under his arm.

“We’ll get them next year Matts,” Mitch stated.

“Daddy’s gonna kick ass,” Jake mumbled.

Everyone started laughing. No matter how hard you and Auston tried to keep them from saying that, it still slipped out every now and then. Willy smiled down to the toddler in his arms and gently patted his shoulder.

“Well, the child has spoken,” You joked, “You’ll have to kick ass next season.”

[fardell24b]

Quinn’s Code 14 Wedding Trouble - Part 2

Quinn’s Code 14 Wedding Trouble – Part 2

It was uncomfortable. Daria figited. It was just as she had feared. The dress was ill fitted and to make it more infuriating, the seemstress was continually pricking her with a pin. She silently steamed. 'She is incompetent!' she thought. Not for the first time.

 “Nature didn't see fit to give you much in the way of hips, did she, dearie?”

 “That shouldn't be a problem!” Daria said, with a merely annoyed tone.

 “Turn around please.”

 “Oh, Scarlet, You grow lovlier by the day,” Jane said in a southern accent while batting her eyebrows.

 Daria sighed. “I'll kill you.”

 Jane merely smiled.

   Suddenly a voice that Daria had least expected to hear squeaked out her name. “Daria?”

 “Brittany?”

 Brittany Taylor, one of the cheerleaders at Lawndale High, had entered the bridal shop.

 “What are you doing here?” both asked at the same time.

 “Isn't it obvious?” An Arab shiek's in town to buy a few more wives,” Jane joked.

 “They're putting on a bridal expo in the gym. We're modelling,” Brittany explained.

 “A Bridal Expo, that's a good message to be sending to high school students...” Daria snarked. 'Why is Ms. Li doing that?' she pondered.

 “I wonder what sort of extracurricular activities would lead to a wedding...” Jane said.

 'I'm sure our Principal may have taken the idea into account,' Daria thought. She was sure that Jane was onto something.

 “What about you? Are you in a play or something?” Brittany asked.

 “No,” Daria said. She had had enough.

 Brittany then went off...

 The 'seemstress' pricked Daria with a pin again, harder this time. “Ouch.”

 “Hold still. I'm having a hard time with your body as it is.”

 'That's it,' Daria thought.

 “You shouldn't have said that!” Jane said to the 'seemstress'.

 “I'm just underdeveloped!” Daria said with an edge to her voice.

 “I'm doing my best, dearie!”

 “Could you start again?” Daria asked, trying to calm down.

 “That would be a good idea,” Jane suggested.

 “I won't!”

 “I'm not paying for it,” Daria added, with a calmer tone.

 “Fine!” the 'seemstress' said.

  Finally, Daria was ready. The seemstress had improved upon her second try, but still had made disparaging remarks about Daria's figure. 'I am going to blog about this!' she thought. She was sure that Jane and Jennifer hadn't discovered all of her blogs.

 Saturday, March 25, 2006

After a long drive, the Morgendorffers arrived at the Windsor Hills Resort for Erin's Wedding. “This is an expensive vehicle. Be careful with it,” Jake told the valet.

 “Yeah, right,” the valet said, just before driving off with Jake's Lexus.

 “Helen!” Rita Barksdale called.

 “Rita!” Helen called as she hugged her sister.

 “How are you, Jake?” Rita asked.

 “Well, I'm not that...”

 “Oh, the girls look lovely,” Rita interuppted. She indicated a man next to her. “Everyone, this is Paul, my beau.”

 “Hello,” Paul said,

“Paul Meyerson?” Jake asked.

 “Jake?” Paul asked. He quickly realised where he knew Jake from. “Jake and I were in boy scouts together. You bring your clubs?”

 Jake grumbled.

 “Dad, what was that you said about knowing how to pick 'em?” Daria asked. 'I guess, he's willing to see the best in Paul.'

 “Oh, Daria...”

  A sports car then arrived.

 “Who's that?” Daria wondered.

 “Aunt Amy?” Quinn asked.

 Amy Barksdale got out of the car. “I don't mind a few dents, but change the radio station and a your're a dead man,” she said with heavy sarcasm.

 “Amy, how delightful. I thought you weren't coming,” Rita said.

 “I wasn't, but I thought if you two could put aside years of bitterness and resentment, then so can I... for a day,” Amy answered.

 “Oh, Amy, why do you say such ridiculous things?” Helen asked.

 “Out loud?” Amy asked rhetorically as she passed between her sisters. “So, Jake. You're still with Helen, huh? Shows remarkable fortitude.” She turned to Paul. “And Roger. How's the skydiving going?”

 “Amy, Roger passed away. This is Paul,” Helen pointed out.

 Amy quickly recovered from her faux pas. “Oh, sorry. Paul, how do you do?”

 “Who's Roger?” Paul asked.

 “A female bovine failed to sufficiently break his fall,” Daria answered. She wondered how Paul would react to that.

 “Ick!” Paul responded.

 “He was one of the lucky ones,” Quinn said meaningfully.

 “Girls!” Helen admonished.

 “Hey, what's the point of a senseless tragedy if you can't find a little humour in it? I like the way both of you think, particularly you, Quinn.”

 Daria grumbled.

 “Now, Amy. I don't know where we're going to seat you...” Rita began as she lead her younger sister into the building.

 “I need a drink,” Helen said.

 Jake laughed.

 “Why are you laughing?” Helen asked.

 Jake stopped laughing as he followed his wife inside.

 “You know, Quinn, Aunt Amy's really weird,” Daria said, trying to stirr Quinn up.

 Quinn didn't take the bait. “Yes, she is,” she said. 'My kind of weird,' she added to herself. It was going to be great, catching up with her aunt.

  As the wedding party prepared for the actual ceremony, it was threatening rain. “Oh, it can't rain on Brain and Erin's wedding. It just can't,” one of the bridesmaids said.

 “That would be so awful. I couldn't stand it,” another said.

 “On the contrary. Rain is an ancient symbol of fertility. Every couple should be so lucky,” a teenage groomsman said in a monotone.

 “Oh, don't you see? A little rain won't spoil the happiest day of Brian and Erin's life,” a third bridesmaid said.

 Daria and Quinn approached them. “A little heavenly, isn't it Daria?” Quinn asked. 'I know she'd think the opposite...'

 “You must be Erin's cousin,” the third bridesmaid said.

 “We both are,” Daria said.

 “I shall introduce you to your escorts,” the bridesmaid said. She lead them to a handsome young man. “Daria, Quinn, this is Garrett. Garrett will be with Quinn.

 “Of course,” Daria said. She walked off with the bridesmaid.

 “Quinn, you're just about the loveliest thing I ever saw,” Garrett said. “I kinda imagined the hair would be longer though,” he added.

 “You like it?” Quinn asked as she did a pirouette. “It's been like this for a year or so,” she added.

 “Yes,” Garrett answered.

 “That's cool. Say, you like games?”

 “Daria, this is your escort,, Lurhman,” the bridesmaid said, indicating the monotone teen from earlier. She then left.

 “Of course,” Daria said.

 “How do you do, Da-rye-a?”

 “It's Daria, actually.”

 “Sorry.”

 “So, Luhrman. Is that your first name or your last name?”

 “Does it matter?”

 “Not really,” Daria said.

   Lawndale

The Bridal Expo at Lawndale High was in full swing. Charles Ruttheimer III was announcing. “Here's lovely Brittany in a sleeky and latiny number from Lanurb that says that this may be my wedding day, but dammit, I want to dance!”

 Her boyfriend, Kevin Thompson, was in the stands. But he was sleeping. His friend Michael 'Mack' Mckenzie shook him to wake him up. “Wake up! It's Brittany!”

 “What? Huh?” Kevin said. He accidently spilled soda on his pants. He stood up. “Oh man!”

 “I think you're blowing our cover,” Mack said.

 “I don't think so!” Kevin objected.

  Brittany saw Kevin in the stands. “Kevin, what are you doing here?”

 “Surprise, babe!”

 “Ooooh!” Brittany projected as she walked off the stage.

 “Now you have,” Mack said.

  On the other side of the hall, Jennifer and three of her other friends, Cindy Brolsma, Kristen Leung-Bell and Stacy Rowe, laughed.

   Leeville

The reception had started. Lurhman mumbled something. Daria couldn't make it out. “What did you say?”

“Just a little pointless chit chat. Forget it. Would you like another soda?”

 “No thanks,” Daria said.

 “Or shall we just split a bottle of drain cleaner?” Daria glared at him. “Please be assurred my remark was intended in jest, and not as an incitement to any type of self-destructive behaviour.”

 Daria was impressed. She thought that they could get along. “You're not from around here, are you?”

 “Not very far,” Lurhman answered, his voice unchanged.

  Quinn was in over her head. She had gained the minister's attention. She was sure that it wasn't the right kind of attention. “A wild, rolling, surging ocean of love, on which we, as mere individuals, have no control. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

 “A little,” Quinn said as she tried to put to words her objections. Daria came by.

 Hi, Quinn. Hi Father,” she said.

 “Actually, I'm a minister, not a priest,” the minister clarified.

 “The important thing is, you're the voice of morality in the community,” Daria said as she passed by to the bathrooms.

 “You know, my sister has a point!” Quinn said, backing off.

 “I don't get your meaning,” the minister said.

 “I think you do!” Quinn said, backing off again.

 “Wait!”

 “Gotta go!”

 “Wait!” he said, a little louder.

  Meanwhile, when she had done her business, Daria found Amy at the sinks. “I hate myself in a formal dress, and everyone else, too. You don't look too thrilled at things, either.”

 “Oh, no. I'm overjoyed to be at this big family event. Day to day life isn't humiliating enough,” Daria responded.

 “Let's see, you're in college now, or something,” Amy guessed.

 “Still high school, unfortunately,” Daria responded. 'She has been out of contact with Mom long enough to have lost contact,' she thought.

 “I have some vague memories of high school, but these days, you all carry weapons, right?”

“Well, not to formal occasions like this.”

 “That's where you kids make your mistake,” Amy thought for a moment. “I thought when turned thirty I would stop feeling out of place at these things.”

 “You feel out of place?” Daria asked in surprise.

 “You didn't notice that my sisters are busy competing with each other that I don't even register on their radar?”

 “Sounds like Quinn and I,” Daria mused. “But I figured that you were above all that.” She paused. “I mean, you're kind of...” She trailed off, not wanting to use the word she was thinking of out loud to an adult.

 Amy knew what word she was going to say. “Cool?”

 “Um...”

 “I know, you can't say that to me. Law of the teenagers.”

 “Thank you for respecting it.”

 “When I was a kid, with Helen and Rita going at it all the time, all they left to me was to supply the color commentary. Then one day, I found myself all grown up, with my own point of view, and feeling no particular obligation to listen to anyone else's BS ever.

 “So it actually turned out really well,” Darai commented.

 “Unless I have to see my sisters at a wedding, yeah. Sarcasm. It's a wonderful way to deal.” Amy paused and put on her glasses. “But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?”

 Daria smirked.

   Lawndale

Mack and his girlfriend Jodie Landon met, Cindy Brolsma, Kristen Leung-Bell and Jennifer Burns. “You're sick of this expo too, huh?” he asked the three friends.

 “Yes,” Cindy answered.

 “I don't know why Ms. Li organised it,” Kristen said, with annoyance. She shook her head. 'She's out of control.'

 “You want to complain to her?” Jodie asked.

 “Yes,” Kristen answered.

 “I think so too,” Jodie said.

 “Let's do it,” Jennifer contributed.

“Sure,” Jodie said. “She should be in her office.”

  Soon, they found the Principal in her office.

  “Why are you here?” she asked as she looked up from the paperwork on the desk.

 “Asking why you organised the bridal expo,” Kristen said.

 “That is really none of your business,” the Principal protested.

 “You said the same thing about Amazon Models,” Jodie pointed out.

 The Principal was flustered. “Yes. And someone cracked my email and Paypal in order to get that Mercenary to visit!”

 “It wasn't anyone here,” Jennifer pointed out.

 “That is obvious,” the principal said. “I have my suspicions, but there is no proof. As far as the current Bridal expo is concerned. It's none of your business.” She paused for effect. “As far as that cracker is concerned, he or she will not hear about this. And if they do, they won't find out the reason. But I will know that unauthorised activities were carried out.”

 “Ms. Li. I have no idea what you're talking about,” Jodie said.

 “I know you don't, Ms. Landon,” the Principal said before Jodie could say anything more.

 'I do know, but I'm not saying anything,' Cindy thought. Quinn had told her her suspicions.

 “But the question is still valid,” Jodie pressed.

 “I am not answering. Good day!” the principal said.

 The group exited the office.

 “That didn't work,” Mack commented.

 “Obviously,” Kristen stated.

 Jodie turned to Jennifer. “Spill!” She said.

 “What do you mean?” Jennifer asked, with surprise.

 “You told Ms. Li that it wasn't anyone here. Therefore you do know who it was,” Jodie answered.

 “It's best that we talk elsewhere,” Cindy interjected.

 “Sure,” Jodie said.

  Leeville

“Oh, it was a lovely ceremony, wasn't it?” Rita asked.

 “It really was, Rita,” Jake answered.

 “I'm just so sorry Mom couldn't be here.”

 “Don't worry, she'll get to live it all vicariously when the bills arrive,” Helen commented. “Jake, how about getting me another glass of wine?”

 It was obvious she had had a few already. “Gee, honey, maybe you shouldn't...” he admonished.

Helen was having none of that. “Jake, I'd really like a glass of wine, now.”

 “Right!” Jake said as he left.

 “Helen, you're not bitter about this.”

 “Rita, please. Why why I be bitter?” she asked rhetorically. “You and Erin deserve the best. You always have.” She meant the last part to sting.

 “Oh, so I should be punished forever because I made a few bad decisions,” Rita retorted.

 Amy approached. “Hi. What are you two arguing about now?”

 “Arguing? We're not arguing,” Helen retorted.

 “Still mad because Dad gave Rita that MG and all you got was a Plymouth Valiant?” Amy asked.

 “My goodness, Amy, the things you remember,” Rita commented.

 “It was a Dodge Dart,” Helen added.

   Lawndale

Jodie, Mack, Kristen, Jennifer, Stacy and Cindy arrived at a pizza place frequented by Lawndale High students.

 “So, tell me about the cracking,” Jodie said to Cindy after they had ordered and sat down.

 “It's only Quinn's suspicion, it may be baseless,” Cindy said.

 “But you agree with her,” Jodie added.

 “I do,” Cindy said.

 “So, spill!” Jodie encouraged.

 “Quinn thinks that it's Andrea Hecuba,” Jennifer said.

 Jodie turned to Kristen. “And you agree?” she asked.

 “I agree,” Kristen said simply.

 “Why does Quinn think it's her?”

 “Strange vibes she has felt since joining the Programming Club and the fact that Daria used to subscribe to Conroy's magazine,” Cindy answered.

 “Let me get this straight, Quinn thinks that Daria asked Andrea to ensure that General Conroy would come into the school?” Jodie asked, picking up on the second part of Cindy's statement.

 “Yes,” Cindy answered.

 “Right,” Jodie said as she thought about it.

 “Clearly, cracking was involved. Ms. Li looked quite shocked when the General said that he had the email and Paypal receipt,” Mack pointed out.

 “I remember,” Jodie said. “But there's no reason to blame Andrea either. It could be all Daria, or another person entirely.”

 Jennifer remained silent. She didn't want to implicate Daria any more than she may have been already.

 “So, you want to keep an eye on both of them?” Mack asked.

 “Yes,” Jodie said.

 They then remained in silence until the pizzas arrived.

[sweetredbeans]

A Sinlings Story

This is a birthday present for one of the best people I know.

Happy Birthday @bubblemagician!!!! I hope you have a fantastic day!

Addy's eyes blinked open, his turquoise gaze bleary and unfocused, to see a bright yellow glow. It took him a hazy minute to register that he wasn't in his normal bed—it wasn't the sun glowing through his eastern-facing window—it was Roy's golden hair and luminous smile, and he was in the grandiose room they were sharing at the Sin's mansion.

“Wake up Addy! Wake up!” Roy chirped.

Addy made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan. He wasn't a morning person at the best of times, and last night they'd all stayed up super late playing hide-and-seek in the dark. Which, admittedly, had been awesome, and so much fun, but he now very much did not want to have to get up at ridiculously-early o'clock...whatever that was. He half rolled over to peer at the clock, which said something approximating 7 am, and he made another muffled grumpy noise and pulled the pillow back over his head.

Roy would not be deterred though, leaning on Addy's bed and bouncing, “Come on Addy! It's EASTER you gotta get up, you gotta get up, there's Easter Eggs to find!”

That was probably the only way to actually get Addy up—promise the hope of chocolatey food. He slowly pulled the pillow off his face, peering up at Roy's glowing visage, “Fiiiiine.”

“Yaaaay!” Roy shoved off the bed again, nearly making Addy tip over as he tried to sit up and do something about the fluffy black and pink hair that seemed to have a mind of its own this morning, “You know there's going to be a competition, to see who can get the most eggs!” He clenched his fists and looked determined, “I bet it's gonna be me; I have a plan all set out!”

“Mrph,” was all Addy commented as he slowly dragged himself out of bed and oozed over to the attached bathroom.

Roy kept on chatting as Addy brushed his teeth, splashed some water on his face, and ran a comb through his hair, which Addy tuned out with practiced ease. When he finally emerged, feeling a little more alive, Roy was perfectly dressed in a pressed, blue-collared shirt, looking every inch the young gentlemen on a mission.

“You look fancy for going out and running around the gardens,” Addy commented, pulling on his own, red shirt. It was decorated with little sparkly Easter eggs embroidered down the front.

“It's Easter! I want to dress up.”

“I wonder what Marie will be wearing? Something fancy I'm sure.”

Roy, who knew, of course, nodded, “You'll see! She spent a long time going through the stores to find the perfect ensemble,” he added a fancy French flair to the last word. Now that Addy was dressed, Roy grabbed his hand and dragged him out of their room.

Once they were in the halls, Addy was even more revitalized by the distinct smell of pancakes and syrup, and now he was trotting along with Roy instead of being pulled.

They emerged into the kitchen, where Britton and Red were well on their way to making a pretty ginormous breakfast for all the associated cousins and families who were spending Easter weekend here. Marie was already seated there, fork and knife clutched in her hands, with her eyes laser-focused on the plate that Britton was carrying over, stacked high with chocolate chip and blueberry and strawberry-topped pancakes. Addy's youngest brothers, Paris and Troy, were both there too; the 7 year olds had been staying with Red and Britton, since they had a tendency to find whatever trouble existed anywhere and manage to immerse themselves in it. Plus...they couldn't be left alone. They were already surreptitiously poking each other at the table, and that was them trying to behave.

Roy had been right—Marie was dressed to the nines. Her pink shirt was decorated with bunnies and eggs in sparkling sequins. Her earrings were glittery Easter eggs, and the headband in her pink hair displayed two fluffy white bunny ears.

“Good morning, princess!” Roy called.

Marie smiled at him, but her attention was quickly reclaimed by the plate set in front of her. In about 10 seconds, she had three pancakes on her plate, had drenched them in real maple syrup, and was proceeding to devour them.

Addy thought that was a perfectly good idea too, and slid into a chair between his cousin and his brothers, stealing specifically only the strawberry and chocolate-related pancakes—whoever thought that blueberries belonged in breakfast treats was very confused.

“Did you sleep well Gumdrop?” Britton asked, fluffing Addy's hair on his way to help Paris and Troy.

“It's not too early for you?” Red smiled, his green eyes sparkling.

Addy's mouth was full, so he just said, “Mmmm,” and kept on munching.

Which was clever, because it was right about then that the rest of the cousins showed up. The first sign was the tell-tale portal created by Luci because he never wanted to bother himself with walking down the stairs, but before he could step through, there was a crashing noise as Miles, Sylvester and Cisco came colliding down the stairs in a tangle of limbs and excited shouts loud enough to wake the dead.

“HAPPY EASTER!” Someone shrieked, and in half a moment the kitchen was full and noisy and excited. Luci jumped in and then he and Miles promptly got in an argument about who made it down first, which Sylvester and Cisco both simultaneously dove for the pancakes, managing to nearly trip each other.

“Whoa there, dumplings,” Britton chided gently, as Red deftly reached to catch the two boys, in one fluid motion setting them into chairs.

Cisco practically bounced in his chair, “Mommy, Daddy, I'm so excited to go get eggs, do you think there's gonna be a lot? Did the Easter Bunny come and give us stuff?”

Red smiled, “I'm sure he did, licorice stick. But take a breath and eat your breakfast first, okay?”

Cisco promptly proceeded to shove pancakes in his mouth, still trying to talk until Marie shot him a dirty look from under her perfect princess eyebrows, and Sylvester, who was eating his food in silence, elbowed him in the ribs.

Given the number of kids in the room who were related to Gluttony, breakfast disappeared ridiculously quickly, and Red and Britton had their hands full keeping up with everyone.

The instant the pancakes—and eventual bacon—had vanished, the stampede of Sinlings rushed to the back doors of the porch, which were thrown open wide by Zel and Brice, who had been doing the last minute preparations to make sure that the hunt went perfectly.

The gardens and lawn of the Sin's Mansion spread out before them, glimmering in the early morning sun, bright verdant greens, the newly sprouted butter yellow of the daffodils, warm reds and pinks and oranges from the tulips—and there scattered amongst those colors, were the glittering gems of plastic shining Easter eggs.

All the Sinlings just gaped, mouths and eyes wide for about 1.25 seconds. And then Miles, Troy, and Luci all started to make a break for it—right up until Red and Brice simultaneously shouted, “Waaait just a second.” The two dads made a brief eye contact, and Red just ceded to Brice, going back to stand with Britton by the door.

“All right now y'all,” Brice said, “Here's the rules. You've got 30 minutes to try 'n get as many eggs as you can.” He grinned, “The one who has the most at the end wins somethin' really cool.”

“Whaaat?” Miles whined, and Brice raised an eyebrow.

“You'll jus' have to win and find out.” The Sinlings clamored excitedly, “All right—ready, set...go!”

And they were off like a shot.

Everyone had their own basket—pink and blue and yellow and black for all the various Sinlings they went with. Addy's was red, with little pink ribbons threaded through it and pink fluff at the bottom to keep the eggs from knocking around.

There was a bet, instigated by Luci probably, on who could use their powers and abilities and skills to find the most eggs. All the Gluttony kids could practically smell the chocolate—Addy could for sure, he could feel the delicious candy in the spring-colored eggs all around him. Luci was hopping around the field like the Easter bunny himself—appearing wherever he saw eggs. At least, he did that right up until Miles snuck up behind him and tackled his cousin, yelling, “That's cheeeeeating!” and refusing to let him up until he promised to stop. This started a 3 minute long argument about the rules and who was doing better, which finally ended, somehow, with them agreeing to team up in their usual dynamic duo in order to beat everyone else.

Marie had dragged Tavros down finally from his cozy bed, despite the fact that the Slothful Sinling had said he didn't want to, and was pulling him around with her. Roy kept bouncing over to say hi, but every time he did, Princess Marie gave him an evil eye and said, “Go away! You'll get our eggs!” Finally, Roy just had to satisfy himself by looking out of the corner of his eye to make sure nothing was going on with his sister.

Conveniently, this slowed him down substantially in his plan to find eggs.

Troy and Paris were staying closer to the house, where the eggs seemed to be a little bit more dense, but also better hidden among the flowers. Troy, of course, slowly kept wandering closer and closer towards where Miles and Luci were, keeping an eye on them. Paris, meanwhile, was well on his way to winning, using his particularly good sense of smell to pick out the chocolate among the flowers—although he did occasionally get distracted by the delicious aromas from the tulips especially.

Somewhere out in the lawns, Cisco and Sylvester were running around, exclaiming and diving into bushes to grab their prizes, holding them up in triumph and generally having an excellent time.

Addy smiled to himself, glancing back up at the porch where all their parents were sitting, watching over them.

Dream was sitting on the porch swing, Parkere's head in his lap as the orange-hooded Sin watched through half-lidded eyes. Zel and Brice were lounging on the deck chairs, both having acquired fancy little drinks that they were sipping. Luci's parents weren't actually present—but that was all right because at this point Zel and Brice had basically adopted him as a fourth child, and besides, this sort of thing really wasn't Mikel and Dodge's cup of tea. Red and Britton were sitting on the steps, snuggled close to each other, and occasionally calling encouragement—Red met Addy's eyes and smiled, “Having fun, Gumdrop?”

Addy nodded, and went back to his meandering.

It really was a perfectly gorgeous day—the sun was perfectly warm, and everything smelled amazing. Addy was sorely tempted to just settle down and photosynthesize in the sun, but then his Gluttony reminded him that candy was within reach, and he went back to searching. He found one particularly difficult one, which had been delicately tucked inside a tulip of the same color, as well as one up a tree, which required some shimmying to get.

Thirty minutes went by remarkably quickly, and at the end, Brice stood up on the steps and counted down, as everyone scrambled to find any last eggs.

“TIME!” he shouted, “Everyone back to the porch—lets see who won!”

All the Sinlings scrambled back across the lawn, now in a race to see who could get back first (except for Tavros, who still had to be encouraged by Marie), and piled into a huddle on the porch, all comparing their egg quantities. It was pretty obvious that the true competition was between Marie, Paris, Addy, Sylvester and Cisco, and Miles and Luci—the others definitely didn't have as many, due to their various distractions.

“All right, all right,” Brice interrupted their discussions, “Count 'em up!”

And then there was silence, except for quiet murmuring as everyone sat down and began counting their eggs—or at least, there was silence until Miles and Luci got into an argument about who had which eggs in their collection, and nearly had one stolen by Cisco (Sylvester rolled his eyes and asked, “Do you have a death wish?”).

When all was said and done, though, everyone called out their numbers—and somehow, someway, it was Paris who came out on top, beating Marie out by only 2 eggs.

Addy grinned at his excited little brother, bouncing on the steps, as Marie glowered a bit.

“All right, here's the prize,” Zel had brought out a large box, grinning as she stepped across the porch, “First place goes to Paris.” Brice reached into the box and pulled out a glittering silver and pink crown. All the Sinlings—but especially the Pridelings—gasped in awe, as Brice set the crown perfectly in Paris' curly pink hair.

“Ah! It's beautiful!” Paris spun around, and dashed over to his parents, “Mommy, Daddy, do you like my crown, isn't it pretty? I'm like a princess!”

Marie looked even more sour, right up until Brice added, “And second place goes to my Princess Marie.” And had another circlet, only slightly less fancy than Paris'.

In fact, everybody got crowns—all in their preferred styles. Marie had pink gems set in silver and rose gold, Roy's was plain gold with blue, sturdy and respectable, and Miles' was dark silver with midnight blue gems. Tavros' was just a simple golden circlet, and Luci's was black with red stones. Troy's was dark too, with green accents, Cisco's was a simple black, and Sylvester's was simple silver with tiny little blue gems. Finally, Addy's was gold with both red and pink gems that were arranged somehow perfectly arranged to match the pink streaks in his hair.

All the Sinlings scampered around, showing off their Prince and Princess and King and Queen crowns, exclaiming to their parents and cousins about their excitement, and about the day—and then there was the excitement of the actual candy in the eggs, and before long everyone was also hyped on sugar and chocolate and delicious candy.

After a bit, Addy had snuggled up with his parents, contentedly munching on a butterfinger and watching some of the younger ones play tag out on the lawn.

“Did you have a nice Easter, Gumdrop?” Britton asked, fluffing Addy's hair.

“Mhmm...” Addy nodded.

And then Roy came up and grabbed his hand and pulled him off to play tag with everyone else, “Come on Addy!” His golden hair and blue eyes shone in the sunlight.

[egpzambia2k17-blog]

Day 19 - Happy Birthday Mumsy (and Martin - Jeanette’s dad).

Dear Joy,

A dull day not a dull life (Jody’s input to the blog). As the concrete floor was still drying we didn’t go to site. Just as well as Jody was dead in bed yet again. Meanwhile Julio was up and about on the phone to the UN. Then off he was being a dutiful IR student. We were secretly praying that he wasn’t turned away for asking classic Julio questions. The rest of us headed off to school. After meeting the headmistress, Ani and Jeanette got taken to class. The class was not English like we thought but Kuandi. A lesson we all definitely could do with. Jess and I were taken to a separate Kuandi class. We only caught the end of the class but already managed in that short time to cause havoc. Arriving in the class of 6 year olds Jess and I attempted to sit on one side of the bench. Not only was the bench seconds away from collapsing but the kids on the other side nearly went flying. Minutes later properly seated we began to pay attention. The children were learning about how to form syllables. Jess, the linguistics student, beside me was having a small fit of excitement and even asked to take a photo of the board at the end of the lesson. The teacher said we should come back for a full hour lesson at some point. After we said our thank yous we left. Returning home we had found the hermit (Jods) had emerged from her bed. She decided to have a shower and secretly I agreed. She needed one. Moments later she whacked out she had brought across the world but hadn't used yet (classic Jods). To be fair to her she drew the line at the straighteners. Moments later a beautifully coiffured Jody appeared before us (throwback to how immaculate she looks everyday in Edi). While Jody was  Jess and I stayed feeling rank waiting for Alex. When he arrived we went with him to get wifi. On route we touched in at the site to see the progress of the concrete. Then we went to his old house and met his cousin Winfreda who is the person after which Freda was named. There the van picked up bricks we were going to use for the training centre. Returning home we had Ani and Jeanette telling us to ‘stop making noise’ in their newly learnt Kuandi (they had stayed at the school for the moat part of the day). To be fair to Jody she went out of her way to blow dry my hair. Mumsy, who was ready to call me, was shocked that I was drying my hair for the first time in Zambia of all places. Afterwards I called Mumsy wishing her a happy birthday. Jeanette did the same to her did the same to her dad. Mumsy and I had a lovely chat but by the sounds of how many builders are at my house its going to be unrecognisable when I get home when I get home. Also its hotter at home – madness! Julio was out at the school teaching the kids colonial history. The last time I saw him he was armed with a plastic crown. I can only guess what was in store for the kids….When he returned he said it had been successful but he wasn't sure everyone had full understood what he was trying say. Refreshed with a new wifi package it was set up to be a highly anti social evening with all us finding better company on instagram (well mainly Jody). As we were so bored of bland tomato pasta we decided to spice up out lives literally by using a Mexican chili sauce we had brought. Although it blew our brains out I think we were just all so glad it had some flavour. During cooking we discovered that the oven did work and we all started fantasizing about what we could make. Ani focus as per was on the potential cake that could be made. Factoring in Jody and I’s diet we stayed planning to make lemon and banana cakes. We concluded our usual shopping centre Shoprite would not help us achieve our backing dreams and vowed to go to Pick N Pay. I was praying that they would have avos because Rivitas and tuna was slightly killing me. Now we all had wifi we thought we should post to keep our fans happy. Minding my own business I was posting a inst of Jeanette, Jody and I when I was ambushed. I was just about to start a classic hashtagging spree when Jeanette was like you always hashtag. Not understanding why that was a bad thing Jody preceded amidst hysterics to tell no one hash tasks anymore. In fairness she was right and I just had to scroll down my news feed to prove that but still. To say I took this badly was an understatement. I blanked Jody, a task I find near impossible. I had already unintentionally blanked Jess when she said I was in her insta so it was going well. I knew I was in the wrong but it took me a full 15 minutes to apologise because I’m too proud. I was more angry at myself that I had been so socially stupid to not realize hashtagging was not the done thing anymore in the 21st century. Settling down we watched Come Fly with me. Ani is definitely the funniest person to watch this with because her face is just full of disapproval (I feel sometimes that's the way she looks at me when I do something stupid. Meanwhile Jess and I as we are so easily amused were wetting ourselves. Going to the sitting room to brush my teeth my attention was drawn by Julio’s game. It was like Age of Empires but 100x more clever as it factors in economics, historical context and politics. Basically in summary it was the perfect fame for a politics nerd like Julio. Saying that I was hooked and before long I had set up my own game starting as the UK. By the time I had finished my first attempt at world domination the lights were off in the girls room. When I asked for a light it turned out everyone was asleep. This meant I had to make the treacherous journey across Jody’s s**t to my bed. Luckily I managed but then felt super bad for blanking Jody and forgetting to give her the sleeping tablets I promised. However guilt can only get you so far and within minutes I was fast asleep.

Adios,

Biggest Girl.

Quote of the day: Boredom prevents the team from being their usual super witty selves.

P.s. In hindsight it wasn't a boring day looking at the length of the entry. Unluckily for you I don't believe in paragraphs in this blog!