#abylnpfef

As his two mothers came walking up their respective stairs and towards the aisle made through the crowd in the garden, Alvin let out a delighted half purred, half squealed sound that came out as a ‘brrrrrr-aaah!’ in rising tone. The sound and the boys wiggly excitement was enough to briefly distracted the aged Sea Wolf man holding the boy, earning him a couple of bounces for the trouble. His wife stood with a hand around Khod’a’s shoulder as they’d taken up their child watching duties a little early to help the couple prep for the big day. Truth was though, the pirate-turned-chef couldn’t keep his attention away from the larger of the two brides long. 

A good four decades had passed since the woman that would become his wife told him that the mature, scar-marked woman walking down the aisle today was on the way. His first born, who was far more like him than either of them wanted to admit or even really acknowledge. Even though the longest years of her teens, the elder roegadyn always pictured getting to see her walk through the sanctum dressed in white someday. That the piracy hungry rebel would work it’s way out and sense would settle into that thick skull of hers. Today’s ceremony was about as far from the Twelveswood as one could get in Eorzea, she was in her favored dark blue with a dress cut that was far less overtly feminine, and the half of her face not made up for the occasion was marred with metal and the leavings of old burns. As had been the way with most things they’d ever fought over in her life, Bremwyda stubbornly drove head first into finding her own way.

No other path would do, after all.

Abylnpfef loved all three of his girls, and the seemingly ever growing gaggle of grandchildren both biological and adopted. His heart had swelled at each wedding and he never did make it home from one with dry eyes. He was proud of his two youngest, most of the time anyway. They’d married good men and were raising their families near home, both were involved in the family business in way or another. Brem instead had always chase the life he gave up to see her cared for, and he’d more or less given up on her settling down even before she spent her time in Ishgard’s custody. But here they were, him holding his grandson and getting to see his little girl finally saying her vows, to the gods and to the fiery young miqo’te that he had come to see as his fourth daughter, even if it hadn’t been official until today.

CW: Mild talk of sex 

As was something of a tradition with family dinner running all the back to when his children were all still actually children, Abylnpfef sweeps through the main room of his restaurant with the last dish being brought to the table and pulls back the lid with an overdone flourish. It was a stew they'd all had countless times, but playing into being a bit silly always made at least him happy, even if most of his daughters and a few of his grandchildren groaned at the shameless display of 'Dad'. He detours long enough to press a kiss to his wife's brow before taking a seat at the head of the table. All three daughters were in town and free, and that was a rare enough event for him to close up the place early and have a night just to the family. The spouses were all otherwise occupied, but if the man was being truly honest it didn't greatly bother him that particular night.

As the clink of ladles into pots of stew and then on into bowls started to ring out as mothers saw to putting enough food in front of their children to get at least a few minutes without another 'but why?' question, the Sea Wolf's eldest daughter and newest grand kid were a few paces away as she tried to appease the tiny boy. Alvin was riding the line right between sleep and crying because too much he didn't like was going on, held at bay only by gentle bouncing and cooing promises of high flying adventure someday in his future. By the time the rest of the family had calmed down enough to let him finally settle on being sleepy, most of the bowls were half empty and Brem's own was threatening to start to chill. As the pale woman sat back down, a breath weighed with equal parts relief and exhaustion falls from her. "I know he's not even two moons old yet, but some days it feels like it's been a hundred years already."

The statement's met immediately with a derisive snort from across the table, quickly paired with a sneer from the middle child sat next to her own boy and girl, the eldest of the grandkids. "You think -you're- tired? You've barely even started this, AND you have two other women helping you full time for ONE kid." Mytethota's tirade was paused by one of the only forces capable of doing so, sending another mouthful of red wine down her gullet. "One that you didn't even carry or have to go through labor with, I might add. Come cry about being tired when you're getting your nipples gnawed on while the next one's ready to pop out and their father's busy keeping a roof over your collective heads."

"Forgive me, little sister. I hadn't possibly considered that someone could maybe be -more- tired. I'm glad you were here to remind me so suddenly all this fatigue will fly right out of me that I must have been making up this whole time." There's a dramatic flick of her gloved hand in the air as a heavy lidded natural eye turns to the younger Sea Wolf. "It must be the three different ways I bring my money home that doesn't leave me time for both childcare AND considering how much harder it would be if I had to spend half my day marinating myself in mediocre wine so that new flavors of insufferable bitch could rise to the surface."

"Girls, that'll be enough of all that. We're here to enjoy a night with our family, so pour another helping and start enjoying." The patron of the family let his voice fall somewhere between an actual chiding and 'girls will be girls' to try and keep things light with a few notes of parental threat. It'd worked wonders for him a few decades ago when they were still growing up, but there admittedly wasn't nearly as much testing for it as adults. The snarling expressions of his two oldest weren't making him overly hopeful.

Mytethota gave a lazy toss of her hand as if she was discarding the argument like a used napkin, even while mulling over how to toss another barb out. It was her favorite tactic with her husband, and one of the few ways she kept a hold snared on him. "I'm just thankful you don't bring the little.. lizard kitten thing here while the business is actually open. It's bad enough I still get questions about how my man-dyke big sister is doing these days.." At that moment the old man at the head of the table almost felt like he was watching an explosion happen in slow motion, unable to get his head on fast enough to do anything to stop it. ".. imagine if I had to explain to them 'Oh, she has this foster kid she's raising for her two miqo'te girlfriends and pretending it's her's like some sort of female cuckold.'"

"Myteth-" Harsh fatherly scolding was swiftly put on hold as Abylnpfef caught a pale blur of motion, his eldest girl taking things immediately into her own hands as she was oft want to do. A leather bound hand snatched up a handful of wavy green strands with the sort of roar she normally reserved for the arena. The whole family of Sea Wolves watched in silent shock as the yelping frame of the middle daughter was yanked up from her seat, half way over the table they were sat at. Drug a few fulms by that hold in her hair, Brem got her younger sister parked over a half-empty pot of stew and let her linger just a heartbeat or two long enough to realize what was coming before slamming her hard down into the remnants of the meal. Her heavily made-up face when straight into the thick mess while the edge of the pot drove hard up into the woman's throat, enough to leave her without breath temporarily. The yank back up and out flung some of the mess out over the table before the pale woman throws Myte backwards hard enough to send her reeling over her seat and crashing to the floor.

"BREMWYDA!" Abylnpfef's outraged voice jumps over the absolute chaos that just broke out, standing above worried matrons and screaming children that just watched their mother and/or aunt just get stew-bombed by a family member. "What in the Navigator's name is wrong with you! Doing that to your sister!"

Sitting in what  his family had jokingly started to call his ‘office’, a pair of sturdy crates outside the back of the restaurant, Abylnpfef was looking through his ledgers now that the far end of harvest season had passed. The big day always costs them, but as long as he stocked up properly going into Starlight they’d more than make it back. He never much enjoyed all the ledger work, but the one other person he’d trusted to hand it off to had stopped handling them even before she went and made herself a recluse to the family. Still, judging by the shouts coming out of the door to the kitchen next to him, it was better to be wrestling a book than the battle his daughters were having with children stuck on dish duty.

Breaking away from the book for a few minutes, the elder sea wolf fishes out a cigar and a match, lighting it up and taking a few good huffs to get it burning properly. His wife hated the habit, and when she found them stashed she’d give them as ‘gifts’ to favorite customers, but he usually managed to get a few a month to enjoy for himself before they vanished. A quiet celebration of rare windows of solitude, and a reminder of days properly misspent along the shores to the South in his youth. The man’s eyes fall closed and he sets his feet up on the other crate, sinking into that window of nostalgia and simple bliss.

In that relaxed state, he didn’t pay any mind to the rustle of leaves and stone or the footsteps that were causing them, at least not until there was a far more pronounced sound of heel landing upon the wood of their rear landing. He doesn’t even bother looking up, instead just fishing the cigar from his lips to speak. “Sorry friend, if you’re here for a meal we’ve closed up for the night. And you’d do far better comin’ in the front than back here. We might be able to make you a sandwich outta some left overs if you’re starvin’ though.”

A smile sets over the guest’s lips, if nothing else to mask the nerves trying so hard to get her to bolt away before he’s paying proper attention. There’s just enough heartbeats of silence for it to lilt towards being awkward, the furrowing of the man’s brow serving as a clear warning of that. In the end, the words fall softly from her lips, tossing herself into sticking things out.

Though the clangs, thunks, and cracklings of a busy kitchen had always been music to the old sea wolf’s ears, after several hours of non-stop cooking he was taking his chance to flee out the back door for a breath of fresh air and to feel the chill of the turning season.Technically speaking his restaurant was ‘closed’, but it was a yearly tradition at the end of the harvest season. The doors stayed open, the kitchens stayed busy, but not a gil was accepted in return. Friends, family, strangers, or just any soul needing something warm in their belly was welcome. Much as a part of his heart belonged to the sea, Gridania had been a good home to him and his, and it only seemed right to give back the way he knew how. Of course, a lot more of his work each year was supervising and leaning on his youngest daughter to do more of the cooking as age gnawed away even at a roegadyn’s fortitude.

As his thoughts turned to his daughters, the nearly ever present smile on his lips loses a bit of it’s luster. He could hear the two youngest, one running the kitchen and the other yelling at giggling children racing off somewhere they weren’t supposed to be. Though they’d barely ever more than met her, they both had a streak very much like their eldest aunt. He didn’t much imagine that he’d get to keep all his grand babies in the Shroud, but he was at least given to hope they wouldn’t fall into the other family business. There wasn’t supposed to be another generation of pirates from his family.

It wasn’t clear to him exactly where things had gone wrong. Had he tried too hard, with the schooling, the lessons on behaving ‘like a proper lady’, dance and so on, or showering her with toys? Or was it that he hadn’t tried enough with sitting down and talking out why he moved them all from Limsa, and put the proper barnacles on the dream? It didn’t much matter at this point for her, but perhaps the next time around. So he wouldn’t end up with grand children who’d rather go and get themselves half killed in an arena every moon chasing lost glory before they’ve even hit forty.