#u pick

How else could she turn out with Trey for a father? He might have his own mischief streak, but as a take-it-as-it-comes kind of guy...well, he's a solid role model from the very beginning. His little girl has many aunties and uncles looking out for her. He was basically a second-father to his siblings, so they're always around making sure she's well spoiled. The Clover household is never short a babysitter.

Like most fathers, all Trey wants is for his kids to live happy lives. He's guilty of being a push-over at times, because despite having practice there's an extra layer of anxiety when it's your own kid. He doesn't want to mess this up. Since she might be looking at him the same way he looked up to his father.

Even as she aged, with her spikey green hair that never seemed to tame no matter what style he tried. Or her golden eyes that all his kids seemed to share - your genetics just wouldn't catch up...or the day he took her to get glasses, and she proudly picked bulky black frames that resembled his. Even though she had hundreds of pairs to choose from.

Trey might not verbally recognize it, but there was no 'might' in this scenario. She admired him, and he's doing much more as a father than simply making sure she takes care of her teeth, or being the flexible dad that every kid in in the neighborhood is jealous of.

That's just how fathers are, it seems. Doing their best, always trying to make the safe choice. Be the person their family can rely on and trust. Valuable traits that Trey claims he lacks, but where else is she picking it up from?

"Dad...I don't want to go to college."

It takes a strong heart and mind for a child to express themselves. Trey's been the confident to his siblings when they were scared to tell their parents about a bad grade, or when they broke something. He always pushed for honesty and to make amends.

Yet they were still scared.

His eldest daughter was not. She sat with him in the back room of the family bakery. The one he inherited, and housed his family for many years. They sat together over a pot of tea and cranberry-pecan scones that had powder sugar dusted to look like roses on top. She sifted through the daily mail while he read the news paper - both of them covered in flour remnants from prepping the day's menu. A few hours before his wife and other children would make their way down, the former likely wrangling the others for their day at school.

Trey hummed, keeping his cool as he flipped the page.

"That's fine," he said casually, "can I ask why not? I thought Royal Sword sent you an acceptance letter? Would not be my first choice, but it's still hard to get in. "

She nibbled at her makeshift breakfast, clearly hiding a scoff. Even he still clung to the NR vs. RS rivalry for a 'pacifist'.

"They did, and I haven't responded yet...but I think trade school might work out better. Or an apprenticeship. Somewhere closer to home."

Trey closed up his paper and folded it to a neat stack. He arched an eyebrow over his lenses, skin stretching the clover mark he still painted on every day.

"And what would you study?" he asked.

"Culinary."

She said it so proudly, with her cheeks stuffed since manners seemed to be a suggestion when at home. He hadn't the heart to scold her, even when she wiped her hands on her dirty apron. Although he held out a napkin for her to take.

"That's a fine career choice," he said, watching her carefully, "but is it what you want, or what you think is expected?"

The girl read like a book - and in truth, she was already his apprentice from when those little hands first rolled cookie dough. Just like himself at that age, already running the bakery alone some days when he was just fifteen.

He went to college, of course, but knew he'd always end up back here. Except he just went with it, made his parents proud and followed the flow. It was a short reprieve if anything.

"You can be anything you want to be," he continued, "there's lots of opportunity at college. It's where I met your mother. Not that I don't think our bakery is a good career, but don't make important decisions on our account -"

"-this is where I want to be, Dad." she interjected, miffed, which was rare for the both of them yet he saw that twitch in her eye.

Rare like the short silence that stretched. Not uncomfortable, but two observers waiting for the next person to talk. She cracked first.

"If I go, I'll just end up back here anyways? I like the bakery, you're the best teacher I could ask for and there are plenty of people in this area that I consider family. So what if there are other opportunities? I like this one," she huffed while making new knots in her apron, already planning to get back to work "this is Clover bakery. My birthright as the eldest. If we were 200 years in the past, this wouldn't be a conversation."

And there she went, buffering with humor before he could even slip in a poorly timed bread pun about growth.

Trey sighed, following in her suit. Ever the push-over but oddly enough didn't feel like he was 'giving in' at all.

Maybe if he'd done the same at her age with his father, his life would be different. Not that he wanted it to be, but if she was embracing the path he walked? Well, who was he to push away the daughter so many fathers would kill for.

"Let's get back to work then - oh, but don't expect my help when you tell your mother...or Uncle Riddle. I'm your 'teacher' now, but not a miracle worker."

Hyena children all look the similar to an extent. A large factor is that most belong to lower class, and grow up malnutritioned. So they don’t get to age into their features like other predators. Everyone’s shorter than the average height, which makes living easier since most homes in the slums are made for small living. No one knows the term 'baby-fat,' let alone worries when they'll grow out of it. Kids don't get braces, and are lectured to take good care of their teeth and be careful not to knock them out. Which is hard to do if you're in a scruff, and so more hyena than not are missing at least one adult tooth by sixteen. The young folk are lean, good for slipping through big crowds. All bulk comes from muscle, which is earned by those with stamina doing village work instead of hanging at the gym.

Everyone says the Bucchi genetics are strong, especially if they meet his grandmother, but if they explored a bit around his hometown then they’d realize he isn’t that unique. At least, not physically.

Personality? Yeah, you use what you have to get where you need to be. He wasn't lacking in skills to learn or connections. His grandma passed that torch well.

Setting that aside - Ruggie’s twins don’t look anything like him when they’re young and he is FINE with it. They have plumper cheeks, wrists that won’t snap like twigs, no edge to their eyes, they take on his little airy laugh when their fangs come in too big for their mouths - but he can accept that.

Because they’re well fed and taken care of. Ruggie is NOT his father. He may not have planned for children. They're expensive and a large responsibility. There are few couples in his hometown that have the luxury of planning their children, or being able to celebrate.

They don't have the money for high-end hospitals with fancy medications. Hells, the nearest hospital is a multi-hour bus ride away. Most births are at home with the family doing a natural and holistic delivery. Which would be fine if there were the proper tools, guides, sanitation preparations, and more than one person knowing what their doing.

Pregnancy is terrifying - because the rate of losing someone in the process is too high for comfort. Not everyone gets the care they need during those nine months or in the delivery room. His mother didn't.

But Ruggie is PRESENT despite being terrified.

He's worked his tail off his whole life, and he will not stop. He already hunkered down when you became his spouse, but now? Now, he won't risk anything. This is one situation where money isn't a factor, because he's one of the lucky ones who has it. You WILL get the care you need, he WILL not need to freak out, and his children WILL grow up well. Not spoiled, but not spurned like he did.

Not scumming their dad for everything they've endured.

He'll teach them everything they need to know in life. He'll give them everything he was left wondering about. From the moment they're in his arms, until they're able to out-do him. Which will never happen, mind you.

They'll be smart, cunning, witty, and free enough to be themselves unapologetically.

"Dad! Grandpa Zeji gave me the chicken for free, and all I had to do was bat my eyes and shuck some corn for 'im!"

Ruggie cocked an eyebrow at his little half-pint, pausing mid-flip through his coupon clip. Just past thirteen and his daughter already had half the vendors around her finger. Mind you that negotiating in central city was child's play compared to where he grew up - but still.

His lip curled with pride.

"That's my girl! Did you keep the husks?" he asked.

She beamed up at him, and held out a large bag from behind her back. She gave it a shake in response, her little black ears twitching outwards. They were just starting to spot yellow at the ears, unlike her brother who seemed to be changing at his roots. Ruggie eagerly swiped the bag over his shoulder and ruffled the open spot.

"Shishishi~ That school project you two have next week is in the bag. Your mom and gran'll make pellets out of these for your sling-majig-thing"

"It's a planter that spreads the seeds out! We told you yesterday!"

She swipes at his hands, like she wasn't itching for the praise in the first place. Although once the bakery vendor starts giving them the stink-eye, Ruggie decides it might be best to keep the down low. Especially if he wants to haggle a free sample.

"Eh, whatever. Just make sure ya both get an A and good credits," he shrugged, going back to looking through goods. Although he spared her a brief glance then and there, watching her cheeky little grin slip into a polite mask. Small smile, nodding to people passing, downturned eyes a little too squinted. Yet the sunny day could easily excuse it.

She teetered and leaned against his back, covering his side. Just like he taught them both when crowds were high.

"We don't need pellets, dad...the husks are for fertilizer...ugh, you never pay attention." he overheard her grumbling.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Smart kids but not enough if they thought he'd skimp over details.

"It wouldn't kill ya to learn though. Spend some time with your family instead of in that room."

She sucked in air. Kid forgets where she inherited that sharp hearing from.

"You're the one always telling me to study!"

He snorted.

"I also taught ya to balance your time. Do you see your brother ditching family dinner to read fantasy novels? There are starving kids in the Shaftlands, y'know. I can arrange an exchange."

She stomped on his heel and he had a mind to tuck his tail down between his legs before it got yanked. She picked that one up from Gran.

Yet before he could scold her for it, the vendor came up with his order.

"That's two bags of wheat flour, cornstarch and a pound of sugar. Anything else for you. Mr.Bucchi? How about a treat for the wife, we just got in fresh pumpkin rolls."

A classic upsell. Ruggie lightly kicks his daughter's foot as he hands over the coupons and coin for his order. Their little squabble disappears when shared interest comes up. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, indeed.

"Pumpkin?" she peers over the counter, purposefully widening her eyes "Oh! Momma loves cake, but I don't think pumpkin is her favorite...We need to get her something really delicious! I think the Castillos down the block have a new chocolate cake she might like."

She makes a show of flipping over the price tag on the display and setting it back down. She leans back behind Ruggie and mutters that the chocolate cake is a lower price, just loud enough for the vendor to hear.

There is no chocolate cake.

"Now hold on one second, little missy! Just for my favorite regulars, I might be able to offer a sampling at a bargain."

Ruggie feels his teeth pinching his lower lips.

"Shishishi~ That might be just what we're lookin' for, how about a buy-two get two, eh?"

It is difficult to imagine Jade as a father — says anyone who hasn’t ever spoken to a child.

Jade Leech is highly qualified, and here’s why.

Being a father requires responsibility. It demands empathy (we are stretching the definition here) while also maintaining an iron-clad-heart. Why? Because children are menaces on society. They only get worse with age until the creeping sense of existential dread peaks around 17. Then they get that final burst of cockiness to mask their insecurity. All to mellow out when their frontal lobes finally develop around age 24.

A stable parent needs to love them at all stages. A good parent wants to love them at all stages.

It’s not for the weak-minded. At least being the good parent isn’t. Those little shits will do everything in their power to manipulate if they’ve been coddled too much.

You need to walk that fine line and do it well.

No. No no. You gotta be smooth. You need to do them worse, while also only messing them up maybe 20%. Walk that fine line. Parents get that much wiggle room for error. It’s their first time living too (and every family needs at least two good horror stories to laugh at).

Jade Leech is up for that challenge. In fact? He thrives on it. Raising a child is just like caring for any other ‘specimen’ - except, well, they talk back. They talk back and they mimic and they’re the most entertaining people to talk to if you sit down and actually listen to them. They’re hilarious because they’re always changing.

Jade Leech is an excellent father. He exceeds the standard. There’s not a single shred of doubt in his mind that his child won’t make his life better to live. He might tease or give an ambiguous response if asked - but that’s just his nature. Read between the lines.

Babies? Need constant care. A bit potato-like, but they look at the world so inquisitively. People also are faster to forgive and shmooze when you have one. Not that Jade would know anything about that… (*cough* Azul asking to babysit, but it’s just him using the baby as an empathy card during negotiations. Jade allows it and you have no idea. At least until little Leech gets her sharp mouth and can’t be bribed with candy *cough*)

Toddlers? Beasts. They’re growing into their features. You can start to see the resemblance to their parents. They touch everything, don’t really know self-control, and gods their vocal cords can make a weapon. Jade once locked his brother in a room with his daughter. Age 3. Who was just scolded for drawing on the wall. She cried (screamed at glass shattering frequency). Floyd smashed his head between the couch cushions. Possibly bit through one of the cushion covers.

Floyd the pulled out a forgotten marker from between the seats. They both left a mess on the floor by the time Jade came back. Needless to say - they are of the same blood, and she is very much an uncle’s girl. She grows up with the effortless ability to manipulate him, and Floyd lets it happen.

Children? Children talk. They’re testing their boundaries. Leech spawn in particular just don’t have a filter. At all. Jade attends all parent-teacher conferences solo. Mainly because he’s the one teaching his daughter to be blunt and seek ‘fun’ with her classmates. You don’t ask so long as the report card comes clean.

Teenagers? Ah. Well - he’ll pass. College professors can handle the rough end of what his parenting techniques have yielded. He greatly enjoys her visits home though. Even more when she brings (forces) friends along. Especially if they’re related to some long-lost connections.

For the sake of time - the point has been made. Children are a novelty, and Jade is perfectly invested. Not to say that he views his daughter as a source of amusement alone. Jade simply loves the unpredictability that comes with having a child. It makes the heart fonder.

Even her birth was not one Jade could ever conceive or predict. Half human, half moray - it shouldn’t be possible. Yet he was more than willing to test the bounds of science and try until successful. Although he does is best to avoid complications that could endanger you or the child.

It is very fortunate that his daughter is born human. No need to fight ofd any siblings after ‘hatching,’ since you could only carry one (or a few, but sadly the ultrasounds showed none of that) at a time. The battle for dominance is something integral to the Leech nature…but alas, she can just fight her cousins or peers.

Although her legs are where the only differences lie - and even then, she has an endless supply of transfiguration potions at her disposal. The ocean is to her as the surface world was to Jade. A novelty.

She becomes obsessed with marine life, just as he is with foraging. There isn’t a stripe of ocean unexplored, with every spare moment spent exploring underwater biomes and mapping the different flora and fauna found.

Tormenting Uncle Azul at his office is also her routine pit-stop. That poor mer just can’t escape the Leech women. He shouldn’t have requested her so much when she was a baby. Now it’s like having a miniature-Georgina looming next his desk when all he wants is quiet. He respects, but is afraid. You end up in his office at least twice a week.

Although for all she mimics? All she stands for? All Jade raised her to be?

There is no one his daughter loves to test more, than her father himself.

“Jade! Have you seen my cauldron’s lid? It was hanging off the side - hook, but now it’s gone?”

Said man’s eye-twitched. Subtle enough that only he could feel it. His reflection stared back at him through pristine, clear glass and perfectly neutral.

Instead of this child’s first word being ‘daddy’ or ‘papa’ - she seemed to taunt him from even then. Her first word being ‘Jade’ instead.

Very few things miff him, but that? It was funny the first time. Now it’s a weapon to get footing over him. She wielded it every chance she got. The opportunist.

Can’t be mad at her for using one of the few weapons she has. He taught her well. Just not well enough to win against him.

Not yet, at least.

He sets it down the latest addition to his terrarium display with a soft hum. Thought passing his features, but not a single one regarding his daughter’s alchemy gear.

“What makes you certain that I know where it is?” He asks dismissively.

“Because you’re that petty.”

Jade huffs, teeth splitting a taunting grin. Not even bothering to hide it.

“That’s hardly any evidence. Surely you’ve just misplaced it in prepping for your trip. You can’t blame your parents for every misstep on your part.”

The passive slight irked right under the outer layer if that thick skin. He snickered into his palm.

Three days prior hosted a slight argument. Jade warned against his daughter’s excessive use of transfiguration potions time and time again. Not in lue of any terrible side effects, but because her excessive excursions were beginning to toll on her studies. Which wouldn’t matter to him personally - except that she’d been aiming for a position within a top undersea archaeology program.

Also - she was lingering near the depths far too often. He couldn’t care less about the merfolk swept below by harsh tide. In fact - Jade’s been curious to see the remains below himself.

She’s thinking similar - and unfortunately Jade is just not willing to let his blood run dry to stupidity. They’ve already Floyd for that.

“Mother knows not to touch my equipment. I have not misplaced a piece since I was still below your knee. Soft evidence is enough to point towards the culprit - you, Jade.”

His eyelid twitched . Again.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean,” he holds the line, “but surely one so smart could find her missing equipment? One who knows everything surely doesn’t need help.”

Her brows drop, two golden hues light dangerously. Spending too much time with her uncle, it seems.

“If only Grandmother knew what type of father you turned out to be. So unsupportive. A thief too.”

“Oh - so I’m your father now? I thought I was Jade.”

The war wasn’t over. Far from, when her composure only cracked just enough for him to slip in.

“Fine,” her tone dropped, “I’ll ask mother. If I can’t craft my potions at home, then there is an open lab at school. I’ll postpone to help mother with dinner - daikons were on sale when I last checked the paper.”

She paused in the doorframe.

“Might be a nice change from our usual menu.”

And left with a mute farewell.

Jade polished off the last of his work, once again enduring that simmering mixture of annoyance and amusement which kept his life from growing too dull.

Such an empty threat. He taught her better.

Jade kicks under his workbench to check that the lid is still tucked under ‘work-only’ documents. The ones she’d snooped once and caught the blunt end of walking in on the wrong scene. Fufu. Curious until faulted.

Eventually she will get impatient and try to slip in his office. The battle won, a war waged. You wouldn’t mind if he set a few leads? For a goose chase long enough that she *might* consider a truce?

The desired ending, of course.

As Jade prepares to clue you in, ideas bouncing off each other - he thinks about how much he’ll miss this once his little Leech becomes the academy’s scholar (menace).

Ah. He’s already looking forward to her return home. They should truly name him ‘Jade’ of the year.

Note: Daikon is an ipecac for eels, along with other water-based vegetables.

Fatherhood comes easily to Jamil. He might just be one of the most prepared of the bunch. It was only a matter of time, after all. There are steps in life that people loosely follow. He hadn't quite pictured himself as a family man, but wasn't against the idea. Children were expected of him, oddly enough. It's just not as apparent as say Kalim, since he is the eldest Viper but not inheriting a title like Sutan. He still carries a house name.

Jamil willingly offered to share his life with you. When he did this, Jamil made peace with himself that his life will forever be split amongst many. Except he is choosing who, in this regard. His calmness is intoxicating, truly. Overwhelming even.

There is anxiety. There is always anxiety. To be a Viper is something he has lived to despise. The thought of his child being forced to serve one of Kalim's? Just as he did? To have relationships and friendship tainted? One of his greatest concerns, one he plans ahead for. He does not hope for full freedom, but that Kalim has taken something. Anything. From their growth, and will at the very least treat his child well.

For his idiocy, Jamil knows the new Asim head is not malicious. He can work with the situation.

A situation that is part of life. Hardship is part of life. His child will understand this, but not from an early age. Jamil is strict yet doting in his own way. He will spare them as much as he can, unlike his parents did for him. He will protect them. Nurture them. Place them first on all accounts and prepare them to be self-sufficient...but not divided from their parents. Their family.

His child will be exactly like him, and he will not be surprised. Since there is no other way to be as a Viper. Except he will make an effort not to pass on his dark humor. It will fail, since he can't help but let his true feelings slip. You've softened him too much unfortunately.

He will protect you as well. There is no need to fear during pregnancy. Cravings? He makes everything from scratch. Exercise? Light strolls every evening. Pain? He gives great massages.

Jamil has your hospital bag packed two months in advance. He has everything under control. His control. He is very anxious. Let him built the nursery. As much as he complains that he doesn't get to relax, he physically doesn't know how to so just let him have an outlet.

The moment his eldest son is born - with wisps of dark hair atop his head, sandy skin, and a cry that was much too quiet. Nothing to be alarmed of, but almost like he wasn't bothered being pulled free from his nine-month prison. Coming into the world knowing that many people were waiting for him. His first and possibly only time in the spotlight.

When Jamil held him in a firm hold on that first night in the hospital, just as the book said to - and his eyes opened to show deep grey. Jamil's own reflection in them, the sight drowning out everything else. He too, was quiet.

The beeping heart monitor.

Your soft snores, utterly exhausted and vulnerable.

The obscene amount of flowers and presents crowding the room.

A music box, wound up half-way with a Briar lullaby meant to sooth the baby. It did a job well done.

Even the personal nurse just outside the door, who insisted on coming in every hour. He told her there was no need, that he had it covered, but no one could refuse a request of house Asim.

It all feel quiet.

"You're a small thing," Jamil muttered, shuffling the baby to one arm, "sorry for the loud environment. I doubt you were expecting any of this."

His son said nothing, merely reaching out for his braids with his little arms. Jamil winced and pulled one from him.

"I must be mad, talking to a baby...ugh, not a word about this. I'm not crazy."

He cringed at himself for that one. As if normal people are up at three-am talking to their baby like its a retail worker. Despite the source of his anxiety being mostly quelled - it wasn't.

Jamil sighed deeply, sparing you a look. Careful not to wake you despite his own unwinding.

"Ouch!"

His head tips down when his son grips another one of his braids, and scowls.

"Not even a day and you're already causing me trouble," he huffs, and this time pulls all his braids back over his shoulder.

His son squirms, but doesn't cry.

"...now don't look at me like that. You can grow some of your own," he brushes his thumb over the baby's wisps, "in a decade or two, maybe."

This time his son garbles something, and Jamil takes it as a mutual agreement. He huff an airy laugh, scrunching his nose up and settles back into the uncomfortable hospital chair in the corner.

It isn't quiet anymore. The heart monitor reminds him that you're there, and the nurse would come in again soon. The bundle in his arms is warm, somehow he'd begun to internalize the jokes about his spawn being cold blooded. Even if it was physically impossible, he was grateful for this warmth.

It's odd, the effect looking into those little eyes has on him. You once told Jamil that his calm was infectious, with or without his magic. His eyes could sooth storms.

He's never looked into them himself, so he couldn't confirm.

Yet the adrenaline in his veins faded, the noises all soothed rather than spiked his pulse, and the little eyes looking at him made the night pass blissfully. Even when the nurse came, Jamil didn't push her out. With his son back in his bassinette and the first rays of sunlight coming in, Jamil could finally relax.

Actual 'Father of the Year'. There is a trophy on display that his daughter made out of an old candleholder, the narrow nozzle from their vacuum, wood chips, and plenty of glitter glue. Made just for Rook when he stopped another kid on a sled from taking a one-way trip down a frigid pond. Child and guardian thanked his quick reflexes - but he said to thank him by continuing to enjoy the snow. Just somewhere safer.

His daughter (who was but a toddler waiting patiently for him to push her own sled around) saw the whole thing, and decided right then and there that she was a papa's girl. Rook was her hero and she wanted to be exactly like him when she grew up.

Rook was moved to tears. Even when you needed that nozzle to clean under the couch, he wouldn't part with it. That trophy sits proud on his nightstand until the day he dies. It's in the will that he's buried with it too.

He'd spend eternity with all things he finds beautiful, in truth. All your family albums (there are many), his 'passions' (At least lay him with his autographed DvDs), and a smile on his face.

As Rook lives his life appreciating the world for what it is. Unfiltered. He finds beauty even in its frightening, yet merciful end. Something most people struggle to see throughout the course of life.

Yet for a man who can see all? Who can find the worthwhile parts of every person?

He never once struggled to find the beauty in his daughter. His little creampuff.  "Ma petite choue".

With her ability to sparkle under any light. Sweet, always changing, always recognizable even as her appearance changes with her growth, and undeniably a 'fan favorite'. He'll always be her #1 supporter, and loves her with as much passion as his mortal body can muster times infinity. For a man who keeps his affairs away from prying eyes, Rook shows no mercy when his daughter is brought into a conversation.

He will talk to anyone who will hear. Rave about the adorable, angelic squeak she let out that morning while they walked together under flush trees and honeybees buzzing in tune with their steps.

Meanwhile the baby merely burped from too much milk.

Or how she once decided to have an impromptu fashion show in his closet, and he couldn't bare to wear his own clothes after seeing her model them with the form of a professional.

Meanwhile she just got into his things, and decided his huntsman hat would be the perfect thing to steal (and would not return it).

Beware when he pulls out his pocketbook. There are around 32 polaroid's stuffed inside. An even distribution between his dear girls, and his idols. Your wedding photo is also on quick call, but no one knows where he whips that one out from. Best guess is it's stuffed in his coat...but it's a 12 X 12 photo and there are no crease lines in sight.

Yes. Rook, purveyor of genuinely and seeker of novelty, is the doting father and husband his reputation supports. Therefore it is only natural that he raises his daughter to appreciate all life, to be a free soul, and to cherish her loved ones just as much as he.

-

Two sets of footprints leave tracks deep in a woodland grove, far off in the nether end of the Shaftlands where naught a soul who spoke common tongue resided for miles. With pines as tall as giants that were coated with nature's bounty whipped ice, and the more perilous of beastly inhabitants hibernating until the groundhog dubbed it spring again.

Two souls bound by blood and faint traces of magic. One elder and one on the beginning threads of mastering the craft. Huntsmen to the naked eye, but sharing their game for the art of sport and survival rather than sullying their bonds with anything other than friendly father-daughter competition. Bows light on their backs and matching quivers strapped tight.

Their song rings as snow falls, as their tracks are covered by the bound elder buck being pulled towards wherever their destination lies. Voices similar in spirit and soul, both enemy and friend to nature alike.

~♫"Heigh-ho, heigh-ho -" ♫~

~♫" - it's home from work work we go"♫~

~♫"Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, heigh-ho, heigh-ho"♫~

~♫"Heigh-ho - " ♫~

"Papa?" Rook's petite choue cut through their shared ballad. Her tone none the less airy and whimsical as her father's, but heart no longer in song.

She heaves her half of the buck with one arm, stuttering the animal in snow so she might wipe the cold from her rosing nose. Any brighter and he might just have to fight Jack Frost himself for her.

Oh, the tragedy.

"Oui? What perils your thoughts and our duet?" he asks. She sneezes.

Oh, what dire tragedy. A battle on the horizon but with his beloved wife instead, should they both catch ill out in these wilds.

"Why do we always sing when out for game?"

It is true that Rook poses favorites, but they are favored for a reason! Such spectacular music in association with marvelous memories of his youth. It's only for good that they enjoy it habitually.

What's more, "Do you no longer desire to serenade the trees? This was your favorite tune as a little baby. Oh, how you'd babble when I would play it on loop and - "

"And you knew I was singing along. I've heard the stories, Papa, " she briefs in, although it's merely that teenage rebellion. Oh the trials of youth.

Rook mimes a wounded heart, his end of the buck no struggle to pull with just one arm. She might as well have struck him with one of his very own arrows.

“Ah! My stories are no longer of interest to my baby! What’s next, will you say that I have no wisdom left to impart? That you will leave me to weep in your mother’s embrace as you abandon us both for better parents.”

Rook’s words were as genuine as they were dramatic. Although her sweet laughter soothed both the whistling winds and his pride. The huntsman tipped his hat against the winds, as did she in sync.

“Your stories are always a joy to hear, but I was thinking,” she ponders, as if already sure of the next question, “…maybe, we could try something new?”

“Something new?” He muses, and the idea is fond.

“Yes. Not that I don’t love Neige or Uncle Vil’s music like you. Their charm plays a core part in my childhood and I associate their songs with nothing but the sweetest dreams….however….”

She gauges Rook’s reaction and slows her words. It’s amazing to see what others must when he is on the observer’s side. There is nostalgic in how his daughter’s deep emeralds seem to disappear under the hoods of her eyes. The shadow cast from the sun on her hat shrouds the dozens if freckles scattered across her cheeks, nose, and down into the depth of her wool scarf. Wrapped tight by her mother just short of when they left that noon. accompanied by wishes for a well hunt for them both.

Rook can tell the exact moment in which she began to look for his tells. The question stands if she has ‘found’ them or not - if he should have them.

“Which means that you’ve already found an alternative, no?” He tests, and grins all the same.

And in a split moment, she brightens.

“Oui, Papa,” with a flash of gusto and brevity - she produces her phone from ‘nowhere’. He caught the movement, but doesn’t out her hiding spots so she doesn’t out his.

His wife still couldn’t manage to figure out his movements, after all. He’d hate to lose the fun with both girls.

“Oh la la ~ You even came prepared ! Oh, how happy I am that my daughter wishes to share her passions with me. What a wonderful moment this is -“

“Papa. I love you too, but can we?”

She sticks one of the earbuds in her ear, and unravels the chord to hand him the other. He barely falters before responding in kind. Her excitement gives by the slight tremble in her hands, quick to bite off one of her gloves with the device stuck in her scarf’s nook. She grabs it, and searches for the already-prepared playlist without spitting the glove from her teeth.

Rook can only wonder what music has sparked her heart aflame in such a way. He’s long yearned for her to find a spark like he found in his passions, his love, his family -

‘Hello Everyone! Thank you for tuning in for today’s episode of ‘Early Automata’. Where we discuss the ins and outs of restoring retro mechanica and clockwork figures. Remember to subscribe for more content and let’s get into this historical dive -‘

Ah.

There is a moment where Rook’s joints seize all at once. He opens his mouth with questions hanging. Endless curiosity on where this interest stems from. Wondering where she could have possibly gathered such knowledge, from whom, for how long she’s held this passion.

Or if this was a practical joke.

He tunes in right then, unknown tells possibly showing if only she cared enough to look. There shines her mother’s habit of daydreaming, he notes

Rook’s daughter hums once or twice while stuck in her own little world, heaving their hunt without a hitch as they listened.

Together.

As they walked, she’d occasionally break out from her focus with the most elaborately nerdy ‘did you know -‘ that would only seem to branch into another segment, and then another. Even as her mouth dried from cold, she’d answer any question he asked with passion.

It was then that he realized that she’d become more like him than his petit choue possibly realized. He was ecstatic! To listen, to talk, to learn -

Rook could confidently say that he knew next to nothing about his daughter, and mean it in the most wonderfully adoring way.

It is official. The Vanrouge bloodline is cursed to only yield sons.

Correction.

It seems Lilia is destined to be a boy-dad. In blood, in guardianship, in kin and through unconditional love. The world sends him yet another little warrior in the making. Although this is the first of his own 'making,' so to speak.

Lilia never thought he'd change another dirty diaper in his lifetime. Never pictured dusting off Silver's old cradle and giving it a fresh coat of paint. Never thought he'd cut fruits into little bite sized pieces, watch little fingers graze them just to throw most back in Lilia's face. Maybe eat three of four.

Above all else - Lilia never thought he'd do it again with you. Someone to love and welcome new life alongside. Not that his family is incomplete. Perish the thought.

All his young ones carry a piece of him, but you? My dear, you compliment him. Make his final one-hundred years novel. You share in him, and that is a different kind of love. One just as valuable.

Lilia raises his blood-kin no different than he did Silver. He guards him no different than he did Malleus. He humors the boy, guides him, no different he did Sebek. Loves him no different.

Although the experience is altered in ways that attest to Lilia's long-lived life. He is no longer a single-father figuring out how to care for a baby as the hurdles come. The nights are no more easier, settling a child's cries. The pressure no less daunting.

But oh - how the bounties of his long-lived life all bloom around his child. A little bat-fae, one a half-breed no less. Had he any picture of himself as a baby, Lilia is certain the resemblance would have you sulking in a corner. Your genes stood no chance.

Nonetheless - this babe is one of the most beloved fae children in all the lands. This little thing is a testament to all the change he has bore witness to across seven-hundred years.

Lilia wouldn't call his life unfortunate, but the rose-colored glass over his childhood was nonexistent. Groomed into a hardened solider, his status constantly hung over his head. His purpose as a pawn in the Council's grand design. A lesser life forfeited to the tides of war, not that he cared. He fought for Melanore, and he'd have died back then without hesitation.

For a time - he held that belief strongly. If he could somehow secure Silver a loving home, he'd go back and die so Malleus could have his mother. So he could save his best friend. So that the world could have a chance to be whole and his 'purpose' fulfilled.

He is older. Wiser. His purpose was not to be a weapon. His death might have changed his sons' lives, but there is no telling if it would be for the better. He is their father. No matter what time or law say - Lilia cannot imagine them being anything else but who they are.

Perfect.

Just as his life is now. With you. Full. This child never would have been born, and from his first cry Lilia could never imagine such a thing.

-

"Mah, Mah - just hold still another moment. Otherwise I might just nick your ears, and we wouldn't want that. Right?"

Steel scissors round the curve of one dully pointed ear. Lilia snipped at the air a few times, hovering over the boy's head with a steady aim targeting any frizzed fly-aways.

Not that he would ever actually clip his son's skin. Although even the most skilled barbers could draw blood if their client jolts. it just so happens that Vanrouge blood breeds the most energetic children.

"Hurry Dad! I hear the carriage outside!"

His son just so happened to be the extra feisty sort. At least for now. The boy had a habit of getting spurts of energy, where he couldn't be tamed to sleep no matter what. Flying to high points, sneaking out past bedtime, scarfing his meals and finishing al his chores at a record-breaking pace. Then he'd switch to an old-man inhabiting a child's body. Listening to radio shows, sleeping half the day away, watching the bugs outside and barreling through all the books Sebek sends from the castle.

Lilia clicked his tongue, and cast a quick holding spell on the boy. Surely you wouldn't mind.

"Calm down now," the elder bat clicked his tongue and stepped in his view. Magenta reflects magenta - one pair of eyes aged with time and starting to wrinkle after hundreds of years. The other pair bright, young, and who knows what they'd see in the next century. Lilia pulled framing pieces forward, their sleek texture akin to his own as he trimmed fresh bangs.

"Please! They're going to forget me!"

"Forget you? They're too unfortunate for that." Lilia snickered.

"Father!" little fangs flashed with desperation.

The boy might be in his image, but Lilia can't recall ever raising such impatience.

That’s a lie. He is fully responsible for this kid’s big mouth. He’ll blame it on you though.

"Annnnnnnd - done!" Lilia smirks, sets the scissors far from reach, and snaps his fingers.

The holding spell yields, and so does the chair. It wobbles dangerously when his son zips off, his short legs propelling him out the kitchen and front door.

"Finally!! Mama! Wait for me, khehe!"

You, who this child was so desperate to see.

Lilia might not remember his own birthday, but he knows his children's by heart. His youngest turns seven in one day, and you'd been gone on work to Briar Palace. He was in grandpa-mode the night you left, and preferred to stay home in a quiet farmstead with his father. Listening to Lilia's war stories before bed with those attentive ears, possibly burning down the kitchen (and fixing it before you come home), and keeping away responsibility. Knowing full well that if he went with, then his brother and uncle would insist on checking his studies and swordsmanship.

He said he wanted time with 'papa' - but everyone knows this little bat would say anything to avoid the 'knight's responsibility' speech. Sebek might have to give up on training the next generation. At least another Vanrouge.

His mood altered during your stay. Now he wants nothing more than to be at the palace, admiring the darker corners and flying his way through the knight barracks until those soldiers get their cardio trying to catch him. All until he calms down once again, to stroll the halls and beg to see one of the plays or concerts in town. He gained Lilia's ear for storytelling, with a strong love for music as well.

Lilia sighed to himself. Keen hearing picks up on four voices. You, who strain to get in the house. Likely to make sure your kitchen was still in tact. He snickers, already planning to sneak a kiss once you make it in.

Silver, the first to greet with warmth and to check the house for any weathering from nature or it's inhabitants.

Sebek, who's volume scared nature away. Lilia hears him offer a new training sword to his little bat. He hasn't the heart to say that they're all collecting dust.

Malleus, who definitely shouldn't be taking an entire day out of the Palace. Lilia knows that both boys are being spoiled. His little bat - definitely not ignorant to a king's work but still wanting his time anyway. Malleus, more than ready to delegate responsibilities to play.

This quiet, humble cottage is now full of chatter. Warmth.

That's what had his little bat riled up so much, after all. Off to see his favorite play, anxiously waiting for his mother and family to come. Lilia would be lying if his heart wasn't excited for the same thing.

"Honey? I'm home - "

Footsteps near the kitchen, and he's quick to hover atop the doorframe. Still quick for his age.

He grins when you walk through, his four protege's on your tail like little ducklings. The tiniest one catches his eye and he mimes for his silence. Little fangs poke out, mirroring Lilia's playful grin.

Lilia swoops down to kiss your cheek.