It was so late it was early. Merle didn’t mind so much. Late shift was always the interesting shift. He could sleep in the early morning when one of his employees took over. Some time in the afternoon, he’d ferry some homegrown pipeweeds to the dispensary down the road.

For now, though, he was watching customers in the liminal hours going about their business. Like La’ming Ton, fresh from a late-night shoot and looking rumpled from some hard effort as she traipsed through the aisles, filling in orders on a list written by her kids.

The one Merle was keeping his eye on was “Young” Jason Hakniid. A kid who should have got his act together a decade ago, and seemed to be living in an eternal puberty where he got all the breaks and none of the consequences. According to his mother, Susan, he was going to be an Internet star just as soon as someone gave him a break.

Merle figured he was more likely to gain fame as yet another ratbag who caused immense devastation to an entire group of people or tried to blow up a building, rather than finding stardom. For the moment, he was more concerned about the twenty-something Humanman brat helping himself to something he was never going to pay for.

La’ming didn’t notice, but Jason was creeping on her. So Merle got in his way. “Help you with something, there, son?”

Typical of his family, Jason decided to stir trouble. “You better watch that [SLUR], m’man. Dirty [CURSE] like that’ll rob you dry.”

“Seems pretty clean to me,” said Merle. “What makes her dirty to you?”

Jason laughed. “Are you kidding me? I browse through hours of porn starring her ass. She’s a filthy [OH BOY].”

“If your looking at her ass made her dirty, maybe you shouldn’t look at her ass,” said Merle. He held out a hand, “And I’ll be having those three phones you put in your pockets or I’m calling the cops.”

The phones came out and so did some interesting words to turn the air blue.

“You’re on tape, bucko,” said Merle, waddling back to the counter. “Find everything?”

“Finally,” said La’ming. “I never knew I was adopting gourmets when I took them in…” She ferried stuff up to the counter, adding a few things she’d added to her pockets, then checked all her pockets and her bag to be certain. “Yeah, that’s it.”

In the shelves, Jason was carrying on a mumbled diatribe about dirty women and whether or not they should be trusted with children.

“He has neither,” Merle whispered. “Ignore him.”

“Already done,” said La’ming. “Sometimes, I wish I could ignore the whole world when they find me out…”

“…mumblemumble shouldn’t act like a [WHOOPS] on the daily mumblemuttermumble…”

“You have a good night,” said Merle.

“Give my love to Mavis and Mookie.”

“..muttermutter give your love to everyone with two dollars, ya [CRIKEY] grumblegrowl…”

Possibly prompted by this, La’ming added a kiss to Merle’s growing bald spot before leaving for the remains of the evening.

Jason wasn’t far behind. “Frigid [GODS],” he rumbled.

“Empty your pockets and learn to tell the difference between sex workers, there, Junior. LIke, if you got the money, a [GODS] will hand over the honey.”

Jason went on a half-hour diatribe that boiled down to his bemoaning the fact that he never got near a lady’s anatomy, and all the pretty ones thought they were too good for any decent fellow.

“Show me a decent fellow,” said Merle. “You? You’re the next best thing to pond scum.”

Insert half an hour for the how-dare-you rant.

“I apologise to pond scum,” said Merle, ringing up the purchases. “You got no right to complain, pal. You’re paying her rent, you’re paying for her clothes, and you’re filling up her retirement fund. If she wasn’t doing what she’s doing, you’d have to find something else to do with your hands.”

Half-hour opinion about how he should ‘get some’ if he’s paying for everything, then.

“Pal. She doesn’t owe you jack. You choose to pay for what she makes. That’s the product. That’s your fair exchange. Anything else she does is her business.”

Of course, he had another opinion in regards as to women going for assholes rather than decent folk.

“Son,” said Merle, “if that were true, you wouldn’t need the porn.”

“I’m never shopping here again!”

Merle wished him a good evening. Then muttered, “I wish you wouldn’t…”

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 5]

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Every intelligent being has milestones of development. Humans have the Terrible Twos, when babies learn that the word ‘no’ has power that they can weild. Elves… have the Turbulent Twenties, when a young Elf learns about the different paces that others, and how very, very long Elven lives are by comparison.

It’s an upsetting time for many young Elves. No less so for Lulu and Koko, who left the standard avenues of education for exclusively Elven ones at the tender age of twenty-five.

Magnus, their best friend and partner in crime, was going to college and spending his free moments talking about some girl named Julia. Hee was making plans for the rest of his life.

…it was depressing as hell for Koko to realise that he had like eighty years left if he was lucky. He was slowly gravitating away from the Scene Look and towards a lot of black and a lot of smoky-eye makeup when he and his twin were selected for special tutoring.

Not only because they were Elves, and had to take their education at a slower pace, but also because they tested high and showed signs of true genius. Their mom was appropriately proud, but… Koko approached the special classes with morbid hostility.

Especially when it turned out that they were going to be taught by a Humanman.

Professor Hallwinter was a stout man, not fat, but definitely stout. He had some muscle under his seemingly permanent blue jeans. He was fresh-faced for a Human, which meant that he was younger than the twins. Except… developmentally… he was miles ahead of them. Humanmen were grown-ass adults at twenty. Elves… were closer to children than adults.

He looked over to Lulu as Hallwinter stammered his way nervously through a formal Elven greeting and an introductory speech about the expected curriculum.

He knew that dreamy look.

He’d had it once before, whenever he looked at… him.

Koko fought to keep him mind on the lessons, the how and why of experimental spell forms. It was difficult with Lulu at the neighbouring desk focussing exclusively on whatever she found attractive about the dude.

He made it all the way to first break, then pulled his sister aside and said, “You know it can’t work, right?”

“What?” she demanded.

“You and Barry Bluejeans. One - he’s your teacher. You really shouldn’t be making sweet with a teacher… Two - he’s a twenty-year-old Humanman. By the time you’re an adult, he’ll be dying of old age…”

Lulu punched him. “Just because you had a bad time doesn’t mean you have to share it with everyone else, goofus. Gods! Lemme have a daydream.”

Koko boggled. “How? You know Humanmen never last. Shit, I’ve been counting the days until that asshole fucking dies since age sixteen.”

Now she shoved him, tears in the corners of her eyes. “WHY DO YOU HAVE TO RUIN THINGS?”

“I’m not tryin’a ruin nothin’. I’m tryin’a save you from breaking your heart…” He could feel the weight of it crushing his own. He could see his sister mourning a love that could never happen. He could see Magnus’ eventual grave. He knew… he just knew… he’d live to see the ends of everyone he loved. Avi and Johaan and Magnus and Angus and Agatha and even baby Agnes, and all the Montlings and old Merle from the Bodega and…

Tears were ruining his eyeliner. Everything hurt. The whole world hurt. “It’s not fair,” he complained. “This whole thing isn’t fair. Why do some people only got eighty… or less… and Elves live to like eight hundred… Why?”

The hurt he had never wanted to pass along reached Lulu’s mismatched eyes, too. “Oh, Koko…”

Then Barold ruined it even more by asking, “Hey, are you kids okay?”

Kids. They were just kids. Kids who would live to see their whole world die.

It wasn’t fair.

Something had to be done.

Between one week’s advanced class in magic theory and the next, Koko went budget Goth. He stopped buying the bright, holographic, glittery stuff and went for cheap and black. When he re-coloured his hair, he coloured it a simple black. A common colour from the bargain bins. He bought discount eyeliner and eyeshadow. Common black. One by one, the less than robust Scene clothes vanished from his wardrobe.

Every other spare scrap of money he had went into his studies. Research into obscure and ancient magics. Throwing himself into finding out what had happened to give Elves such a huge lifespan when so many others just… missed out.

He found an answer in legend. After four years of solid effort. Lulu was still crushing hard on a teacher she would inevitably outlive. Barold was headed inevitably towards the age where he would find someone to marry and then have babies with.

Magnus had already married Julia - a woman large enough and muscular enough to bench press him without breaking a sweat - and they were talking about raising their own babies.

Even Baby Agnes was growing up. Flirting at people and getting into fashion and… No. It wasn’t allowed to happen.

Koko put it all together. The legend, the spell… all he needed was the right thing to sacrifice. Something that would last forever. Something that would feed itself. Something he wouldn’t need.

Well. He knew one thing that he would never need to use again. One traitor emotion that had hurt him too hard and he’d sworn off ever using again.

He could sacrifice his heart so that his sister’s would never be broken. It felt… almost poetic. Noble. Perfect.

Now all he had to do was gather the spell ingredients…

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 4]

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Magnus was in a comfortable pocket of warm and, just for a moment, he had to wonder how he got it. Then his noggin caught up with his waking senses and he remembered. He had a room of his own. He had a bed. He had a new family.

…and speaking of…

Dad Johaan was singing. “…the world says hello… you twinkle above us, we twinkle below…” some notes happened thanks to the pots and pans in the kitchen.

Magnus stretched in his bed just because he could. He dislodged his plushie dog in the process. That tore it. He had to get up. Not that that was a horrible thing any more. There was no more yelling. No more being bad.

He padded out to the bathroom and enjoyed free access to facilities that were once rigidly controlled in the foster homes. Soap. Warm water. Kind people who talked about how he made mistakes and how they could all work to make the next time better. He had hit the big time.

Dad Johaan was mixing up stuff in the kitchen as he sang. Magnus joined into the song. “…sabba sibby sabba, nooby abba nabba, le le lo lo…”

Dad Johaan smiled, snagging out the helper stool with a foot and putting the batter bowl down before handing the whisk to Magnus. This was the best, keeping the goo moving while one of his dads worked on the next bit.

“What do you reckon, little man? What’s the best pancakes this morning?”

“Bacon pancakes, makin’ bacon pancakes,” Magnus sang.

“Take some bacon and ya put it in a pancake,” Dad Johaan joined in.

Papa Avi emerged, all rumpled and hanging on to his PJ bottoms, “Bacon pan-caaaaaaakes…” He found the drawstring at last and did it up. “I have to say that there is such a thing as too much bacon, short stuff. You gotta have two berry pancakes for every bacon pancake you eat, buddy.”

“You need vitamin C,” added Dad Johaan. “I didn’t go to a nutrition course to have you, only to feed you bacon twenty-four sev.”

Magnus said, “I can eat like twenty-one pancakes,” as if he really could. He knew what his dads were going to say, so he joined the chorus. “One at a time, little man.”

“I gotta shower, you okay, babe?”

“I think I can survive,” said Dad Johaan. The instant Papa Avi left his sight, he play-acted at growing weak. “Oh no. The love of my life is gone from my sight. My vitality… fading…”

A voice from the bathroom, “Oh give over!” Water started running and Papa Avi started rendering I Will Always Love You. In this case, render, as in to tear asunder. Papa Avi had a terrible singing voice.

That didn’t stop Dad Johaan smiling goopily at it anyway. Magnus was allowed to help with the pancakes, but not the bacon. It spat and neither of his dads wanted him getting fat burns from that. That didn’t stop Magnus hovering like a vulture as the bacon fried inside puddles of syrup.

When Dad got stung, all he had to say was ‘ow’. Magnus had only wondered out loud, once, how much it could really hurt. He’d made the mistake of saying that it couldn’t hurt more than the cigarettes had and Dad had cried almost all day. When Papa came home, he’d heard from Dad and then there had been hugs all night.

Magnus decided not to mention what the old foster homes had done with him, any more. His dads were happier that way.

The bacon pancakes were slightly smaller than the berry ones, and Magnus wanted to complain about that. Bacon was his favourite food group, after all. He wanted to complain, but he wasn’t brave enough to do that yet.

Papa came out again, this time crisp in a fresh uniform and messing with his tie. He looked at the yield and said, “Those bacon pancakes are a little small. Better let him have an extra one when he’s nearly done, eh?”

“YAAAAYYY!” Magnus jumped at the news. Any morning with extra bacon was a good one.

Dad had a travel mug of coffee and a breakfast burrito for Dad, and the lunchbox they had all packed that night. It had some special envelopes inside, with messages from Dad and Magnus each.

“Go get the bad guys, Papa.”

“Try my best, squirt,” Papa ruffled his hair and picked Magnus up for the best bit of every morning. The squish.

Dad and Papa hugged, with Magnus squished in the middle and the world was going to be wonderful for a whole ‘nother day. The only thing that made it better was making sure all the cheeks were smooched, which was another morning ritual.

Breakfast and school and all the other stuff was okay, but this? This was the best.

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 2]

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[AN: You did read the same story I wrote, right? I can’t cement that kind of Lucas with Sno. However…]

She wasn’t his type. He knew it. She was a ‘column’ while he preferred an ‘hourglass’. Even then, the ones in meatspace were never ‘hourglass’ enough for his fancy. If only he could make animation real… But that was still beyond his scientific grasp.

In the meantime, real women confounded him. They never had the same rule set from girl to girl. They never followed The Game, they never acted like they should. They were never predictable.

Especially this one. Snocoun Ton. She was the exact opposite of everything he wanted in a woman. Flat where he expected shape. Tall where she should have been short. Possessing opinions where she should have been agreeable.

Yet he could not stop thinking about her.

That low fire in her eyes, like a wild storm. Energy waiting to be unleashed, and held back by the thinnest of facades. She exuded unresolved tension and he could sense that it was aimed at him.

He tried to take his mind off it by watching some previews on his computer. She’d never call him back. They never did, and he never minded. Usually, a good half hour’s exposure to proper women - animated women - would scour his brain clean of even thinking about the lady he had been with that night.

Not this time.

This time, the previews included one about history. Sort of. Historical fiction about the xenophobia wars and a Beach Elf torn between two or more loves. The dates couldn’t be right. The Xenophobia wars ended four hundred years ago, but this was set four hundred years ago and was about how they started.

Lucas did some googling and journeys through an extended wiki walk and learned…

She had been right.

She looked just like the maiden in the anime…

The producers had done a lot of homework to set this one in a plausibly accurate time and place. Where things could have taken a different path, if only…

In this show, Fires in Elfington, they bragged about how it was the first Humanman drama to cast Elves in a sympathetic light inside of five hundred years. Lucas absorbed all the extra material they had around on the internet and even managed to catch the premier episode.

He was even more enraptured than before. All they had to do was change the heroine’s hair from deep plum to a fiery red and she would be the spitting image of Snocoun Ton.

Inspired, Lucas decided to see what was available online about her. Just to sate his curiosity and realise that she was not an animated girl come to life.

Oh shit. She might be.

She fought injustice at every turn. Just like the animated Syn’amon. She struggled against oppression and prejudice, just like Syn’amon. She did everything she could for lost, abandoned, or orphaned kids. Just like Syn’amon. She let opportunities for advancement slide by for the greater good… just like Syn’amon.

By three AM, Lucas had seen the second episode of Fires in Elfington, and had developed a raging crush. Not just for Syn’amon, but also for her true flesh doppelganger, Snocoun Ton.

The next dawn saw him scouring the internet for material - any material - about episode three. He was so desperate that he was trawling through the fanfiction already springing up about the show.

Then he found an interesting article. The show creators had looked to real world examples for their characters and… there was a picture of Officer Ton with a small child carried in her coat right next to a picture of Syn’amon nursing a bear cub in a similar pose.

He read every word and saved it into his growing fandom file. No wonder Officer Ton looked like Syn’amon. She was Syn’amon.

When he finally went to sleep, he dreamed of her. Skipping through the mangroves like her animated counterpart, fighting evil. Righting wrongs. Rescuing him and falling in love…

It was a glorious dream.

It was so influential on him that he felt he had to make amends. A big bunch of flowers, for sure. Ladies loved flowers.

He tracked down her precinct offices and asked to see here as soon as it was convenient. She was likely out, busy being a hero. Whilst not exactly rescuing bear cubs from forest fires, she was certainly rescuing the weak and helpless from the forces of terror. Even if they were the more mundane ones, like domestic abuse or fights between different adults. Or saving them from gangs or kissing some guy by the vending machines - what?

He was a stringbean of a fellow. Dark grey skin, pale, pale blond hair.

She looks so different when she smiles like that… he thought. Then, as his brain caught up with current events, Is that my executive assistant?

Officer Ton noticed him, and the smile fell off her face. In an instant, a professional mask was in the place of genuine emotion. It was an expression eerily similar to the one she had worn on their date, the previous evening.

Realisation hit him like a bucket of cold, stale vomit. Oh… He offered the flowers anyway and said, “I came to apologise for being a jerk,” he said. “You were right. You were right about everything. I’m sorry.”

“Uh. Thanks,” said Officer Ton.

Mukaara was wearing casual nerd, instead of the suit he wore on the job. His T-shirt said, I’m not stupid, I’m not expendable, and I’m not going. The jeans he had on were headed slowly towards being disreputable. “Is there a problem at the office, sir?” he said.

Lucas fought with his newfound ethics. He could make one up that would keep Mukaara busy for hours on end, and therefore gain some time with Officer Ton, but… She would not appreciate the ruse. “No,” he said, realising that she could also plausibly kick his ass as well. “I just… I just came to say sorry. I’ll be… working on some stuff by myself. You know how it goes.”

“Have fun, sir,” said Mukaara.

Lucas spent a moment in heartsore agony watching his assistant kiss his crush. Her ears actually flirted with being veretical when she was with him. At all other times, they were pointed down. She was happy. With Mukaara. Not him. “You too,” he said, and meant it.

It was a strange creature that shambled back to his lab to noodle on his random projects. He looked like Lucas Miller, he answered to that name. In all ways but the metaphysical, he was Lucas Miller. Except…

Something enormous had changed. Something profound had altered his soul.

He had found… courtly love; and he was going to use it to change the world.

But first… he just had to order that Syn’amon body pillow cover from Geeklord dot com.

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 2]

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[AN: *stimming, not stinking. Three Bronx Cheers for autocorrect]

Angus McDonald, fresh adoptee of the Fangbattles, skipped into his new class as if he was walking on air. When he walked out, it was under a metaphorical raincloud and the hunch-shouldered attitude of someone who would much rather be condemned to death than go back into that one room again.

Of course the twins noticed in a cold second, homing in on easy tells like a sudden stillness and quiet in a formerly exuberant boy. Gone was the happy, infodumping chatterbox and in his place was a sullen doppelganger. A ghost that the family had thought they banished with love and encouragement.

Koko and Lulu took him in between them and made an Angus Sandwich with each twin as half of the ‘bun’. They tried purring for him. They tried gently twining the curls of his hair. They tried Being With him. They even tried getting him to blow on dandelion puffs or thistle seeds.

It was no use. Angus had become a block.

It was worse than when he’d been a ward of the orphanage. He’d retreated into himself, there, too… but they expected a modicum of interaction. This time, he’d shut off from even the safest and friendliest interactions.

Koko, the more sensitive of the twins, had tears spilling from his eyes. Fat, thick, plentiful ones that wouldn’t stop. Lulu twirled a lock of her hair and recited the silly name rhyme that used to make him giggle.

“Ango McDango dance the fandango, eat up a mango and tango with me…” she singsonged. “Your coat we can hango up over the frango, this song we have sango for you and for we…”

Not even the vaguest twitch of a smile. This was bad.

They pulled their coats up over their heads and made a sort of coat tent that shut out a lot of light and petted his hands and whispered validation into his tiny, cute, round humanman ears.

“We love you,” and, “It’s going to be okay,” and, “We want to help,” and, when it all got too frightening, “Please come back to us?”

Angus didn’t pet their hands, or say, “I’m okay,” even when he wasn’t. He just sat there and breathed and stared at nothing. Occasionally, he would blink, but he otherwise showed no further signs of coming back out.

Not even 'painting’ his skin with the tips of their braids would lure him back into the world.

Someone tapped Koko on his shoulder. He emerged from their tent and so did Lulu. They were both in tears and beside themselves with worry. It was Miss Mak'arune. Thee nicest, friendliest teacher in the entire world.

“Did you miss the bell? It’s time to go into class.”

Angus moved. He picked up his hands from his knees and interlaced his fingers and squeezed his hands together so hard that the skin went white.

Koko put it together in two seconds. “Did you tell our Angus to have Quiet Hands?”

Lulu had her hands over her mouth. It was like finding out that the Erastide Hare ate unwary children instead of hiding colourful eggs for the spring festival. Or that Father Candles stole the toys of poor children to gift them to the rich. It just could not be possible. “You didn’t,” Lulu felt like bursting into tears and running all the way home. “Please tell me you didn’t. I thought you were nice…”

Miss Mak'arune crouched down so she was on their eye-line. “It’s policy. Noisy hands distract the other students and we have to keep everything in line so everyone can learn. It’s a simple process and it doesn’t hurt…”

Koko was on his feet in instants. “WHY DON'CHA CUT OUT HIS TONGUE 'CAUSE HE TALKS TOO MUCH?” he screamed. “IT’S THE SAME THING!” Then he scooped up Ango into his arms and ran and ran and ran. He knew Lulu would be close behind. That was the way the world worked.

They only got a mile away from the school gate before their legs flagged and the stress of everything overwhelmed them. Lulu found a pocket in the briars where they could hide and at least plot their next move or, like Koko did, just kind of fold up and cry about everything bad that had just happened.

Lulu tried to plot their next move with Koko going to pieces and Angus just… not present. They clearly couldn’t go back to school. Not with a Quiet Hands policy. They couldn’t go home. Principal Davenport would have called their Moms by now. Which meant that they couldn’t go home.

Koko cried himself out and sighed. “Well, it was a nice home while it lasted,” he said. He must have reached the same conclusion far, far sooner than Lulu had. He always went with the worst alternative first, as it saved time. “Where next? Phandalin? Halverdale? North Haverbrook?”

“Home would be nice,” said Mama Carey. Of course she’d found them. She was a Rogue, and knew every trick. Including, as evident, how to sneak up on all of them and listen in to what there was of the conversation. “But I get you’re upset. I’m listening if you wanna talk.”

Angus was still a block, and the twins babbled out everything they knew. It was just as bad as the first days, Mama. Remember when he shut down? Like a whole week and he was just… he was block Angus. Not doing nothing, you remember? It’s happening again 'cause of how they made him do Quiet Hands. It’s evil, Mama. That school is straight up evil.

Lightning briefly crackled behind her teeth. Mama Carey took ten deep breaths and walked off to make a few Stone calls.

“Mama’s here,” Lulu tried. “She’ll keep you safe like last time. Remember? Mama and Mom kept you outta the bad place.”

Angus’ eyes moved, very briefly. He was hiding deep inside, and that was his first peek back into the outside.

Mama came back. She said, “Okay. We’re all meeting up with the Principal, Miss Mak'arune, and Mom, back at the school. We’re going to sort this out for the good of all. I won’t let you get hurt again, okay?”

*

Angus rocked gently in his seat. Lulu and Koko were on either side of him and Mom and Mama were on either side of them, helping him feel safe. He still clutched at his elbows when Miss Mak'arune entered the room and whimpered a little. The twins closed up around him and Koko growled a little.

Principal Davenport sat on a desk and tented his fingers. “Let’s talk,” he said. “I understand that young Mr McDonald has had a significant upset in regards to… quiet hands…”

“It’s despicable,” said Mom Killian. “It’s teaching autistic kids that they can’t express themselves. It’s the worst of oppression.”

“We’re gonna need a week of Intensive Interaction just to get him back to normal,” said Mama.

“Intensive…?” Miss Mak'arune echoed. “I’ve never heard of anything else other than ABA… it came highly recommended in all the papers…”

“Yeah, highly recommended by all those who hate autistic kids,” said Lulu. “It’s people who believe that kids like Angus are burdens who think that that sort of stuff is actually good.”

“Look what it did to him,” said Koko. “He’s blocking the world. He’s scared to say or do anything with anyone or anything.”

“They used to do something similar when he was in the orphanage,” said Mama. “It was horrible. Horrible.”

Miss Mak'arune had gone red. Her eyes were overflowing. “Ohmygoodness, ohmygoodness,” she whimpered. “I had no idea, I’m so sorry. Angus, sweetie, I never meant any harm… I swear. I thought I was doing good. I know I was wrong. Sir. We have to learn better ways. Now.”

Principal Davenport was a man of few words. He listened to all of this with tented fingers and an intense expression. He finally said, “I agree. Let’s listen to the people who know the most about this issue. All of them.”

*

It took a month. One week for Angus to come back into being himself. Three weeks for the moms to gather some experts, books, and evidence, and create a special presentation for the teaching staff at Miller’s.

Angus was a willing participant in some of the Interaction methods. Education about what Stimming was, and meant, and how it was a means of expression for some. How to read an Autistic kid, when they didn’t always show the best of emotions or show them consistently with neurotypical means of reading.

The most important lesson, the best lesson, was that an Autistic kid didn’t have to be a burden, if one was willing to take a journey into their world.

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 4]

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[AN: This happens before the toothbrush incident]

“So-o-o-o… you got a type or what?”

They were on stake-out, with little to talk about any more, so of course the conversation turned to matters of the heart. Avi was very happy with Johaan and wanted to see that kind of happiness spreading around.

“Stop trying to set me up, Burnsides…” Sno peeked through the binoculars. No movement from the guy they were staking out. He was having a quiet night in. Apparently.

“Hey, if anyone deserves some happiness with a special someone, it’s you, buddy.” He added a mock punch. “You’ve been through more than your fair share of shit. You deserve happiness. You deserve love.”

“I can find it on my own. Thanks.”

“At least tell me about your dream date.”

Sno could see him every time she blinked. “Tall. Dark. Nerdy. He’s got this weird laugh and a sorta… skewiff smile. Kind’a awkward, but… honest awkward. The nice guy that doesn’t advertise, you know?”

“Thirty guys at the precinct just lost a bet that you’re a lesbian,” said Avi. “Nerdy types, huh?”

“Yeah. I like me a man with an astonishing grasp of Klingon.”

Avi laughed at that, and the discussion devolved into some areas of nerditry that Avi - a born Jock - was familiar with. But that was the moment that lead, inexorably, inevitably, to one of the most excruciating evenings of Snocoun Ton’s life.

Avi had set her up with a nerd from Miller Labs, a favour he had managed to wrangle after solving some case involving volatile chemicals, smugglers, and a rare species of parrot. Sno had gone along because she thought her partner had somehow found out about a completely different nerd who also worked for Miller Labs.

For a fleeting moment, Sno daydreamed about not having to come clean because the other man in her life had already figured things out for her.

Then Mukaara bowed Lucas fucking Miller into the restaurant seat opposite her and took a seat at a group table with a bunch of other executive assistants. He made sure he had a good view, the rat bastard.

“Wow,” said Sno, glaring at Avi. He was gurning and making positive hand signals through the window like the over-eager puppy he had to have been reincarnated from. “When he said he had someone high up in Miller Labs, I didn’t expect anyone this high up.”

Mukaara, over at the assistants’ table, was watching her over his menu with a devilish gleam in his sky-blue eyes.

“I… thought I’d be getting someone a little further down the totem pole. Like an assistant…”

Lucas Miller spat a little as he talked. “Yes, well. I understand your shock and awe. It’s rare that I meet a lady who’s of the right calibre to date someone like me. I mean. You can’t get much higher in the Miller Labs internal structure without going to my Mom and -haha- that’s my job. Haha.”

“Haha,” echoed Sno, deadpan.

In the window behind Miller, Avi was using his fingers as antennae and attempting a Vulcan salute. He rolled ones for his skill check on the latter. He blatantly mouthed, Talk nerdy nerd stuff.

“But seriously,” said Miller, “I’m a nice guy and -to be humble- one of the top ten geniuses of our time. I’m more than a little particular about the kind of girl that gets my attention.”

Oh shit. Red flag. Abort! Abort! Sno looked to the window for Avi, and only saw the tail end of his scarf as one of the restaurant staff shooed him away from the exterior. Mukaara was talking to a waiter and couldn’t get any of her covert signals.

And worse, she’d paid in advance for the table. She’d better eat here or the deposit would have been spent for nothing.

“What kind of girl might that be?” she cooed, playing nice. Maybe if she played all her cards wrong, she could escape this travesty and never have to contact Miller again.

Miller started waxing lyrical about the women he’d had crushes on since childhood. All of them, Sno noted, owed their existence to cell animation. The few she recognised were all the same type - big-busted, addle-brained, cutesey-wutesy doormats.

Gods, please get me out of here…

*

To think, Mukaara pondered, he had been worried that Sno might start falling for his boss. He should never have been so concerned.

Lucas Miller had a type, and it was generally found printed on a cover for a body pillow. Despite that, he expected any flesh and blood woman to pass a trivia test in order to qualify for his attention.

So far, Sno was passing. When she was allowed to get a word in edgewise.

Mukaara watched the disaster unfold. Lucas had already completely failed to notice Sno’s severe lack of interest in him since three seconds in. Sno’s face was a rictus when she wasn’t desperately mouthing, Help me! in Mukaara’s direction.

Entrees had been survived. The main course arrived with -oh gods- Lucas’ opinion on Elves.

“It’s all well and good saying that terrible things happened in living memory,” he was lecturing, “but Elves live for a million years or more. You guys should take a joke or two.”

“Seven hundred and fifty,” corrected Sno. “Eight hundred if they manage clean living.”

Lucas didn’t appear to hear her. “So what if the Xenophobia wars were in living memory? That could mean a thousand years ago! They ended four hundred years ago.”

“They ended forty years ago,” corrected Sno. “They started four hundred years ago.”

“They need to let it go.”

“Millions died. Elf kind were almost wiped out.”

“Yes, yes, yes… But it happened so long ago. The damage is repaired. The population is back to normal. Almost beyond normal. There’s no more need to keep crying about it.”

Mukaara flinched. Nope. She wasn’t going to hit him, but it was a close thing.

“Trouble?” said Rinnu.

“Almost. If he keeps talking about the Xenowars, there’s going to be.”

“Yeah?”

“Her mother was one of the last casualties of the Xenowars…”

Winces, hisses, and whistling backwards. Something expensive was doomed to happen.

“What about your opinion on Steampunk?” said Sno rather desperately. A safe way to move things to something Lucas loved to do - deliver his opinion.

Sno’s expression ranged from relief through boredom, to being ten thousand percent done with everything that came out of Lucas’ mouth.

On the plus side, that particular classification would not include -say- his teeth.

On the minus side… poor Sno was suffering for a fancy dinner.

He’d have to make it up for her at a later date. Perhaps a marathon session of bad food and worse television and a good, solid session of Mock That Movie.

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 6]

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If there was any day that would be the worst one for a surprise inspection visit by the Fantasy CPS, it would have to be the day that Taako was sliding inexorably towards a full-on Luume rampage.

He was currently cooking everything in the kitchen whilst Angus, Agatha, and Carey flipped rapidly through reference material, desperately searching for something that would prevent Taako bonding with all the babies in the house. Carey and Killian liked Taako just fine, but not as a co-parent to their own daughter.

Both Orc and Dragonborn had rougher hides, and couldn’t finesse an Elf’s ‘off switch’ like an Elf or a Humanman could. The only other option was one of the children, and by the time he got near one, he would want to grab the other.

“Here it is,” Carey found the passage. “Co-parenting of a child by a more authoritative figure can prevent a parental bond forming in an Elf suffering luume’irma. This is it. One of us goes with and does most of the parenting stuff instead of letting Taako do it all.”

“Or I could just hide,” suggested Agatha.

“No, hon. He’d scent you out,” said Killian. “We’ve seen this sort of thing before. Unless Kravitz turns up to really distract Taako–”

“Gross,” said the kids.

“Yeah, we figured that wouldn’t be an option,” said Killian. “And I don’t wanna disinfect my kitchen again.”

“Babies eat,” singsonged Taako, bearing an overloaded platter of nutritious and delicious treats.

Someone knocked as they barged in. “Fantasy CPS inspection.”

Sniff? Snort. SNARL!

“Oh shit,” said Angus.

Taako quickly put the tray down and leaped over the couch to scoop up the kids, growling at the representative from the Fantasy CPS, and one of the staffers from the very orphanage both kids had come from.

If there was anything that was a worse threat to those children, it would be the slightest hint that they were going back to that horrible orphanage.

Taako lifted one kid in each arm, hissed defiance at the representatives for their alleged welfare, and bounded off towards the backyard, where he had built a cote some years prior.

“Agatha, go limp,” Angus advised.

“Luume?” said the Fantasy CPS representative.

“Luume,” said Carey, lifting up the tray. “I gotta go make sure he doesn’t adopt our kid. Okay?”

They let her go off with a wave of their hand.

Killian, attempting to remain calm, made tea. “So,” she said. “How does your organisation feel about moments of bad timing?

Meanwhile, up in the cote…

Taako sniffed at the entrance. Food. Friend? Friend. Yes. Let friend in. Babies scared. Babies hungry. Babies in danger.

“Bad people near,” he said.

“Ye-e-es,” cooed Carey-friend. “Bad people are near. This is the safe place. This is a good place.” She handed Taako a cake, and gave one to Agatha. “You feed your baby, I feed mine. Okay?” She urgently whispered, “Don’t let him feed you. Always look to me for that ‘kay?”

Agatha nodded, taking the cake from her Dragonborn mother’s hands.

Taako knew he could groom both babies, that was good. He could sniff and worry and guard. That was… allowed. He could feed his baby and keep him arm and comfortable and that was very good. He could purr up a storm for the three of them. And if he saw even the slightest hint of the dangerous outsiders, he would occupy the entrance and threaten them until they went away.

That was excellent.

*

Agatha stayed glued to Mom’s lap or wrapped around her arm if a lap wasn’t available. The passages she read had said she had to make the belonging clear to a being whose mental capacity was diminished at best. Mom was cool with it, always keeping at least one limb wrapped around her.

The cote was comfortable, Agatha knew. She used it as a treehouse once or twice. The food was great - of course it was, Taako had made it. Much though she loved Mama Killian’s cooking, Taako was the best chef in one hundred worlds. He did actually make the best stuff. Even when Int and Wis were his current dump stats.

She got to chatter - quietly - with Angus about how their home lives were so much different now that they had a home. How worried they were about Fantasy CPS and the orphanage taking them back.

At that point, Taako wrapped himself around Angus and groomed him towards calm, purring as soothingly as he could. Mom Carey had her own Dragonborn purr, too, and rocked Agatha in her arms as she singsonged, “We burned the receipts, you can’t be returned, it’s going to be okay… Mom’s gotcha. Mo-om’s gotcha…”

Agatha held hands with Angus as the conversation turned to whispers. Finally, as the moon shone between the woven branches, Mama Killian strolled into their yard. “They’re gone. You’re all safe now.”

Taako sniffed the air, snorted, and murmured, “Danger…”

In the end, it was a sleepover and campout. Mama brought up pillows and blankets and some fairy lights, and snuggled with Mom while they both held Agatha safe between them.

Angus curled up safe in his Papa’s arm, with Taako purring in his ear.

It was a good night.

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 7]

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…in another reality, a fragment of the one we know…

Growl… Taako rather insisted that Mrs McDonald remained upright.

“None of that nonsense,” said Mawlitt briskly, levering Mrs McDonald’s feet out from under her. Or at least, that’s what he tried to do. There was a blur and a snap, and a sharp sensation of pain in his left shoulder. And a blood-soaked Elven face in his.

“Need. Safe,” Taako growled.

“Sir…. sir… deep breaths, sir. Dr Mawlit is here to help.”

The growling continued like a burning fuse. The sort of growl that starts in the back of one throat and ends in someone else’s.

Mrs McDonald shrieked. “It’s… coming!”

Grrrrrrrrooooowwwwllllll…

“Sir, it’s okay. I won’t let the doctor hurt her.”

The baby was out before he could think of dressing his own wounds. Something Mr McDonald was there to help for. The important part was hale, hearty and crying.

“Baby eat,” was even more disturbing with the slow fuse of growl underneath it. 

Mawlitt let that distract the Elf in the room and got out the forceps and special scissors. “Now to cut the cord…”

There were sharp, Elven teeth in his wrist this time, holding forceps and his hand away from the trailing cord. The growl intensified with flecks of foam. Mawlit was close enough to see murder in those suddenly-thin slits.

“Sir, no!” Mr McDonald put himself between Taako and Mawlitt.

“Ba– baby? Threat! Threat! Babies. Threatening babies!”

Mawlitt figured it out. No bladed instruments. Right. He moved his more imposing obstetrical arsenal well out of sight and hopefully out of mind.

“No threat,” he assured. “Help babies.” He bandaged his right wrist. “I’m using the clean hand, to help with the afterbirth. Okay. No hurt. No threat.”

Taako yielded grudgingly, growling the entire time and poised ready to strike if the slightest hint of trouble glimpsed his way.

Whoops. That’s a second baby… He got the kid oriented the right way with a gentle shove. “Ms McDonald,” he said, “You’re going to have a twin.”

Taako was suddenly happier about life in general. “Babies,” he preened. Then returned to growling slightly softer at Mawlitt.

“He is going to be intolerable,” she complained between pushes.

“He is never going to shut up about this,” agreed Mr McDonald

Twin number two entered Mrs McDonald’s arms and Mawlitt found himself pushed forcefully towards the exit by a pissed-off Luume-addled elf. Just as those sharp, sharp teeth drew closer to his neck, rescue came in the form of Kravitz Reeper. “Hello, Dove. Don’t bite the doctor.”

Agatha squirmed past squeaking, “Babies! Babies! Grampa was right! There’s twins!”

Mr McDonald stage-whispered, “We don’t need to encourage Grampa…”

Mawlitt would be grateful when civilisation reasserted itself. Fortunately, he was plenty distracted by the husband cleaning blood off of his face.

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 8]

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Lucretia had just turned five when the Event happened. She had a few words that she would use when there were no alternatives, but this was not one of them.

“Mom!”

The twins came running, so did Gramma La’ming, who Lucretia secretly called ‘Gramming’ in her occasional playful moments. Not that she said that out loud. She rarely said anything out loud.

Her extended, adopted family were careful to circle around so she could see who was coming even when all her attention was transfixed on the TV, and the news it contained.

Her adopted mother was on the TV. Slowly approaching some house in suburbia and she had her vest on and her hands empty. Lucretia could read the crawler. She could read all of it.

Hostage situation in lower east end, was the main one. There were also words that zipped by like gunman, and drug bust gone wrong, and possible fatalities. The twins knew what was up.

“You need a hug?” offered Koko.

“You need a Sammich?” said Lulu. It was family shorthand for both twins holding her like comforting brackets.

“Sammich,” she nodded. She didn’t close her eyes as the twins squeezed in, keeping her eyes on the screen for any hint of what her mom was doing. Gramming patted her lightly on the head as if to say, I will be right back with what you need.

In a moment, she heard the dryer going and smelled the special hot chocolate. Therefore, in just a few minutes, there would be warm beverages in all hands and a warm blanket tucked around all three of them.

“Aunt Sno knows her suff,” said Lulu. “She’s gonna be okay.”

The words zipping across the screen said, Armed gunman allegedly high on Bad Dreams, a dangerous new drug on the streets of Neverwinter. Lucretia couldn’t listen to any of the words that the people were saying, no matter how clear their speech nor piercing their voices. Her attention was fixed firmly on the scrolling words and the tiny blue figure in uniform, whenever she turned up in the shaking camera’s view.

She was glas of the hot chocolate and the warmth of the blanket when her mom stepped inside the building.

“She’s got this,” repeated Koko between slurping at marshmallows. “She’s got this sewn up…”

“It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna all be–”

The popping noise sounded clearly above the on-scene commentator. The camera view shattered into a flurry of blurs and incomprehensible movement. The twins had hands over her eyes and over her ears, but it was too late.

Shots had been fired.

Every cop’s kid knew what shots fired could mean.

Lucretia clawed at the twins’ hands, screaming, “No, no, no,” over and over. She was screaming. The twins were screaming. Gramming was screaming. Even Aunt Mak’arune was screaming. They were all so loud that the Pithons came down from upstairs, one of the Montlings in their arms, to see what the ruckus was.

They let Lucretia hold the baby instead of the hot chocolate. Something about a small and helpless being in her arms provided an oasis in a sea of emotions. The TV was showing the house, at an even worse distance than previously. The words, Shots fired! crawled across the screen. Endlessly.

Some more people in uniform rushed in. There was no sign of anyone for too long. Koko’s hair had frizzed right up out of stress and Lulu’s wasn’t far behind. Lucretia knew, without a doubt, that if it wasn’t for the little Montling in her arms, she would be a total wreck.

Then, like a miracle, a blue figure in uniform walked out. There was a human-sized bag on a stretcher, and some other people with blankets around them.

Lucretia paid all her attention to the blue figure with blue hair. “Mommy… mom…”

“She’s okay,” Lulu cheered. “She’s okay, she’s all right!”

Someone - probably Uncle Avi - leaped on her from amongst the wall of uniforms keeping the public at bay, landing in a hug.

Mom gave him a noogie and shoved him away in the way that she always did for Uncle Avi.

Then they cut away to a Porky Pig cartoon.

It was over. Mom was okay.

When Mom came home, she was mobbed by family. Lucretia wrapped herself around her legs, and the twins only added to that burden. Gramming and Aunty Mak’arune all but tackled her in the doorway. There were a lot of tears.

The news, much cut down to a five-minute segment about drug violence in Neverwinter, had everything boiled down to the essentials. It held no horrors for Lucretia. Not any more.

Mom held her on her lap, that night, feeding Lucretia because she wouldn’t let go. Just like it had been for the first couple of days in Mom’s care.

Mom kept holding her, kept kissing her forehead, kept purring, and kept saying, “It’s going to be okay. The Chief has seen to it that I shouldn’t be in that much trouble any more. We’re going to be okay.”

Tomorrow, she might believe it.

Two days after that, she learned that there had been a kid at the scene. A tiny scrap of a boy who had also run afoul of the Foster system and had been found in a literal doghouse after all the news cameras lost interest.

His name was Magnus, and Mom was pulling some strings to have him fostered with Uncles Avi and Johaan.

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 8]

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It had taken Angus an entire year to talk freely to his dads. When he did, he expressed his worries about his one friend in the entire, dingy, dismal, depressing grey coldhouse that was the orphanage.

Her name was Agatha Tremaine and she was maybe a year older than him. She smuggled the outdoors inside for Angus, much to the horror of the nurses and the consternation of Mr Thud. They never could prove that she was the source of dandelion flowers, stick insects, or grasshoppers that managed to turn up in Angus McDonald’s presence and he never ratted her out, no matter how much time they made him sit in the Quiet Room.

This caused Papa some immediate concern, and the rest of the family some Stone calls. There were a lot of Stone calls.

There were more than a few moments when Angus feared he had done something wrong. A feeling that was quickly dispelled by one or more of his new family scooping him up into a reassuring hug.

Then came the Trip.

Papa and Dad and Aunty Lup and Uncle Barry all piled into the cart with him and Garyl took them on a whirlwind trip. But they weren’t taking a trip to Neverwinter.

Angus fought past his elective muteness. “Sirs. This isn’t the way to the orphanage…” He pointed the way they should have been going. “We’re headed the wrong way.”

“Right and wrong, baby,” said Papa. He wrapped an arm and part of hus ruiana around Angus. “Yes, this is not the way to the orphanage. But no, we are not headed the wrong way.”

“This is the way to the Aunties Fangbattles’ place…” said Angus.

“Correct again, little buddy,” said Dad.

“You said we were going to see Agatha.” Just like that, the pieces slotted into a bigger picture. “Did Agatha get adopted by my Aunties?”

Uncle Barry handed Aunty Lup five gold. She laughed and said, “I knew you were a smart little cookie, kiddo. You got it in one.”

The Aunties Fangbattle - also known as Team Sweet Flips - had a little country cottage with a neat little garden that always seemed to be full of flowers. Angus liked the times he got to stay with them because he could help out with the chickens and play with the butterflies and birds that were too bold to fly away from his careful touch. They always had warm bread or a gooey sweet pie fresh out of the oven.

This time, the cottage looked quiet and still. Even the birds refused to coo or call from the branches of the fruit trees. No butterflies spread their wings in the sunshine. Therefore he feared knocking on the door.

Dad did it instead.

Aunt Killian opened the door. “Oh great. You’re here.” She turned and called, “Agatha…”

There she was. Hiding under the table and clinging to furniture legs like a prisoner at the bars.

Angus was over there before he could blink. “Hey, remember me?”

Her dark eyes were fearful. “Angus? They said you died.”

He knew who ‘they’ were. The bigger kids. The mean ones. “You know they lie.”

She crawled out to hold him, and this was the first time Angus remembered being bigger than her. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

“I’m glad you got a family,” said Angus.

“Are you kidding?” she whispered, “That’s an Orc and a Dragonborn. They’d eat me if I fatten up…”

Angus detected the not-so-subtle influence of Them again. He joined her under the table and had a hushed conversation while the grownups talked grownup things literally over their heads.

“They’re careful with you, aren’t they?” he asked. “They’re not rough or mean.”

She had to agree.

“They’re kind, right? They try to make things right by you.”

Another nod.

“They keep making better food so you can have enough to eat?”

“They wanna fatten me up…”

Angus had to think his way around that one. “You know… if you’re strong, you can run off if they start measuring you for a basting pan.”

She snorted at that one. “I gotta admit their pies smell delicious.”

“So have some, pumpkin,” Papa had a small plate with a slice of rich, glistening pie and a fork. “This one’s one of my recipes, so you know it’s great.”

“Yeah, and it’s my herb and spice mix that makes it even better,” said Aunt Carey.

“Excuse your scaley ass, it’s the gravy recipe I got from my mother,” objected Aunt Killian.

Angus giggled. “Anyway. If they’re going to eat any kids, they’d be after my marbled flesh, not yours.”

Agatha relented, and started to eat without fear.

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