It was a very strange thing to wake up and discover that you’re a parent to twins. Especially twins who were practically adults and well capable of looking after themselves.

Not that any of that mattered. Luume-influenced family bonding was a permanent biological compulsion to care for and after anything her Luume-addled mind had classed as a ‘baby’.

Which meant any creature under the age classification of ‘of age’.

Which, in this case, meant that portions of her instincts now classed the twins Lulu and Koko as ‘her babies’. She felt compelled to check that they were eating well, enough, and regularly. She gathered books for them to read that might expand their education. She stocked up on herbal ingredients that could be used for medicinal simples and even brewed up a few.

The circus’ medical cart had never been so well-stocked, even if it was well-stocked with Elven remedies. And more than a few bundles of herbs.

She stopped in at their caravan every evening to be sure they were tucked in and felt safe. They’d been through too much with Saint Vingo’s and the mess afterwards. They needed a gentle and caring hand.

La’ming had, on more than one occasion, sat watch on their doorstep. Protecting her babies from unknown evils in the dark. She worried about them. They slept instead of meditating because they didn’t feel safe. she couldn’t help them. She couldn’t make them feel safe.

She hadn’t, before. Now that she couldn’t… it worried her.

There were even nights that she played soothing music for them on her wooden flute. To let them know that she was standing watch and guarding them from any possible danger.

She couldn’t guard them from everything. That really worried her.

Hence, why she was following them around on their foraging trip that day.

“We’ve done this like a billion times, La’ming,” complained Lulu.

“Ye-es. I know that. It’s just… Aunt Irma’s driving me nuts.”

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” mocked Koko from somewhere in the shrubbery. He emerged with an apron full of weird berries.

La’ming knew one thing about strange berries - high danger of them being poisonous. “You’re not planning to eat those, are you?”

Koko’s face was an open book with large print that said, Bitch, please. “These are Lapiswort. I’m dying my hair.”

Lulu laughed out, “What?”

“I’m sick of being asked if I’m the girl one, so after this, they should be able to fuckin’ tell.”

“I have experience with dyes and dying hair,” said La’ming, rather desperate for something she could actually do to help her seventy-six-year-old babies. “I could help make sure it’s even and everything.”

Which lead to a long afternoon of washing, treating, and binding Koko’s hair in a plastering of a preparation of Lapiswort and alum, then coating it with leather until it set.

The next day, Koko’s hair was a vibrant and resplendent blue. Which - unfortunately for his romantic hopes - failed completely to win Kustaad’s attention at all.

Koko was right. The dye job did deflect the questions. For the week that they were entertaining Crossconnect Vale. After that, it started to fade to green as Koko’s natural golden colour began to literally shine through.

By then, they both sort of tolerated La’ming’s attempts to mother them. Most of the time.

“You are not going out in camp dressed like that, young lady.”

“Why? You’re running around in your undies and sleep slip.”

“We can totally see your boobs through that thing,” added Koko.

“And put away that pipe for today, thanks.”

Koko didn’t. “You do worse on the daily. Why should we even try to listen to you?”

*

Borstok, watching the show with Montgomery, leaned over to his boss and murmured, “It’s like watching a vodka or a wine aunt trying to parent angry teenagers.”

Montgomery had to agree. They were all hopeless at it. Exandria was probably going to chew him out for letting it happen, but… the entire circus had never had such ready entertainment on the daily.

“Shouldn’t you step in?” prompted Borstok in a rare display of competence.

“I’ll be the dad when they need me and not before. My job is keeping Miss Mak’arune from making it all explode again.” To damn Mak’arune with faint praise, she meant well and had the very best of intentions. She was also an enormous wet hen and prone to tears at the least provocation.

Borstok shrugged and said, “Fair ‘nuff.”

La’ming was taking ten deep breaths, attempting to come up with something rational. Not her forté. “Listen,” she said. “My life… is already a train wreck. I’m trying my hardest to stop yours from ending up that way too. Okay? You want I should dress better on my days off - help me out. You want me to cut down on the interesting herbology… help me out. Meanwhile i’m trying to help you out by preventing some of the huge mistakes I’ve made. Is that a deal?”

Lulu looked to Koko, who used Prestidigitation to put out his tiny clay pipe. He packed it away in his vest. “We’re stuck with you anyways. Might as well get you to wear a decent fucking nightie.”

Lulu added. “When you get down to it, ‘lion’s not as bad as some of the shit out there. It’s free and not that addictive.”

“Sure,” said La’ming, “you could quit it any time…”

They all glared at each other like cats. “I stay off the pipe for a week, you wean yourself off of those interesting shrooms you’re on half the time.”

“Deal,” said La’ming. “And I’m putting on a khaftan, too.”

It was a rocky start, but at least it was a start.

[TAZ Prompts remaining: 6]

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It should have been a peaceful trip between towns. The circus train of wagons was pretty much halfway between one fairly large city and another. It was a nice morning. The sky promised to be clear, the twins were already cooking an astonishing amount of food for everyone.

They were eighty percent through their usual morning argument, something nobody else could understand because they conducted it in their own personal language. From what Mak’arune could tell, they were still at a draw.

She was making her own kind of progress, in that she took anything the twins had to say with a healthy dose of salt. Once she realised they were pulling her leg about having a triplet, she stopped believing just everything they had to tell her.

She had even found out that Ms Ton was not the keeper of the Mermaid, but also the Mermaid herself. That had been her own erroneous assumption. More fool her. The fact that nobody had corrected her was a grey zone, though.

Everyone was out and about. Having their meals, enjoying the twins’ show, or waiting in a patient line for the next dish to come out of the chuck wagon. Some were washing dishes in an effort to be helpful. Some were washing clothes before they packed up to move on that day.

Mak’arune knew most of them by name and all of them by face. Every possible race in Faerune, every possible colour and creed. Well. All colours but one. Mak’arune missed spotting La’ming. Her familiar blue skin and lack of decent clothing were conspicuous by their absence.

Therefore, after she had her own, light breakfast, she secured a plate for La’ming and travelled the short distance between the chuck wagon and La’ming’s little caravan. She must have had a little more than usual to drink and was feeling poorly.

The door was unlatched, and when she crept in, the inside was more of a mess than usual. La’ming, still in her nightwear of a see-through half-shift and a pair of underpants, had been turning the place upside down. She looked… oh dear. She looked haggard, flushed, distracted, and distant.

“Are you all right?”

“Want…” said La’ming. Her pupils were so dilated that her eyes looked black. “…want…”

Oh dear. It was Luume’irma. The curse of Elven kind. In a few more hours, La’ming might well make a plague of herself on everyone else in the circus. She had to spare them, and her… co-worker… from such wanton display.

Mak’arune offered up the bowl. “Eat,” she said. “I’ll look after you.” Well. She hoped she could. Her own Luume episodes were light and she could willingly shut herself off from the rest of the world for the twenty-four hours in which she was -ahem- in an unseemly condition. Thank goodness it was only one day out of eight years. The rest of the time, she was perfectly capable of behaving herself.

As La’ming ate, Mak’arune scrawled a hasty message on a piece of card. Not her neatest handwriting. Quarantine! DO NOT ENTER, and then pinned it to the outside of the door before latching it as firmly shut as she could get.

La’ming - what was left of La’ming - was a bit rowdier than Mak’arune ever was. She had finished her food and was sniffing Mak’arune with evident fascination. Getting right up in there.

“Nice,” said La’ming. “Want.”

“Yes, dear,” cooed Mak’arune, reaching for the soft patches behind La’ming’s ears. “I’ve got you.” She’d only read about how to do this, and only half-remembered the method, but it seemed to be working. The full-blood Sea Elf in her arms was looking drowsy and contented.

Maybe that would suffice.

*

Lulu was on Lollygagger duty, making sure no performer, performer’s wagon, nor any camp shit was left behind. The most conspicuous offender was La’ming. She must have tied one on, last night. Lulu whacked the side of the caravan with a big stick. “Wakey-wakey, ocean princess! We gotta roll if we wanna be in the next campground by sunset!”

Silence there, and nothing more.

A hastily-scrawled note on the caravan door provided something of an answer. But also more questions.

Quarantine! DO NOT ENTER

Lulu clambered up to an unshuttered window. She intended to say, “Hey, you want someone to tow you?” but she didn’t get much further than, “Hey, you wanna–”

La’ming pounced, cooing, “Baby….” and dragged Lulu inside in one swoop.

*

Koko was officially worried. He knew Lulu could handle herself, but… She never took this long to get people going. It was unnervingly unlike her. He chased around the camp as various carts and wagons got on the road, asking after his sister.

Eventually, the trail lead to La’ming’s wagon, in which an argument seemed to be going on.

“Let me out!” That was Lulu! Koko picked up the pace.

“My baby…” La’ming? Had she done mushrooms or something?

“No, no, dear, the baby wants some air. Let her loose.” Oh great. Mak’arune was tied up in all of this. Which meant that it was all two steps away from absolute disaster.

Koko clambered up to the open window and said, “Can you three stop dicking arou–ooop!”

La’ming pulled him in with a gleeful cry of, “Baby…”

Koko struggled like a cat trapped in a running shower stall. “Whoa, what the shit? I’m not a baby, we’re seventy-two.”

“Baby. Babies. My babies.” La’ming wasn’t listening. Gripping them both close to her body and snuggling like their lives depended on it.

Mak’arune was frantically alternating between ear massage and attempting to pry the twins out of La’ming’s arms.

Koko would never admit how ashamed he was that he felt worlds better for all the pseudo-parental attention. Lulu, held fast in the opposite arm, glared at him with her Ultimate Don’t Tell Death Glare. She must have been feeling the same hunger-for-affection that he had. “It’s Luume’irma,” she announced.

“Aw dunk,” muttered Koko. He just relaxed and let La’ming snuggle, coo, and kiss.

At which point Monty turned up at the window and it was Lulu’s turn to impersonate a wet cat in a shower stall.

“Monty! Monty get us– mmrff mmf mfftrrl!” her words were muffled because her struggles made La’ming readjust her grip, and therefore La’ming’s elbow was close over Lulu’s mouth.

Mak’arune was busy trying to slacken or break La’ming’s iron grip, actually crying about the disaster as it was unfolding. “Please just let them loose,” she begged.

“Good baby,” La’ming laid yet another kiss on Koko’s cheek.

“…whatever…” mumbled Koko.

That damned snake was smirking.

“Aha. That time of the decade,” he said, and shuttered the windows. After a few more minutes, the wagon started moving. Either piloted by someone or towed by someone else.

There was nothing else to do bu sit there and get attention lavished on them and watch Mak’arune be pants at preventative ear massage.

“You’re doing it wrong, by the way,” he said. “Don’t be scared about a little bit of pressure, and your circles are just a squinch too small…”

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 7]

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As the circus wended its way away from Ranratton, several things became clearly evident.

First: Mak’arune was a born city slicker and didn’t know the first thing about circus life, camping, foraging, or literally anything outside of city life.

“There’s no firewood store anywhere near here?”

Koko snorted as he and his sister gathered sticks and twigs. “This is what you might call the free range stuff.”

“Make your own firewood,” added Lulu.

“It doesn’t come with the bark removed? Ugh. I’m gonna get my dress dirty.”

“So don’t wear your best all the time,” advised Lulu. She was using a portion of her skirt as a basket for her sticks. “You’re out on the road. Getting your clothes dirty is normal.”

Second: Mak’arune was more than a little naïve about almost everything.

“So there are bears that hunt by dropping out of the trees?”

“Yah-huh,” said Lulu, ignoring the faces that Koko made. This was too easy. “They look like a big old beehive, and they’re always on a sturdy branch. That’s how you can tell.”

“While we’re at it,” said Koko. “We’d better warn you about the Snipe…”

Someone eventually told on them for hazing Mak’arune, but by then she had swallowed all possible tall tales. Hook, line, and sinker. It would take months to remove her from the certainty that all that was true.

In the meantime, they could track her during foraging missions by the whistling, clapping, and chanting of, “Owah tafoo lyam.”

Three: Mak’arune was a true innocent and that had to be preserved if only for the novelty value.

“So there I was, in the middle of a vat of syrup and totally naked,” said La’ming, once again temporarily forgetting that the twins were underage and should not be hearing this story. “And these three super-buff guys–”

“HOLY SHIT, MAK’ARUNE’S LISTENING TO SHRIIVO!” Koko took off towards the impending scene.

Shriivo, one of the circus contortionists, was a Changeling Druid and told far more lurid stories than La’ming could hope to accomplish. With descriptive gestures that could make Asmodeus blush.

Lulu missed out on punching her brother, but only because he was out of her range. Then the penny dropped about the inherent peril and she, too, took off towards Mak’arune at double-dash speeds.

La’ming, only a fraction of a flinch behind her, muttered, “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit… as she ran pell-mell for the same destination. They all knew what Shriivo’s stories could do to a person, even if two out of three hadn’t actually heard one because Monty had an over-the-horizon Fantasy radar for Shriivo telling tall tales to the twins.

“…in the middle of Grasping Vines, I had this totally naughty idea,” Shriivo said.

They arrived just in the nick of time. La’ming clamped her hands tight over Mak’arune’s eyes.

Lulu and Koko took an ear each, cushioning one palm per twin over Mak’arune’s half-Elven ears.

All three of them desperately interrupted with, “NONONONONONO, you don’t tell her that kind of story!”

At which point Montgomery turned up to scowl at all four of them and the Scene as it stood.

“Hi, Monty,” said three Elves and one Changeling, all four of them rather badly forged pictures of innocence. Especially in comparison to Mak’arune, the genuine article.

Montgomery wished, not for the first time, that he possessed eyebrows so he could raise one. As it was, the Glare of Doom had to suffice. “I certainly hope nothing untoward was happening,” he said. “And if it was, it better not continue.”

“No, Monty.”

“Of course not, Monty.”

“Who do you think we are?”

“Actually, scratch that question.”

Three Elves released Mak’arune, who glanced from player to player in preserved innocence. “What’s going on?” she said.

“That was a very bad story,” said Montgomery.

Three Elves and one Changeling agreed most enthusiastically.

[TAZ Prompts remaining: 7]

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The extra performances would have to wait until they hit the next town and they would all be praying that they wouldn’t need it until long after then. For now, the focus was on packing everything up for an expeditious retreat from Ranratton.

The twins, the usual barometer for this kind of exodus, had already packed up everything they owned into their caravan. Therefore, they were helping pack up the mermaid act with La’ming. None of them were dressed to impress and La’ming took that particular creed to heart. She hadn’t even changed out of her sleepwear: a pair of briefs and a loose half-shift and nothing else. She had washed her hair and hadn’t taken it out of the towel wrapped around her head for hours.

Currently, her hair was in a scruffy bun and she had slipped into storytelling mode. As long as they gave a cursory effort to packing, things would be allowed to persist.

“…so there I am, in my knickers. Three Orcs, a Drow, and five Gnomes surrounding me, and I only had the feather fans,” La’ming said to her enthralled audience: two underaged Elves who could almost feel the way this story was going to go, and were praying that they’d actually hear it this time. “So I said to the Drow, I said–” La’ming frowned, looking outside the tent. “What the fuck does she think she’s doing?”

Koko looked to Lulu, who shrugged. At that exact moment, there was a rather familiar screaming howl of immense upset. The twins knew it by heart. They had, after all, heard it for almost five hours in the Ranratton Watch Cell.

Mak’arune was having a nervous breakdown out on the larger fairgrounds. Largely because she had what looked like her entire life to date packed, piled entirely too high and definitely precariously on a tiny dolly trolly that was never made to roll anywhere over grass and packed dirt. She was in a ridiculously overblown dress and an equally overblown hat, trying to shove the overloaded dolly trolley another inch or two, and currently having a very tearful breakdown.

Koko took all of this in and said, “I’ll fetch Monty, you do the girl thing.”

“Girl thing?” boggled Lulu.

He pointed. “That’s no-man’s land, dingus. I go out there, I’m dead. Go be girls together. Fuck. I’m getting the boss, this is totally over my head. I’m gone.” To prove his point, he took off out of the tent and towards the greater mass of the disassembling circus, screaming for Monty the whole way.

Lulu looked up to La’ming, who was perched on one of the larger cases.

La’ming rolled her eyes and hopped down. “Fine. Let’s go mop her up.”

*

Montgomery could almost tell the story from the scene he encountered. The mousy, shrinking violet of a milliner had either decided or been forced to leave town. She packed everything she owned onto the only transport she had - a tiny dolly trolley that had never shifted a couch in its life. Which was now underneath a literal pile of boxes and some pieces of furniture, and some brand-new suitcases.

Mak’arune was miserable, flanked by La’ming and Lulu. The former had a scarf draped across her front that she couldn’t be convinced to wear by any other living being.

Everyone in his circus knew that La’ming’s evening half-shift was transparent as hell and showed everything underneath. Everyone knew better than to look when La’ming was dressed down. Therefore, someone in this triumvirate had convinced her to put it on and Lulu had never had the chops.

Therefore, mousy, shy, understated Mak’arune simply had some form of power that three hundred and forty people didn’t possess. Which instantly gave her worth to anyone tired of seeing La’ming’s boobs on her ‘dress down’ days.

He lowered himself to somewhere below Mak’arune’s eyeline and said, “What has happened here?” in the softest, gentlest voice he could muster.

“My reputation’s ruined,” Mak’arune wailed. “I’ve got a criminal record and my business is over and there’s nothing left so…” gasp sob. Lots more sobbing.

Lup patted her shoulder ineffectually. “She’s got nowhere to go and all of this shit,” and gestured at the overloaded dolly. “It’s… kind of our fault she’s like this, so…”

“We have to at least set her on her feet somewhere that’s… less…” La’ming gestured back towards Ranratton and trailed off.

“Less of a racist mud-hole?” suggested Koko.

“Tha’s–” hic, “that’s–” hic, “that’s my only ho-ho-hoooommme…”

Koko gestured wildly. “You see?” he said above the hubbub, “You see? I come out here, I’m dead.”

“Only because you keep trying to eat your foot, goofus,” said Lulu.

Montgomery gently took one of her hands and patted it gently. “Miss Mak’arune… you are welcome to come with us until such time as you find greener pastures.”

“I’ll never keep up,” she bawled. “I’ll be left in the gutter!”

Montgomery shared a Look with La’ming, and the twins. Yes, she’s a wet hen, but she’s also our problem.

“There’s a bunk space in the costume cart,” said Koko. “That’s where we hid before the Chuck Wagon Incident.”

Monty glared at him. “So that’s where you two were squirrelled away… Explains… quite a few things.”

“What about her stuff?” protested Lulu. “She’s got her stock and half her house on there.”

Monty sighed and said, “I’ll have a chat with Rynmaru and Kustaad. They have some space. We can manage some wriggle room until she can get a caravan or a cart for all…” he looked up. And up. And up, to where a stool was perched precariously on a table, which was nebulously resting on several hatboxes.

She was an excellent milliner… she likely had the core skills… “Miss Mak’arune… we have a rather urgent need for a costumer. Perhaps, while we sort out where to stow your belongings, you could have a look at some of the worst cases and see what you can do?”

That huge hat of hers had to be her own work. It was also her own advertising. Everything she did to that hat, she could do with outfits. Well. Maybe not with all the dead birds and silk flowers…

His wife was going to kill him for adopting another lost soul.

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 9]

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New school! New books! New clothes! New people! Loud noise everywhere, of course. People made noise. They made a lot of noise, especially on occasions like orientation day at Miller Academy.

He knew this in advance. He thought he was prepared.

But still the hubbub of chatter hammered at his ears. Still, the confusion of uniformed bodies dazzled his eyes. Still, the eternal clatter of footwear on tiled floors vibrated his very bones.

And there was a black cloak around him and the cool touch of Mr Kravitz’s skin on his cheek. “Deep breaths, Chickie,” he cooed. “Need some green?”

Mr Taako was there, much warmer and soothing his hair. “You okay, pumpkin?”

“…loud,” he said. “Green please.”

The three of them made their way to the nearest small garden. Miller Academy catered to many kinds of genius and recognised the need for little courtyards full of green, growing things. This enclave had an abundance of feathery ferns and soft mosses to cover the ground. There was also a sort of wicker basket chair that his parents plopped him into like a prince into a throne. Papa at his left hand and Dad at his right.

“Deep breaths, baby,” said Papa. “I’m gonna call Aunty Lup and get her to bring your teachers over here, one at a time.”

“It’s not going to be like this all the time,” soothed Dad. “You’re going to be okay, Chick. Breathe with me.”

It was easy, now that they were in a space that felt safer, was less loud, and had a deep calm to it. He could focus on his breaths. Centre himself with the help of the wickerwork basket of a chair, and its inherent, subtle creaking.

“Lulu’s got this,” Papa returned to kneeling on the moss. “Need a hug?”

Angus lunged into his Papa’s arms. His bracelets jingled as they wrapped around him. He let his world be Papa’s perfume and the soft texture of his clothes and the silky softness of his hair and the warmth of his skin.

Somewhere outside of the world that was Papa, Dad said, “Want some Calm Emotion?”

Angus shook his head. This place and the comfort of his parents was good enough to defuse the rising tension caused by the hubbub of the halls. Two more breaths and he was able to stop his shaking.

By that time, the first of his teachers had arrived in Aunty Lup’s tow. A kind-faced half-Elf woman with skin almost as dark as Dad’s.

“Hi there, Angus,” she singsonged. “Orientation’s a big noise, huh?”

Angus let himself relax into Papa’s lap. “It’s good, now. My family knows how to help me.”

“We’re prepared for this sort of thing,” assured the teacher, who introduced herself as Miss Terkiish. “No more than ten students per classroom, easy courtyard access and soft rooms if the need arises.”

“According to the hall monitors, things should be going quieter in about ten minutes,” said Aunty Lup. “We can time the rest of the tour for the lulls in noise.”

Angus felt safe enough to say, “That sounds like a great idea. Thank you.”

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 6]

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[AN: Proof that we’re egging each other on with these things. Also pun regifting is a thing (Image describe: chat interaction between myself and @dualityandsuch where her ask is between the two of us plus a minor bit about Elves and processed sugar]

“Have fun, darling.”

“It’s a pre-show rejuvenation sesh, it’s never fun. It’s hard to look as good as my sister, these days.”

“You always look amazing to me,” said Kravitz, adding a farewell kiss.

Taako smirked. “Sap. I’ll make an effort at enjoying it. For you.”

Angus, at their elbows, said, “I’m sure you’ll look more than lovely when you’re done. Not that we’d be able to tell the difference between splendid you and regular you.”

“Flattery will get you extra dessert,” smoothed Taako. He summoned Garyl and was off at top speed.

Krav breathed a sigh of relief and clapped his hands. “Right. You and I?” he said, “We’re making Taako some treats.”

Angus jumped and clapped at the idea. “That’s excellent, sir! He’s always out of sorts after a beauty regime. Some treat food would help him feel so much better after a long day.”

Krav looked over his shoulder as he entered the kitchen - forbidden ground when Taako was home - Taako was well away and accelerating, but he had an over-the-horizon detection system for knowing when fools were about to mess up his kitchen. “Now, Mr Detective. What should we make?”

“Taako generally makes cookies when he’s in a bad mood, but he rarely eats them,” Angus reached up to one of the more battered tomes and flipped to a stained page. “He much prefers these as a foodstuff, sir.”

Kravitz looked at the recipe. “Berry, cream cheese and chocolate chip muffins?”

“He keeps a supply in a bag of preservation in a nook hidden in the master bedroom, sir,” said Angus. “He usually rations them, but I’m sure he won’t mind some fresh ones with whipped cream.”

Kravitz clapped his hands. “All right. Let’s get these ingredients together… Eggs, flour, mascarpone, butter, berries, honey… It doesn’t say how much chocolate chips we need.”

“His recipes never do, sir. Taako says, never let a recipe tell you how many chocolate chips you need. You measure that shit with your heart.”

“He does?”

“That’s a direct quote, sir.”

“That explains why there’s never partial packets of chocolate chips in the kitchen,” Kravitz shrugged. “Okay. Directions. We can’t screw it up too bad if there’s proper directions, right?”

Angus made an uncertain noise and said, “We can try not to screw it up.”

*

Taako’s journey back to his home was a lot more careful than his trip towards the temples of vanity that made him appear super special for his impending interview. A team of technicians had, after all, spent hours on his face and hair. He had another team each per hand. At least Garyl never wrecked a manicure.

He could smell trouble in the way his husband and apprentice were waiting for him at the door. He could really smell trouble in the way Krav had an apron on over his lovely suit. It was the way they were smiling, though, that triggered his final fuckery alarm.

“What have you two been up to?” he asked.

Krav’s picture of innocence was badly forged. “Who says we were up to anything, Dove?”

Taako gave him his best stop-the-horseshit glare. “Do I need to go through what my Perception Check picked up?”

He smiled in that super-sexy way he had. “We made you a little treat. To lift your mood.”

“It’s still baking, sir,” added Ango.

Good. “Great. Then I shouldn’t ruin my makeup for the interview. You two didn’t leave a huge mess in my kitchen, did you?”

“Cleaned up every last spill and stain,” said Krav. “And we set up the sunshine parlour for the people coming by.”

“They should be ready just before the interview ends,” said Angus. “At least, if my math is accurate.”

Ango’s time math was way more reliable than Miller Academy’s ridiculous equations. “Good for you. If temptation ruined this makeup, I’d have been pissed.” And, because this kid was more or less his son, he added, “That’s very thoughtful of you. Thanks.”

Which was more of a shock to them than anything else he could have done. Good to know he could keep his family on their toes even now.

One deep inhale told him everything. They’d made the berry cream cheese muffins with chocolate chips. His favourite.

It was true. He had the best family.

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 6]

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This is going to take some unpacking for the initiates reading this. See, @dualityandsuch and I have been egging each other on via Discord for some time. They give me Plot Kittens, I give them Art Bunnies. And Plot Kittens.

Recently, we’ve come up with the Baby Birds AU, which includes a Modern High School variant but I’m sticking to Fantasy like a limpet.

The long and the short of it is that there is Horrible Fantasy Racism because of the Xenophobia Wars and people continuing to be dicks after it’s over. To add to this melting pot, because we both ADORE angstus, we’ve invented Fantasy PETA.

I give to you: the Vegan Organisation for Respectable Ethics.

Which is equal parts PETA, speciesist dickholery, and assorted less-than-ethical practices happening in the real world like… testing medicine on kids in foster homes and orphanages. [Disgusting News Here] Which sounds to me like EXACTLY something that PETA would do because unwanted humans are less important than bunnies or actual informed volunteers.

Needless to say, this is rapidly accelerating towards some doom point where I get another Plot Kitten to rehome into a brand new fanfic.

VORE is basically a melting pot of the following:

• Horrible things PETA has actually done
  
• Horrible things government agencies have done
• Horrible things people are STILL doing
• Horrible things racists have/are done/doing
• Horrible things anti-vaxxers say because why not

Chief amongst their crimes is testing alchemical medicines on Elves and half-Elves left in orphanages, and then covering up the horrifically bad reactions in Technicality Snow. Because angst is life.

Susan, of course, is the soccer/antivax/wine mom that everyone loves to hate, so of course she volunteers to be a tester for VORE and insists it’s good for everyone because it’s “more ethical.”

We’re still egging each other on as I write this. It’s gonna be fun when it turns into a story.

There are children whose destiny it is to have their names pronounced in italics. When people are talking about them, they roll their eyes, scoff, and mutter things like, “Ugh, Darren,” or, “Karie? That little asshole…” If they survive to maturity, one might guess that they grow out of it. One may even hope that they become decent intelligent beings.

Taako knows one of those kids, and his name is Jason. He’s exactly that kind of kid that anyone might love to hate. He was, to use the kindest words, obnoxious, annoying, gross, and a spoiled brat. Most of this was because his mother, Susan, was the kind of person who saw Jason through rose-tinted glasses until five days after she met Taako.

Jason is also on Taako’s doorstep with a confused expression, a suitcase, and a note pinned to his shirt. To realise how pathetic it is, one might also have to be informed that he is also three years older than Angus McDonald, world’s greatest detective and all-around actual genius.

Taako, at this stage of “too early in the morning” (aka 8AM), was tressed in a large T-shirt that reached his knees and literally nothing else. He still had the twin braids he put his hair up in for sleep, and eighty percent of his morning coffee. He glared blearily at Jason and said, “The fuck are you doing here?”

“The fuck if I know,” said Jason sullenly. He stopped picking his nose to poke at the envelope pinned to his sweater. “This is for you.”

Taako gingerly removed it with Mage Hand and stared at the unfolded paper. “Mmmmnnngh.” He turned away from the door. “Ba-a-a-abe? Can you read this? My eyes literally can’t focus on Susan’s horrible handwriting!”

Angus McDonald bounced into the scene like a peppy living advertisement for some miracle antidepressant and said, “I can read it, sir.”

Taako handed it over and said, “Mazel tov,” then slouched into a corner and slurped at his coffee.

Angus translated. “It says here that Mrs Hackniid has had a family emergency that’ll keep her from looking after Jason, sir. She needs her attention undivided for up to three months, and is therefore leaving her son in your capable hands.”

“Fucking what?”

“Capable hands, sir. Her exact words.” Angus pointed to the place where they were written. “She says she knows you’re the best person available because you’re fostering me and running a school.”

“More fool her,” said Taako, who had reached the ‘not yet’ indicator on his coffee mug. “Sucks to be you, kid. You’ve been abandoned.”

“Sir! This is no time for goofs…”

“Come on. Three months is the perfect time window for a clean get-away. New location, new identity papers, new bank account, all of it. Even you’d have a hard time tracking her down with a three months’ lead.”

Jason started with the crocodile tears.

“Ugh, shut the fuck up. Suck it in. Deal with it yourself because literally nobody else cares.”

He turned off his wailing and gnashing of teeth off like it was on tap. That had always worked before… but then again, his mother had always been around to be angry at people until he got what he wanted. “What?” he said. “When my mom finds out.”

“If,” corrected Taako.

“I’m sure he’s goofing,” said Angus. “Come pick up your bag, and I’ll show you to one of the guest rooms.”

“You want me to do what now?” said Jason.

That was lesson one: do it yourself.

*

Lesson Two.

Jason awoke with the sun in his eyes and a rock under his butt. The discomfort alone was enough to startle him mostly upright. He was in the middle of nowhere. No hint of how he got there and just himself and the sleeping bag he was bundled in.

And Taako, nestled in the crook of a tree and wearing hardy adventuring gear.

“Shit’s hit the fan, homie. Tell me the most important thing you need to survive.”

He took a deep breath. “MOMMEEEEEEEEEE!”

“Cute, but no chocolate cigar. Your mom isn’t going to be around for your whole life. The sooner you know the important stuff, the better off you’ll be.”

“What’s so important about camping?” he argued.

“This isn’t camping, buckaroo. This is survival lessons. And eff why eye, my sister and I had to cope without our mom since we were twelve. Nobody cared about our sad tale, and I could care less about yours. Answer the quiz. What do you need to survive?”

Jason threw a tantrum, tearing up the sleeping bag and throwing rocks and sticks in any direction. He ripped leafs off of branches, punched at trees and screamed and screamed and screamed while he kicked and punched at anything in reach.

Taako was unimpressed. Cleaning his fingernails until Jason wound down.

“You’re not helping,” he whined.

“I’ll help when you’re ready to learn, kid.”

“I hate you.”

“Mutual,” said Taako, still cleaning his nails.

He sat and sulked, watching a tiny bug make its way across the bare earth. He was too tired to bother squashing it. “I’m thirsty,” he whined.

“So… whaddaya need?” prompted Taako.

“I need some wine.”

“Wine’s the advanced classes, hombre. You’re still on the Primer. ‘Sides, you don’t really need wine.”

“That’s not what my mom says,” said Jason.

“I’m shocked,” said Taako. “Come on. What do you actually need?”

Jason actually took a moment to think. It hurt his dome piece. “I need something to drink. Like wine or small ale or cider or hot chocolate or milk or juice.”

“Or…?” added Taako.

“Or what?”

“Or the most basic drink there is. Falls out of the sky. You can bathe in it. You can even find fish in it.”

“You want me to drink water?”

“Ding ding ding, we finally have a winner. So. You need water. Any ideas on how to get it?”

He looked up. “Doesn’t look like it’s gonna rain? How’m I supposed to find water?”

Taako answered his question with a question. “How does water flow?”

“You idiot, it flows downhill!”

“So look downhill.”

He went that way. Taako followed at a reasonable distance. It took less than twenty minutes to find water and Jason crawled on his belly to drink from the stream. Taako, beside him, knelt to scoop up the water in both hands and slurp from there.

“If an angry bear comes along, you’re fucked,” said Taako conversationally. “Gotta be ready to run in a cold second when you’re in the wild.”

A catfish, mough big enough to bite his face off, came up from the depths, aimed at his head. He choked and screamed and rolled away from the stream bank. The illusion glittered and faded away as Taako patted his back half-heartedly.

“I hate you.”

“Noted and logged.” Taako had a waterskin that he filled in the water. “Wanna try drinking again?”

He was smart enough to imitate Taako’s kneel when he drank this time. “Do I get a waterskin?”

“It’s make your own, homie. Can’t help ya.” He stood, shaking his hands dry and observed, “Sun’s getting real low.”

Only now did he realise that he had torn the shit out of the only sleeping bag for probably-miles. All that was left was rags and wind-blown scraps of fluff.

“Where am I gonna sleep?”

“Where would be safe?” asked Taako.

*

Three months later.

“MOM!”

Susan almost didn’t recognise her boy. For a start, he was riding a deer. Secondly, he looked a lot less like the sallow, doughy boy she had left on Taako’s doorstep. He had a bow hooked over his shoulders and a quiver at his waist and… he was significantly fitter than when she’d left him behind.

What had that Elf done to her helpless baby boy?

The deer skidded to a halt and Jason hopped off so he could hug her. “I was almost worried,” he said. “Mr Taako kept insisting you’d left for good, but you’re here exactly three months from when you left, just like you said.”

Susan kept staring at the deer, who was eyeing her like she might be edible.

“Oh, she’s cool. This is Nightbright, I tamed her myself. Watch this. Nightbright? Down.”

The deer knelt and looked like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

“You… tamed… a deer?”

“And loads more, mom. Mr Taako’s been teaching me how to survive in the wild! I made this bow? And these arrows? And this waterskin? And I tamed Nightbright and learned how to ride her? And I was gonna learn how to make a saddle, but Mr Taako says that bareback is faster? And I can weave a temporary shelter outta branches and I’ve nearly caught up with Angus, mom!”

Susan latched on to the only phrase that fit her limited world view. “You’re on an academic par with Angus McDonald?”

“No, mom. Survival. Like, if the worst happens, knock on wood,” he rapped his own head, “I can get you an’ me an’ dad to safety. Isn’t that neat?”

Belatedly, it dawned on Susan that her son was calling a grownup by a respectful honorific and using ‘neat’ as a descriptor rather than any given insult.

A second deer bounded up to them. A large and impressive stag. This one had a very small boy on it. “Hello, ma’am. Taako will be here in a minute or so. Was everything sorted out to an amenable finish?”

She was still stunned by the transformation of her son. “Yeah. It was… it was sorted out.”

Now a third deer appeared, with Taako on top like a classic woodcut. He looked every last inch the stereotypical Elf. “Hail and well met. I guess you want him back, right?”

Susan nodded. “How did you manage this?” she finally stammered. Tell me your secrets… what was the magic spell?

“Oh, you know how it is,” Taako dismissed, dismounting. “All kids really need is a firm understanding of action related to consequence, and certain motivation to learn.”

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 6]

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This had to be one of the weirdest cycles they had ever had the misfortune to live in. There were semi-intelligent creatures, but they all looked like weird conglomerations of lumps with random features attached.

Worse, communication was nearly impossible. They could scavenge fruits and hunt meat, but getting along with the natives was… weird.

“This lot,” Taako threw up an illusion of a blobby pink thing with too much in the way of lips and arms improbably thrown onto their head, “are called Jaa’m. Don’t ask why. This whole system was made by some truly malevolent creator.”

“They only do applesauce,” said Lup. “And you gotta dance to get it. Like… their dance? Which is so lame that even Barold would be embarrassed to do it.”

“…hey,” objected Barry.

“It’s true, Barold,” said Taako. “This is beyond mortifying.”

“Did you get the applesauce?” demanded Davenport.

Lup started unloading bags of it. Actual bags. There were no glass jars, nor bottles, nor anything that would make sense to put applesauce in. Just. Bags. Bags for the applesauce that their Captain craved.

Davenport opened a bag and just dug in there with a spoon. “Ho yeah… that’s the stuff.”

“This… this is the nightmare scenario,” mumbled Lucretia.

“So…” said Magnus, valiantly ignoring Cap’n’port and his weird cycle-specific addiction. “Any signs of intelligent life? Or of the Light?”

“Trust me broceph,” said Taako, “I think this reality might be better off for us not finding it.”

For once, Lup was silent about pulling the trigger on an entire civilisation. She was having doubts as to whether this one counted.

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 7]

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By the third home visit, Angus felt a little more confident about Mr Taako and Mr Kravitz meaning the things they said. Especially when it came to choosing his clothes. Their first shopping trip had arranged one ensemble and one set of pyjamas, that were still there and waiting for him by the second home visit. Further, Mr Taako and Mr Kravitz let him pick out another outfit to wear if he wanted one.

Which was still there today, for his first week with his potential parents. This time, the destination was not Fantasy Costco, but a rather more extensive clothing establishment with every possible fashion choice for every possible size from Kobold to Gargantuan.

“Seven days, seven outfits,” said Mr Taako. “Anything you like, and they’re guaranteed to have it in your size. Anything you want, pumpkin. Anything.”

Mr Kravitz folded the handle of a pull-along basket into Angus’ hand. “You can mix and match if you like. There’s no such thing as a bad choice.”

They had never uttered the phrase, “Are you sure?” when he was picking out stuff before. They asked, “You like that one?” and accepted his answer. 

Angus avoided the racks containing over fifty shades of grey. He had had enough of grey in the orphanage. The bright colours dazzled his eye a little too strongly and he didn’t want to wear all black like Mr Kravitz did. Therefore, the improbable alternative was pastels. As he approached the display, the default human mannequin shifted to become a mannequin Angus, replete with matching skin tone, showing off the best-selling ensembles including dresses and skirts.

Angus blushed. The orphanage had Views about clothing non-options according to gender.

Mr Taako leaned down to whisper in his ear, “Anything you want. No judgements here.” As if to prove his point, he reached out and grabbed a flowy, flower-patterned dress with frilly overhangs and draped it against his own body. “This would look sweet for the summer heatwave…” Then he draped it against Mr Kravitz. “Oh yeah, babe.”

Mr Kravitz smiled warmly and said, “Dove… this is for Angus, not for us.”

“Who says we can’t all have some fun?” scoffed Mr Taako. “Let’s enable our little lad. Come on.”

Angus still feared the watchful eye and the sharp tongues of the nurses and the staff of the orphanage. As if they were following his every move once he was past the severe iron bars of the institute’s fences. Thus, he edged carefully closer to the racks of pastel blue. Still a boy colour, even if it was a baby boy colour.

No lightning, jeers, nor vengeful figures of wrath descended on him from above, behind, or anywhere. He picked up a pair of pastel short pants, and the display showed him a myriad of garments that could go with.

He put it back before Mr Taako could ask the question. He didn’t like it. He picked it because he was supposed to. The next garment almost leaped into his hand. A pair of culottes. Pleated and swishy and with a nice, smooth feel under his hands. They looked real nice on the Angus mannequin, too.

Realisation dawned that he didn’t have to pick blue, either. He replaced it with a pastel teal coloured one, then a green one, then a powder orange.

“Like that one?” said Mr Kravitz. He was wearing a pale blue, floor-length gown, now.

Angus found the courage to speak. “…’essir.” Just… not very loud.

Mr Taako had found a fountain of frills in a rainbow of colours and was swishing around in it to make the frills flare out. “I think this baby needs glitter, how about you?” he said.

“Babe,” chided Mr Kravitz. “You already have three of those in different colours…”

Mr Taako struck a pose. “What’s wrong with having four?”

Angus let the interplay go on while he looked at the matches for the culottes. The gods of vengeance and destruction failed to appear when he picked out a frilly shirt with slashed sleeves, either.

He spent half an hour playing with a dress with rainbows of mermaid sequins that all flipped to a glittering black, but he didn’t end up putting it in his basket. He preferred to move on to other things.

Having seen Mr Taako lounging around in footie pyjamas, he had to at least look at them and see if he really liked them. So far, he was comfortable in the enormous and soft giant T-shirt, but now that he’d seen Mr Taako being comfy in a set, he had to look.

Too tight, when he tried a set on. Not his thing.

There was no judgement from his rejection, either. No cries for him to hurry up. No disparaging remarks about his ability or lack thereof to make up his mind. Just Mr Taako and Mr Kravitz in different, pastel-coloured outfits as the day progressed.

Angus finally reached a count of seven, and didn’t protest as Mr Taako threw in another multipack of underwear. He did protest when he saw the rainbow mermaid sequin dress come out of the basket and join the rest of the clothes on the way to the checkout.

“I- I didn’t… I didn’t pick that, sir?”

“Want we should put it back?” offered Taako. “I saw you playing with it, I thought you liked it?”

He couldn’t say he didn’t like it. Because he did like it. It was just… “…dunno if I’m brave enough t’ wear it,” he mumbled.

“You can still play with it even if you don’t wanna wear it yet. Everything in here is charmed with Good Fit,” Taako breezed. “How d’you think Krav and I had so much fun with the merchandise?”

Mr Kravitz added, “It’s okay to want clothes and never be bold enough to wear them. So I’m told.”

“I have entire closets of clothes I’ve never worn,” added Mr Taako. “Don’t mind if ya wanna play with ‘em bee tee dubs. It’s half the fun.”

Angus did that, but always made sure he had ‘proper’ clothing on when he did. He could get braver. Eventually. Just… not this week.

[TAZ Prompts Remaining: 9]

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