"Now you're going to be a good girl while we're gone, aren't you pumpkin?" Mel asks, holding Rachel with his arm and huge hand as they play in his office.
"A'course Gramps!" the small beastgirl coos in agreement. "Will I get a treat?"
Mel chortles before going, "You'll have to eat all of your supper for that."
Their conversation is cut short when a maid approaches. "Master Mel? Majesty Lemia's assistant is here to watch your granddaughter."
"A'course Gramps!" the small beastgirl coos in agreement. "Will I get a treat?"
Mel chortles before going, "You'll have to eat all of your supper for that."
Their conversation is cut short when a maid approaches. "Master Mel? Majesty Lemia's assistant is here to watch your granddaughter."
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More of interest to him is the girl he's clutching so effortlessly. Five? Or six? He notes that her dark-skin likely stems from her father, Kyle. The fair hair and fangs, on the other hand, are clearly her mother's.
Cute, he thinks, in a strange way. He adjusts his glasses again and waits.
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Different and therefore interesting.
"Evenin' lad," Mel greets, offering his free hand to shake Autor's.
Entire arm.
"I'm Mel de Alkirk, governor of Meribia. And this's my granddaughter Rachel. And I'll make this clear right now: dare to make any sort of trouble here and I'll pop yer tiny little head off yer twiggy little neck and mount it on me trophy wall."
"Oh Gramps," Rachel sighs. "Y'say that t'everyone."
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He shrugs, reorienting his clavicle with the ball of his shoulder after Mel's manhandling. "Though from what I've heard, isn't a granddaughter the one a grandfather should be telling to behave?"
He doesn't actually grin or wink at the two of them, but he may as well have.
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"Bwahahahaha! That ya are, girl," Mel agrees. "Handful that you are."
Literally in Mel's case. He carefully lowers his granddaughter to the floor, who suddenly finds herself shy now that she has to look up at Autor. Her hands softly wring into her skirt as she sways left and right.
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"Hi," he says softly, offering his hand. He'll try to make it clear that whether she takes it is up to her discretion. "I'm Autor. It's a pleasure to meet you, Rachel."
Mel, for all of his size and presence, may as well not even be in the room anymore.
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"D'ya live with Auntie Mia an' Uncle Draco?" she asks.
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Then he glances about, but not so quickly that she can't follow. "So," he whispers, grinning, "where are your favorite places to get into trouble?"
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"We can go see Gramps's training gym!" she insists.
Mel laughs again and goes, "It looks like yer gettin' the full tour. Yer mom and dad and me will be back later tonight, Rachel."
"Okay," she agrees amiably.
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The boy tries to catch up to her as quickly as he can. "What is your favorite part about this gym?" he asks, curious. "This is for the guards, correct?"
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She drags him down the hallway, around the corner, and up the stairs. Guards are posted all along the way, watching the pair with bemused smiles as they pass.
The gym itself is a split-level room with a sort of balcony, a few guards sparring down below despite the hour.
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Once they've settled down up high--with the appropriate appreciative humming made for Rachel's bringing them there--Autor notes the speed of the two combatants.
"It's a marvel they don't knock each other out in one blow. Will you be here someday, then? Are you a woman of weapons or a lady of silks?" he asks, and then blinks. "Or both?"
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She is still quite young, after all.
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Then he gestures down at the guards. "Do you have a favorite style of fighting that you like to watch? Bare-handed? Weapons? Magics?"
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"I bet your father and grandfather are really quite strong, though," he says, glancing down at the ring.
And kids are loyal.
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Rachel sits to watch, wiggling so that she knocks her knees together.
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After a bit of time spent sitting in a companionable silence, the boy leans forward to look at her again. "Are you hungry?"
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"I don't gotta eat roast ant surprise, do I?"
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Then, after flipping to a page in the book, recites a couplet. "Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day, or gluttoning on all, or all away*."
Out pops a bag, which he rummages through to produce apples, cheese, and a couple of homemade chocolate croissants.
*Shakespeare, Sonnet 75
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Rachel is suitably impressed by your Bag of Holding, Autor.
"Auntie Mia's got a bag like that, too! But she only has t'say one word to get what she wants."
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He draws a plate and a paring knife out of the bag, and begins slicing up the apples and cheese. The croissant, well. He hands that directly to her. "Dessert first, always. Right?"
Autor grins, thinking of Master Mel's boisterous threat. "But do make sure to eat all of your dinner, otherwise I may lose my head."
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"I will!" she enthusiastically agrees between bites. "I promise I will!"
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That might be a challenge, Rachel.
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She turns away again, suddenly shy once more and her cheeks might be the tiniest bit pink.
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Then he sets the plate of apples between them and leans on the railing. "Can you read, yet?"
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Surely there's more than can be done on that front...
Then he focuses on Rachel again. "Hm, maybe next time we'll have croissants with Cepheus as well."
Autor is pretty amused that she refers to the three-year-old as a baby, given their short age differences. Then again, ages are always difficult for him.
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Then he grins. "But that doesn't matter much at the moment because I'm here with you, right?"
A sudden movement catches his attention, and he looks away. "Hoo, did you see that, Rachel? He knocked him clean out!"
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He offers Rachel an apple slice. "How often do you come here?"
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She nibbles on the apple.
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"Our secret!"
Even though the guards know.
And Master Mel.
And she's definitely going to tell Cepheus and Scorpius.