Family Matters
© 2022 by M. Mitch Marmel

Thumbnail art by  tegerio, color by  Major Matt Mason

Part Fifty-two



Tali:

I sat there, dumbfounded, while Matt summed up what happened. “Are you sure you’re all okeh?” I asked when he finished. My honey bear looked tired, slumped a bit in front of the imager, bare-chested.

Bare-chested bear. Heh.

Matt nodded. “Well, there were some injuries to the crew. Broken bones, bumps and bruises, that sort of thing. No one killed, though. The boffins at HQ are tearing their headfur out.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. They’re trying to design,” and he suddenly twisted and looked behind him, his ears flicking, “design a means of detecting these things, and we get one form right next to the lateral array and we don’t spot it till it’s too late to get out of the way.”

“That’s justice for you,” I said with a chuckle.

“How are you doing?”

“Not bad,” and I patted my belly. “Six more months to go – which reminds me. Another blessed event.”

“Oh?” and I told him about the Master’s latest offspring. Well, by adoption, seeing as he didn’t lay that egg. Missy said that she’d been given it as a gift.

Matt looked skeptical until I showed him a picture. “Isn’t he the cutest thing?” I said as he gaped. “His name’s Westinghouse.”

“Cute na – “

Suddenly a black and white blur, topped with vivid but disheveled green hair, glomped onto Matt’s back and wrapped her arms around him. Low, her eyes heavy-lidded, nuzzled our honey bear before resting her chin on his shoulder and looking at me. “Hi, Tali.”

“Good morning, Low.”

“Anyway, I wanted to let you know what had happened,” Matt said while Low’s paws went roaming, “just in case the Master gets a rocket up his arse from the Palace – Low!”

“What?” she asked in a playful tone.

“Baby, please, I am not from Havana.”

She licked his ear, and I started wishing I could be up there with them. “How many times has it been?”

“What, since you dragged me in here from Sickbay? Um, four – no, five.”

Low-chan grinned. “Great! You’ve had enough of a rest, then.”

“Depends on how much Vitamin E I can get my paws on – Low!” My co-wife started dragging our husband away from the screen.

She leaned in. “We’ll talk to you later, darling.”

“Have fun,” I said cheerfully, and the screen went blank as I started to translate the report Matt had given me into Standard Elvish.

You know, just in case anyone asks.


***


Anastasia:

A lot of Westersloe’s squaddie friends call him ‘Westy’ for short, and using the same contraction as a nickname for Westinghouse might have caused some confusion. It was decided, therefore, that the ice-wym child would be nicknamed ‘Westie.’

There were quite a lot of adjustments to be made, but it was a good thing that Westie was born already eating solid food. Saved a lot of time weaning him, and from the look of his teeth, I would pity any femme who had to wet-nurse him.

Although I think Bridget Ashearth would have at least tried, given that she loves children so much.

Like I said, there were adjustments to be made, mostly rearranging furniture and teaching Westie that the toilet is not simply anywhere the mood strikes him. A suggestion to put him in nappies was made and immediately withdrawn when he amply demonstrated how corrosive his waste was.

Most of the household were able to adjust to his presence fairly quickly, apart from [Little Toy] and the pet house-ants Prince Desmond of Kennelford gifted to my mate.

[Little Toy] was almost beside herself the day he discovered that the oven was too hot to suit him. Well, ice-wyrm, you know; it seems obvious in hindsight. He opened his mouth, a bluish light appeared deep in his throat, and he tried to extinguish the oven fire with his ice-breath. He failed, but succeeded in depositing a thin layer of ice on the floor, which [Little Toy] discovered when she tried to shoo him away, slipped and fell on her tailfur.

I keep a few of the sketches she made. Priceless, and after he grew up a bit he was immensely apologetic.

The first heavy snows came to Elfhame, and it was hard to keep Westie in the house. Which, of course, entailed him tracking in mud and snow after his play time. [Little Toy] started to scold him, and he shook himself, sending muddy snowmelt everywhere but mostly all over her.

She was so angry that the minkess automaton nearly transformed into Battle Angel mode. I managed to intervene and get her calmed down, while Westersloe took Westie to another room to explain things to him.

[Note appended to manuscript: “Intellectual equals.”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “Now, now, wolfess.”]

That left the house-ants, who must have really wondered what in the Shining Land was going on.

They were certainly getting a lot of exercise, since Westinghouse obviously thought of them as some sort of ambulatory fish. So far the ants were able to outrun and outmaneuver him, which was a good thing. I wouldn’t have liked explaining to Prince Desmond that one of his gifts had either gotten trampled or eaten.

Westie made it easy for the ants to tell that he was after them, because of the way he’d break into a run. He was a wyvern, quite like Windimere in shape, and he would break into a ‘run’ by planting his front paws, bring his rear forward with a curvature to his spine that could make you wince, followed by a half-leap as his front paws moved forward and his backbone straightened.

Estvan helpfully called it a “galumph,” and you could feel it through the vibrations in the floorboards as he would chase the ants.

Once, one of the ants scuttled straight up Missy’s back to perch on her head, wheezing and gronking, and Westie climbed up her front until the ice-wyrm and the wolfess were eye-to-eye.

Westie made a sound like “Ew,”, clambered down from her, and went off in search of the other ant.

[Note appended to manuscript: “Good judge of character.”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “Shaddap.”]

While Ooo-er giggled, Missy then took the ant off its perch on top of her head and let it go.

Still, these were the high points. Most of the time over the winter, Westie would sleep, eat, and go outside to play in the snow. With Stella and Sixth’s help, Westersloe was teaching him Draconic and Elfhamian, as well as teaching him ‘indoors’ etiquette. My son having earned the cognomen [Mud Magnet], it was more than a little ironic.


***


Tessie:

Please . . . just make it stop.

I figure I’m maybe six or seven months along with my pregnancy, and by the Lady and [the Seven], the fun wore off ages ago. I’m huge, and everything hurts.

Of course, that doesn’t stop the Regalia from getting me out in the snow for training. Like today, when it had me set up some snow-effigies with tree branches inside them.

I then drew Sun-and-Moon and started practicing.

“There you are, girl,” the Regalia whispered in my ear. “You’re really getting the hang of it now.”

“Thanks,” I said, “but why the branches?”

“Bones, honey.”

“Oh. Ew.”

“When you took off Evil Reg’s head, I could feel how much effort you put into it, even with me guiding your paws,” it explained. “You keep the blades sharp, and that helps a lot, but you have to remember that your enemies aren’t just fleshy. Now, have at that one, to your left!”

And while I set to work, the Regalia hummed and began to sing.

“Try to remember that when you dismember
That flesh isn’t as soft as fine marshmallow
Always remember that when you dismember
When cutting deep then through you follow
Foes will remember as they see you dismember
The slower and unluckier of their fellows
Try to remember that when you dismember
Through follow, follow . . . “

And yeah, it did help.

After I finished cleaning up the chopped-up branches (hey, firewood; waste not, want not), I heard someone trudging through the snow and I turned to see Missy coming up to the house. She seemed almost as big as I was, and in just about as much misery.

“Good morning,” I said.

The wolfess stopped and bent over backward a little, both paws reaching back to rub her spine near her tail. “Don’t know what’s good about it. I hurt.”

“Me too.” My ears flicked. “Want to come inside? I’ll make tea.”

She looked at me, ears going back only slightly, and she said, “Thank you.”

She had the good manners to cantrip away the melted snow and mud before entering my house. I keep it clean, and you’d better believe that I give Sixth two ears full if I find him tracking dirt in. Una doesn’t need to be told.

I settled Missy into the best chair in the kitchen, with extra pillows for her back, while I got the kettle started. “So, what brings you here?” I asked.

“I was feeling cooped up at the Lodge,” Missy replied, “and I’ve been to Tali’s wagon and the Grotto a lot since winter set in.” She cocked her head. “And then I recalled I haven’t seen this place yet.”

I smiled. “Let’s have some tea,” I said, “and I’ll show you around. It’s nowhere as big as the Master’s Lodge, but it’s home.”

After a while, the kettle started to whistle, and I poured the hot water through a tea strainer into cups. “How’s Ooo-er?”

“Spending a lot of time at the pond in the Grotto. The water supports her belly and makes her feel better. Thank you,” she said as I set the tea tray down beside her. There was a short silence as we fixed our tea, and after I sat down she looked at me over the rim of her cup. “You look huge. Are you sure you’re not having an Oliphant?”

“I have no idea,” I said, rubbing my paws over my belly. “Sixth is a roebuck, who was transmogrified as a raccoon when we had venery, so it could be almost anything. At least Dotto looks like a fox.”

Missy nodded, and for a while we sipped our tea in silence.





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