becareful_boyo | (no subject)

Raph thought he knew the meaning of the term "long day." Growing up ninja, long days were the days you did nothing but train. In his adolescence, long days were the ones you spent bored out of your shell merely waiting for the time when you could go out side. It's only now, in Tortall, that Raph realizes how good he had it.

Long days, the real and true ones, are the kind spent answering questions that come at you in streams that appear to have no end and that follow you no matter where you may try to run off to.

Which explains the look on Raph's face as he stands before the front door to the Tortoise.

"What are the rules?" he asks of the Jamie and Grace he couldn't shake free of no matter how hard he tried.

"No talking to strangers and no sampling your ale," Jamie rattles off, doing his best to peer around his uncle's rather large person. "Unless the stranger talks to us and asks questions and I have to suddenly keep my mouth full in case I say something stupid."

He grins.

"Or unless I'm choking."

Beat.

"Or burn my mouth on hot stew. You'd let me drink it then, right?"

Grace leaves off staring at the sign creaking overhead to turn a You are so weird look on her brother.

"Everyone listens so mind what you say," she adds. "It wouldn't do for just anyone to know our secrets, would it?"

She gives Raph a sweet smile and starts to slip by him, eyes on the heavy wooden door.

"No. Not if you was on fire, Jamie. Just no," he says sighing in his most put-upon tone.
Maybe now the kid'll let it drop. Maybe.

...

Yeah, probably not. Raph never was very good at this whole optimism thing.

It...it's the sweetness in Grace's voice that turns Raph's attention from the door in front of him to his recently too moody niece. His eyes narrow as he tries to figure the girl out. It's not working.

"Secrets are that way for a reason," he reminds her before taking a deep breath and easing the door open.

This oughta be fun....

An approximation of it, anyway.

A flat look for Raph suggests Grace isn't surprised he can't figure out why she remains upset. She breezes ahead, head held high, and does a quick sweep of the room and its occupants.

"You've said," she replies at last.

So they have all said.

"The trouble is those reasons aren't always for the people the secrets are kept from."

"Or," Jamie prattles on, squeezing by Raph and planting himself diretly in his path, expression cheerful, "if I sat too close to the fire and my pants went up in flames!"

He nods, apparently proud of his reasoning.

"I'd have'ta put it out somehow, and I'm sure my throat would be scratchy from the smoke and I'd desperately need'ta drink whatever was left!"

It's brilliant. Raph can't argue with that, can he?

Jamie's eyes flick to Grace and back in the space of a heartbeat. He's not nearly as foolish as he might seem.

This is Abigail's tavern. A share of it, at least. She knows every inch, every shadowed corner. When the door opens and admits them, she knows who has just entered and has a fair sense of what Raph's feeling by the look on his face.

The corners of her mouth curve just enough to suggest a smile without becoming one.

Watching them, she takes a bite of stew and waits.

Raph doesn't have to argue, not when a mere "No" will suffice.

And yes Jamie, you make a good surrogate Mike. And there's a part of Raph that deep down knows this, and loves the kid more for it. It's just that that part isn't anywhere near as LOUD as the part defending the right of secret holders to withhold information from those it might hurt.

It's only because his reflexes are more finely tuned than hers that Raph reaches out and places a protective hand on Grace's shoulder. "There's a time for everythin'. Like I said, you got all the right in the world to be chapped by this, but an adult would see that there weren't no other choice in the matter. Lashin' out ain't doin' nothing but reinforcin' that decisions that were made were the right ones."

Somewhere, right now, their grandfather has just made a snowball on his front lawn.

His other hand goes on top of Jamie's head, where he musses the boy's hair.

"That's enough of that, from both of you. Behave. Offer still stands. You wanna take shots, you take them at me. Later. For now, let's just pretend to be normal."

Having said this, Raph looks up and scans the room for Abigail. When his eyes find her, and for a split second they widen ever so slightly. It's as much of a plea for help as he's ever given.

Help him, Abigail. You're his only hope.

Looking down at his hand, Grace asks "Why would you think I'm lashing out?" and shifts subtly forward, wanting to go to Abigail.

This isn't even close to lashing out.

However, she feels it necessary to stand up for the dignity of children everywhere and add, "Sometimes adults need their vision checked."

Jamie nods, half to himself. His wide eyes are busy enthusiastically taking in the sights.

As usual, the patrons are an eclectic bunch. He waves at Thomas and pilfers a piece of bread off the plate of a man far too in his cups to do much more than wave a half-formed fist in protest.

"'Lo Abigail!" Jamie chirps, trotting over.

At Raph's look, Abigail sends her gaze skyward. When the gods fail to answer her silent entreaty, she sighs, wipes her hands on the cloth by her plate and stands, beckoning them over with a nod. Both hands plant themselves on her hips.

"Hullo lad. Bit late for the likes of you then, isn't it?"

She smiles down at Jamie and ruffles his hair before turning her attention to Grace.

"Lady Grace." Beat. "You've gotten taller. We'll have to see about fixin' some of your skirts again, make no mistake."

True or not, Abigail knows how to distract Raph's niece.

Her hand flies out and lands on Raph's chest, light but somehow still firm. "Boy-o. Pleased you could see your way to droppin' by." Was that a wink? Quite possibly.

It's unclear which has the more profound effect on Raph, her taking over of the situation or her touch, but one of the two is clearly responsible for the calm that slowly begins to descend upon him. His hand covers her and gives it a very thankful squeeze.

"they needed a break," he says in a low tone for her ears only. "Missed you. Cap'n Turner sends her hello. As do 'Lanna an' Adam."

He then turns his attention to his charges for the evening.

"These two are probably in need of somethin' to eat. An' if they ain', I sure a hell am. What can I snag from the kitchen?"

Because Raph? Will totally just up and raid the kitchen. So long as he doesn't have to do any cooking. That would just be disastrous.

Someone nearby lets out a low whistle and if Abigail thinks it has anything to do with the way her eyes soften or the private smile she gives Raph, she doesn't seem to care.

They all know who will be keeping them in their drink tomorrow night.

"'Course you did," she tells Raph. Then, while batting Jamie's hand away from her plate, she says, "There's stew. Thomas swears to Mithros it's beef, but I have my suspicions."

Jamie eyes the stew and sits back. Abigail laughs.

Intrigued, Grace watches them closely, eyes sliding from Raph to Abigail and back again.

The way Abigail neatly handles her Uncle Raph -- and Jamie, though that's not hard to do -- never ceases to fascinate Grace.

"I haven't grown that much," she says at last, taking a seat.

There's a good reason for Grace's fascination, Abigail is a gods damned miracle worker.

The whistle catches Raph's attention. "That was Reg, wasn't it," he says with a smirk. Gears are already turning for the less-than-subtle revenge that will surely follow.

His blood pressure returning to normal, Raph swings the pack he's carrying off his shoulder and drops it next to Grace with a clatter. "You have," he tells Grace with a much kinder tone to his voice. "Probably be taller'n me before you know it."

"Right. Questionable quasi-beef stew. Sounds good to me, how 'bout you lot?"

"Nuh uh."

Jamie stands on hs chair and faces Raph.

"I'll get there first."

"You'll sit," says Abigail, wrapping an arm around his waist and tugging him down, "like a proper lad should."

When Jamie laughs and goes limp on her, then wiggles, Abigail gives in to the old game and tickles his side.

He is a bit like a puppy, this one.

"Sit," she says again. "REG!"

Reg snorts his ale and manages a "Yes!"

"Come watch these two for a minute whilst I have words with the man who's gonna make you pay for that whistle if y'don't."

As docile as an ornery hog, Reg complies. He's no fool.

"Ay, that you might. 'Specially the way you eat. Though...your Uncle Mike ate more than the rest of us combined and he's still ickle and wee, so don't go countin' those chickens before they hatched, Jamie."

Raph picks up Abigail's napkin from the table top and hucks it in Reg's direction. "Even one hair on their heads get so much as ... breathed on, an' you'll be lucky if you're able to limp your way home in six weeks time."

"If you count chickens afore they hatch then you're really just counting eggs," Jamie points out, grin stretching from ear to ear. "I'll have stew!"

Beat.

"And an ale?"

It's hopeful.

Brothers are so ridiculous. Grace, still silent, expresses this with an exemplary roll of her eyes.

"Stew, please."

Reg is treated to brief but intense scrutiny and is summarily dismissed. Instead Grace rests her chin in her hand, elbow on the table, and turns her attention back to Raph and Abigail.

Unfortunately, no one at her table is likely to point out that staring is rude.

Abigail gives Jamie an impressive snort and agrees, "Stew."

Bread and juice might also make an appearance, but ale is right out. Even for Raph, apparently, as Abigail leads him closer to the fire and not the bar. Keeping the children in eyesight seems prudent, Reg or not.

"What's happened, then?"

It's clear something has. One just has to look at Grace to see it in her eyes.

"A break from what?"

"Wiseass." With a playful scowl of frustration, Raph reaches out and lightly thwaps Jamie upside the head before following Abigail further into the tavern.

"Each other, I reckon," he says with a sigh. Then after a breath, Raph rubs his hand over his scalp and gives the room a cursory glance.

"Ain't really my story to tell, an' this ain't really the best venue for it." He'd not deny his paranoia concerning secrets.

"That so."

Abigail gives him a look that loosely translates to and what's wrong with it, then?

It might be in jest.

Possibly.

She looks at Grace, unfazed that the girl is still staring. "That child's got a lot of mad in her yet."

"It's family stuff," he says at an attempt at reason. "An' everyone in here ain't."

One of the many perks of being a Ninja/Shang is knowing who is looking at you, how, and where they are in relation. Not that it would matter in Grace's case right now. A blind man could feel her gaze a mile awayl. "Yeah, don't I freakin' know it. I can usually tell how pissed she is by how dopey Jamie gets. An he's been a ring short of a circus for most of the day."

"Hurt," adds Abigail. "She's hurt too, if I'm any judge." And she thinks she is. "Might account for the silliness. He's a way of pullin' her out of her own head when she's down, reelin' her in when she's mad."

Even if it's just to get Grace rolling her eyes at him.

This, Abigail feels, is a service they should thank him for, and the soft spot she has for the boy expands yet again.

"And what of Lord Thom? You haven't forgotten him along the road, have you? Should I send Reg?"

She slants a half-smile at Raph.