A Second Generation Whateley Holiday Tale

Best of Show

by

Wasamon

 

Part Two

 

December 24th, 2016, Christmas Eve
Cookie

Morning was up. Early up. Earlier than school up. Cookie was up, too. There'd been a dream, a happy one where together they ran and frolicked and licked and played, and then they woke up. And then they were one again. One hungry pup.

Up time was food time. Cookie scrambled up with a sniffle and a sneeze. Their noses smelled food. Not pup food, but nice-smelling food.

The nice big house was big and nice. Not as big as the school house, the Twain House, but nicer. It had room for a pup to move around in. The front area was pup's. The side area was Daniel's. The boy was still asleep. Cookie didn't wake the boy up yet. Study-time last night. Phone-time last night. Busy night. Busy day.

Two heads. One stomach. Stomach growled louder. Time for breakfast. Carefully padding over wood floor. Good pups didn't scratch with nails. Good pups didn't push too hard. Good pups didn't whine for food.

Cookie was only mostly a good pup. "Kyun-kyun..."

"John, your dog is hungry." The old lady was sitting at the table. Nice lady, but tired lady. Cookie sat next to the nice lady and nuzzled a hand. "Oh, you..." The hand provided ear-skritches. All was good.

"Good morning, pup." Nice Dad was at the other end of the table, reading a paper and eating. The nice smell came from dad's plate. A slice of something delicious was offered on a fork. A nice treat for a mostly-good pup. Nice Dad was much nicer than Bad Dad, even though both were Dad.

"You really spoil them, John," said the old lady, but nicely. Special ears heard the niceness.

"Woof?"

"You'll need more than some funny-colored eggs and ham, pup," said Nice Dad. "Just a moment..."

"On it!" called Auntie from the kitchen.

"Debbie, you don't need to..."

"I'm here and enjoying a tropical vacation on your dime, John. Let me do what I can." There was a grunt and then the whirr, the fantastic song of a can opener in action. Then a thunk and a heavy plop as food dishes were filled. "Right, there we go. Come and get it, pup!"

The dishes were on a large tray with special handles. Cookie knew it well. One head took one handle each, and together they moved breakfast over to the table. Near the table. Good pups didn't eat off the table. Also, the table wasn't big enough to hold the tray.

It was school food. Good food. School people knew what a pup needed. Munch and crunch and more for lunch. But now... They looked out the window and whined.

"If you want walkies," said Nice Dad, "Go wake up Daniel and take him out on one."

"Woof!" Wake up Daniel. They needed Daniel. Maybe not needy-need. Pup could do the business alone, but walkies required a walker. So they needed Daniel. For walkies. "Woof!"

"G'morning, pup..." The boy ended on a yawn. "You wanna go out?"

"Woof! Aroof!"

"Okay, gimme a minute."

Time was something the school-people had tried to teach pup at school. Hard-thinking, hard-knowing. But the funny-monkey show had helped. 'Minute' meant short time, easy-waiting time. Time for the boy to put on pants and sandals.

But only that much time. "Woof!"

"Coming, pup..."

The sand was warm. The breeze was fresh. Pup's four feet could run, run, run, to their heart's content. Never too fast, but just slow enough for Daniel to keep up. The boy needed exercise and proper walkies. Cookie took proper boy-care seriously.

The sky was cloudy enough that no one else wanted to be on the beach just then. Good for pup and boy. Cookie snuffled and sniffed, finding places where local dogs had left marks and adding a wee bit of their own. After what was a big enough number of minutes, pup let the boy lead them back to the new house. The boy needed to eat, too.

Pup was happy to have a snack on the kitchen floor while their ears worked to catch all the words. Between the two of them, pup's heads knew a lot, but people had words upon words upon words. A lot of them weren't said on the monkey show or the big red dog show or even the naughty varmint show, but sometimes pup's special ears caught the right feeling, and then they made more sense. Had to keep listening, though.

"Dates." Pup knew that word. The boy'd had many of those. Cookie had, too. Running dates with Fast-Avsel. Baseball fetch dates with Purple-Tanya or Silver-Erica. Lie in the sun and snooze dates with Shisa-kitty. Dates were fun.

Auntie had a joking sound for the word. The boy had a serious one. Nice Dad had a few more words, all nice. Ears flicked up. In the distance, a phone was buzzing. Too far, not loud enough. With a woof, pup led the boy to it. Phone buzzing was important.

"Good pup." Head pats and ear skritches.

Good boy, too. "Woof!"

Office of the Secretary of Intelligence

Belphoebe didn't need much in the way of sleep. Most drow didn't; it was part of the total package. That didn't mean they didn't enjoy having it, however. And by her measure, it was too damn early for a meeting on a festive Sunday. The other ladies around the table were in grumbly agreement, with the exception of Her Highness, which was why they put up with it now.

"Here is what I could find," she announced. "Suffice to say, even for a young mutant, Mr. Diggins has a miniscule social media footprint. Most of this comes directly from the Whateley intranet."

"And they just let you in there to look?" In the far corner, Angie 'Freight Train' Murphy, Marchioness Securita, let out a snort. "Hartford's getting sloppy in her don't-ask-her-age."

"Sadly, Hard-Ass is no longer present on campus," said Belphoebe. "But also, I still have a valid student ID for access. A side benefit of never officially graduating." She chuckled. "As well as a decent bribe to the right person in the dean's office. In any case, here we have it."

The projection on the wall shifted to a garishly pastel school intranet page with the title "All That's the Scoop on Campus." There was a carousel of photos, mostly anodyne events or candid shots, plus a login that promised further details, for a small membership fee.

"Just what is it that we are looking at?" said Her Highness. "And why is it so godawfully pink?"

"Students come and students go," said Belphoebe. "Most of us, at any rate. But there shall always be gossipmongers. And for what we need, All That has the answers."

"It's what she calls herself? All That?" A single, reasonable question revealed which of the drow ladies at the table had never attended Whateley. Madrigal was a third-formula drow, with more lingering elements of her original Puerto Rican ancestry underlying the classical skin tone and silver hair of the archetype.

"Seen worse," said Bova. "It's hard to find a codename that's decently appropriate and not already taken. I mean, I had to go to Latin for mine, and never bothered to change it once it wasn't appropriate anymore. Daniel's kind of lucky, yanno. Not many folks'd want to take the codename 'Donut'."

More snorts rolled in from Freight Train, twice in succession, which made her sound even more like her own codenamesake. "Boy's got Underdog written all over him."

"You'd think so," said Belphoebe. "And in the combat sense, certainly. He's taking Survival courses, no combat specialization, and is a registered Pacifist for on-campus purposes. That said, things appear quite different, socially." One of the things she'd learned to love about All That the previous evening was how meticulous the girl was with her gossip sourcing. This wasn't friend-of-a-friend-of-a-cousin-told-me material; there was an ecosystem of querants and informants, often providing the tea to each other via what was essentially an anonymized gossip market exchange provided by All That. The clients were sourcing their own product, and quite happily so. Belphoebe already had young Lisa 'All That' Derflin on her list of Whateley students to contact post-graduation. Talent-scouting happened to be one of the many other items on her crowded CV.

The fruit of the gossip girl's delegated labors appeared in the form of a Social Quotient page, ranking the freshman boy on personality, friendship links, social cliques, known favors given or owed, and known enemies--of which there were officially none for young Daniel. From her evening perusals, Belphoebe could say that there were other freshmen with quotient pages just as comprehensive, but none so positive.

"So, what we know," she began in earnest. "He manifested almost a year ago, while living with his family in a religious commune in Idaho. That community has zero online presence, but it has made the local news a few times, and hardly in a nice way. Pentecostal spin-off, founded in the wake of the Seattle Plague Bomb incident of '92, though the Digginses did not join them until 2005. Quite mutant-phobic, naturally. When he first manifested, his parents faked an illness for him to get evacuated to the nearest large town, where he is officially residing with a Ms. Deborah Browning, a friend of his mother's and parttime nursemaid to Doc Talltale's ailing wife Cordelia. We actually knew this much from the initial security assessments, if anyone had bothered to look."

Everyone clearly and carefully failed to notice the glare she sent at Her Highness. Jobe merely shrugged and motioned for her to continue.

"There is no evidence that the young man is in any sense church-going," she went on, "though several notes on here say he is well-read on Bible verses, and not much else. His current course credits show that he is taking mostly remedial classes, except for the culinary track, where he is getting full marks, and French, which is comme ci, comme ça. Also, animal training, but that appears to be more of the dog's business."

With a giggle, Bova added in, "Cookie's a good pup. They work well together."

"Duly noted. He's a dog person. Moving on, we come to the worrisome part..." The screen unfolded to reveal a relationship map.

"Whew," said Freight Train. "That's a lot of data points. Er, date points?"

"Either way fits, Angie dear. It appears that young Mr. Diggins has been on at least one date with a full third of the Whitman freshman class, and a significant number of Dickinson girls as well. There may even have been a fight over his attention, early on in the year. Reports vary, and I suspect he was used as a convenience to further someone else's vendetta. Nevertheless, he appears to remain quite popular and well-liked by them all."

"Mind control?" suggested Freight Train.

"Perhaps pheromones?" Jobe had that look in her eye that boded ill for any specimen interesting enough to end up on her dissection tray. "Not a Rosethorn situation, I take it?"

"Not pretty enough," snickered Freight Train.

"No," said Belphoebe. "He does not seem to be targeting fixer-uppers. Again, there is plenty of tea spilled by the girls themselves, and the gist seems to be that he is nice, non-threatening, respectful of boundaries and generally helpful in making his dates feel better about themselves, regardless of their degree of GSD."

Freight Train huffed out a frown. "A chaser, then."

"Again, no. As I said, he reportedly respects boundaries, and it would appear that it's the girls who are asking him out, more often than not. There's even a poll ongoing on whether he's actually gay, asexual, or simply a gentleman. The third option is currently in the lead. Several mention that he introduced them to their current boyfriends, even."

Throughout all this, Madrigal had remained silent. Much of the old alma mater commentary would not have made sense, though the woman was doubtless making notes on what to ask about later. But for the now, she suddenly had a question: "Why are we so concerned about this young man today? While it is nice to know some more about him after how Roxie talked my ear off at dinner last night, all this does is make me feel less worried about my daughter spending time with him. Your Highness obviously feels otherwise. Why is that?" The glint in her eye could have pinned a butterfly to a corkboard display.

Jobe Ann was not at all comfortable with being the butterfly in this analogy. "Ah, well. The immediacy of the attraction, hints of idealized fixation as well..."

"I know a crush when I see one," said Madrigal.

"Oh, remember how you were whenever T-Bird walked by?" Bova added in.

"No! I mean, yes, but... time out!" A royal breather was in order, and they all gave Her Highness the moment. "Right. Yes, I remember T-Bird and no, we are never mentioning him again, capisce? But it is, ahem, connected to what worries me. The issue of, ah, imprinting."

"Imprint..." Madrigal mumbled through the word and then her eyes went wide. "You said you stripped that out of the drow serum by the third formulation. Axel and I certainly never noticed anything! So why... Jobe..."

"Er, yes?"

"Do you mean to tell me that my daughter may still be cursed to a permanent sexual addiction with the first male she sleeps with? When the entire point of your research at that time was removing that little quirk from the drow genetic profile?"

"I did! And it worked! Roxie shouldn't... oh, but I can't be certain," Her Highness admitted. "Not one hundred percent. She's the first drow in history to reach puberty as a drow, not previously as a human, and we simply do not have all the data points. I do not have all the data points. I do not know, and I hate it! Fine! Are you happy now?"

Madrigal Sharpe may have been the most junior of the drow ladies present, and the only one not in possession of mutant powers on top of the standard drow suite, but she was older than them all by a good fifteen years, and when she spoke, it was with the full Voice of Mom. "Jobe Ann Wilkins, my daughter is going through her first romantic crush, and from everything we have seen this morning, he even seems to be a nice boy to have it on. So help me God, if you do anything to materially interfere with their little date today, I will make these the least happy holidays you have ever personally experienced. Capisce?"

"Er yes, I under--wait, a date? Today? Right now?"

"To the old market town," Madrigal confirmed. "Roxie and I workshopped some ideas last night. Don't worry; Axel will be around to keep an eye on them. And Crumpette. They'll have a wonderful time, I'm sure."

Daniel

He'd been on his share of long road trips. Hard to avoid it, seeing as there weren't any better options for getting around Idaho, Montana, or the eastern Columbia River basin area. Armed with preapproved music CDs, card games, and homeschooling materials, his parents and other church adults had made sure that no child ever thought of uttering the four terrible words: "Are we there yet?"

It was kinda tempting to say it now, even though they weren't going nearly as far. Driving east from the touristy beach zone, cutting across the industrial belt behind it and on to the far end of town, he and the doc and Cookie were entering the old streets of San Lucído, what had been capitol of a little island before big times arrived. He could see the map on the doc's phone from where it was fixed to the green Gizmobile's dashboard, and knew exactly how long the GPS thought they had before arrival, and even so, he really wanted to ask the dreaded question.

Mr. Carlyle disagreed with the GPS's estimations, expressing his contempt with a lead foot on the accelerator. Daniel could hear Cookie howling in back. "Mind slowin' down? Pup's gettin' woozy."

"Ah, sorry." There wasn't any change in the engine noise, but the decent green vehicle slowed. "Don't know what comes over me sometimes. Cody always said I drove like a maniac. Ah... but she'd smile when she did..."

"Um, doc? Red light."

The rubber on the road made more noise than anything else connected to the car. Nothing got hit and all traffic laws were technically obeyed. Daniel had to make himself breathe easier. Weren't any more excuses to panic. No more things to worry about.

Just the upcoming first date he hadn't expected to happen over the holiday. He wasn't even sure it was a date, though it felt like one. To him, at least. And one of the first things he'd learned was that everyone had a different idea what a date even was. By some definitions, what he and Roxie'd done the day before, just walking around the convention floor and talking shop, that could count as a date, but that'd just been the two of them meeting by circumstance and being reasonably friendly. Today, she'd specifically asked him to come out this way, and suspect all he liked but he didn't know for sure why.

"Nervous?" came the question from the driver's side.

"Yeah, a little. Dunno why, though."

"Well, she is a little cutie."

"They all are, doc." He sucked in some air and let it out slow as he thought it over. "Guess I'm just surprised? I mean, I don't even know where to start."

"Well, you both like working with large, adorable, and potentially dangerous animals," the doc noted. "As for the rest, perhaps it is best to talk with her? Oh, I see Crumpette."

"Where?" His eyes answered for him. There was a big old street corner with nothing on it, just an open space for people who were waiting for the bus or something. They probably counted as 'something'. In any case, the owlbear took up a lot of the space, with everyone else giving the beast plenty of it. Right there with the beastie was a middle-aged guy in a blue shirt and overalls--and Roxie, who had her charge by the ruff of the neck as she said something stern.

Probably a pre-walkies talking-to. He knew how it was.

Roxanne Sharpe

She had fingers deep in the down, holding on tight as she met Crumpette eye-to-eye. Her pretty birdy-bear-birbo wasn't the only one who could do the big old eye beg. "So we are clear, yes? We walk straight up the street, to the park--eyes on me!--and you and Cookie can have fun. But on your best behavior till then. No biting or swiping or nibbling or clawing or body-checking... and no scatting!"

The ear-horns tilted downward in shame.

"Yes, I know you can be a good owlbear, Crumpette. You're the best owlbear, truly you are. And as soon as Daniel gets here--"

"They just passed by," said Dad.

"What!?" There was a squawk as her fingers seized at the down-pinning. "Oops, sorry, Crumpette..." She smoothed the feather and tutted over her birbo for a second before turning to her parent. "When were you going to tell me?"

"They just passed by and I just did." Dad did not seem to grasp the problem here. She wished Mom could've come along.

"Are you certain it was them?"

"Mushy-pea Gizmobile with a giant two-headed dog in back? Boy your age, wearing sunglasses? Could've been anyone, I suppose..."

"DA～AD!" Oh, she wasn't ready; was she ready? She didn't know if she was but she was wearing her nice outdoors dress in pale blue and she had on her favorite sun hat to cover her ears but oh, her hair was probably a mess under there, and maybe she should've tried some make-up? But Mom had assured her..."

"Hey, Roxie. You're lookin' nice this morning."

Somehow, in her panicked leap and spin, she failed to plant her face into the pavement. In fact, her feet barely wobbled as she pivoted around to face Daniel and give him a smile brighter than an island December morning. "Thank you! You're looking nice, too!"

And he was. It was basically what he'd been wearing the day before, but with different colors of pants and polo shirt. Not a bad look at all. Nicer than her father that morning.

"So you're Daniel," said Dad. The hand was already out for a shake, which was received with a nod of approval from the man in overalls. "Heard a lot about you. Axel Sharpe, Roxie's dad."

"Nice to meet you, sir." If Daniel was surprised or scared, he hid it well.

"John Carlyle," said the doctor, Cookie's master, who was walking up now with a rolling suitcase conspicuously labeled DOG TOYS. He was in the brightest island flower-print shirt that ever screamed 'tourist!' "I'm mainly here to provide transportation," the old man explained.

"Same here. So, Roxie? Where to first?"

"Um!" Details, brain! Details! "Well, there's a park two blocks over? For, like, dogs and other things?"

"Five hundred acre tract," said her dad. "Used to be the marina area back when Puerto Lucído wasn't landlocked and still had a port. That-a-way!" His thick-ended pointer showed the way.

With a happy "Ghu-hu," Crumpette began her lumbering stride along the pavement. Cookie settled into a trot alonside her, keeping her on the sidewalk while pup bordered on the street. The right head woofed and ruffed, for all the world like the two critters were making small talk, while the left head minded the local traffic.

"Don't gotta worry too much," Daniel told her as they walked along. "Pup's puttin' that escort training to good use."

"Is that a special course at your school?" she asked. The two of them had taken up positions behind their respective critters, and she couldn't help but notice that Daniel was doing much the same as his dog right then, providing cover and protection for the escorted person on the right. She really wanted him to take her by the arm as he did it. Maybe if she fluttered her eyelashes some more, he'd get the hint?

"Special enough that they had to find a K-9 security specialist to invent it for pup," said Daniel. "What kind of training do you do with Crumpette?"

"We're mostly working on socializing her and getting her used to having more people around," she admitted. "Previous builds on the owlbear model had a tendency to go on murderous rampages at the worst of times, but Crumpette's a good girl!" she hastened to add. "We've been together since she was just barely hatched, almost four years now!"

"Just don't let her near curtains!" came the holler from behind them.

"Dad!" Oh, her face was going to go all blueberry from blushing...

Like Dad had said, Grand Wilkins Park began where the old Puerto Lucído marina had once floated. Some of the nicer boats had been incorporated into new buildings along the edge, while a large, verdant flatness now filled the old harbor bay. Trees were planted in mathematical clusters, all local species--or at least, they'd all originated in Karedonia, one way or another. The tallest were clustered around Monte Alcatraces, which had once been a rocky islet in the harbor. It even smelled of the sea, sometimes.

There were plenty of people enjoying the park for the holiday, but even more open space left over to run around in. With a "Woof!" and a "Ghu-hu!", the critters were off chasing each other. Their handlers followed happily after.

And Daniel was holding her hand. She wasn't sure when that had happened, but oh! how her heart went pitter-pat when she realized!

Office of the Secretary of Intelligence

A late breakfast, an early lunch; it did not matter which. Belphoebe's schedule, personal and professional, was forever in such a state that mealtimes were more a state of mind than an actual point on the clock face. A few slices of Uncle Ralph's personal choice of deli meats on two slabs of rye bread with cheddar, pickles, and a dollop of Jobe's patented HFH Sauce, currently available only in Karedonia because the specially engineered peppers used to make it were considered a potential war crime in any civilized country. Some quirk of drow physiochemistry made it delectable to the ladies of the court and absolutely no one else.

It was their loss, really, though she did not begrudge Mrs. Alvarez for wearing a gas mask when the old dear delivered the tray of sandwich fixings to her.

All was set, and so it was time for the show. A wave brought the projector screen back to life, and she called out, "Violet? Report."

The view on the screen wobbled and panned about as it followed two smaller humanoids and two larger genetic abominations. "All is within a given range of normalcy, ma'am." The alto voice was calm, cool, but not flat. "Still not sure why I'm out here today, but not saying no to double-time and a half pay rate on a lovely morning."

"And we are thankful, Violet," said Belphoebe. "Your particular skillset is most useful right now."

"I assume you mean the stealth field." The image shook with a chuckle. "Though I suppose I could tag the boy with a puff pellet, knock him out for the rest of the day."

"That will not be necessary."

"Good. I don't know him from Adam, but damn, Roxie looks so adorable and happy running around with him right now."

That she did. As Belphoebe watched on the screen, Roxie slipped on a patch of grass and nearly fell down completely, but for the young Mr. Diggins to catch her and help her back to her feet in as gentlemanly a manner as any ever done. "Thankfully," she said, "orders are to observe but not to interfere for now."

"Her Highness's order?"

"Madrigal's, actually. You should have seen the talking-to." She chuckled into her lunch.

"I can imagine. Don't think anyone'd rather deal with her in Mama Bear mode. Ooh..." The camera panned a little more. "Looks like we might be on the move."

"Mhft... what?" Belphoebe demanded around a large bite of sandwich. The floral hellfire of the HFH Sauce burned the sinuses comfortably. Her eyes remained glued to the screen.

Back in the park

"You wanna go where?" Daniel hadn't caught most of it, since he'd been focused on flinging a disc for Cookie to catch. The metal plate was a collab between Marcus in Poe and one of the freshman devisors, a girl named Vicky in Dickinson. When it got whipped out fast enough, the force field generator kicked in and the disc turned into a hard-light sail that kept going, going, going for ten seconds before the power cut out. Cookie caught it before then, barely and with a crazy leap that had pup doing a cartwheel.

"Ghu-hu, ghu-hu." Crumpette was enjoying a snuggyball, round and soft and thus far impervious to claws and beak. It could be pounced upon and thrown up high to catch on the down-low.

"I was thinking we could check out the old market," said Roxie. "You know... the two of us? ...oh, Crumpette, don't give me that look! Aren't you having fun here playing with Cookie?"

"Ghu-hu."

"And the old market streets are too narrow. Really, you should stay here and, um, frolic some more. Dad's here to watch you. Right, Dad?"

On a bench by the trees, Mr. Sharpe looked up from his chat with Mr. Carlyle. "Huh? Er, that's right. Your birbo's safe with us. You two go have fun."

"Ghu-hu..." The owlbear slumped against her snuggyball.

"Grr, you little drama queen. What's a girl got to do to have some quality time with... er." There was a faint purpling to her complexion.

Daniel stepped over to the toy crate, rummaged a moment, then came up for air with the doggy rope in hand. He wasn't sure what it was made of, but it looked like someone'd done macrame out of a firehose. One of Cookie's favorite games was to grab one end and pull, preferably with someone like his roommate Pete at the other end who wouldn't budge so easily. "Hey, pup," he called, waving the knotted bundle of rope.

Both doggy heads went up, and their ears went even more up. With a "Wa-roof!" the pup grabbed the rope with one mouth, undid the bundle with paws and the other mouth, then dragged the entire length over to Crumpette. "Woof!"

"Ghu-hu?" The owlbear took the free end with her beak and tugged. Cookie tugged back. Then the war was on, pulling and tugging and scrabbling and putting the tensile strength of the rope's mystery material to the ultimate test.

"I think she'll be all right," he told Roxie.

"We'll be back soon!" she yelled to her charge, but the owlbear was too busy battling for control of the chew toy to do more than flick ear-horns her way. "Okay, so I guess we..." She seemed to be waiting for something.

Daniel offered his arm, gentleman-like, and she accepted it with a glomp and a squee. Then he let her lead him back into the old part of town, what was still new to him. Back up the slope to where the yacht-houses slouched, and then past them they went, down a street and into a whole 'nother world.

Seriously, if he hadn't ridden there in the doc's ugly green rental car, he never would've believed this was the same country as the stately pleasure domes of the imperial gardens. The buildings were all shorter, three stories tall at most, and built of stone or brick with a plaster layer over it. Most of the walls were the same pale, buttery orange. Lots of them showed thick cracks in the plaster, where things must've shifted bigly at some point in the past, only for it to be filled in and smoothed over in other shades of orange. Against that backdrop, the fronts for the stores and houses popped hard with bright primary colors and intricate accents, like the fine icing work on a decorative cake.

"So, what're we looking for?" he asked.

Roxie squeezed his arm. "Nothing in particular. Just... souvenirs? I guess?"

"Good thing I brought my wallet."

"Yeah, that's... oh. Wait. Bills or coins?" she asked.

"Bills're what they gave me at the money exchange," he told her. "Um, is that a problem?"

"No, but... well, maybe yes. We don't want you flashing too much cash, and a lot of stores around here prefer coinage. There should be someplace we can get change before the main market." She was peering along the street expectently.

"So, um, you know the area?"

"We used to live around here, when we first moved to Karedonia," she told him. "And we still come by often for various reasons. Everyone knows me. So, let me see, who do I... here!" Her hold on his arm did not let up as she dragged him to a little blue shopfront. It appeared to be only half-open, with the half being the window now opening as Roxie tapped it.

An older man, tanned to the color of walnuts and silver of hair and moustache, stuck his head out. He was holding a small bowl of meat and rice, and took a quick swallow before saying, "¿Quien... ah! Doñita! Y... ¿amigo? Novio?"

He knew maybe one word out of all that, but Roxie knew more, and he knew her deep purple blush of embarrassment pretty well by now. "Amigo, Reynaldo! Amigo! Ah, en inglés, por favor? No habla español... er, you don't speak Spanish, do you?" she asked him, hopefully.

"Been taking French," he replied.

"Anshantay! Kontan rankontre 'ou!"

"Um... not that kinda French, I think? Euh... ravi de faire votre connaissance?" He hoped he got that right. He and Hannah'd crammed two nights straight before that exam.

"Good try, good try," said the man, in an accent that was no less thick, but at least in a language Daniel could claim to understand. "Little lady's friend is welcome! What you need?"

"We need to break a few bills," Roxie told him. "It's Daniel's first time around the market and he shouldn't show too much at once."

"¿Le cambio? Okay! Pero necesite comprar algo," the man tutted. A nut-brown hand waved over the fine merchandise in the window display. Most of it was leathercraft of some kind, laced and printed and beaded. Whether it was actually local in style, Daniel couldn't tell, but there were lots of dragons and other mythical monsters showing their faces.

"You need a coin purse," Roxie told him. "So we might as well get one here. Un tanto justo!" she added to the vendor.

"Maybe... that one?" Daniel pointed to a leather pouch that looked about right. It had a beaded gryphon on the side. "How much is that?"

"¿Por el grifo? Una grifona."

"That's a ten-dollar bill," said Roxie. "And a good price."

"For a friend of you, doñita? Of course! Y para la yapa, we make the change, too. How much?"

His wallet wasn't too full--he wasn't that dumb about this sort of thing--but Reynaldo shook his head anyway as they picked out one $10 bill with a gryphon on one side to pay for the coin purse, and then two more gryphons and a manticore to turn into coinage. That was forty Karedonian dollars, with the face of Her Imperial Highness on them. In exchange, he got five five-dollar coins, five two-dollar coins, and five one-dollar coins, each of them with the face of His Imperial Highness on the reverse.

"Okay," said Roxie as she lay out the dollar coins on the counter. She added one-, five, ten-, and fifty-cent coins from her own purse. "These all have names, and depending on who's buying and selling, they might not all be in the same language. From smallest to largest, in English, we have nails, screws, nuts, rivets, cogs, gears, and doodads."

"Huh." The names sort of matched the designs on the flipside of each coin, though he wouldn't have figured out the fifty-cent coin on his own.

"En español, son los clavitos, torñitos, torquitos, remachitos, denruedos, granajitos, y artilugios."

"Um, just a minute." Pen on paper couldn't move fast enough to keep up. "Think I can live without the French words for now. Thanks, mister... er, gracias?"

"De nada!" Reynaldo's grin bore the honesty of a man who's made a good sale. "¿Por el novio de la doñita? Está bueno."

"Reynaldo!" The girl looked ready to swat the man, then gave it up in a flurry of nervous giggles. "Come on! Letʻs see the market!"

Just what he was heading into, he wasn't quite sure. He'd been to Berlin Mall a few times, gotten himself lost almost as many, and only sometimes found what he was looking for. Excursions into the Whateley store were more successful, even if he got lost even more often down there. Either place was probably larger than this little leftover of a colonial port town, but--

But then they turned a corner and he could see all the old, narrow streets between the plastered walls coming together, and it was like a holiday gift shop had exploded but all the explosions were flower blossoms that hung and clung and were probably for sale, too.

"Um, what is all this?" he asked as he ducked some low-hanging orchids.

"I told you, it's the market sales," said Roxie. "Once a year, the three days before Christmas, everyone does the present shopping. It's a little slow now that we're almost to the end and it all shuts down at nightfall, but... well, there's still something for everybody!"

"Um, everybody?" Okay, so he'd done a bit of shopping for Mr. Carlyle and Miz Cody and Miz Debbie, and now he was fearing it weren't enough.

"Well, depends on what you're looking for," said Roxie. "But looking's half the fun!" Grabbing him by the hand, the drow girl led him straight into the holiday chaos--past fruit stands, brass bands, colored sands, clapping hands, and folding fans. Past fried meat, shaped sweets, padded seats and shoes to fit any feet. There were toy blocks, knit socks, folding boxes and alarm clocks. The band was playing music, sometimes recognizable as holiday tunes, and it blended into the buzz of business. Words in English, Spanish, and that weirdly contorted French bounced around, sometimes all in the same sentence and out of the same mouth. Daniel didn't know how he could ever keep up, and he was thankful he didn't have to. Roxie was happy to keep things in just English between the two of them, though she chatted cheerfully with many an old lady running one or another of the shopping stalls. He couldn't follow the words, and he wasn't sure he could follow the faces, as one little old lady ended up looking a lot like the next.

"Oh, I think my mom will love this," she said as they looked at a set of glass flowers.

"Yeah? They're nice. Might get one for Miz Debbie."

"Not for your mom?"

Try as he might, he couldn't hide a flinch. "It's, um, a long story. Or maybe just a short one, but it takes a while to... y'know..."

Bright blue eyes were wide with worry. "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"No, no, it's nothing... well, nothing new. But, yeah. The yellow one, um, how do you say yellow in Spanish?" he asked.

It was the little old woman who ran the glass flower stall who answered with "Amarillo!" and then laughed.

"Okay. Um, uno ama-ree-jo, por favor."

"Un artilugio," came the reply. He handed over the five-dollar doodad coin, then accepted the pretty flower in its box. A pretty paper bag, decorated in crayon by someone's grandchildren, was provided as yapa. He was starting to like that word.

At the center of the market area, where all the streets came together like the heart of the labyrinth in Miz Barnes' section on Greek mythology, there was a fountain monument. Might've been that it was like the statue of Old Man Whateley at school, once upon a time, remembering some dude long after his importance got lost to memory, only it looked more like the old statue had got replaced entirely by some papier-maché monstrosity in festive red and green, with long white hair and black skin and a pig snout and tusks and...

"Um, what is that?"

"Don't you have Santa Claus up north?" asked Roxie.

"Um, yeah, but..." But the Reverend hadn't ever been keen on Christmas idolatry, as he'd called it. Daniel couldn't call himself an expert on the matter. "Just, um, a bit different?"

"Oh, that's because it isn't Santa Claus."

"Huh?" Looking closer, he could see horns peeking out from under the red cap, and claws on each hand.

"Yeah. So, way on back..." The drow girl took a seat on the edge of the fountain and patted the spot beside her. He took the hint and joined her for a quick tale. "Back before Her Highness was born, even, when His Majesty was still setting things right for the island, the USians were trying everything to stir up trouble."

"You-Essians... oh." It took him a moment to work it out. "That'd be cuz he's a supervillain?"

"Pretty much. So, one year, they dumped a ton of propaganda leaflets across the island--it was a lot smaller back then, so it wasn't as much as you'd think--and it was telling all the children of San Lucído, now Karedonia, that Santa Claus wouldn't be coming to give presents that year because Gizmatic was being a very naughty boy. Like we needed the USian Santa Claus!" she scoffed. "But His Majesty got into one of his little moods about it, and he decided to make a counter-proclamation against the USian meddlers, saying that he'd negotiated a new holiday gift-bringer just for the children of Karedonia."

"This guy?" Daniel looked up at the papier-maché statue again. Despite the great view of its pot belly, it weren't looking any jollier.

"Yup! That's him, Carol the Ancient Yuletide Troll!"

"...come again?"

"Really! Kids in Karedonia write letters to the Troll Office in the palace, explaining why they should get what they want. Embellishment and good handwriting are encouraged," she added. "In the meantime, parents and teachers and pretty much anyone else can put in a good or bad word for kids. It all goes in Carol's Thinker-Upper Machine and then, on Christmas Eve, Carol sends his little helpers to every house to deliver presents. Oh! I wonder what I'll get this year!"

"You still get stuff?"

"Yeah, until I hit my quinceñera. Age fifteen," she said. "So, another year. Isn't it nice?"

His smile was more for her than for himself. "Yeah, sounds nice. Wish they did stuff like that more back home. Hah..." The following sigh came from deeper than he intended.

Roxie was looking concerned at him. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah. Just... I dunno. Is there a toilet 'round here? Need to make a stop."

There was one just around the bend, actually: a small shop that had been refitted as a large public restroom, with partitions and stalls and surprisingly modern toilet units. Daniel took a moment to relax in a stall with his pants down around his ankles and his phone in his hand. His thumbs tapped out a message to Mr. Carlyle: "What should I get Roxie for Christmas?"

It felt nice, having someone to shop for, but he needed to figure out what to shop for.

John Carlyle

"Daniel's asking for gifting advice," the old bio-devisor said to his new friend in pet-sitting. "Care to share some intel?"

Axel Sharpe was a man of lean, wiry muscle beneath his overalls and bright blue shirt, and every fiber of it twanged as he laughed. "Fair trade, data for data," he replied. "Because my Roxie's just mailed to ask me the same thing about him." Another bing sounded. "Hm, wait... Okay, she's also worried she might've made him upset or something, talking about Santa Claus?"

John had to pause for a moment. He probably knew Daniel better than anyone these days, but some things were harder to pin down, much less explain. "I don't know much about his upbringing specifically," he admitted, "but I would not be surprised if the boy hasn't seen a secular Christmas gifting tradition in the past decade. But he needs to be the one to talk about that, I think."

"Fair 'nuff," said the other man. "And for the right now?"

Coming up with an answer that didn't involve baking supplies or dog toys was difficult, but... "A notebook," he said finally. "A nice one for journaling or scrapbooking."

"Got it," said Axel. "And for my Roxie... some sort of hair ornament. She loves them. With bright colors, so it shows up in that mess of silver."

With a nod, the intel was tapped, typed, and sent. "Things seem to be going well with them, at least."

"Yeah, there and here." Axel nodded to where Cookie and Crumpette were taking a brief nap, piled together in a small hillock of feather and fur. "Not how I thought the holidays would go this year, but can't say I'm unhappy about it."

"Truly." He hesitated, but curiosity egged him on to say, "On the subject of trading information..."

"Yeah?"

"Well, we already talked about how Daniel and I know each other." Both the good and the bad, though he was grateful that his worse side was little more than a footnote these days. "But how did your family wind up in Karedonia? You're certainly not local."

The other man's laugh was as New Yorker as his accent. "Now there's a story! Okay, so this starts about eight years ago. Me and Madrigal, we had a nice little rental in the Bronx, working our asses off, me in repairwork and her at the office, to make rent and pay for Roxie's kindergarten, but it's all good, right? Better than just survival. Only, right before Christmas of Oh-Seven, we get a call that Roxie's collapsed at school."

"And so it all starts to fall apart." John nodded in sympathy. "Leukemia?"

"We wished. Not sure what the doctors ended up naming it. Something autoimmune and nasty. The sort of disease that gets you top billing as a guest star in a prime time medical drama. Here, I keep this photo saved on my phone."

It was a view of a hospital room, one meant for long stays. A young child, maybe six years old, sat in bed with wires and tubes attached. Brown hair was cropped short, and there was frightfully little in her between the skin and the bones. Axel was leaning in to hug her from one side, while a handsome brown-haired woman--he presumed it to be Roxie's mother--hugged from the other side.

"This was after five months or so," said Axel. "At least three treatment plans all failed by this point. The doctors said that it'd take a miracle."

"Mutant power, bio-devise, magic spell, or literal act of the divine?"

"Pretty much any of that, and our HMO covered exactly none of it. Turns out what got us through it all was pastrami."

"Um, pastrami?" John wasn't sure he'd heard right.

"Yeah, the good stuff. You a pastrami man?"

"I enjoy a good sandwich from time to time, yes, though I was always more of a braunschweiger enthusiast."

"Hm... yeah, that's good too, on toast with some hot mustard... oh yeah, well. There we were, middle of a medical and financial crisis. Took all our savings to get to that point, and I was grabbing any repair jobs I could to help make rent. A lot of minor but urgent calls, C-suite toilets clogged, stuff like that. In and out, pass Go, collect two hundred dollars.

"But this one day it really hit me, y'know? It just does, sometimes. So I decide, fuck it all, I needed to treat myself. It was still pretty early, quick job downtown and all, but I find this deli with a sit-in area and beer on tap. Order a pastrami on rye and some IPA I never heard of before. And lemme tell you, best fuckin' pastrami I ever had. Too good, even. Absolutely divine. And I just couldn't handle that kinda perfection with the life we were having. So there I was, having a breakdown over a fuckin' sandwich cuz I couldn't do it over anything else.

"So of course, the owner wants to know why some schlub's sitting there in the corner--and it wasn't quite 10 in the morning yet, remember--crying into his pastrami and sobbing into his beer. Like, obviously something's up, right? So he pours me a second glass and asks me what the matter is. And I tell him, like it was a fuckin' confessional. And he listens. And after a while, he says he's gonna call his niece to have a word with me."

"His niece?" asked John, who'd spend the last few minutes wondering what pastrami had to do with anything but was enjoying the story regardless.

"Yeah, his niece. Turns out, of all the delis I could've wandered into that morning, I chose Uncle Ralph's. That's Ralph Wilkins, Karedonian ambassador to the United Nations, brother to His Majesty, and uncle to Her Royal Highness, Jobe Ann Wilkins. And Her Highness needed test subjects, only she was having trouble recruiting them. Certain rules and restrictions and international treaties applied."

"I can imagine." Unfortunately. "But I thought she had plenty of volunteers for the drow serum."

"Not at first, and not a lot of good-and-legal ways to find them, apparently," said Axel. "We were on the phone for a while, me on my fourth beer by that point, and with Madrigal linked in to do most of the serious talking with Her Highness. Next thing I knew, we were in a research lab up in New Hampshire for a month. Experimental treatments for urgent medical necessity's apparently a proven loophole in the rules. Then Madrigal's parents sued for custody, citing medical endangerment, and we had to flee the country. Been down here ever since, ain't talked to my in-laws in just as long. Oh, and as a bookend, here's the photo from Christmas Oh-Eight."

It was almost the same picture in the same poses, though there was a subtly different flavor to the colors of the hospital room. The emaciated girl with the cropped brown hair was still painfully skinny, but looking much healthier as a drow child with pure white hair grown down past her pointy ears. Axel himself looked much happier, which made all the difference on that side of the photo. On the other...

"Your wife chose to take the serum?" The woman was definitely the same in both photos. Same facial structure, same figure, only in the second picture, she wasn't human.

"Third formulation," said Axel. "She was one of the first to get it, after the data from Roxie's treatment helped Her Highness refine things. For our assistance, the two of us were short-listed, if we decided to opt in. Madrigal didn't want Roxie to grow up thinking she was too different--yanno, being the only kid in a new school looking like that--so she said yes immediately. Me? I'm officially waiting for Her Highness to create either a male version of the drow or an equivalent male fantasy species of equal status." The man snorted. "Not holding my breath on that, to be honest. So I guess it's more until I've got a medical necessity of my own or Roxie graduates high school, whichever comes first."

"How was the process?" asked John. "I admit, Cody and I considered... ah, naturalization to Karedonian citizenship is the best way to say it, I suppose. When I began collaborating with Her Highness's Ministry of Zoology, the topic came up from time to time. It would certainly alleviate most if not all of our health concerns, but for the most pressing one. Ah..." he hesitated to continue.

"It won't fix old," Axel provided with a nod. "Yeah, that's another thing to worry about. Madrigal's not really aged any since she opted in, but I'm starting to feel somewhat middle-aged adjacent over here. If and when I go in for it, we'll see how much of that carries over. Another data point for Her Highness, I guess."

"The irony of life, that longevity is a younger man's game." John stood and stretched his legs, ignoring the pops and cracks of his knees. "I suppose I should be grateful I'm still as spry as I am. Cody and I can enjoy our last few years together, which is more than I might have hoped for, even last December. I do worry for Cookie and Daniel, though. My hope was that we could make some connections on this trip that they could use later, after, well..." He shrugged. "A date in the market was not a part of the plan."

The girl's father laughed. "Same here. Not that we're complaining. It'll be good for them both."

"I do hope so..."

Daniel

He took his time in the toilet, between doing his business and waiting for the doc's advice. It was good advice, too, worth the wait. He hoped he'd have the chance to use it. On his way out, he passed Roxie going in. The drow girl tapped her own wrist, even though she didn't wear a watch, and Daniel figured she might be a while doing whatever girls did on their side of the restroom.

What was the word from the vocabulary quiz... serendipity. That was the one. He had the moment, so time to seize it.

He didn't want to wander too far from the central fountain area, and he didn't need to. One stall over from the granny with the glass flowers, there was another equally old lady with ornaments. The two of them were gabbing it up in Spanish as he walked over, and his arrival was met with a flurry of granny giggles.

"Um, hello?" he said. More giggles. He took the moment to look over the goods. Bracelets and bangles, pendants and earrings--did she have her ears pierced? He didn't think so, but maybe he could ask later. But the doc had recommended hair clips, and in the middle of the display, his eyes found the perfect one.

It was a shooting star, with a bowed four-point shape laid over another four-point shape to make a glittery asterisk in goldish, with streams of silverish racing behind it. No way they were the real metals, he thought. Probably. He'd heard some things about the mining industry down here. Mostly that it was a horror show, but it existed. Maybe...

He pointed to it. "How much for this one? Er, combien?" he added in French. Hopefully it was similar to the Spanish.

"¿Cuantos cuesta?" Nope, not even close. The grannies giggled some more. "¿Por la doñita?"

That last word was getting familiar. It was what they called Roxie. "Um, sí?"

The words bounced back and forth, none of them really understandable, but then again, they weren't talking to him. Seemed more like they were debating in a friendly-like manner. Finally, the ornaments granny picked up the shooting star and looked at the tag that he hadn't even noticed. With a shake of the head, she pulled the bit of paper off, folded it up, and tossed it behind her. "Una grifona."

Ten dollars. That was definitely not the original price, but whether she was lowballing him or price-gouging, Daniel couldn't say. It was the same price as his nice new coin purse, though, and he'd figure it a bargain by comparison. "Okay. Um, uno momento?"

The granny giggles didn't stop as he dug out his wallet for a bill. Probably should've pulled two doodads from his purse, but his brain stuck on the granny naming the ten-dollar bill, so that's what he gave her. Twiggy fingers took the paper from his fingers, crinkled it a little, and then with a nod, the granny started wrapping. The shooting star became the centerpiece of a beautiful little package, blue paper tied with a yellow ribbon and a pressed flower. "Para la yapa," said the old lady.

"Gracias." At least he knew that word was correct. The little present went into the decorative paper bag with the flower for Miz Debbie, and everything was gonna be great.

Then he turned around. First thing that caught his attention was that he'd caught someone's attention, and he didn't think that was gonna be so great. Several someones, all a little older than him, a little taller, and a bunch more muscular. "Hey～!" they said, acting like he was a long-lost friend, with open arms and a greedy glint in the eyes.

Dangit, he really shouldn't have pulled out that wallet. No hiding it now, but he could deposit it in the shopping bag and hand the whole thing over to the ornaments lady. "Sorry, ma'am, but could you hold this for a moment?" he asked, and she nodded like she understood. Probably she did.

None of these guys had anything on his friends at Twain when it came to size or strength--but the guys in Twain were all his friends, and these guys were not. Not yet, anyway, and not with how they were yakking at him now in thick accents he couldn't begin to understand.

Time to play the happy idiot tourist, like they got sometimes up in the Rockies. Wouldn't even be much of an act for him. With his own arms wide and welcoming, he went "Hey!" himself, followed by a "How's it going?"

Since this didn't involve him giving them anything, the answer was apparently, "Not good." The first among dudes was a nearly-handsome face with a busted nose, and his grin wasn't much to look at, either. A thick finger poked Daniel's chest, delivering a message more clearly than words: "Pay up."

Himself, two steps back, hands on hips and chest out: "Nuh-uh."

Squared shoulders, flexed muscles. "Do it."

Might've been a time last summer where that would've scared him, but a semester at Whateley jaded a kid. He'd had run-ins with Pete, Hardnose, and other larger-than-life freshman around campus in the first week, and any of them were about twice this dude in all measurements. He had wrestling practice with them, three times a week. Daniel glanced at the grannies, who seemed to be taking this all in stride, which meant he probably could, too.

He could strut one step back and draw an imaginary line with his foot across the dirt of the tiled plaza. He could thump his chest and throw his arms wide before going into a starting crouch. A big part of Mongolian wrestling was the showmanship.

"¡Lucha!" shouted the grannies, which sealed the deal. However the dudes had thought to beat him up for the cash, they were playing by his rules now.

Well, mostly his rules. The dude came in with his arms open and ready for a grab, while Daniel was still half-crouched and prepped to tackle. His shoulder caught the other teen's gut, and he snagged the collar while the guy grunted. One leg snaked around for a trip, he yanked on the shirt, and then the guy was on the ground with Daniel sitting on top of him.

"Two outta three?" he asked, then let himself get shrugged off. He returned to his starting position, and this time the guy copied him. Half-crouched, legs tense, waiting for the moment.

Guy went first, lunging in for another grab. Daniel was ready with palm slaps, knocking one arm out of the way before slamming his opponent in the chest a few times. Then he tackled and brought the dude to the ground. One palm stayed in place, pushing the nearly-handsome face into the plaza tiles.

"Three outta five?" From over yonder, he could hear the grannies cheering him on. The dude's friends could hear them, too. Various words of Spanish seemed to be advising him to stop.

Daniel got up first, then offered a hand to his opponent. "Good match," he said. "No hard feelings."

The other teen grumbled.

"Aw, don't gotta be like that. Just a sec." Daniel stepped back over to the ornaments stall and retrieved his bag from the granny. After a show of rummaging, he pulled out a boortsog, a Mongolian fried donut with a dash of sugar on top. "Merry Christmas."

Guy stared at it for a second, trying to figure it out. The simple baked good was as nice as Daniel could magic up, and easier to take than another round of embarrassment. A first bite was hesitant, but the next was appreciative.

"Got some for your friends, too." More boortsog got pulled out and passed around. He made sure the grannies got some, too. "Merry Christmas" got repeated a few times.

"...Daniel? What's going on?" And Roxie picked the perfect moment to return from the powder room. She blinked as he presented her with another boortsog. "Oh, thank you. Were these guys bothering you?"

"They were trying--" he began, but didn't get any further than that. The drow girl turned on the dudes with a capital-L Look in her eyes and let them have it in blistering Spanish sentences, the very definition of fast and furious. It was kinda funny, watching the big boys shrinking away from the tiny girl, but maybe that was how it was in Karedonia, given Her Highness and all.

"C'mon," she said to Danny. "Let's go."

"Where?"

"I... um, I dunno," she admitted. "Away from here." Grabbing him by the arm, Roxie picked a direction and set out. Daniel waved bye to the grannies as they left. Tittering granny giggles echoed after them.

Office of the Secretary of Intelligence

Whether she liked it or not, Belphoebe's day had focused entirely on the teen romantic comedy. Between Violet's stealthy shadowing and the ever-present surveillance coverage in public spaces, she'd caught every twist thus far. So she sipped her almond tea, reviewed footage, and took notes.

And on occasion, laughed her arse off. The 'whether' had become debatable.

The continuous coverage drew other spectators in and out of her office, and Mrs. Alvarez was busy refilling the cups. "Hah!" Freight Train laughed at the instant replay of the wrestling match and its aftermath. "You tell 'em, Roxie! Nice to see she's getting more of a spine. Her would-be boyfriend's got some moves, though. Don't tell me Tolman's teaching something besides the usual aikido crap."

"I won't," said Belphoebe. "Because she isn't. The school records show he's taking Survival 100 this semester. Before you ask, no. They're not teaching it there, either. The lad's getting it from a sports club."

"For wrestling, huh? What style's that? Not Greco-Roman."

"Mongolian."

"...seriously?" Freight Train sipped her coffee and took another look at the footage.

"Seriously, Angie dear. I'll forward you some footage from the Parents Day exhibition match, if you like."

"Heh, thanks." The Marchioness Securita numbered among the tallest of the drow ladies, which was most apparent when she stretched to her full 195 centimeters and flashed her eyeteeth with a yawn. "Good thing the peacekeepers didn't home in on that little fight before it got interesting."

"Yes, quite." She tried hard to keep her voice nonchalant.

Not enough so, however: "Belphy..."

"Yes, Angie dear?"

"Did you have anything to do with that fight happening?"

"How would I?"

"I don't know..." Freight Train tapped her fingers together. "Perhaps by temporarily suspending algorithmic surveillance of the area and letting a couple of punks know that it was open season for the next quarter hour or so? Maybe through Violet? It's what I would do, if I were of a mind to."

"An interesting thought, yes..." She sometimes forgot that, despite the frequent instances of accelerated impact trauma the other drow experienced, Freight Train had a sharp mind and a will to use it. The reminder was always appreciated.

"But I'd have to think of a good reason why, after Jobe and Madrigal both laid down the law on that."

It was her turn to laugh. "You'll find no mea culpa from me. I am simply doing my job."

"And which would that be?"

"Why, all of them, of course. Angie dear, look at the replay one more time and tell me what you see. Be the security analyst this time."

The video resumed, in slow motion for the start. As Marchioness Securita, Freight Train gave it a careful eyeball. "Okay, so the kid's got good situational awareness. He had the number on those punks immediately, confirmed against the shop ladies, rightly figured those ladies for friendly neutral, and then arranged the entire sitch to his advantage." An appreciative chuckle followed. "Someone's been paying attention in school. But here... heh, which job, indeed. Belphy, are you vetting this kid for future recruitment prospects?"

"What if I am?" said Belphoebe. "In the end, it's a security check for Jobe Ann, further reassurance for Madrigal, and potentially an esoteric yet versatile utility power in our employ. Those power wonks at Whateley are more idiot than savant. They have yet to scrape the metaphorical icing off what the boy can do, if what I'm seeing is accurate. Best to see how he is, what he is, and perhaps get him and Roxie together as a matched set."

"You do you, Belphy. I won't say anything more."

"Good, because here's the security stream from the HAET'M protest..."

"Motherf... fine. It's back to work I go." Freight Train unfolded from her chair and checked the long queue of silver hair running down her spine. "Here's to keeping my hands clean. Lord knows I'll be tempted. Lemme know if anything cute, happens, okay?"

"Of course, Angie dear. Ta."

Roxanne Sharpe

There was a part of her that wanted to crawl into a corner and die right now, but that would ruin the date so she would not. Roxie kept this thought firmly in mind as she led Daniel away from the ladrones. They were trouble. She did not want any trouble. She had told them as much, loudly and angrily and oh, she was glad that Daniel did not understand any Spanish because if he did then he'd know just how awful she could be and she'd have to crawl into a corner and die of shame.

And that would ruin the date. The thing they were doing right now. Only, she'd completely lost track of where they were. "Oh, fewmets," she grumbled.

"What was that?" asked Daniel.

"Nothing!" She managed a smile. "Just, um, worried. About you--" Why'd she have to say that!? "--and I really should've come back from the powder room sooner..."

"Nothing to worry about. We were gettin' along pretty fine by the end there. You feelin' all right? You were in there for a while."

"I'm fine." She didn't want to mention calling her mother for advice in the middle of a date. If this was a date. Was it a date? Suddenly she wasn't so sure of herself. But it wasn't like she could just ask...

"So, where to next?"

Fewmets. "I'm, uh, not sure? Is there anything you wanted to do?"

"Maybe find a place to sit?" They were off the side of the market now, though still in the old town. Most of the buildings were shut for the day, and there weren't any benches to be seen. "Hm, guess we could... er, you hear that?"

She did. A high-pitched bleating, like something from the upland farms. It took her a second to realize why she might hear it now. "Oh! I know what that is. This way!"

Turning left at the next corner took them to the edge of the old town district, where one of the monorail pylons rose from the pavement. Strings of pale pearl carriages passed overhead, but that wasn't what she was heading towards now. Nestled against the low hill that provided support for the pylon, there was an old building, almost a prototype for the rest of the market and district. It was squat and triangular in front, its face meeting the red-tiled roof to form an obtuse angle. The front doors were wide open, and above them, a round brick window held a bell. At the peak, a brick cross was barely visible. In front of it all, a fenced-off area held a holiday diorama and a variety of live animals.

"Aw, look at 'em." Daniel led now, taking her by the hand and pulling her over to the nativity scene. In the back was the wall of the stable with the manger and its baby doll for the holy infant. Mannequins posed as the mother, father, and angels. The pen area was slightly separated, probably to keep the kid goats from chewing on Baby Jesus. There were three of the little ones, spotted black and white with little horns on their heads, as well as a pair of lambs and a half-grown piglet. A bucket full of hay was kept just out of reach of prehensile lips. She and Daniel took the obvious hint from all the bleating and gave treats to the well-fed little starvelings.

"I know some kids at school who'd be so jealous," said Daniel. "Got a nativity scene up at Whateley, but it's just dolls and decorations. The bio labs were banned from providing anything to liven it up." His fingers had found a sweet spot between one kid's horns, earning him an affectionate bleat. "Cute little guys."

A man in white robes was looking out the front of the church. "Oh, Padre!" she called to him. "Were we being too loud?"

"Of course not, doñita," said the church's pastor. "It is to be expected, if we leave a petting zoo out front. Though I am surprised to see you here."

"Um, yeah. We were in the area... Daniel, this is Padre Ramón. He's the pastor here at Iglesia de Santa Monica."

"Nice to meet you, sir. Hope we're not in the way."

"It is fine, young man. Evening Mass is not for several hours. Of course, then we shall be quite busy, and tomorrow as well."

"Oh, yeah. Um, would it be okay for us to sit down for a bit?" asked Daniel. "Get a bit of peace and quiet in?"

"You are a churchgoer?" The padre sounded surprised, and Roxie felt it, too. She and her parents attended, occasionally, but it was more to be out and be seen by the community. Privately, she wondered if some of the churchfolk were disappointed that she and Mom didn't spontaneously combust at the vestibule.

"Not for a while," Daniel admitted. He lowered his sunglasses enough to let the padre get a glimpse of the icing-pink irises. "Not exactly welcome back home anymore, and 'specially not in their church. Don't mean I don't miss the atmosphere sometimes."

"I see..." Padre Ramón gently waved them in. "You may sit in the rear if you like. There is a prayer service going on at the front, so please remain respectful and keep your voices down. Phones on manner mode," he added.

"Yessir." Daniel was already switching his smartphone to vibrate, and after a moment, Roxie did the same. She let him lead the way in. They got a weird look from one old granny at the door, though she wasn't sure if it was because they were both young, because he was obviously USian, or because she was failing to combust within the consecrated space. Roxie smiled and gave a little wave anyway, but it was ignored.

The pews were a lot newer than the rest of the church, which meant they were only twice as old as her mom. The heavy wooden frames might've been worked from old Spanish galleons for all their rugged look, and cushions were only for those who brought their own. It took barely a minute for her butt to start hurting, and she hoped they wouldn't be there for long. Up towards the tabernacle, a gaggle of older ladies in their nicest dresses and lace head-coverings were counting the rosary in Spanish.

She turned to Daniel and was about to ask him how long they were going to be there, only she saw the tears trickling down behind his sunglasses.

What? Why? she wanted to ask, but didn't. She wasn't sure it was her place to ask. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. But she didn't want to see him hurt, either. Reaching over, she gently tugged the spectacles from his face, revealing eyes that were pinker than they should've been. The sunglasses got put in her bag for safekeeping, and then she glomped onto him with the biggest hug she could manage. His head was on her shoulder, and she could feel the tears soaking into her blouse. Her hand rested on the nape of his neck, holding him in and occasionally patting him like he was a fuzzy owletcub with a night terror.

No claws, though, which was good. Just as cute, which was better.

It took a few minutes, but the boy calmed himself enough to lean back against the hard back of the pew and sigh. "Been almost a year," he whispered.

"Since what?"

"Since my eyes changed color an' my parents had to smuggle me outta the community cuz they knew what'd happen if they didn't... Ain't hardly heard from 'em since then," he said. "Miz Debbie gets letters from Mom sometimes, but it ain't the same." A sniffle. "Thought I was dealin' with it pretty well. Eatin' a lotta donuts to keep my spirits up. But it's just... just hard, y'know? Losin' your family, but they're still out there?"

Roxie wanted to say she knew how he felt, how she hadn't seen any of her grandparents in the past eight years, but was it really the same? Daniel's pain was right there and raw, and she couldn't compare herself to that at all. Instead, "Come to my house for Christmas."

"Pardon?"

"Tomorrow. We meet here for Christmas Mass and then go to my house for dinner." She giggled nervously. "I'm sure my mom will want to meet you, and maybe you can show me how to make cookies or something? We've got an oven. Sound nice?"

"Y-yeah, it does. The doc and Miz Cordelia and Miz Debbie can come along, right? They're, um, kinda the only family I got now."

"And Cookie?" Another giggle from her. "Yeah, I know. Of course pup's coming. Crumpette will love it, too. Oh... I guess we should get back to them."

"Yeah..." Daniel let her lead him back out the front, with her hanging on his arm as they passed the grumpy old lady and Padre Ramón. A quick thanks and a "See you tomorrow" later, they were walking down below the monorail line.

"Huh." Daniel had his phone out. "Got messages."

So did she. "Dad's taking Crumpette to the menagerie for some afternoon nosh," she told him.

"Doc's goin' with 'em. Guess Cookie's gettin' hungry, too. Poor pup."

"Not to worry. The menagerie staff provides excellent catering. Even for humans, as long as you don't ask where they sourced some stuff. So... what about us?" she asked hopefully. "Are you hungry?"

Daniel patted his belly thoughtfully. "Guess I could eat something," he admitted. "Got anything in mind?"

She did, in fact. Next to the monorail pylon was a daily store, selling boxed lunches, groceries, drinks, and whatever else workers on the go might need. A couple of cogs and a doodad got them cardboard boxes of chipped veggies and pulled pork with light brown gravy and two cups of chutney, mango and prickly pear. Another box contained sapote fruits, fresh picked and fragrant. A couple bottles of the new snozzberry soda completed the set.

The next question was "Where?" and the answer was "up". Up the rickety staircase to the monorail stop. Up the little ramp to that round pearl of a carriage. Up to the front where the forward observation couch was fortuitously unoccupied. It even had a tray table set against the window for them to lay out lunch upon, and so they enjoyed a long ride around the city.

It was a rather long ride. She'd chosen the clockwise circuit carriage, non-express, which would take an hour and a half to travel around Grand Wilkinsville and come back around to the old market town--if they chose to ride all the way back. There was so much to see along the way.

They took their time noshing as Roxie pointed out landmarks and other items of interest from their cozy vantage point. The old town quickly gave way to the new city, much of which was production center, and the rest of which was the product. The southern third of the capital was effectively a networked collection of factories designed and implemented by His Majesty. The economic heartbeat had slowed for the season, but there were still lots of people getting on and off at the southern monorail stations. Around to the west lay the beach front, what most people thought of when they heard 'Karedonia'. Highrises loomed between the sea and the city center, holding much of the city's population in one band of architecture. From the front, it was all most impressive, but from the monorail they could see the rear where the service trucks and garbage collectors frequented. The streets were narrow and grey, but perfectly organized for their purposes. It was a far more useful part of the city than the actual beachfront with its rowdy visitors, but hardly as pretty.

"There's where I live," she told Daniel, pointing out one highrise in particular. "West Beach Heights."

"Bit far from the old town," he noted.

"Yeah, well, being a drow in Karedonia means moving up in the world, I suppose. Mom always got along really well with Reynaldo and the other shopkeepers, so we go back to visit and shop pretty often."

"Your mom sounds nice."

"She is!" Oh, she squeaked a little too hard at that. "She's the best! I mean, the best for me, of course. She's always there for me, and even Her Highness says Mom's one of if not the nicest drow on the island, so she's always helping to host foreign visitors, and..." And Roxie saw the sad look on Daniel's face, which reminded her of what he'd said about his parents and... fewmets. "B-but I'm sure all kids think that their mom's the best, right?"

"Yeah..." The look didn't quite go away, but it got tinted with something else. "She lied herself halfway to a seat in Hell, as the Reverend would say, just to make sure I got out before anyone discovered I was a mutant."

"...yanno, I'm not liking this Reverend of yours very much."

"I'm sure he'd feel the same about you, and he'd be completely wrong cuz you're too nice for anybody not to like," said the boy. "Must get that from your mom, huh."

Her cheeks were a simmering purple. She could feel it. "What'd you get from your mom?"

"Dunno." Daniel settled back into his seat to ponder. "Maybe just tryin' to see the best in people? Give everyone a fair shake?"

"No wonder everyone likes you," she murmured.

"What was that?"

"Nothing! Oh, look, there's the northern marches!"

The greater portion of the island lay beyond a barrier of stone and scrub, a haphazard mess of a biome that only got wilder as you continued into the upcountry. Only God and Her Highness knew what all lived up there now, but it wasn't like there'd been much of an ecosystem in place beforehand. The original island of San Lucído was now mostly city.

"Should we get off at the menagerie?" Daniel asked. "See how Cookie and Crumpette are doing?"

She'd been thinking about just that, but a view of the upcoming monorail stop made her rethink it. The open plaza ahead of the menagerie entrance was too crowded for a Sunday, even allowing for preparations that really should've been happening at the backend. The picket sign colors were loud and proud of all the wrong things. "Ugh... HAET'M."

"Hate what?"

"Not that... er, haitch-ay-eh-tee-apostrophe-em," Roxie spelled out. "Humans Against the Ethical Treatment of Monsters. Protesting the kennel show again this year. Ugh," she groaned again. "I do not know why Her Highness puts up with them."

"Do they got a point?" asked Daniel. "I mean, pup's wonderful, so's Crumpette, but I've met some nasty critters what some bio-devisor made up..."

Deep breaths, deep breaths... Don't snap at the ignorance; enlighten it. "The quiet part," she told him. "The thing that's in their charter but they don't say out loud, is that HAET'M has a really broad definition of 'monster'. By the text, it's 'any unnatural alteration or expression of God's genetic plan.' Basically, that'd include any of the altered folk in Karedonia, like the merrows or the orcs or the drow, not to mention any animen visiting from their island, and all of mutantkind as well. They're too smart to mention it while they're protesting the big, obviously dangerous things, but what was the saying about giving someone an inch?"

"That they'll take a mile if you give 'em the chance. Sounds like they'd get along right well with the Reverend." Daniel's face made it clear that this was not a good thing.

"Right. So let's skip this next stop and go to the botanical gardens. It allows pets with general passage permits, which Crumpette and Cookie will both have. And we can see the Tree!"

"...the Tree?"

Daniel

The Royal Karedonian Para-Botanical Gardens weren't quite as Daniel'd expected. It was an open, airy space beneath one of the imperial pleasure domes, with tiered terraces along the edges where the special exhibits grew. There were no caged exhibits, nothing that moved when it shouldn't, and there were signs everywhere explaining that none of the plants in the garden were actively detrimental to the health or safety of human beings. From what Daniel knew of bio-devisors, this probably meant that all the really nasty stuff was sequestered somewhere else, and what they had here was a carefully curated pleasure dome, indeed.

This didn't make it any less weird, just less dangerous.

Roxie knew the place like the back of her hand, of course, and she led him on a cheerfully guided tour of the different biome zones, where they saw the bioluminescent signal cacti of a frigid desert, followed by a boardwalk over a swamp full of giant flytraps. There was a lack of giant flies; Roxie said they let those loose after hours, so the plants could feed without the park visitors getting fed on by the bugs. Through a forest of flautist bamboo, a constant breeze made tuneless melodies through natural holes in the cane, while a cavern full of mushrooms silently glowed in a hundred psychedelic shades.

But she saved the best for last: "Here, one final stop before Dad and Dr. Carlyle arrive," she told him. Just ahead, a picket fence separated a large field of bushes from the rest of the garden. Above the gate, a sign read, "We are the music-makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams."

"Normally this is an extra paid attraction," Roxie explained. "So I made sure it was included on your ticket. My lifetime membership card lets me in whenever," she added with pride.

"Um, where is here?"

"The royal snozzberry patch. The original, though they're not as sour as they used to be. Come on!" At the gate, Roxie showed her card and his ticket, and the attendant handed them both baskets. "It's pick-what-you-want."

"For real?" Miz Debbie'd gotten plenty of syrup, he knew, but there had to be some special things they could do with fresh berries. "Let's do this."

According to the informative signs, the snozzberry bushes were in a constant cycle of bloom and berry that ensured there'd always be a harvest available. This also made them a hassle to take care of, which was why snozziculture was limited to just Karedonia for now. It kept a lot of people employed, though. The ripe berries were practically begging to be picked, falling into their baskets with little direct effort. Once they reached the top, the baskets automatically sealed themselves to keep the bounty fresh for the return home.

Their phones rang just as they were washing the juice off their fingers, letting them know that father, sorta-grandfather, and large fuzzy critters had arrived in the main garden. When pup saw them, both heads woofed happily, and a cheerful "Ghu-hu!" followed.

"Aw, did you miss us?" asked Daniel. A second later, he was on the turf, getting his face licked from both sides. "Haha! Stop it, pup. Stop it!"

The doc handed him a towel as he got up, which was mightily welcome. "Cookie's been a good pup," came the report. "Though they obviously missed you."

Over yonder, Roxie was giggling loudly as Crumpette got her in a friendly owlbearhug. "Missed you, too!" she said into a faceful of fluff.

"Are we all ready to go, then?" said her father. "It's getting late."

"Oh, but we need to see the Tree! It's going up soon!" said Roxie.

"We can see it on TV..."

"I know, but we're already here and Daniel hasn't seen it and Dr. Carlyle hasn't seen it and... please, Daddy?" Puppy dog eyes and owlet eyes had nothing on cute little drow girl eyes. Daniel was immediately convinced, and Mr. Sharpe conceded with a snort that implied he'd seen it all before--but it still worked.

"Fine," he said. "From one of the viewing platforms, if we can find a space."

"Okay, let's go!" Roxie once more led the way, with Daniel, two adults, and two large critters following her up ramps and across suspension bridges to one of the large windows in the side of the garden's dome. Most everyone else still in the gardens had gathered at this or another similar vantage point, and it was pretty busy. But after a moment and a few double-takes at the pup and birbo, they had a corner spot to themselves.

And Daniel got his first look at the Tree.

There'd been plenty of trees in the garden, but none of them deserved the capital letter the way this one did. For one, it was too big to fit in the dome with everything else. Instead, it had its own dedicated structure off to the side, without a roof to get in the way. It stood taller than a lot of buildings, straight and proud and vaguely conical. Lights shone in long strands all around it, and at its top was a... He squinted to see. Not a star or an angel. It looked more like a cartoon nuclear warhead, actually, which was perfectly in keeping with a Karedonian Christmas.

"Tree's going up soon," Mr. Sharpe told them as a countdown timer appeared on the wall. The crowd had been waiting for this, and they laughed and clapped down the seconds till, "Three... two... one..."

All the lights on the Tree flared and danced in complicated patterns as, at its base, a different sort of brightness began. Daniel didn't realize what was going on until the Tree left the earth, launching into the heavens at high speed on roots of flame. In seconds it climbed high above, lights shining ever more brightly, until it burst into a festive nova in all the colors of the season. It must've been visible from all over the island, but this close to the launch space, it was all the meanings of dazzling.

"Ooh!" squealed Roxie. "They outdid themselves this time!"

"This is a regular thing?" asked Daniel.

"Just for the past few years," she told him. "Their Highnesses came up with it as a joint project. Yanno, to show they can get along, at least for the holidays? Did you like it?"

"Yeah, it's really something." A shooting star in the sky. Just like... "Um, I got you a little something."

"Huh?"

He pulled the gift-wrapped present out of his bag. "Earlier, in the market. Um, it looked like something you might--" Words were interrupted by a squeal of delight and a hug that hit with more force than the usual wrestling hold.

"Oh, thank you thank you thank you!" Roxie let up long enough to clip the shooting star ornament in her hair and twirl around. "Oh, and speaking of the market..." Out of her own bag, a different package was produced. Different size, different shape, but practically the same wrapping paper.

Those grannies knew their business right enough...

Daniel took special care as he opened it, peeling back the layers to reveal the nicest notebook he'd ever seen. The pages were like cream, and the cover was maybe even real leather. It was embossed with floral patterns.

"Um, I thought maybe you could use it to write down recipes or something..." Roxie continued.

"I... I love it," he told her. And if he meant a bit more than just 'it' in this sentence, if the feeling covered a lot more than what was said, neither of them were ready to acknowledge it for now. But for the moment, under the ongoing lightshow that was the Imperial Christmas Tree of Karedonia, they could sit together, wedged between a giant pupper and an equally large birbo who were slowly pushing the two of them into each other's laps with all the subtlety of a trash compactor.

And Daniel didn't mind at all. It wasn't the holiday he was expecting, but with this new friend who was a girl who was determined to maybe be a girlfriend, he could let himself feel happy.

 

To Be Continued