There’s something strange between Delya and her new child. That’s what the little ball of tawny fluff is, her daughter, though she’s come by a little differently than most. It strikes her briefly that she’d be about the same age as Fallacy’s two now, as well. The gypsies, in Alice’s time, had been collectors of children. Gave new meaning to the phrase sold off to the nearest gypsy family. Delya thought it was okay, though—Alice did a good job with all of them. Their little band of misfits would be increased by not two but three this year, and Delya was happy.
”I’d wager she’s a couple weeks old, so she still needs to nurse and um… I was wondering if yo—“ Delya’s words are interrupted by the older woman who sighs softly and arranges her sons as she speaks. “If I would take her in.” The phrase is frank, cut and dry, and with a soft but wry thump of her tail. “I will nurse the child, but you’ve found her. She’s yours.” The exchange between the females is as friendly as it’s ever been—though Alice has a way with teaching the young, she’s firm. The worn hands of an older woman (she wouldn’t take on the term old until she was much older) guiding those of the young. Sometimes they were clumsy, but you couldn’t fault her for that. No one would dare fault Alice for that.
The Russian dancer nudges he child to Alice’s belly, seating her beside the larger of the two pups. “It was under Bahamut that I met her fathers, Makism and Tarquin… when the sky fell the gypsies took in her older brothers, her fathers, and most anyone who needed it. Everyone is welcome at the gypsy table.” And Alice, even after all this time, was still the gypsy at heart. Being in one place for too long left her anxious, needing to get out and roam. The woman explains as the pups suckle at her side, forgetting that Seamus already knows. She will never be the storyteller that he is, but the clockwork angel has been around long enough to know things. So many things.
Her fiery gaze sets on Delya as Seamus asks her name, a sort of nonverbal nudge to her niece. “Belle. Her name is Belle.” It’s with conviction that she speaks, nodding quietly to herself. The steward of Asteraia has decided along the lines of what Alice has chosen to call her own children for so long. Easy to say, short, practical. Maybe that was the way things would always be in the realm of the gypsies—practical, not too dolled up, ready to start on their own little journey. That’s what they always had been, after all.
Delya has taken an interest in Seamus, the man with the stories to tell. Though she has grown up so much, she still loves the ring of the stories that find their home around the dinner table. She just wants to learn as much as she can, and that’s the way the child always has been. Ready to hear and to listen and to know. A constant search for knowledge, of this world and the one before, of anything there was to offer in this place. She’d never known her fathers all that well, and her mother even less. Would Seamus have the answers to the questions that she’d never dared to ask, for fear their answers would be… less than stellar? The beta felt like maybe, just maybe she would be mature enough to handle it now. She had hope.
As the moment wound down around her and Alice dozed back off, the Russian dancer’s attention hovers back on her aunt’s mate. She settles off to the side of the small cavern, watching Belle beside the two boys. “Seamus… can you um… can you tell me about Tarquin and Makism? And Hush too?” Delya isn’t even aware that her mother still walks the earth here in this world… all she’s ever known as a family is this, and that’s not so bad, but she wants to know more. She always wants to know more.
alice & delya
the clockwork angel & the russian dancer
all we've got is this family unbroke |