I may not always know what's right, but I know I want you here tonight.

Mallos was doing his best to persuade his daughter that an afternoon nap was exactly what she wanted.

“In Spain,” he explained patiently, “you sleep in the hottest part of the day. It’s good for you.”

Ángela was having none of it. She stood opposite where he sat on the sofa, her pretty mouth downturned, her dark eyebrows knitted together. The expression was particularly reminiscent of Croe when she didn’t like how events were proceeding.

“But it’s not hot.” She protested. Her point made a little too much sense, so Mallos changed tactics.

“If you sleep in the middle of the day, the nap spirit brings you a new toy.”

“I don’t want a new toy.”

Mallos ran his fingers through his hair the way he did when he had too much pent-up energy or frustration. “You always want new toys.”

“I want to play doctors and nurses.”

“Ángela,” he pleaded, abandoning reasoning, “please go to sleep.”

She sucked in her breath in a very dangerous way. Another parents might have narrowed their eyes in warning, but beneath his weariness Mallos felt only a glimmer of pride. Ángela was not about to be bossed around by anybody. Nobody told her what to do. She’d be the president of the world someday.

Fortunately or unfortunately depending on how you looked at the situation, the banging on the door distracted both of them. Ángie’s face fell from displeasure to curiosity, her dark eyes bright and her pink-brown lips puckered a little, and she started straight for the door. Mallos grabbed her by the arm to stop her and stood up from where he’d been kneeling down on the rug talking to her. The pounding – one could hardly describe it as a knocking – was more uncouth than he thought he’d ever experienced in Shaman; most people here had the common sense to keep their insults towards him private or subtle. The voice which accompanied the banging a few seconds later cleared up the immediate mystery of who would have the courage to be so forceful. Mallos rolled his eyes.

It was tempting to ignore it, but if he didn’t respond then Ángie would. If she was half as intelligent as he knew she was, she’d already have worked out that a visitor would divert the nap conversation indefinitely. Keeping a firm hold of her arm, Mallos stepped in front of her and pulled the door partially open with his other hand. He made a point of not opening it fully and of standing in the way so that no one could barge past him from either direction.

Styx stood just outside the doorway, fist still raised in knocking motion, looking distinctly rattled. Sympathy wasn’t an emotion invoked in Mallos often and certainly not one he was about to waste on an annoying pretender-god.

“Fuck off, Styx.” He said indifferently.

Mallos
I've learned enough to know I'm never letting go