Shit. She was really bad at this. She shouldn’t have made an assertion that she wasn’t wholly prepared to defend. Ángela was too sharp for that, too curious, and honestly, Croe knew better. She frowned while she scrambled to come up with an explanation
“Well,” she started thoughtfully, “it is good to be efficient, most of the time, but sometimes the fastest option isn’t actually the most efficient, or the best.” Croe inclined her head, hoping this elaboration would suffice, and sighed in quiet relief when her daughter lost interest in the conversation and dove head-first into the costumes. Sometimes the kid’s Mallos-like attention span was a blessing in disguise. Ángie selected a dress – her choice was perplexing to Croe, since it was the least fancy of the options – and piled her waiting arms full of new acquisitions. But her daughter was not impressed by the toy weapons, with their flimsy shafts and their blunted heads.
Croe felt another swell of pride that, yes, she was sure this time, should have been shame.
“Of course, mico,” she assured her, smiling, her voice filled with maternal affection. Oh, she was growing up so fast! It seemed like only yesterday the only thing she wanted was to play tea party, for hours on end, while practicing the princess voice Croe could only assume she’d learned from one of Mallos’ court. And now, look at her – realizing the value of weapons training. Croe’s heart felt so full it might burst. “We’ll pick one out for you just as soon as we get home.” Her mind was already cycling through the bows already available at the house, wondering if any of them were small enough for her, or if they would need to order a new one. Would it need to be a custom design? How much draw weight could her little arms manage?
Far more than they appeared, if the strength she used to drag her mother around the store was any indication. Croe chuckled, shaking her head. When Ángie was on a mission, there was nothing that could stand in her way. She’d gotten a double dose of stubbornness from the gene pool.
They stood in front of the last display of any importance – the dolls. This was another area in which Croe had no expertise. Her eyes scanned the rows and rows of princesses, quietly thinking that they all looked basically the same, with only a few exceptions. It was no surprise that her daughter gravitated toward one that looked like her.
Elena of Avalor. Croe had never heard of her. Evidently, neither had Ánge,
“She’s Spanish,” Croe observed with surprise, sounding…not at all like an Alliance intelligence operative. She tilted her head a bit, as if getting a better look. Elena looked a lot more independent and self-sufficient than most of the princesses. She was not cross-dressing, like Mulan, but she had a sword, and a horse, and seemed to be taking no bullshit. Croe was impressed. “I haven’t seen this one. Do you want to watch it together?” She reached for the BlueRay preemptively, turning it over in her hands to read the back.
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