Pixie Dust, Monday, 4/13
Normally, Romeo liked to start his Mondays with coffee with a generous splash of whatever liquor came to hand, followed by a leisurely poke through the mail before he actually started running the shop.
Today, though, he had a very hyper eight-year-old assistant, who had eaten most of a box of Pop-Tarts while his parents were preoccupied dressing his sister. Kaz looked around the shop, impressed.
"Father? Is this where you burn things?"
Romeo sighed. "It's where we burn the ugly things, yes."
Kaz wasn't listening; he was already yanking dresses and shirts off racks. "Then let's burn this, and this, and -- can we burn this too? Pink is an icky color."
Romeo had a feeling it would be a long shift. "I'll go set up the barrel."
Today, though, he had a very hyper eight-year-old assistant, who had eaten most of a box of Pop-Tarts while his parents were preoccupied dressing his sister. Kaz looked around the shop, impressed.
"Father? Is this where you burn things?"
Romeo sighed. "It's where we burn the ugly things, yes."
Kaz wasn't listening; he was already yanking dresses and shirts off racks. "Then let's burn this, and this, and -- can we burn this too? Pink is an icky color."
Romeo had a feeling it would be a long shift. "I'll go set up the barrel."