...because it's amusing

[mm_danii]

Hamel's got the little ones again.

Musette is playing with her little toy flute and Minuet is chewing on one of his blocks. Hamel watches them from his seat, drinking hot cocoa and nibbling on the occasional pastry. A violin hangs at his side, the small one as Pandora was using hers for the time being.

Comments

[mm_ven]

Because the mun is bored...

...There is a gentleman watching them. He has strawberry-blonde hair, a walking-stick, and is dressed in the style of a Victorian banker. His eyes are an intense, glittery brown. He looks... harmless...

[big_violin]

Hamel notices the gaze and looks up to smile at the man in as friendly a manner as he can. The twins take him differently, Minuet crawling to hide behind Hamel's leg as Musette watches him, little yellow eyes curious but cautious.

[mm_ven]

"Lovely little things," the man says to Hamel, his voice as calm and gentle as could be, with a very British accent. High-class, certainly.

No demonic Daedric Prince or god of madness in this vicinity. Nope. Not a one.

He's just a cheerful, friendly guy looking for a conversation.

"How old are they?"

[big_violin]

"They're about two," he answers, "though they're not things. They're my little brother and sister."

He runs a hand through Minuet's hair, smoothing his fingers down the side.

"This one is Minuet and his sister is Musette," he says.

Not that it's a Demon Prince answering him or anything. There's totally nothing under Hamel's hat.

[mm_ven]

Good. As long as there's nothing under Hamel's hat, there's nothing special about the redheaded banker's stick.

Just so we're all clear.

:D?

The gentleman smiles at the two children. "Darlings," he repeats. "Are they for sale or loan?"

[big_violin]

"...neither. They're my brother and sister."

Yes, he is giving the man the 'what the hell is wrong with you?' look, why do you ask?

[mm_ven]

"A simple inquiry, my dear fellow," the banker says calmly. "One never knows, with children. Anyway, children aren't much use to me. At least, not those ones. And you..." His eyes shimmer. "I think you're not quite mortal, are you?"

[big_violin]

"I can die, if that's what you mean."

Hamel's tone is a little irritated. Musette, who's ear for tonality was shaping up to be just a little better than her brothers, moves to wrap around Hamel's other leg. Minuet stays where he is.

"And children aren't supposed to be 'of use'," and oh, doesn't that strike quite a few chords for Hamel, who was supposed to be nothing but the Successor to the Great Daimou Kestra? Who was to bring the return of the Blood and Flesh of the Demon King? "They're children. They're supposed to be loved and appreciated for being children."

[mm_ven]

And now there is an ounce of sadness in the stranger's eyes. "I have no children, for all my centuries. Only my Saints."

[big_violin]

"I'm sorry," he says immediately. He means it as well. "But... saints?"

[mm_ven]

And now there is a flash of a smile.

"How much, I wonder, can we know about each other?" he asks, his eyes distant. "Would you know who and what I am? Or are you safer not knowing?"

[big_violin]

"Your pardon, sir, but I'm a little tougher than I look," he answers.

"And the little ones either won't remember or won't pay any mind."

[mm_ven]

"Oh, I believe you," the banker says cautiously. "Very well, then. I am Sheogorath. My nature is Daedra, which men often mistakenly call demons. I am one of sixteen Princes, and my realm..." He grins. "...is madness."

[big_violin]

He bows his head.

"Nice to meet you then, sir."

No, he never judges people on what they are, only who. After all, his step-father used to be a Nobody, a Heartless being made entirely out of the Will to exist and a desire for the return of his heart at any cost. His real father was Daimou Kestra, the living embodiment of all Darkness and Evil. His best friends were former Nobodies, each one of them as much their Element as anything else.

Oh, and one of the people who helped to raise him was a Demon General of great age and wisdom who just happened to be stuck as a tiny blackbird with one hell of a bass voice.

The babies wave.

[mm_ven]

Sheo slips down onto one knee, smiling to the babes, and offers them a nursery-rhyme sing-song recitation.

What’s better for verses than love’s bitter curses-
The merciless murmurs of lovers in pain;
And what of the child who was hers then the herse’s?
They’re all of them waltzing outside in the rain.

I shatter, you shiver, and then I deliver
My fancy on platters of cardboard and stone:
A stew from your liver, the broth from the river,
The banquet will end with you gnawing your bones.

But whose bitter ending am I really sending?
Your papers are pending, your loan is on hold,
So are you pretending the banker is lending
When what you are vending is already sold?

[big_violin]

The children sway to the melody of the words, not really comprehending the meanings behind them even so far enough to listening to each word. They're taking it as music. Hamel, on the other hand, is listening to both.

"You're an interesting... gentleman."