Fic: Where the Wild Things Are
Title: Where the Wild Things Are
Author: miabicicletta
Summary: “As she bounded around the room, waving her sparkly paper wings, Laura tried to justify her daughter’s “dragon” impression as the result of an especially wild imagination, and not a failure of early childhood education. She did know it was dogs that barked, right?”
Characters/Pairing: Adama/Roslin, Kara/Lee
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1100
Notes: This story takes place in the universe of stories created by olga_theodora and myself, known around here as the Not Winter-verse of stories. Goes wildly AU after Let Down Your Burdens, Pt II. For astreamofstars, who inspired this lovely scene. 100 words could not contain it, dear :D :D :D
---
It was said that back in the early days on Kobol, at times the gods would adopt the form of their human cohorts so that they might better understand the mortal men and women who lived with them in paradise. These legends came with the Twelve Tribes to the Colonies, and centuries after the Exodus religious orders on Gemenon paid homage to the deities in a similar fashion. The longest day of the year became a festival feast, and the holiday was celebrated by donning the garb of one’s social or cultural opposite. Original intentions fell away with time, and the religious significance was diluted by layers of cultural appropriation and re-appropriation, commercialization and social change.
By the time the Colonies fell, it was almost universally regarded as an event for children alone, observed at the year’s end during Fortuna, the days of the Fates.
The year Clotho was six, the primary schools throughout the Fleet began to revive the custom, creating simple costumes and organizing events and parades on the larger civilian vessels. It had been a very long time since Laura had last observed this aspect of Fortuna. Well before the accident, surely, when her sisters had still been alive to celebrate. A long time.
“Owww-ooooooooohhh!” Clotho howled, imitating Romo Lampkin’s pet collie, Jake. As she bounded around the room, waving her sparkly paper wings, Laura tried to justify her daughter’s “dragon” impression as the result of an especially wild imagination, and not a failure of early childhood education. She did know it was dogs that barked, right?
Bill must have seen the look of mild concern on her face. “Dragons do not bark, Clo-ie,” he rumbled, glancing up.
“Daddy, I know,” their precocious wild animal replied, flapping her wings in frustration. “Dragons breath fire. I was just pretending.” Clotho flopped back on the couch next to Lee, rolling her eyes in a way that was, at present, quite adorable. Laura suspected this impression of her daughter’s antics would not last through adolescence.
Something touched Laura’s right shoulder. Glancing down, Laura smiled at Hera, who wore a crown Kara had fashioned from pieces of reflector foil and insulation from unusable EVAC suits. “Scepter” in hand, Hera had spent most of the evening wandering from room to room, knighting chairs and blessing the books along Bill’s shelves.
“Lady,” Hera said, curtsying. She tapped the sculpture of a Virgonese eagle on the side table against the wall to Laura’s left. “Sir,” Hera said, and bowed deeply.
Hera was very strange, sometimes.
Finishing his flight rotation schedule, Lee tossed a folder to the opposite end of the couch. “Ismene,” Lee said, cuddling his adoptive tow-headed daughter to his side. “Don’t you want to be something for Fortuna?”
Ismene did not stir from her book. “I am,” she said quietly.
“Obviously,” seven-year-old Hera said, dreamily tapping Lee’s shoulders, “she is a Cylon.”
“A Cylon?” Lee answered.
“Yes,” Ismene said, turning a page. “You can’t tell, 'cause I look like a girl. Only I’m not.” She raised her finger and thumb like a gun and aimed it at his head. “Pew pew pew,” she said, making blaster noises.
“Kiddo,” Kara said, bouncing baby Will on her knee. “You can’t be a Cylon. That’s a cheat.”
“How?” Ismene said, frowning at being called a cheat.
“Well for one, we know what the Cylons look like,” Kara said. “So you can’t be one. And a Cylon isn’t a costume. So that doesn’t count.”
It was a good thing that Ismene was not aware that a number of unidentified Cylon models remained to be determined, or else she would certainly have pointed this out. Instead the girl frowned and looked up at Lee. “Mommy said I cheated.”
Lee smirked. “She would know. She’s a well-known cheat herself.”
Frak you, Kara mouthed.
“Fine,” Ismene sighed, closing her book. “I will find a costume.”
“Maybe you could be...a pilot!” Lee said, lifting Ismene high up into the air.
“No, thank you,” Ismene replied, hooking her hands around his neck.
“Izzy! Be a LION!” Clotho exclaimed, and growled, flashing her teeth.
“That we could manage, actually,” Kara said. “We’ll tease your hair and paint your nose black.”
Ismene made a face. “No, thank you.”
Laura nudged her husband’s leg with her toe. “At times I find it hard to believe she is Kara’s daughter,” she whispered.
Bill smirked. He sat back, abandoning his work, pulling her feet into his lap. “She really is a serious little thing, isn’t she?”
“May we go to Life Station?” Ismene asked.
“Sure,” Lee answered, and Ismene smiled brightly, very pleased. “Cottle is always looking for new interns.”
“This one needs to go down,” Kara sighed, rising to her feet and turning Will onto her shoulder. “We’ll see you tomorrow.” She held out her hand for Hera, who kissed it, and then knighted the hatch as they left for good measure.
“The dreamer, the bookworm, and the wildling,” Laura said, putting her pen aside. “Well. We could do worse for a next generation.” Bill looked nervously past Laura’s shoulder as he massaged her feet, sore from her heels. She groaned in pleasure. “But I’m glad they have this holiday to celebrate.”
“Yes,” Bill answered, projecting loudly. “Though if that dragon behind my desk doesn’t put my lighter down, she will not be going to the Fortuna parade.”
Something thunked! from the far side of Bill’s desk, followed by the sound of a drawer sliding shut. Their red-haired dragon crawled out from under the desk and bounded across the room. Bill fixed her with a look as she crawled into Laura’s lap. Clotho smiled sweetly and hugged her mother.
“Hey,” Laura said. “No actual fire-breathing, okay?”
“I wasn’t...” Laura raised her eyebrow and Clotho giggled, snuggling into her neck. “O-kayyyyyy.”
“Somehow,” Bill said fondly, “it does not come as a surprise to me that your daughter needs rules laid down about fires in rooms without fireplaces.”
“We can always throw her in the brig,” Laura cheekily responded. Retracting her feet, she stood and reached for the brush, beginning the nighttime ritual of untangling Clo’s braids.
Bill picked up another folder and turned back to his work. “Like that ever taught you anything,” Bill muttered.
Laura looked down at her ferocious, blue-eyed offspring, whispering sotto voce: “Your father is a very smart man, but he learned that one the hard way.”
Clotho grinned up at her. “Rawr.”
Laura grinned right back. “Rawr.”
---
Author: miabicicletta
Summary: “As she bounded around the room, waving her sparkly paper wings, Laura tried to justify her daughter’s “dragon” impression as the result of an especially wild imagination, and not a failure of early childhood education. She did know it was dogs that barked, right?”
Characters/Pairing: Adama/Roslin, Kara/Lee
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1100
Notes: This story takes place in the universe of stories created by olga_theodora and myself, known around here as the Not Winter-verse of stories. Goes wildly AU after Let Down Your Burdens, Pt II. For astreamofstars, who inspired this lovely scene. 100 words could not contain it, dear :D :D :D
---
It was said that back in the early days on Kobol, at times the gods would adopt the form of their human cohorts so that they might better understand the mortal men and women who lived with them in paradise. These legends came with the Twelve Tribes to the Colonies, and centuries after the Exodus religious orders on Gemenon paid homage to the deities in a similar fashion. The longest day of the year became a festival feast, and the holiday was celebrated by donning the garb of one’s social or cultural opposite. Original intentions fell away with time, and the religious significance was diluted by layers of cultural appropriation and re-appropriation, commercialization and social change.
By the time the Colonies fell, it was almost universally regarded as an event for children alone, observed at the year’s end during Fortuna, the days of the Fates.
The year Clotho was six, the primary schools throughout the Fleet began to revive the custom, creating simple costumes and organizing events and parades on the larger civilian vessels. It had been a very long time since Laura had last observed this aspect of Fortuna. Well before the accident, surely, when her sisters had still been alive to celebrate. A long time.
“Owww-ooooooooohhh!” Clotho howled, imitating Romo Lampkin’s pet collie, Jake. As she bounded around the room, waving her sparkly paper wings, Laura tried to justify her daughter’s “dragon” impression as the result of an especially wild imagination, and not a failure of early childhood education. She did know it was dogs that barked, right?
Bill must have seen the look of mild concern on her face. “Dragons do not bark, Clo-ie,” he rumbled, glancing up.
“Daddy, I know,” their precocious wild animal replied, flapping her wings in frustration. “Dragons breath fire. I was just pretending.” Clotho flopped back on the couch next to Lee, rolling her eyes in a way that was, at present, quite adorable. Laura suspected this impression of her daughter’s antics would not last through adolescence.
Something touched Laura’s right shoulder. Glancing down, Laura smiled at Hera, who wore a crown Kara had fashioned from pieces of reflector foil and insulation from unusable EVAC suits. “Scepter” in hand, Hera had spent most of the evening wandering from room to room, knighting chairs and blessing the books along Bill’s shelves.
“Lady,” Hera said, curtsying. She tapped the sculpture of a Virgonese eagle on the side table against the wall to Laura’s left. “Sir,” Hera said, and bowed deeply.
Hera was very strange, sometimes.
Finishing his flight rotation schedule, Lee tossed a folder to the opposite end of the couch. “Ismene,” Lee said, cuddling his adoptive tow-headed daughter to his side. “Don’t you want to be something for Fortuna?”
Ismene did not stir from her book. “I am,” she said quietly.
“Obviously,” seven-year-old Hera said, dreamily tapping Lee’s shoulders, “she is a Cylon.”
“A Cylon?” Lee answered.
“Yes,” Ismene said, turning a page. “You can’t tell, 'cause I look like a girl. Only I’m not.” She raised her finger and thumb like a gun and aimed it at his head. “Pew pew pew,” she said, making blaster noises.
“Kiddo,” Kara said, bouncing baby Will on her knee. “You can’t be a Cylon. That’s a cheat.”
“How?” Ismene said, frowning at being called a cheat.
“Well for one, we know what the Cylons look like,” Kara said. “So you can’t be one. And a Cylon isn’t a costume. So that doesn’t count.”
It was a good thing that Ismene was not aware that a number of unidentified Cylon models remained to be determined, or else she would certainly have pointed this out. Instead the girl frowned and looked up at Lee. “Mommy said I cheated.”
Lee smirked. “She would know. She’s a well-known cheat herself.”
Frak you, Kara mouthed.
“Fine,” Ismene sighed, closing her book. “I will find a costume.”
“Maybe you could be...a pilot!” Lee said, lifting Ismene high up into the air.
“No, thank you,” Ismene replied, hooking her hands around his neck.
“Izzy! Be a LION!” Clotho exclaimed, and growled, flashing her teeth.
“That we could manage, actually,” Kara said. “We’ll tease your hair and paint your nose black.”
Ismene made a face. “No, thank you.”
Laura nudged her husband’s leg with her toe. “At times I find it hard to believe she is Kara’s daughter,” she whispered.
Bill smirked. He sat back, abandoning his work, pulling her feet into his lap. “She really is a serious little thing, isn’t she?”
“May we go to Life Station?” Ismene asked.
“Sure,” Lee answered, and Ismene smiled brightly, very pleased. “Cottle is always looking for new interns.”
“This one needs to go down,” Kara sighed, rising to her feet and turning Will onto her shoulder. “We’ll see you tomorrow.” She held out her hand for Hera, who kissed it, and then knighted the hatch as they left for good measure.
“The dreamer, the bookworm, and the wildling,” Laura said, putting her pen aside. “Well. We could do worse for a next generation.” Bill looked nervously past Laura’s shoulder as he massaged her feet, sore from her heels. She groaned in pleasure. “But I’m glad they have this holiday to celebrate.”
“Yes,” Bill answered, projecting loudly. “Though if that dragon behind my desk doesn’t put my lighter down, she will not be going to the Fortuna parade.”
Something thunked! from the far side of Bill’s desk, followed by the sound of a drawer sliding shut. Their red-haired dragon crawled out from under the desk and bounded across the room. Bill fixed her with a look as she crawled into Laura’s lap. Clotho smiled sweetly and hugged her mother.
“Hey,” Laura said. “No actual fire-breathing, okay?”
“I wasn’t...” Laura raised her eyebrow and Clotho giggled, snuggling into her neck. “O-kayyyyyy.”
“Somehow,” Bill said fondly, “it does not come as a surprise to me that your daughter needs rules laid down about fires in rooms without fireplaces.”
“We can always throw her in the brig,” Laura cheekily responded. Retracting her feet, she stood and reached for the brush, beginning the nighttime ritual of untangling Clo’s braids.
Bill picked up another folder and turned back to his work. “Like that ever taught you anything,” Bill muttered.
Laura looked down at her ferocious, blue-eyed offspring, whispering sotto voce: “Your father is a very smart man, but he learned that one the hard way.”
Clotho grinned up at her. “Rawr.”
Laura grinned right back. “Rawr.”
---