bsg ficlet (of great silliness)
"Promise was the third daughter of Hera Agathon. She had a fate--"
"Yes, that's right," Promise murmured. She continued to respond automatically to the stream of words at the appropriate moments as Uncle Leoben told her about her special destiny. This was Uncle Leoben, the one with the scar on his right forearm, who was talking. They really needed to come up with some sort of numbering system, Promise thought. Of course, numbers were tricky as well, considering that their cylon sibling models had numbers, so Promise just stayed with the descriptions for now.
It hadn't been intentional, starting the home for wayward Twos. Most of the Twos did well in the blended human-cylon society, at least relatively. They took different names, learned how to hunt or fish or farm or make equipment. Frankly they did better than a few of the Sixes Promise remembered. Then that first Two came to stay with them after the Eight who'd been trying to train him to fit in finally lost patience and kicked him out. Promise still had fond memories of the first Uncle Leoben. Later, when she'd left home and had her own family, she ended up taking in another stray Two who hadn't adjusted, and before she knew it, she was trying to balance taking care of wayward Twos and raising her own kids.
Promise had organizational skills, though, and once she realized that she could both provide a service to the Twos and improve her own situation, she hadn't hesitated. She divided the Twos into work teams, and soon the home for wayward Twos was built from river rock (only fitting) atop a hill, with a view of the stream. They planted crops, went hunting and gathering and even had training on how to build rudimentary machinery with the simple tools they fashioned.
The biggest benefit was to Promise's children, however. After her last lover left, fleeing in self-preservation, she'd given up on having any male help with the children. Her little darlings needed some male role models. (Okay, so maybe the kids weren't that darling.) Granted that wayward Twos had some eccentricities, it had all worked out for the best. Nothing her children did ever made the Twos mad, so they finally stopped trying.
Thank the Lords of Earth that their previous major source of contention amongst the Twos was now long-gone: the last patterned shirt. After a massive catfight over who would get to wear it erupted, it had too many bloodstains to be usable anymore, so they'd solemnly buried in in the flower garden. Uncle Leoben (the one with the missing tooth) had read a poem about Kara and patterns, and they all sang a song about the tides. Uncle Leoben (the one with the ponytail) did a fabulous falsetto note at the end. Cylons still had great physical endurance--he held the note for an impressive length of time. The whole ceremony was actually quite lovely.
It hadn't been in her plans, this kind of existence. Maybe Uncle Leoben was right about a special destiny. The wayward Twos had a loving home through their final moments, with people who understood them perfectly, and Promise had a safe environment for her children. Really, the future looked good for all of them.