(no subject)
Everything was a hullabaloo since another lady had gotten killed, but, alas, some things don't change. Homework is still due, and baby sisters still want to be played with in the rec room. Or, at least one of them, because Mack was in the kitchen with Eostre and had cried when Peter dabbed purple paint on her nose.
It was clear which sister was the artistic genius, as Flo had just laughed and promptly got the paint all over her hair.
"No, Flo, you paint on your paper," Peter said and batted at her little orange-covered hands with his paintbrush. "This one is for class." It was, nearly, a picture of Neverland's lagoon. That is to say, it was a great deal of blue, green and grey rocks, but that was only because he had not gone back and filled in all the interesting parts yet.
Flo just laughed and reached for the bottles of paint sat just outside the nest of newspaper that Eostre had insisted they lay down before they had any projects. She seemed really worried ever since hearing about the radio, but Peter figured that the Compound was about the best place for her and the babies to be.
Peter himself wasn't all that worried about someone trying to murder him, because to be a boy means to seem invincible. But he had his sword strapped on his belt next to his dagger all the same. It sounded like a coward was doing it, going around shooting up ladies in the dark. Probably somebody pretty horrible, but he figured that instead of going around trying to find him (for, of course, it was, of course, a man), Peter would stay and make sure no one got in to kill Eostre or the girls. Or Walt. Or Wednesday.
"He's probably killed lots of animals plus those ladies," he informed his sister and carefully bent over his sheet of paper to do the waves on the top of the water. "Except no one's noticed yet, because there are so many more of them than people. But he's not going to kill any of ours, promise."
Disregarding Peter's reassurances (for if a boy is invincible, a baby is nigh untouchable), Flo just reached over and muddled the blue and red together into a messy, puddle of purple.
[For anyone who wants to check on Eostre and Mike's girls, talk about the killings, or do some painting.]
It was clear which sister was the artistic genius, as Flo had just laughed and promptly got the paint all over her hair.
"No, Flo, you paint on your paper," Peter said and batted at her little orange-covered hands with his paintbrush. "This one is for class." It was, nearly, a picture of Neverland's lagoon. That is to say, it was a great deal of blue, green and grey rocks, but that was only because he had not gone back and filled in all the interesting parts yet.
Flo just laughed and reached for the bottles of paint sat just outside the nest of newspaper that Eostre had insisted they lay down before they had any projects. She seemed really worried ever since hearing about the radio, but Peter figured that the Compound was about the best place for her and the babies to be.
Peter himself wasn't all that worried about someone trying to murder him, because to be a boy means to seem invincible. But he had his sword strapped on his belt next to his dagger all the same. It sounded like a coward was doing it, going around shooting up ladies in the dark. Probably somebody pretty horrible, but he figured that instead of going around trying to find him (for, of course, it was, of course, a man), Peter would stay and make sure no one got in to kill Eostre or the girls. Or Walt. Or Wednesday.
"He's probably killed lots of animals plus those ladies," he informed his sister and carefully bent over his sheet of paper to do the waves on the top of the water. "Except no one's noticed yet, because there are so many more of them than people. But he's not going to kill any of ours, promise."
Disregarding Peter's reassurances (for if a boy is invincible, a baby is nigh untouchable), Flo just reached over and muddled the blue and red together into a messy, puddle of purple.
[For anyone who wants to check on Eostre and Mike's girls, talk about the killings, or do some painting.]