(Untitled)

[kitchen_maid]

When Amy comes into the bar this evening, she is carrying what are, if one wants to be technical, two marketing baskets -- the sort of sturdy, deep, oblong baskets intended for carrying home bread and cheese and vegetables from the market in Amber

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[cutting_edgex23]

X, downstairs but not for a Security shift, looks up from her dinner when she catches scent of Amy.

(And Amy's companions.)

Then she sets down her fork, takes her mostly empty plate to Bar, and heads over to her friend.

"Amy."

Beat.

"You are okay?"

[kitchen_maid]

"Laura," says Amy, with a bright smile.

Just one of the people she wanted to run into.

"I'm very well, thank you.

"Would you like to join us? There are people you should meet."

[cutting_edgex23]

X does not bother looking around for said people. Her gaze flicks down, toward the two baskets.

And, very cautiously, X says, "Okay."

It will take her a few moments longer to officially join the Queen of Ambergeldar and her children.

Because two of them are babies.

[kitchen_maid]

"These are my sons," Amy says. She indicates the first basket. "This is Casp--" and then shakes her head and indicates the other. "Sorry, this is Caspian, and that is Laurence."

[thursdays_angel]

The woman is unfamiliar to Castiel, but her means of transporting her infants is not. Babies in baskets had actually been pretty common the last time he walked on Earth.

Bull-rushes had been a popular material.

Castiel has not seen a human infant up close in this manner in a very long time. And curiosity prompts him to stop, bend down, and peer closely into a pair of cloudy blue eyes.

[kitchen_maid]

The baby in question (his name is Caspian), startled, promptly begins to fuss.

And his mother, no less startled, says (her tone not unfriendly but decidedly Royal), "Sir?"

In the way one says Sir? when one means Who are you and what are you doing poking your nose into my son's basket and you better have a very good answer to both those questions or else.

[thursdays_angel]

Castiel had drawn back slightly with a frown when the baby screwed up its face at him.

And at the Sir? from the mother, he straightens back up again.

He wonders (a bit belatedly) if he has violated the unwritten and somewhat ambiguous Personal Space Rule again.

"They are quite young," he observes.

[kitchen_maid]

It's more the Don't you even think about messing with my children rule.

"Just about a month old," Amy says, picking the now properly fussing Caspian up out of his basket.

[young_tmriddle]

Tom smiles when he sees this familiar, and dear, face. If his eyes widen slightly upon glancing down at the infants in the baskets, it is only because time does pass by quickly. Or so it seems to him.

"Hullo, Amy. How good it is to see you. All of you."

[kitchen_maid]

Amy's been scarce, in the months since she last saw him.

"Tom! Hello!

"Come meet my sons."

[young_tmriddle]

"More heirs to the throne, eh?" He walks over, taking her hand in his a moment before giving full attention to the boys in the baskets. He thinks nothing of the baskets; it seems a reasonable container for a baby to him.

"Oh, they're splendid. Healthy and happy, I hope?"

[kitchen_maid]

"Caspian and Laurence, second and third in line, respectively," Amy says cheerfully.

"And yes, they're perfectly healthy and happy, though Susan has been unhappily muttering about having all together too many brothers of late."

[bannion_sight]

"Amy, hello--"

Kim is beaming as she crosses the room.

"It's been a long time."

[kitchen_maid]

"Ages and ages," Amy says. "Kim.

"However have you been?"

[bannion_sight]

"Fairly well, all things considered," Kim tells her.

"How about you? And--"

She glances down at the baskets.

"-- whoever your friends are, too?"

[kitchen_maid]

"My sons," Amy says. "Laurence and Caspian. They were a month old last week.

"I'm very well."