"Stephanie… have you ever wondered why you're… different? From your friends?"
She was perched atop the low brick wall, tapping her heels absently, sending little cascades of mortar crumbling toward the earth.
"Everyone's different from everyone else." She shrugged.
"That's not what I…" Sportacus trailed off. He was fidgeting absently with a tin of tennis balls, but it wasn't the nervous sort of fidgeting, but rather another outlet for his boundless energy and attention span. "Do you remember your father at all?"
She looked at him, heels still tapping rhythmically against the wall.
"I don't think I ever met him."
"Don't you wonder at all? You're not curious?" He pressed.
"Should I be?" She asked.
"Didn't you ever wonder how your uncle just happened to know how to contact me? He just happened to have the mail capsule, after all that time?" He asked, cautiously.
"It seemed pretty straightforward when he gave it to me."
"But you were 8 years old. You're 16 now, haven't you ever questioned it?"
"Well, he is the mayor…"
"I suppose that seems plausible enough."
"What are you getting at, anyway?" She hopped down from the wall, holding out her hand. He dropped one of the tennis balls into her grasp and watched her toss it absently, deftly snatching it out of the air without looking at it.
"Nothing." He responded at last. "But you're growing up, and part of getting older is learning to ask questions, even if you might be afraid of the answers."
"…What are you suggesting?"
"I just… maybe it's not my place. But if I were you, I'd want to know why I'd never met my father, and why my mother left town right before I was born." He continued to flip the remaining tennis balls around in one hand. "I'd want to know why I just happened to be the one who could summon the town hero."
"…And you know why? You can't just tell me?"
"If you were Ziggy or Trixie, maybe. But you're independent, intelligent, resourceful… and older. I'm not always going to be around to hand you the answers, Stephanie. And you've never needed me to."
She mused over this for a moment, tennis ball going still in her hand.
"Ok… well, if you can't just tell me, can you at least point me in a direction?"
"You should ask your uncle."
"What if he won't tell me? You know how he is."
"He's trying to protect you. And so am I." He slung an arm around her shoulders. "If he doesn't want to tell you about the mail tube… try asking him about Number Nine. He might have some good excuses, but there could be gaps in his story. If all else fails… call your mother."
He watched her jogging away toward home, razor edged bob swaying with her steps. When he turned back, Robbie Rotten was sitting, perched in her former spot on the wall, gangly limbs comically thudding against the brick, feet practically brushing the ground.
"Hell of a family secret." He said smarmily, waggling his eyebrows. Sportacus just blinked, unsurprised.
"How long have you known?"
"Don't worry Sporty, I won't use it against you."
"How did you figure it out?"
"…Maybe it's the eyes." He hopped off the wall and began to swagger away.
"Robbie?"
"Mmm?" He turned back.
"Thank you. For letting her figure it out herself."
His grin took on a self-indulgent air.
"Well… When you're right, you're right. And maybe if Princess Pinkie grows up a little, the rest of those little m… delightful rugrats will too, and then I'll get some peace and quiet now and again."
A/N: To clarify, since this is literally just something I had to get out of my head before it was gone, I'm insinuating that Number 9 is Stephanie's father. I'm also insinuating that Number 9 is Sportacus' father, making them half-siblings, which he has always known, but she hasn't. Basically, I was trying to figure out a reason that Stephanie, Sporty, and Robbie would all be played by human actors instead of puppets, and considering the possibility of Stephanie and Robbie both being elves like Sporty.