Author's Notes: Many thanks to my dear sister, known here as Purple Peanutbutter (you really should read her stuff, and if you play the Sims, you simply MUST read and review her Over Your Head parody fic on it), for her help on Mum's Song. Much appreciated, deary! I love you bunches (she's reading over my shoulder, silly thing. Yes, PP, I called you silly. And a thing. Stop looking at me like that! Or rather, stop looking at my typing fingers like that. Yes, you don't have to - okay, I'll shut up now for your sake, dear reader. Just read and review, and I'll quit this nonsense)!
MUM'S SONG
After a – by their family's terms – very pleasant breakfast, Susan was dragged into the parlor. 'Happy Mother's Day' was painted in red above the fireplace. Well, at least she hoped it was paint. When she asked Teatime about it later, he said it had been a joke. But you could never really tell.
Charlotte's harp was out, and the three children lined up perkily. They threw on great big, bright smiles, and the Assassin sat beside his wife with an arm around her shoulders.
"We've written you a song, Mommy!" Charlotte chimed. "Just for Mother's Day!"
Susan blinked.
"Um... how lovely."
"Daddy helped, too," Edward put in.
Johnny nodded emphatically.
"We worked very, very hard on it!"
"Well, get on with it, then," Susan said, gesturing for them to continue.
The three children all looked at one another and grinned. Charlotte stroked the strings in a quick scale intro, and they all hummed in harmony, each a slightly different note, before they began to sing. The melody was, beyond a doubt, quite lovely. Each had a different tune to sing, and their voices were high, chipper, and sweet. The rhythm and beat was pleasant, and the duchess's daughter's playing was beautiful.
The lyrics, however, were literally painful.
"Our mum..." Edward started lowly,
"...Our mum..." Johnny joined in, his voice a little bit higher,
"...Our mum!" Charlotte finished, very high, before they broke off into the song together.
"You know we'd never choke her,
'Cause she taught us 'bout the poker,
She might not be a joker,
But she's a great bloke, her
Oh, there's so much we mean to say!
How 'bout we stick with 'Happy Mother's Day?'"
"Our mum..."
"...Our mum..."
"...Our mum!"
"She told us we always have a choice,
And through her we can use the voice,
If she died our eyes would grow moist,
If she fell down up her we'd hoist,
Oh, there's so much we mean to say!
How 'bout we stick with 'Happy Mother's Day?'"
"Our mum..."
"...Our mum..."
"...Our mum!"
"She and we are very lithe,
Since we were made to use a scythe,
And though sometimes we prefer a knife,
We still want her in our life
Oh, there's so much we mean to say!
How 'bout we stick with 'Happy Mother's Day?'"
"Our mum..."
"...Our mum..."
"...Our mum!"
"And though she's the granddaughter of death,
When it comes to mothering she's just the best,
And though she looks at us as little pests,
She's very sweet when we give her rest
Oh, there's so much we mean to say!
How 'bout we stick with 'Happy Mother's Day?'"
"Happy Mother's..."
"...Happy Mother's..."
"Happy Mother's..."
"Happy Moooooooooooo-theeeeeeeeeeeeeerr's – DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!!!"
They spread out their arms and posed, grinning.
Susan wasn't sure whether to scream in sheer horror, cry, or laugh her mouth off. Instead, she stood to her feet, her voice mere sobs.
"You're all so cute!"
That wasn't very Susan-y of her. But there really was no getting around it. Never had three psychopathic almost teenagers looked so sweet.
