38

Mischief Squared

The rest of August passed slowly, inching ever closer to September, and the fall school session. Ivy's lessons with Myrnin gave the young half-elf an outlet for his restlessness, and his sharp mind quickly picked up words and idioms at an astonishing rate. Soon he was reading at about a ten-year-old level, and could already spell and conjugate verbs better than Nick and Nora. His wound was nearly mended, and Belle took the stitches out one fine Saturday afternoon, though she instructed the boy not to push himself too hard and risk tearing the newly healed skin.

So he waited impatiently another few days before going hunting with Rafe and Rowan, using his bow sparingly, to shoot some game hens, and when the scar he had developed became sore, he stopped shooting for the day. When they came home, Belle examined it and put some salve on it, which would toughen the skin and prevent it from stretching and getting too raw.

It was then that Rumple suggested Myrnin have magic lessons with his magical children. "You said you have problems with your control, lad. Well, I can help with that, if you want me to."

"Would you please?" asked the young magic wielder. "No one's ever been able to help me as much as I wanted, even the great mages of my people. I've been told my magic is too closely aligned with a human's to ever mesh properly with an elf's."

Rumple shook his head. "Now that is ridiculous. Magic is magic, lad. It differs only in how you're taught to use it and what affinity and power level you possess. I'll test you the same as I did my children, and find out where your magic aligns itself. Then we can start lessons."

So he grasped Myrnin's hands in his and concentrated, letting his own magical knowledge sense the boy's aura, feeling it gently, and then withdrawing. The spell took the drawing of two breaths, and then Rumple released Myrnin and said, "Your affinity is like mine, boy, an elemental magician, able to manipulate the energy of all five elements—earth, air, fire, water, and spirit. It's a rare talent, to be sure, but not untrainable. I mastered mine, after all, and with no one to really guide me. Of course, it's harder that way, but I can teach you what you need to know."

"Can you, sir?" Myrnin asked hopefully.

"Certainly," Rumple assured him. "Today you'll come in my workroom with me and have lessons with my other children. We'll start with basic meditation and control exercises and progress from there."

So Myrnin found himself with Ivy, Finn, Jasmine, Ariel, June, and Kristen the next morning in Rumple's workroom. The workroom was a square chamber with interlocking blocks of stone and a stone floor. There was a table in the middle of it, but otherwise no furniture. The room itself was surrounded by magical wards set by Rum himself, wards to block the sudden overflow of magical energy and contain it so it didn't damage anything inside the castle, like other people.

Once the door was shut, it could only be opened by the master magician, to avoid a chance of a grave accident. And all of the children knew that when Rumple was inside the workroom with his students, he was never to be disturbed . . . unless there was a true emergency.

Myrnin stood to one side of the table and watched as the other youngsters separated and began to perform different tasks that Rumple set them.

Ivy set up a bowl and several kinds of herbs and spices in dishes on the table along with some water and flour, preparing to make a dough which she could enhance with different types of ingredients, as that was how her magic worked best.

June began to do small exercises in front of a mirror Rumple set up, and make certain portions of her anatomy glow for a time.

Ariel sang scales and based on the pitch, made a small set of tumblers on the opposite side of the table vibrate, Rumple was trying to determine the rang and power of her vocal cords.

Jasmine practiced the speech of unicorns this morning, the better to communicate with Sweetheart, and also to speed grow a rose bush in a pot Rumple had set in front of her. He wanted her to vary the growth of the roses, leaving some buds, some half-opened, some taller and some fully flowered.

Finn took out his flute and began with the simple warm up scales, later he would play certain tunes and make objects move or call up small animals and control them with his magic.

And Kristen tried to turn her arm into a partial paw of a marten, though this was proving difficult for her to master. Her arm sometimes refused to shift, or when it did, it only did so partially. She sighed and said softly, "Papa, why can't I just do it, like the rest of them?"

Rumple came to stand before her, and said quietly, "Because your magic is not like everyone else's, my girl. A shifter can take years to master her talent, but once she does, she can do it effortlessly, like breathing. Trying to change forms is one of the hardest things to do, Kris, and you're actually quite advanced for an apprentice shifter, dearie. You've only been having lessons for two months, remember?"

Kristen nodded, her golden curls bouncing as she did so. "I know, but I feel like I'm not . . . making any progress, Papa."

"Nonsense! Look at how you can change most of your arm now, when a few weeks ago you could barely shift your little finger. Don't rush, dearie. There's no timetable for learning to master your power. I'm not in a hurry, and neither should you be. Remember, Ivy, Finn, and Jasmine have been having lessons with me for years, so of course it seems like they can do more than you. Relax, Kris, and do the breathing exercises I've taught you. Then close your eyes and will yourself to shift, but if it doesn't happen right away, don't give up. The most important thing a magic wielder needs is belief and determination. With those you can make your magic do what you will."

She smiled at him uncertainly. "Okay, Papa. I'll try."

He patted her shoulder. "Good! Now concentrate, dearie! I'll be back to check on you in a bit."

Myrnin watched as he spoke gently to June, who was shy and quiet, encouraging her to flicker her light magic and then hold it in one sustained burst, praising her when she did well, and making the little girl give him a rare grin in return.

Then Rumple spoke to Jasmine in unicorn for a few moments and watched her use her power to encourage the rosebush to grow. "Very good! You're coming along nicely, Jasmine."

He stopped by Finn and watched as the young Bard coaxed some wooden animals into racing all over the floor, stopping, and then jumping into the air when he played a lively aria. Rumple nodded as they began to march back and forth in time to a soldier's tune. "Excellent, Finn!"

He visited Ariel next, and complimented her on her scales and the range she could produce, and watched Ivy as she added spices to her dough and kneaded them in, using her powers to enhance specific flavors and even improve the soft texture of the dough. "That smells heavenly, dearie. I almost can't wait to eat it . . . if you're going to bake it, that is."

"I might, Papa. These are all savory herbs and spices I'm using," Ivy replied, her hands working the dough as she spoke, with the ease of long practice.

Myrnin waited until the sorcerer came to him, thinking how different Rum's methods of encouragement were from his other magical tutors, who had always seemed to point out mistakes and yell at him for things gone wrong, making him even more nervous and upset, which in turn made any control he had over his wild magic go out the window. Rumple never raised his voice, spoke in a calm, even tone, and was patient with his students. And his methods got results.

When the master sorcerer came to him, Myrnin looked up at him nervously. "Umm . . . what do you want me to do, sir?"

"First, I need you to relax, lad. No magic wielder controls his power well when he's nervous, and I can see you're expecting me to ask you to cast something and you don't think you'll be able to. So . . . I want you to close your eyes and imagine yourself in a place that you like. I want you to think about how peaceful it is there and slowly start to take deep breaths. As you do that I want you to count, slowly, as you breathe in and out, from one to ten. Keep doing that until I tell you to stop."

"How's that going to help?" asked his new student.

"You'll see. Now do what I told you," Rumple ordered softly.

Myrnin obeyed, thinking this was the strangest magic lesson he'd ever had.

Rumple kept an eye on all his students, helping them when needed, and he left Myrnin doing the basic calming exercises for about fifteen minutes, then he returned to the boy and said, "All right, lad. Open your eyes and listen to me. You know how to conjure light, yes?" He deliberately started with something simple, a thing that even the most inexperienced elementalist could do.

Myrnin nodded. "Of course, sir."

"Show me."

Myrnin held out his hand, and soon a ball of light appeared in it.

"Very nice. Now, can you summon fire?"

Again the boy nodded.

"Change the light into fire for me."

Myrnin did so, easily. Light and fire were among the first things he'd learned as a child.

Then his teacher backed up, until he was standing about five feet away. "Now, throw that at me, Myrnin."

"What? But . . . it's a fireball."

"I know. Throw it to me. You won't hurt me, I can handle fire as well as you. Come on, boy. Throw it to me, like you were throwing a ball."

Myrnin did so, a bit hesitantly.

Rumple caught the ball of fire easily, cupping it in his hand. "Ready? Now you catch it." He tossed the fireball back at his apprentice.

Myrnin did so, a little awkwardly. "Now what?"

"Throw it back. We're going to have a little game of catch," his teacher answered.

"A game?" Myrnin repeated. His other tutors had never been like this. But he shrugged and threw the fireball back at Rumple.

For a few minutes, they just tossed the fireball back and forth, but then Rumple conjured another one and then they threw two of them at each other. Myrnin soon realized that the older sorcerer was testing his reactions and reflexes, and how long he could keep the two fireballs alight, but in a most unorthodox manner.

Myrnin soon realized that he wasn't struggling to concentrate as he usually did. He was relaxed and the exercise was repetitive, but also fun. He could never recall his magic lessons being so before. Usually they were full of lectures and made his head hurt.

"Very good, Myrnin!" Rumple praised. "How do you feel?"

"I . . . I feel okay, sir."

"Do you know how to call up a shield spell?"

"Yes. I learned that when I was eleven."

"Good. I want you to shield yourself and I'm going to toss fireballs at you. As soon as you feel your control over the spell start to waver or you get tired, you tell me and I'll stop. Ready?"

"Yes, sir," Myrnin concentrated and a blue magical shield appeared about him.

Rumple didn't bother to conjure more fireballs then, he simply threw the ones he had in his hands at the boy. Hard.

They slammed against the shield Myrnin held and fizzled like eggs on a hot griddle.

In the blink of an eye, Rumple had more fireballs in his hand and threw them in rapid succession at the shield held before him.

He varied the speed which he threw the fireballs, from slow to streaks of light, and also the size, from ones small as robin eggs to ones as large as the palm of his hand. He could have made them even larger, but knew that they could burn his other children if he wasn't careful, so he kept them small.

He threw about twenty-six of them at Myrnin's blue shield before he saw it start to flicker and fade, and he said, "Are you tired yet, lad?"

"A . . . a little, Master Gold."

"All right. Now drop it. You did well for a first session. You held that shield for over ten minutes, an excellent job. We'll practice some more tomorrow."

Myrnin blinked. "How long have we . . . been doing this?"

"About an hour, and that's plenty for now. I don't want you to drain yourself dry and pass out, Belle would have my head on a stake."

He clapped his hands and the rest of his children ceased what they were doing. "All right, children, lessons are done for today. Now go and get something to eat and rest if you need to."

He then went and unlocked the door to the workroom, then stood aside and let the children precede him out. He usually held lessons from an hour to and hour-and-a-half , based on the age of his student and the difficulty of the exercises he'd set. He monitored their energy levels carefully and never pushed them far enough to get truly exhausted.

Myrnin discovered he was more tired than he thought, and also hungry. He walked beside Ivy as they ascended the stairs to the first floor of the castle and said, "All of a sudden I'm starving."

"Me too. Papa says that's normal when you work magic for a while. It's like running around or riding or something. It burns off energy and makes you sleepy and hungry. That's why he always makes us eat and rest after lessons."

"I'm always hungry after lessons," said June softly.

"So am I," agreed Finn. "Papa says the longer the session the more you need to eat and rest afterwards, otherwise the magic will knock you flat on your ass and make you pay for not taking care of yourself properly."

Myrnin nodded, recalling several times when it had done just as Finn described to him, because his teachers had pushed him to learn a new spell for too long. Once he'd had a splitting headache for days and could barely get out of bed. His father had scolded him for allowing his magic to run wild, even though Myrnin had done his best to control it. Then again, his father had always blamed him for everything.

They went into the kitchen, where Belle had made up some thick sandwiches of cold chicken and ham with tomatoes, lettuce, and mustard. There was also some peaches, grapes, and apples as well as thick slices of pound cake. There was fruit juice to drink or coffee.

Myrnin sat down next to Ivy and ate two sandwiches, saying, "That was the most fun I've ever had learning magic."

Ivy nodded. "I saw you playing catch with Papa. He always says that learning should be interesting as well as informative and he tries to make our magic lessons both."

"I like it. It's better than how my other tutors went about it," Myrnin said. "I actually managed to control my shield spell longer than I ever have. And my head doesn't feel like an overripe melon afterwards."

Then he ate a piece of fruit, thinking he was lucky to have Rumplestitlskin as his teacher now. Maybe he could finally learn to control his wayward powers and surprise his father when he returned home. If he still had a home to return to.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

It was nearly the third month of Belle's pregnancy, and normally by now some of the more annoying symptoms, like the migraines and morning sickness, had started to slack off. But for some reason, this pregnancy wasn't like the others. She felt drained and tired every morning, and sometimes her morning sickness was so acute she couldn't keep anything down except crackers, water, or ginger tea for half a day. Sometimes she was cranky and moody because she hated being sick and feeling so helpless.

Rumple did his best to be supportive, even when she snapped at him for hovering. "Don't be an overprotective pain in the ass, Rum! I'm not an invalid!" she'd scold when he asked her for the third time if she wanted something to drink or needed him to massage her head or make her some chamomile tea to soothe her aching stomach.

Later she would apologize for her temper, and ask him to forgive her for her nasty moods. He always did, though sometimes she said to him, "You know, you can tell me off if you want, I won't curl up and die if you do, I know I can be a bitch when I'm sick like this."

"I've heard worse from, Milah, sweetheart. You're nothing near the bitch she was, trust me. At least you have a reason for it. I don't even pretend to know why she acted like that half the time. Besides, I don't want to quarrel with you. I had enough of that to last me a lifetime with Milah."

"Gods, you're better than I deserve, Rum," she told him honestly. And she tried not to take out her bad moods on him or the children.

But a part of her was worried, though she wouldn't tell Rumple that and make him nervous. She had never had her body react in such a fashion when she was pregnant before, and she knew that for some reason this pregnancy was draining her of strength more than her others had.

That morning she woke feeling more tired and sick than usual. She spent five minutes battling her queasy stomach before giving up and going to throw up. Rumple woke and found her half-curled up in a corner of the bathroom, exhausted from dry heaves.

"Belle, why didn't you call me?" he asked as he gently helped her up.

"Why, so you could watch me puke my guts up?" she asked irritably. She leaned on him, feeling dizzy. "Rum, I . . . I'm so tired of . . . getting sick . . ."

"I know, sweetheart. I wish I could do something for you." He put an arm around her waist, which was only slightly thickened, and helped her back to bed. "Here, drink some water." He held a glass of water to her lips.

She turned her head away. "No. You want me to throw it up all over you?"

"It's not like that hasn't happened before, dearie. Come now, I'm no Healer but even I know you need to drink after you've been throwing up for an hour or whatever. Take small sips, sweetie."

Scowling, she did as he told her. "I hate this."

"I don't blame you. I would too," he said. "Why don't you try to rest for a bit? I'll take care of breakfast this morning. Do you want a cool cloth for your head?"

She nodded wearily. "Rum, why don't you ever just tell me I'm a pain in the ass?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Would it make you feel better if I did?"

"It'd make you feel better, I bet."

He smirked. "Fine. You're a pain in the ass, Belle. But I still love you. Now drink some more water."

She drank a few more sips, then pushed the glass away. "No more, Rumple. My stomach's doing flipflops as it is."

He gazed at her worriedly. "Do you need a bowl?"

"No. Just . . . some sleep, I guess."

"All right. You sleep and I'll come check on you in half-an-hour." He cupped her cheek in his hand. "If you need me, just call." He kissed her gently on the forehead and left a bowl on the nightstand just in case.

Belle shut her eyes and tried to think soothing thoughts, anything to keep her queasy stomach from rebelling again. She put her hand on her stomach and said, "Baby, if you're this much trouble now, I hope you'll be sweet as pie after you're born, otherwise gods help us all." She began reciting healing herbs in her head, and inbetween them thinking of names for the baby, which was something she had to discuss soon with her husband.

Page~*~*~*~Break

When Rumple had finished getting breakfast, with help from Ivy, Aurora, and Elaina, he returned to check up on his wife, carrying some tea on a tray for her. But he found her asleep, and he left the tea for her on the table, gently stroking her dark hair spread out on the pillow.

"Belle, my sweet Belle. I wish I could take this damn sickness from you. I feel so damn guilty, even though I know you want this baby as much as I do."

He turned away, sighing.

"Don't."

He turned back, and saw that her eyes were open. "Did you say something, love?"

"I said . . . don't. Don't you dare feel guilty because I'm sick. Sometimes this happens, and it's no one's fault, Rum."

"It takes two to tango, dearie," he reminded her.

"And you didn't force me to do anything I didn't want you to," she told him. "I'll get through this . . . but if you start blaming yourself, I'm going to beat you over the head with your cane, Rumplestiltskin, I swear it!"

"My feisty Healer," he chuckled. "I love you more than my life and it kills me to see you suffering. I'm this supposed great magician and I can't help my own wife. I never knew that being pregnant was so hard on a woman. It never seemed like that when Milah was having Ivy."

"She was younger than I am, and every woman and every pregnancy is different, Rum. This one is playing havoc with me, but I just have to grit my teeth and bear it. I have only six more months to go. Thank you for being so patient with me, Rum. Healers make terrible patients, I know."

"Not as bad as sorcerers," he returned. "Get some rest, love. Sleep is the best medicine."

She yawned. "You're the best medicine, beloved. Good night." She reached out her hand for him.

He clasped it gently, staying that way until her breathing had deepened and she had fallen asleep. Then he left, closing the door behind him softly.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

In his concern over Belle, Rumple wasn't as observant or watchful as he normally was that day. He shortened his lessons with all the children and told them to go play while he went upstairs and sat with his wife, sitting on the side of the bed and watching her while she slept, wishing his magic could take away all the trouble she was having.

He thought of how Belle thought she was so terrible for snapping at him occasionally, when he had endured weeks of Milah's tirades. She had been healthy as a horse compared to Belle when she was pregnant with Ivy, and yet she had managed to belittle and snarl at him every chance she got, calling him a worthless coward and a pathetic excuse for a husband, and every swear word in the book.

He recalled that cramped dark cottage, where he spun every day to put food on the table, and even at times gave her half his portion, but yet it was never enough to win even the slightest regard from her. She had remained bitter and angry at him, and anything he said seemed to cause her to ignite, and then that was it. He recalled once she had thrown a bobbin at him in a temper, almost knocking him out, and had never apologized for any of it.

Belle's little spats were nothing compared to Milah's, he thought as he silently rubbed her back as she slept. Milah had always made him feel lower than a worm, but Belle, even when she scolded him, made him smile, for he knew her scowls hid a generous loving heart, and she would never make him feel worthless, his pride in tatters. Loving Milah had been a chore, but loving Belle was like loving his children, it warmed him from the inside out and made him feel thrice blessed.

You are the light in the darkness, beloved, showing me the way out of the shadows. And I will love you till my last breath and beyond.

As he caressed her, listening to the soft hush of her breathing, he heard shrieks of laughter and a rather loud thump coming from the hallway. Belle stirred uneasily, and he whispered, "Shh, sweetheart. Sleep. I'm here and nothing will ever hurt you so long as I am."

She settled then, not waking, and he rose and slipped from the room like a cat, to see what had made that blasted noise.

He heard giggling and laughter and went in the direction of the stairs. When he reached the top he saw Phillip and Pinocchio, one was riding Rajah and the other was riding Baron, and both were bare from the waist up, and painted with odd zigzag lines, stripes and spots in different bright colors. They were wearing feathered headbands and carrying what looked like the long poles that the girls used to wash clothes, and trying to poke each other like jousting knights while yelling war cries like a pack of mercenaries.

"Boys! Quiet!" he called down the stairs, his voice sharp. "Lady Gold is asleep and if you wake her with all your yelling and banging you'll be in serious trouble, am I understood?"

Phillip glanced back at him, and said, "Sorry, Papa. We're playing Painted Warriors, like in Jasmine's story with the cannibals and the jungle people."

"Well, go and play whatever it is outside," Rumple ordered.

Pinocchio immediately turned Baron and Phillip clicked to Rajah and they thundered outside, waving their lances over their heads as they did so.

Rumple thought no more of it until Elaina came back with Rafe after going for a walk and discovered the mess in her room. By that time Belle was awake again, and her husband was downstairs, fixing a tray of soup, fruit, and some bread to bring to her.

As he started to float the tray upstairs, Elaina came storming out of her room, her face like a thunder cloud and snapped, "Where are those—those wretched brats, Papa? I'm going to skin them!"

Rumple paused and then said, "What's wrong, Elaina?"

"They've . . . they've ruined all my make-up! I found it all almost gone and the rest of it on the floor. Oh, I've a good mind to strangle them!"

Rumple groaned. He knew exactly who Elaina was talking about. He thought back to a few hours earlier and how he'd seen Phillip and Pinocchio playing . . . and covered in what he'd assumed had been mere paint . . . but had actually been Elaina's make-up. "Ah . . . one moment, dearie. Just let me take this in to your mother and I'll deal with it."

Elaina glared past him. "Oh, when I catch those scamps . . .!"

He climbed the rest of the stairs, and shoved the tray into Elaina's hands. "Here. You bring this to your mom, and let me handle those two. I don't want you to commit murder."

Flipping her long hair over her opposite shoulder, his eldest daughter took the tray and went towards his bedroom. Rumple limped down the hall to check the damage, gritting his teeth. This was all he needed today.

Once he'd seen what the boys had done, he stalked back downstairs and called them inside.

Still covered in their "war paint", the two mischief makers came to him. Neither of them seemed to realize they were in trouble till Pinocchio saw the disapproval on his face, then he said, "Master Gold, what's . . . umm . . . the matter?"

"Come with me, boys," he ordered, leading them into his study and closing the door.

Then he turned to Phillip, who now looked very uneasy, and said, "Phillip, where did you get the paint you've got on?"

The little boy squirmed under his gaze, finally stammering, "Umm . . . we borrowed some of . . . of Elaina's make-up, Papa. Just a little. We needed something to . . . to make us into Painted Warriors."

Rumple crossed his arms over his chest. "So, instead of asking me, you decided to just go into your sister's room and touch her things without permission? Not only did you make a huge mess, you ruined all of her make-up."

Phillip's lower lip quivered. "We didn't mean to, Papa. It was Pinocchio's idea."

Pinocchio sniffled. "I just . . . thought we could use some . . . it's like what my papa uses to paint the faces on his puppets . . ."

Rumple's lips twitched as he fought to keep from laughing. It wasn't funny, really, but the two looked just like refugees from an acting troupe. Mischief squared, he thought, then he frowned and said sternly, "Phillip, you know better than to touch things that don't belong to you. I'm very disappointed in you—both of you."

At that, both little scamps started crying.

"I'm sorry!" his son wailed. "I just wanted a little."

"P-Please, Master Gold, don't tell my papa," Pinocchio sobbed. Tears were now mixing with the make-up on his face, making it run.

"Why not? Don't you think he should know how you've behaved, young man?" asked the sorcerer.

"P-please, sir? If—if he knows what I did . . . he'll never let me come here again," the child whimpered. "You-you can do anything you want to me . . . just don't tell!"

Rumple hadn't thought of that when he'd considered telling Geppetto, and he soon realized that despite what he'd gotten into, Pinocchio was good for Phillip to play with. Unless they happened to be playing Painted Warriors, he amended. He made a swift decision, saying, "Very well, young man. I'll make a deal with you. I won't inform your father how naughty you've been . . . as long as you agree to the exact same punishment as my son for your misbehavior."

Pinocchio gulped, then nodded, "I will, Master Gold." Then he started sniffling again.

Rumple nodded once. "Then we have a deal. Your punishment is as follows—first, you're going to apologize to Elaina for what you've done and promise to never do it again. What you did was very wrong, boys. Two, after that you're going to come straight back here and stick your noses in a corner for eight minutes to think about what you've done. Three, both of you—since you're staying for supper, Pinocchio—will have no dessert tonight and help Elaina wash the dishes. And four, you'll both have baths as well." That last wasn't really a punishment, except for two little boys who preferred to avoid getting baths as much as they could.

"No, Papa!" Phillip whined. "Not another bath! We're supposed to be warriors with magic paint and scare all the cannibals."

"Never you mind, Phillip Gold. Come with me."

After they had apologized to Elaina, who still looked as if she wanted to strangle them, and had been scolded by Belle also, who had to bite her lip to keep from chuckling at first, Rumple marched them back to the study, sending them to opposite corners of the room with a firm tap on their bottoms.

It didn't hurt half as much as a real spank would have, but both mischief makers howled like he'd lit them on fire and cried almost the whole time they were standing in the corner.

Rumple sat down at his desk and wondered how in the gods' name he had let this happen. Once the eight minutes were up, he said, "Come over here, lads."

The two slunk over to him like whipped puppies.

"Are you ever going to do anything like this again?"

Both boys shook their heads and looked at the floor, ashamed.

"No, Papa."

"No, sir. We're sorry."

"Good." He said, then he hugged them to him. "You're forgiven then. Now let's get that bath over with."

They both groaned at that statement.

"Do we . . . uh get to play in the tub?" Phillip queried, looking pathetic with his limp feather now falling in his eyes, over his face, which had streaks of red, blue, and black make-up running down it.

"Absolutely not. You're still in trouble," Rum pointed out.

"Aww, that sucks! I wanted to have a sea battle with the squid with Pinocchio."

"Next time don't touch your sister's things and maybe you can do that," his exasperated father sighed, leading both boys down the hall to the blue bathroom.

On the way there they ran into Jack, Finn, Tom, and Nick, who started snickering and laughing, and Jack cried, "What happened to you two? You look like you've been in a fight with a rainbow."

"Yeah, and the rainbow won," Tom said, then cracked up.

"Maybe they were playing dress up with Clary and June," suggested Finn, also laughing.

"And they were models!" Nick hooted. "You look real pretty, girls!"

Phillip went red. "We're not girls! We're warriors!"

Rumple herded them into the bathroom, then started to run the water, thinking the two imps would probably remember the teasing of the older boys better than his own punishment. And now he owed Elaina some money to replace her make-up.

Ah well, there's never a dull moment around here, he thought, then commenced to scrub the make-up off with a large sea sponge while his son and friend squirmed like eels and whined it was scratchy.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

Elaina made sure to give each child a large pot to scrub after dinner, while the rest of the family had some delicious peach crumb pie and ice cream in the dining room. She was still a bit angry, though Rum's promise to buy her some more make-up and a hair barette soothed her prickly temper, as had Rafe's promise to get her a cider float at the Goose when they went walking the next night.

As she watched the two small boys washing, there came a sudden ring at the door.

"Who's that?" asked Phillp.

"Never mind who's that. You stay here and finish scrubbing," Elaina directed. "I'll see who it is."

"Maybe it's my papa," Pinocchio considered.

Elaina went and opened the double doors. "Good evening, this is the Gold residence, how may I help—oh!" she gasped upon seeing the tall blond-haired elf standing there, dressed in silvery mail with a bow and quiver on his back, a sword tucked under his arm, one feathery brow quirked up over his green slanted eyes. "You're—you're one of the forest folk! Like Myrnin."

"Indeed, my lady. Then he's here? A fair evening to you, I'm Puck, former captain of the Kingsguard, at your service. Might I come in?"