Hopeful Idiot

Chapter 19: Aeslin Mice & Batty Proposals

There was a pause long enough Martha wondered if they had gotten disconnected. Then Hope's disbelieving voice came through, "I'm sorry, I don't think you said what I heard. The mice did WHAT?"

"The mice spoke."

"That's…what I thought you said." A long pause. "What on earth did they say?"

Martha Kent gave a small laugh. "It's…hard to describe."

Hope nodded absently. After all, anything that a mouse would say had to be unique. "Okay, I'll be there in a few hours."

Winston was laying prone on the floor, staring at her with his brown eyes. When she hung up, his head came up and he stared at her. When she got to her feet, he got to his and followed. However, once he figured out that she was grabbing the suitcase from the closet, he let out a low growl.

Hope spun on her heel and glared. "No!"

He froze. Then lifted his lips, showing his fangs.

"No! I mean it Winston. I'm done. This has gone far enough." She put her hands on her hips and glared at him until he stopped. "It's been two weeks. I'm fine." She began to pack an overnight case as she continued. "Yes, I know I frightened you and I'm sorry about that, but this has got to stop. You're both driving me crazy! I'm not some fragile porcelain teacup that will break with the slightest bump." She took a deep breath as she zipped up the case. When she looked at him, she had more control of herself. He was, after all, less than a year old. "I'm not saying you can't protect me. I'm not even saying you can't come with me. But you have got to stop hovering."

Winston gave a small whimper, tucked his tail down and give way to her greater authority.

"Good. Now, would you like to come with me to see Martha?"

He instantly sat up and wagged his tail with great enthusiasm.

Hope smiled and patted his head gently, scratching him in the perfect spot. He gave a great happy puppy sigh of deep contentment. "You're such a good boy. Go grab Mr. Squeaky Bone and your blanket. We may be staying overnight." Winston bounded off to do her bidding.

Because of her injuries and proximity to the earthquake, along with Lois' injuries—the severity of which the Daily Planet would never know—both were given time off with pay. Lois worked from her apartment, as did Hope. Clark however, was still required to come in every day.

So, instead of grabbing her smothering boyfriend, Hope wrote him a short note and stuck it to bathroom mirror. Then, just to be thorough, she sent an email with the same message, timed not to be sent until 5pm.

It was currently just after noon. That was plenty of time to drive to Smallville and see about these mice. Then Clark would super-speed over and Martha could talk some sense into the man. Hopefully she could convince him.

Ding!

Hope startled in middle of packing, turning at the chime that indicated she had a secure email. She narrowed her eyes, but obediently went to check. "Huh," she said noncommittally when she saw the sender.

"Aroo?" Winston tilted his head.

"It's from the dumbass." The dog sneezed. "Yeah, I know, right? Who'd a thought? Let's see what he's got up his sleeve this time." As she began to read aloud, she stuttered at the subject line. What was it about these two that they immediately correctly guessed her name? Was it just a coincidence? Or was she being subconsciously too obvious? Probably the second one.

Dear Hope,

It's been almost two weeks since the incident in both California and Metropolis. I have not heard from you in quite awhile and find myself worrying. I hope you, nor your family, were not caught in either and are in fact healthy and well.

I have attached several news articles you may find interesting regarding our previous correspondence.

You are also hereby invited to my birthday party. It will be hosted at Wayne Manor on April 17th at 7:00pm EST. It is a masquerade. Simply tell the hostess that you are 'Hope Smith'. You may bring a guest.

Sincerely,

Bruce

"Huh," Hope finished. She blinked down at Winston. "He's inviting me to his birthday party, which he arranged to be a masquerade." It was with little doubt that he had done so specifically for her: so that she could remain anonymous. But he wanted to know her better. Wanted her to feel comfortable enough to interact with him in a more intimate setting.

"Lots of assumptions…" she murmured aloud. He had sent the email two weeks ahead of time. It was plenty of time to arrange things…and he'd made it so that the date in question was a Saturday. Thus much less chance of her working. However… Before she could think better of it, she sent a quick reply.

While I appreciate you arranging it on a Saturday, you're assuming I can afford an outfit for such an event. So I will have to decline.

Given that he knew almost nothing about her, he'd gone to a lot of trouble to make sure she would attend. He ought to know that she wasn't. While she did save money for emergencies and made decent money, she didn't have $5000 to throw away on a dress she'd only wear once.

Hope gave a deep sigh at the 'what if' and went back to packing. She was done, grabbing her keys and ready to go, when Ding! got her back to her laptop.

I am relieved you are well.

I have arranged an appointment for you at Gertrude Hunt, this Sunday at noon. The proprietor and her primary assistant, Dina DeMill and Sean Evans, have consented to being the only ones to attend you and both have signed an NDA not to disclose your identity to anyone, including myself. (see attached)

Please come.

Hope blinked. "Wow." He really wanted her to attend. She had no doubt that he was paying for the costume. Gertrude Hunt was an exclusive high-end boutique that only saw by appointment. It was situated between Metropolis and Gotham, so as to serve both cities elite.

She clicked the attachment and speed read her way through the clauses. Then whistled.

"Aroo?"

"They'll lose their business if they go against the contract." Since it was likely their only source of income, their very livelihood, that made the chance they'd go against the contract practically nonexistent. "Plus a $2 million dollar fine." They would never chance it.

On a lark, she clicked the original attachments and sat in her chair to read through the news articles. All concerning a new Thomas and Martha Wayne Foundation. Detailing what they had created and plans for the future. Things that she had mentioned in her original email. "Holy crap…" she breathed, amazed.

Not only had he listened to her, he'd gone above and beyond! There were even notations of why certain things couldn't work and how he'd gone around them.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she replied.

Barring any unforeseen circumstances, I'll be there.

Hope looked down at Winston. "You want to go to a party?"

"Woof!" happy tail wag.

"Well alright then."

My guest is my dog.

"And…send…" She got up and swung the bag over her shoulder. "Okay, let's go see about some talking mice."

+++++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++++

Martha Kent was beginning to gray, but her blue eyes were bright with intelligence and humor. She wore very practical clothes for a farm, and greeted Hope when she came up. "Hello dear." Without asking or waiting for more of a response, the matron pulled the redhead into her arms for a hug. "It's lovely to meet you in person."

Hope smiled and returned the hug briefly. "You too, Martha. Though I feel like I know you already, what with all the phone calls."

"I feel the same," Martha nodded. "Come in, come in." She patted Winston on the head and gestured him inside as well. "No sense letting all this bought air out. Would you like any pie?"

Hope laughed. "After all the fuss Clark made over your pie? Absolutely I want a slice! Your pie is sacrosanct at this point."

Martha froze at her words. "Oh dear."

"What's wrong?"

Martha looked down at the dog, who was sniffing everywhere. "Winston." His head popped up and gave her his full attention. "I know you're smelling the mice, but you aren't allowed to eat any of them. Understood? There will be no eating of the mice in this house." Her tone had completely changed, becoming the firm no-nonsense absolute authority of a family matriarch. "Answer me, young man."

Winston planted his butt on the floor, gave a short woof, and wagged his tail.

"Good." She gave a nod and then an affirming inhale. "Alright, you can come out."

"Wha—?" Hope began but froze herself as seemingly from nowhere, mice appeared. From behind appliances on the counters, from above the cabinets, from inside the couch, they popped into existence. "HAIL!"

Hope pinched herself.

The little things looked just like normal mice, except that they spoke, and they wore clothes. Their garments were obviously pieced together from scraps and reclaimed items, but were perfectly sewn for their size. Most wore some sort of cape or tunic. At least half of them were standing on their back paws, looking at her from an upright position. It was a sea of beady black oil drop eyes staring at her, covered with fur in a range of shades, and clothed in scraps.

One in particular, who seemed older and regal, possibly the leader, came forward. He (?)—it was impossible to tell gender that she could see—wore the cleaned skull of some creature, maybe a squirrel or rat, and carried a tiny bone staff that had been dyed stripes of deep blue and ruby red on the top. "Greetings Priestess!" he croaked. And though his voice was much deeper than the rest, coarse with age, it was still at a pitch that reminded Hope of singing chipmunks.

"Ummm…" Hope blinked. "Huh."

She blinked.

Winston blinked.

Winston carefully took a step forward, inch by scant inch—double checking with Martha that it was okay—and sniffed the closest group of mice. The group shivered in fear at his approach, but—after also checking with Martha—hadn't moved and let the dog sniff. Winston took a deep sniff, then backed up a step and sneezed.

"Well, that's your opinion," Hope automatically snarked. Then realized what she had said and in what situation. She helplessly looked at the older woman. "Martha?"

The country woman smiled beatifically. "Let's sit in the kitchen and have some tea and pie."

The mice cheered and scampered to join them on the kitchen counters.

"Sooo…?" Hope prompted, once they were all settled—including the mice—with tea and apple pie.

Martha took a sip. "Apparently, the colony has been living in the attic for some time. I don't know for sure because their numbering system is a little odd and I'm still learning how to speak with them. Sometime between the last time I went up there and today is when they moved in. They've been watching."

Hope blinked. "Watching what? And what do you mean their numbering system is odd?"

Martha gestured to the lead mouse. "Sir, how long have you lived in my attic?"

"Since the Early Frosting of Snow in the Year of Unease!" answered the mouse.

"Ah," Hope realized the problem. Who in the world—other than the mouse itself—could understand how long that was? "Can you translate that into days/months/years?"

Martha gave a knowing smirk and sipped her tea.

"It was the Day of Great Finding, in the Month of First Success, in the Year of Unease!" chirped the mouse.

"Riiiight," Hope nodded. "Of course it was."

The mice cheered.

Hope looked at Martha. The woman smiled with much humor. "Don't look at me, I don't know what it means either." She smiled more warmly at the mice. "We're learning."

The mice cheered louder.

Martha took some pity on the girl. "So far, I've learned they are called the Aeslin. They are a highly intelligent theocracy societal culture and, near as I can tell, have perfect recall."

Hope absorbed that. "Theocracy, huh. What do they worship?"

Martha blushed. "The family. My husband, myself, Clark, and now you. For some reason females are Priestesses and males are Gods. They tried to explain, but…" she shrugged and ate another bite.

Which explained them calling 'greetings priestess' earlier, Hope thought. They certainly were too cute to kill! "Do they want to keep living in the attic?"

"Yes. I did offer the guest bedroom, but they are more comfortable in the attic." She smiled. "It's quite a masterpiece they have built up there." The mice cheered. "And now that we've all been introduced, I think they're going to be much more…" she seemed to search for the appropriate word, "involved."

Hope noticed that flags of all colors had appeared in the mice's hands, waving wildly in time with the cheering.

"Including a small splinter group that wants to join Clark and yourself."

Hope tuned back into the conversation, blinking rapidly. "Wait, what?" Even if she ignored the fact that technically she and Clark did not yet live together (though he had been sleeping over every night since the earthquake), she fully expected that to change soon.

"They want to be closer to the family to chronicle everything. As they explained it, it's their main purpose." Martha smiled wider. "It does make household chores interesting."

Tiny flags waved enthusiastic happiness.

"But what about Winston? Clark? And we live in an apartment. Can they even be quiet?" The little ones hadn't stopped making noise the entire time she'd been there!

Martha waved that away. "They have all been introduced and its quite rude to eat anything you've been introduced to," she gave a significant look at Winston, who abruptly tucked his tail and put his head on his paws. She looked back at Hope, "As for quiet, they've been in the attic for years and I didn't know they were there. They'll be fine."

As if on cue, there was a thump and a loud, "Mom! Hope!" came from the front door.

"Ah, there's my son now," Martha smiled. "We can get this all straightened out. Are you staying for dinner, dear? If so, I have a lovely pot roast in the oven…"

The mice, predictably, cheered.

+++++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++++

Finished: 05.26.2021

The Aeslin mice come courtesy of the "InCryptid" series, from the mind of the singular Seanan McGuire.

Gertrude Hunt, Dina DeMille & Sean Evans come courtesy of the "Innkeeper" series, from the minds of Ilona Andrews. I'm just using the names, not their personalities. But thought it was funny and couldn't help myself.

Please tell me what you think, but constructive criticism please. I know it's not perfect. No beta, all mistakes are mine. Trying to get back in the swing of things.