So, um. The world is on fire.
I wanted to be one of those people who dutifully created content throughout the past couple of years, to help lighten the mood a bit. Not to sound self-important; I just wanted to maybe offer something fun for people to spend time with.
But then things kept piling up. Family emergency after family emergency. My roommate and I had to move when we couldn't afford a rent increase. So many things just kept happening, and it wouldn't stop, and I couldn't … do anything. About any of it.
It's hard to be creative when you're in a bad place, and I feel sometimes like my whole adulthood has been a bad place. But I'm 35 now, and I'm more stubborn than I've ever been.
It may take me a long time; it may take me longer than most.
But I don't give up.
So here I am. To anyone who read this story back when I was working on it more regularly, thanks for hanging in there. It means more to me than I know how to express. And to anyone new, welcome. I hope you enjoy my little story.
Let's see what those wacky kids are up to, shall we?
1.
Everyone knows that Pegasus Crawford must be the man responsible when the staff guides every one of the children into the main cafeteria and announces that "generous donors" have teamed up to make a huge contribution to the house. Not only are there new toys and sports equipment, but clothes and shoes for everyone, alongside other necessities that hardly anyone thinks of when donating to an orphanage—like toothbrushes and socks and toilet paper.
But the man is nowhere to be seen.
Seto doesn't feel self-conscious wearing his new outfit, since everybody has new clothes now. He even allows himself to feel a flush of pleasure when Abby Ainsley—someone Seto has never had cause to share more than a handful of words with—tells him he looks nice.
He thanks her and walks with his shoulders back as he heads for the play yard.
Mokuba is dribbling a rainbow-colored basketball along the sidewalk—trying to, anyway—with both hands. He laughs whenever the ball rockets away from him before chasing it down and starting again. The younger Yagami seems to think this is an integral part of the game. Seto watches for a while, smiling privately to himself, then heads over to a bench near the sandbox.
He reaches into a pocket and pulls out a stack of cards. Seto's smile widens just the faintest bit as he sifts through them, delicately holding up each one that catches his eye and studying it for a moment before beginning the cycle anew.
"Lord of Dragons," he murmurs to himself.
"A fitting name for a future champion." Seto jumps, almost dropping his prize, and Director Dan—as he has been christened by both children and staff—steps up to him. He's carrying a clipboard tucked under one arm. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." He gestures. "May I join you?"
Seto shrugs. "Sure."
Dan settles himself, sets his clipboard against his knees, and draws in a breath. "I'm sure Mister Crawford has mentioned to you that he's been working through the process of taking you and your brother home."
Seto nods. "Uh-huh." He remembers, word for word, the last discussion he had with the director on this topic, but Seto has learned over his short lifetime that most other people don't have the sharp memory that he does, so he doesn't mention it.
"Well, to put it in simple terms," Dan says, "what's going to be happening—probably pretty soon, now—is Mister Crawford will be fostering you two. You won't be officially adopted, not yet, but you will be staying with him. This is to make sure you're all a good fit for each other. We want our charges to find good homes, you know. Sometimes, even if a family has the best of intentions, there are things that just don't work out. We want to make sure that isn't the case before making any adoption legally binding."
Seto nods. He thinks about Kelvin—who never would have allowed the children to call him by his given name—and how often he seemed to handwave his "charges" whenever they had concerns about their own safety.
"The thing is, I wanted to talk with you about all this. I've talked to Mister Crawford at length. I'm sure he's talked to you at length. But before I sign off on this arrangement, I need to make sure. I need it on the record, so to speak. Is this what you want?"
Seto blinks. Stares. "I—what?"
"I'm not going to send anyone off to live with a family—no matter how well-suited everything might seem on paper—if it isn't what they want. I'm looking out for the best interests of you kids, and that means taking a lot of things into consideration. Including what you think. Mister Crawford is set on this, I know that well enough, but before I help him any further—I want the go-ahead. From you."
Seto tries to speak for a moment but finds that words aren't willing to cooperate with him.
More memories of Director Kelvin flood into the front of Seto's mind. Had he ever talked to any of the children directly? Had he ever asked the children who left his care what they thought? Somehow, Seto doubts it. He doubts it very much.
Dan sits in silence for a moment, then gathers himself and stands up.
"Take your time," he says, beginning to turn back toward his office. "I need you to think long and hard about this, okay?"
"I . . . I have." Seto looks up, and Dan turns again to face him. "I've been thinking about it for weeks."
"And?" Dan looks expectant.
Seto draws in a deep breath, as the enormity of this little meeting finally settles on him. "Yes. I want—I want Mister Crawford to adopt Mokie and me. I want—I want a new home." He blinks away a sudden burning urge to cry. "With him."
How often has he cried in the past few months?
It's ridiculous.
Dan smiles, and there's something about his sparkling eyes that brings a wave of calm over Seto's turbulent emotions. The director looks down at his clipboard, pulls a pen from a shirt pocket and scratches something down.
"Well, all right then."
2.
Pegasus sits in his home office, cradling his phone's handset against one ear with his shoulder, and looks like a child playing pretend. Only part of it is the fact that he's doing more doodling than note-taking on the legal pad in front of him. The truth of the matter is, he never looks younger than when he's talking with his parents. A vulnerability comes out in him that he's spent years trying to suppress.
". . . For water damage. Check the foundation, check the roof. The kitchen as well. It's the heart of the home, you know. Now, I know you can renovate as much as you please, but that doesn't mean you should. Be studious and particular with your money. You're going to be responsible for more lives than your own now, after all. You want the best for those boys, don't you?"
"Yes, Maime," says Pegasus. "Of course."
"You ought to set up trusts for them, you know."
"Naturally."
"What about college? Surely young Seto, at least, will be seeking a higher education. What with his aspirations."
"I haven't spoken to him about it, but I'm sure you're right." Pegasus clears his throat. "That said, one hurdle at a time, hm? I need a home in their county. That is, for the moment, the height of my ambitions."
Toiréasa laughs her crystalline laugh. "Of course, dear. Of course."
Pegasus mulls over the rest of the seemingly random materials on his desk. He eventually throws himself back in his chair and groans: "Why must the school districts in this insufferable city be so convoluted?"
"You do know that you can apply for an inter-district transfer if Seto staying at his current school is important to you."
Pegasus blinks. ". . . Ah. Well." He clears his throat again. "I appreciate that you're concerned, Maime, but as you can see, I have everything in order."
"You certainly do." She laughs again. "I'm going to let you in on a secret, but only if you promise not to let it go to your head. Can you do that?"
Pegasus takes a moment to consider the shadows dancing around the room—is Yuki Yagami around, lurking, waiting?—before he says: "I can. What is this secret?"
"Bad parents don't think this hard. The fact that you're doing this much work ahead of time is a very, very good sign. I'm not going to ask after what others have told you. I have a sneaking suspicion that it's a sore subject. But don't you listen to them right now, hm? Be a good boy and listen to your mother: you're doing just fine. I have every faith that you will be a wonderful father."
A tiny little smile slices through Pegasus's doubts. He adjusts himself so that he can hold his phone properly. "Thank you, Maime."
It's Toiréasa's turn to be silent. Then she says: "May I say a few words about her?"
For just a sliver of a moment, Pegasus is gobsmacked by the idea that his mother knows about Seto's mother.
Yuki was Mokuba's mother, too, but Pegasus realizes in another sliver that she's never actually talked directly about the younger Yagami whenever she's visited him; she's talked about them, yes, but whenever she says him there's only one boy she could possibly mean.
It takes him entirely too long to realize who Toiréasa is actually talking about.
So much simpler, and so much sharper.
". . . Yes, Maime. Of course."
"We never took your devotion to her very seriously, and I don't think we ever thought about her devotion to you at all. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, and it will be one of the heaviest blights on my soul until the day I die. But if this is the man you wanted to be, for her sake, if this is the man she loved, then I'm proud to admit just how wrong I was. I would give anything in this world to be nagging you about your wedding right now."
Pegasus tries to catch his breath. He can't.
"I'm sorry, son. I'm so, so sorry."
"T-Th . . . Thank you, Maime."
3.
Mokuba slaps his hands on either side of the vaguely narrow pile of sand he has made and says, "Wall!" in the kind of decisive tone that says he will be taking no questions at this time. He grins up at his brother, waiting for confirmation.
"What's the wall for, Mokie?" Seto asks. "Is it part of a castle?"
Mokuba leans back and considers his project. He rubs at his chin, like he's seen other people do when they're thinking. Then he nods. "Castle," he says. "Castle good." He stands up, ambles over to his pail and shovel, and gives himself an extra nod for good measure.
Seto usually tries to offer minimal commentary when his brother is building. Mokuba tends to go along with whatever Seto says, and only really branches out with his own ideas if Seto doesn't give him directions. Even suggesting a castle is more guidance than Seto would usually give, but the elder Yagami's mind has been on the future lately.
And the only image that comes to mind to properly encompass Pegasus Crawford's home is . . . well. A castle.
Will he really get to live there? Will he and Mokuba actually stay at that palatial estate? Forever? Will they get so used to the place that they'll get bored of it? It's boggling. Seto feels slightly dizzy whenever he thinks about it.
He stares at his brother's castle—slowly growing out of the sand like a plant sprouting from soil—and tries to ground himself in reality. So entrenched in this is he that he doesn't notice the adults standing nearby, watching the pair of them.
"Assuming, of course, everything goes according to plan," Dan is saying, tapping at his clipboard, "you ought to be fostering them by the time the holidays roll around." He winks at Pegasus. "Quite the Christmas miracle, wouldn't you say?"
"Isn't it, though?" Pegasus murmurs, more to himself than to his companion.
"Now, you understand that this isn't the end of the process. Fostering is an important step, but it isn't the last one. You'll have meetings with a social worker regularly, home inspections, interviews, et cetera. We have to make sure this is the right environment for them." Dan pauses, eyes Pegasus rather grimly. "I'm not lying when I say that meeting you was the best thing to happen to these boys since they entered into our care. But just because they like you, and you like them, doesn't mean you'll be a good match. It's not fair, but sometimes families just don't work out despite the best of intentions. I told Seto that, and now I'm telling you. We have to make sure they'll be properly served by this arrangement."
Pegasus nods, a quiet solemnity gathering about his shoulders like a shroud. "Of course, Director. I'm not ignorant of the concerns that anyone might have, considering my youth if nothing else. You're the professionals here. I cede to your judgment." He smiles that sparkling smile that's won him so many victories. "We both want the same thing, after all."
Dan returns the smile. "That we do, Mister Crawford. That we do."
A tiny, needling sound pierces the companionable silence. Without warning, Seto shoots to his feet and starts marching off. A small crowd of other children follows his lead, heading in the same direction from all corners of the yard. Mokuba only takes a moment to consider his options before he chases after his brother, calling out for Nii'tama to slow down.
Pegasus and Dan share a look.
"I think we ought to investigate."
"Indeed."
4.
It's a kitten.
A little grey—brown?—kitten, barely old enough to count. Pegasus spies the remnants of the little creature's umbilical cord hanging on its belly. The poor thing is squeaking like a tiny siren, eyes shut tight, and Seto is cradling it gently with both hands while he sits on his heels in the dirt.
One of the older girls, Abby, approaches Dan. She looks confused and a little frightened. She can't bring herself to speak. It's obvious what she's thinking, what she's scared of: it can't be more than a week old, and there's no mother in sight.
Dan shares a pensive glance with Pegasus.
He opens his mouth to say something but, before he can get a single word out, someone else strides into the crowd.
"Mister Crawford," says Ellie McAllister, voice clipped and sure, eyes blazing, "can you go to the pet store out by Alabaster Circle and get a bottle and some KMR?" At Pegasus's blank look, she says: "Formula. Kitten milk replacer." She looks down at the little puffball in Seto's hands. "Get a flea comb and a shallow litter pan. Non-clumping litter."
Pegasus clears his throat and covers his mouth to hide a smile. Abby doesn't bother to hide her own grin. Relief settles over her shoulders like a light breeze. Dan understands the feeling.
"At once, Miss McAllister."
"C'mon, kid," says Ellie, "we gotta get this little dude a bath."
Seto looks up. "Isn't—isn't that dangerous?"
"Normally we wouldn't wanna do it. A kitten this young should have its mother to take care of cleaning. But we ain't got a mama cat around. So we have to handle it ourselves. S'got fleas. C'mon. I'll show you what to do." Ellie waves about, shooing away their fellows. "Clear out, clear out! If you want this cat to have a shot at living, we gotta be careful! It's got no immune system yet! Danny-boy, we got any dish soap?"
"We do," says Dan. "Shall I collect it for you?"
"Please," Ellie says, obviously thinking too far forward to pay much attention. "I need washcloths and some cotton balls if we got 'em. And we need to make up a bed! Box, blanket, warm water bottle! And a dry towel!"
There's something about the way Ellie carries herself that unites the children around her; they each jump to attention and start heading off in just as many different directions as they came from, never once doubting that she knows what she's talking about. She's so sure, so confident, that questioning her instructions seems outright blasphemous.
Seto, with Mokuba trotting behind, follows her inside; the dutiful disciple.
Pegasus hums thoughtfully to himself, once he and Dan are the only ones left in the yard. "Well," he says, "I do believe I have an errand to run. And so do you, Mister Director, sir."
Dan smirks, his eyes sparkling. "That I do."
"She's a remarkable girl, that one."
"That she is."