You know those moments when you realise that the best word in your dialect might not be even used in others? OK, since there's a good chance you're American, probably not, but I had that in the second scene. 'Doona' is a genericised brand name meaning a thick quilt that is used alone, such as the one Sportacus uses on the airship. Wikipedia tells me it's a duvet or comforter in other dialects of English (and dýna in Icelandic), and that they're the most popular bed covering in Scandinavia (hence the use in Lazytown, I guess).
I've just noticed there are some 'smart' quotes, thanks to me typing some of this up in TAFE, where I can't turn them off. If they really frell the formatting, I'll edit and reupload, but I didn't notice until after I put the scene break lines in.
"Did you get the kids back all right?" Sportacus asked as he dropped into Robbie's home.
"Yes, yes, they're all fine. Did you find Pixel and your mum?"
"Yes," Sportacus replied, rather shortly.
"Were they all right?" Robbie asked, fairly certain something was bothering Sportacus.
Sportacus said nothing, just started pacing.
"Sportacus," Robbie said, stepping in front of him as he came back, "talk to me. What happened?"
"Mama tried to molest Pixel. If I hadn't gone back then..." he closed his eyes and hugged himself, shaking.
Robbie swore and pulled Sportacus into his arms. "No wonder you're unhappy," he said into the top of his head.
"Mama's behaviour isn't quite as bad as it sounds," Sportacus murmured into his shoulder, wrapping his arms around Robbie's waist. "Physical and emotional growth are more in sync for elves than humans, so Mama misunderstood Pixel's ability to consent. Not that that would have made it any better for Pixel if I hadn't interrupted, especially how the typical elven warrior goes about seducing a presumed non-warrior."
"Hmm?" Robbie asked, intrigued. He wondered if the reason Sportacus hadn't succumbed to his charms previously was that the signals had been wrong.
"Let's just say the word usually used to mean 'seducing' has the literal translation of 'hunting'."
"That's sounds rather ... scary," Robbie said. Too aggressive? Not aggressive enough? Was Sportacus a warrior? He'd casually referred to his mother as such, but was it a matter of temperament, training, occupation, heredity, or what? Did Sportacus expect elven norms to apply to their relationship?
"I can hear you thinking," Sportacus said softly, fondly. "I don't know what you're overthinking, but stop it, it's noisy."
"Sorry. It's just..."
"Shh," said Sportacus, pulled his head down and kissed him. There was no heat this time, just tenderness, more an extension of their embrace than anything like the kisses of that morning.
After a minute, Sportacus pulled them towards the bedroom they'd occupied that morning, and they curled together, exhausted. It was only 7:47, but neither really cared.
Sportacus awoke with the sun, Robbie still snoring adorably against his chest. He would have been content to let Robbie stay there, for a little while at least, but there were more pressing concerns, like his bladder. He levered Robbie off of himself, and Robbie curled tightly into the doona, seeming to miss the warmth of his body. He tucked Robbie back in, and headed up to the surface, hoping the airship hadn't drifted far in the night. He'd have used Robbie's toilet, but Robbie's place was rather labyrinth-like once one left the main room, and he didn't know where it was.
"You could have let me know you weren't sleeping here," Mama complained when Sportacus reached the airship. "I would have worried if I hadn't noticed your scent mark on the human boy."
"Robbie's hardly a boy, Mama," Sportacus replied wearily. He really wasn't in the mood for this. He was still freaked out about what she'd nearly done to Pixel, and now she was calling the clearly adult Robbie a 'boy'.
"Whatever. Aren't you going to take some exercise with your dear old mother?"
Mama and Sportacus faced off across the basketball court. It was still early enough that the children were nowhere to be seen, something he was pleased about.
"Ready?" she asked, sword at the ready.
"Ready," Sportacus confirmed. As ready as he was ever going to be. Gym lessons for non-warriors at school had tended to be more along the lines of pole-dancing than bladed combat, so he hadn't really fought since he'd been moved into the non-warrior stream at age twelve, after he had hidden dinner because he had wanted to keep the poor bunny as a pet. Unless one counted mops, anyway.
They advanced on each other, and soon Sportacus was focused on the movement, the combat drills of childhood and his natural athleticism allowing him to hold his own, for the moment, as their swords clashed, again and again. He cut high, she ducked, and he jumped, flipping over her, grabbed her, and pressed the blade lightly to her throat.
"Yield?" he asked pleasantly.
"You're kidding," she growled, and swung down, catching him in the calf. He gasped and let go, falling to the ground, clutching his leg and swearing under his breath.
"Sportacus!" he heard Stephanie gasp, to his horror. She didn't need to see this -- there was a reason combat rings in Ætheria were elves only. He concentrated, calling healing magic, just enough to stop the bleeding and relieve the pain, full healing could wait for the time to complete the proper rituals.
"Yield?" Mama asked in a mocking tone, her body relaxed, sword held loosely. 'Sloppy', he thought. Just because her opponent was wounded and not a true warrior, didn't mean he couldn't still do some damage.
"In front of a pixie-child who adores me?" he asked in Fey, voice full of counterfeit pain, as he got his sword back in his hand.
"Would you prefer she see you hurt more?" Mama replied.
"Of course not," he said, springing back to his feet with a somersault, and knocking her sword from her hand. "Now do you yield?" he asked, standing on her blade, the point of his sword at her throat.
"I yield," she replied. He stepped back off the blade, flipped it in the air with the point of his, caught it, and handed it back.
"I wasn't expecting you to do so well," she remarked, combat face off. "Age must be taking its toll."
"I still think we should have played basketball," he replied.
Stephanie ran over. "You idiot!" she growled at him when she arrived. "Why did you have to go and scare me like that?"
"I didn't think you'd be up yet," he replied weakly.
"Why didn't you play basketball?"
"I was rather insistent," Mama replied mildly.
"And you!" she added to Mama, pretty face alight with rage. "You hurt him."
"If Pixies worried your pretty pastel heads over every 'boo-boo' elves inflicted on one another, you'd never have the time to do anything else."
"Don't patronise me," Stephanie replied in a voice of pure steel. "Aren't you the least bit sorry? He's your son."
"A minor wound inflicted during fair combat. You seem to forget he won."
"But he's..." she looked down, and added, puzzled, "Shouldn't you still be bleeding?"
"I used a little healing magic. Warriors usually aren't good with magic, so Mama wasn't expecting it."
"Sit down," Stephanie ordered him, prodding him in the direction of the nearest wall around the playground. The pain was starting to bleed through the magic, and by the time he reached the wall he was limping. He sat gratefully, and Stephanie knelt beside his feet, put her hands on his injured calf and began to chant. Her magical command was impressive, as Sportacus knew, her control nearly as good as his childhood friend Jessica's had been at the same age, despite Stephanie being mostly human and all her magic training coming from a half-elf whose only teaching experience was in his capacity has hero.
She stood, dusting off her knees, and Sportacus glanced at Mama, who looked shocked.
"Don't do it again," Stephanie told him firmly, her words given even more gravity by the remaining magical aura.
"Yes'm," Sportacus replied humbly.
Mama sat shakily on the bench beside him. "She's amazing. The power ... How much human blood has she?"
"Three quarters," Stephanie replied.
"That should be impossible," Mama replied. "Humans don't have magic, so how...?"
Somebody knocked on the hatch of Robbie's home. "Mr Rotten?" she called after a few minutes.
"What?" Robbie snapped when he reached the top of the ladder, throwing the hatch open. The someone was a woman, dark-skinned and carrot-topped, with extremely curly hair, and a t-shirt that looked a lot like Pixel's except that the name shown was 'Peta'. She also seemed to have a similar predilection for gadgetry.
"I'm Peta Byte, Pixel's mom. Pixel said you needed help with something."
"Something?" Robbie echoed dubiously.
"Something you were working on. You went to him for help, but he lacked some ... uh ... technical knowledge, if you get my drift."
"I see," said Robbie, "I'm Robbie Rotten," and offered his hand to shake. She took it, and their hands met in the Order of Warlocks' secret handshake. "Do come in," he added, dropping back down the shaft.
"Pixel said you had some difficulties with something you were trying to enchant? It was physically sound, but he wasn't trained well enough to check the magical soundness," Peta said, once she'd picked herself up off the floor at the bottom.
"Yes. But I don't recall seeing you in town, and I thought Pixel said that he and I were the only non-Fey magic users in Lazytown."
"You are. I live in Slothsville. Pixel's other mother and I have been separated since he was quite small, and she's not a warlock, nor very sympathetic. Had the nerve to call me a racist once for thinking that the Fey are dangerous. I'm here to pick him up for visitation, but he's still packing."
"He wears identical clothes everyday. How long can that take to pack?"
"'Essential' data, mostly. Magic alone knows what he thinks is essential, but kids do tend to be secretive."