The whole week has been remarkably eventful (and remarkably weird), but yesterday in particular was interesting, and yesterday evening had some never-before-seen events, too. Candice, as a result of those events, is curled up in Martel Dessoir's bed, stirring awake at an hour early enough that it's definitely giving her plenty of time to get
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At this hour, anywhere else, Martel would be showered and dressed and drinking tea already; at home, he's usually awake, but more often than not he makes a point of not getting up until he's been bombarded by a small child. After a week that leaves him mostly just wanting to sleep for the rest of the next one, he's still mostly dozing when Inga hits him full-speed in the stomach.
"...Daddy's spleen, Inga," he groans, still groggy, even as Inga puts her knee on his side and rolls over to examine the other occupant of the bed. A challenger appears.
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Oh. Right. He mentioned this before. Well, you never show fear to a child - that's something Candice learned while she was one. She props herself up sleepily in bed, and is glad she's wearing some semblance of clothing.
"Hi, Inga," she says, mildly, "you're up early."
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"Kidneys," Martel protests, until she rearranges herself - between them, using her father as a leaning post.
"You're not," Inga returns with interest, obliingly not threatening anyone's internal organs with feet, hands, elbows or knees. (She has a memorable headbutt, too, but they should be safe.) "Did you get cold?"
At this point somewhat more awake, Martel pushes himself up to lean against the pillows and settle Inga more securely in his lap. "No, I was thinking of keeping her."
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Candice glances at Martel, and decides to... go ahead with the sanitized version of honesty.
"Your dad and I have gotten pretty close lately, and we're - well, 'dating' might be the best term. Do you know what we mean by that?" She'll address the notion of keeping later on, thank you, but she does smile briefly at Martel over Inga's head.
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