(no subject)
[OOC: If you're in the RP, you're probably half-aware of Gwen and Murata's chat-daughter, Chie. If you're not...just pretend this is AU futurefic. Nobody's been sent back to their own world (HA!). This is for everyone who's been feeling a bit under the weather lately.]
Murata slammed the door of their bedroom. "You talk to her," he said savagely. "She won't listen to me."
Gwendal paused in writing the eighth volume of his memoirs, detailing his most effective seduction techniques for the edification of a younger generation. "She's at a difficult age. She'll grow out of it."
His partner of almost eighty years snorted and rolled his eyes. "Your daughter is going to give me grey hairs," he warned.
"Oh?" Gwendal put down his pen and leaned back, eyes twinkling in amusement. "Since when is she my daughter?"
"When she is wearing all of three inches of black leather she is your daughter!" Murata yelled in exasperation.
Raising one eyebrow resignedly, Gwendal pushed back his chair. "I'll talk to her," he said solemnly. "Now just you lie down for a while before she gives you an ulcer, too."
Tucking the fuming Sage in (and it was harder to tell now whether he was angrier with father or daughter), Gwendal went in search of Chie. He didn't have far to go; she was still in her room, fixing her hair, and she was indeed wearing a Very Short Skirt.
When the door opened she glanced up angrily, but when she saw her other father, her defiant expression deflated somewhat.
"Chie, my love, what are you wearing?"
"It's a skirt," she replied sulkily.
"Doesn't it strike you as somewhat...incomplete?"
She spun around and glared at him. "You used to wear black leather all the time," she said in the tone of one who perceives great injustice and then whines about it.
Her father hugged her comfortingly. "What's true, I did. We're not trying to stop you from wearing leather, or looking beautiful. Nothing could make you less beautiful. But this..." He waved vaguely at the skirt. "This is just tacky. What say we try to find you something a little more tasteful, eh?"
Chie smiled and clapped her hands.
"And then you get to apologise to your Papa for upsetting him," Gwendal added, completely ignoring the adolescent glare of doom directed at him. "But for now, go take a look in the third drawer of your wardrobe."
Looking suitably intrigued, Chie disappeared into her immense wardrobe. She returned moments later, tearing the paper off a large rectangular box. When she finally managed to get it open, she stared at its contents with an expression of joyful glee. "Oh, Daddy, it's perfect!" She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
"I'm glad you like it," he replied. "So why don't you put it on, and meet me outside our bedroom?" She nodded excitedly, and he departed with the self-satisfied expression of one who has completed his appointed task to the satisfaction of all.
Shortly thereafter, the castle's tranquil idyll was shattered by violent screams of, "You bought her a catsuit???"
Murata slammed the door of their bedroom. "You talk to her," he said savagely. "She won't listen to me."
Gwendal paused in writing the eighth volume of his memoirs, detailing his most effective seduction techniques for the edification of a younger generation. "She's at a difficult age. She'll grow out of it."
His partner of almost eighty years snorted and rolled his eyes. "Your daughter is going to give me grey hairs," he warned.
"Oh?" Gwendal put down his pen and leaned back, eyes twinkling in amusement. "Since when is she my daughter?"
"When she is wearing all of three inches of black leather she is your daughter!" Murata yelled in exasperation.
Raising one eyebrow resignedly, Gwendal pushed back his chair. "I'll talk to her," he said solemnly. "Now just you lie down for a while before she gives you an ulcer, too."
Tucking the fuming Sage in (and it was harder to tell now whether he was angrier with father or daughter), Gwendal went in search of Chie. He didn't have far to go; she was still in her room, fixing her hair, and she was indeed wearing a Very Short Skirt.
When the door opened she glanced up angrily, but when she saw her other father, her defiant expression deflated somewhat.
"Chie, my love, what are you wearing?"
"It's a skirt," she replied sulkily.
"Doesn't it strike you as somewhat...incomplete?"
She spun around and glared at him. "You used to wear black leather all the time," she said in the tone of one who perceives great injustice and then whines about it.
Her father hugged her comfortingly. "What's true, I did. We're not trying to stop you from wearing leather, or looking beautiful. Nothing could make you less beautiful. But this..." He waved vaguely at the skirt. "This is just tacky. What say we try to find you something a little more tasteful, eh?"
Chie smiled and clapped her hands.
"And then you get to apologise to your Papa for upsetting him," Gwendal added, completely ignoring the adolescent glare of doom directed at him. "But for now, go take a look in the third drawer of your wardrobe."
Looking suitably intrigued, Chie disappeared into her immense wardrobe. She returned moments later, tearing the paper off a large rectangular box. When she finally managed to get it open, she stared at its contents with an expression of joyful glee. "Oh, Daddy, it's perfect!" She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
"I'm glad you like it," he replied. "So why don't you put it on, and meet me outside our bedroom?" She nodded excitedly, and he departed with the self-satisfied expression of one who has completed his appointed task to the satisfaction of all.
Shortly thereafter, the castle's tranquil idyll was shattered by violent screams of, "You bought her a catsuit???"