[B] Of Illustrious Name and Blood [Tyrant/Wildflower Breeze]

[Scaramouche Fandango]

Tyrant, armed with the news he was soon to be a father, had done the only appropriate thing. He’d ran. He’d fled the premises, wandering the swamp, wondering what to do. And then he’d returned, and she was angry, so he’d once more set out to find somebody else to talk to. Somebody who could help with this situation. He hadn’t meant for it to happen; he wasn’t yet matched with his arranged doe. But it had happened, and so he had to explain himself- which was what he’d been doing for nearly an hour at this point to a stag who’d likely not known what he was getting himself into. “…Still, you could never really trust my great-grandmother; she’d always favored her daughters and their daughters, and it was rumored that when she was in charge of the matches she’d purposefully mismatched her brother’s daughter with an inferior specimen, one who ended up being unable to sire children, which was quite the family scandal for a while. My father is in charge of the matches now, which has made things more streamlined; he is a fair buck, you see, and is talented at finding mates for his relatives. I’m his only child, but my cousins all have had wonderful pairings- those who are paired. Had I only inherited his horns! Both he and then his father before him, Mercy’s Fool- well, he fathered only sons, each with the most magnificent rack you’ve ever seen. Their arranged mates were the most willowy does, with eyes of dark dew; of course, the most beautiful was my mother. A glorious creature with a sable pelt and marks as white as bleached bone; her long, streaked mane was the glory of my childhood. I used to untangle it for her, you see. Her sister, my aunt Glory, was the jewel of the desert. Her suitors used to come courting; she’s only a bit older than me, for she’s my mother’s younger sister, and my father brought her into our protection when her father died- and my father would send them away, judging their promises empty and their nobility tarnished. It was only when Excellence, one of the only bucks I’ve ever deigned to call friend, appeared with the sun glinting on his golden back that Father knew he’d found somebody worthy of Glory’s glory. Their union was the most grandiose spectacle; the dinner, the dancing, the second dinner…” Tyrant gazed into the middle distance, his mind lost in a sandstorm of opulence. “Of course, Father’s yet to find an appropriate match for me. With me being all the way out here, things are difficult. Communication takes so much longer, and Father and Mother have to work three times as hard to vet potential candidates. I suppose it was inevitable that some… distractions would pop up, but they won’t hold that against me. Father had said that wild oats were meant to be sown, after all. After all, not everybody can have an arranged match, you know- and it’s not like she’s an Acha. She’s… a lovely girl, but she’s not the one. Though from what I’ve been told, that’s the way of the swamp. It’s… unfamiliar to me.” He paused again, trying to think of the right words. “But the children… of these unions. They tend to come out…” He paused again, then blurted abruptly. “They come out right, right? They don’t come out wrong?” For the first time, an actual look of furtive earnestness came across the buck's face; he'd been blasé until now, but his furrowed forehead and nervous pout belied some real concern under his cool veneer.  

[theCorniest]

Breeze had been amenable to the idea of hearing a little about the fellow's background, being the consummate historian, but he had expected something a little more engaging - and, to be frank, brief - than what he'd gotten. Certainly, he'd expected some measure of self-importance, given that this had been advertised as a "grand recounting of [his] family's illustrious history (sic)," but stars above, nothing could have prepared him for this. The most tolerable parts of the story were still painfully mundane - though just barely, at least, in cases like the great-uncle who'd died from an unexpected and acute allergy to grapes in a night of excess-turned-distress.

He was on the verge of making his excuses and quitting the acha's company when something in the young fellow's demeanor changed - the mask cracked, and something red, raw and tender was revealed hiding underneath. Breeze's own politely interested exterior softened as he felt for the young buck's plight, for all his family's ridiculous collective ego. Despite his posturing, his fears were the same as any father's, in his own way.

"I understand, to my very core, your worry," Breeze said somberly. "You want the best for your children. What you need to know is that - children can't come out wrong," he continued softly. "They are, by definition, perfect, and exactly as they should be."  

[Scaramouche Fandango]

"But- of course they can!" he spluttered, shocked by the stag's words. "That's the importance of good breeding- you have to know everybody's faults so that you can stop them from manifesting in future generations!" Truth be told, Tyrant was downright scared. What if one of his children emerged without eyes? Or sickly, or weak, or malformed? "It's- they deserve the best chance in life. Even if they aren't from an arranged pairing, do you really think they'll come out perfect?" Hope was swelling within him; perhaps he was grasping at straws, but maybe things wouldn't end in disaster. He recalled... whispers of cousins who'd been disowned, distant relatives who'd had the gall to reject their match and live as they chose. What he hadn't heard of was their children being malformed monsters. If some distant scorned ancestor had given rise to a line of mutants too gruesome to speak of in polite company, there would be no way the family's tongues wouldn't be wagging. The images would be trotted out as cautionary tales, at the very least. Father and Mother had assured him that the arranged matches happened because he deserved only the best in life, and so that his children would have the same. Really, that's what he wanted. He already had a wonderful life. Very little actual work, the freedom to do as he chose, when he chose; there was nothing the buck wanted that he didn't usually get, one way or another.

What was strange to him now was that he wanted something for somebody else. Several somebodies, likely. Somebodies who didn't yet really exist, who weren't yet wobbling around on tiny hooves. Somebodies who deserved to be perfect.

 

[theCorniest]

The stag grinned with, perhaps, a touch of sadness, and shook his head. "Son, even if they had three eyes, they would be wonderful. They would be perfect, because they would be your children, beautiful and sweet and good. And you would love them, because you're their father. That's just the way of it."  

[Scaramouche Fandango]

Tyrant mulled this over for a while. Three eyes sounded frightening- but there was something in the stag's words. Of course. Had he not regaled him with the history of his family? Had he not told him of the carefully tended bloodlines, the perfect matches, the ideal families? It was no wonder that he'd been promised perfect children, for they were his children, and they would be wonderful. "But... yes, of course. They'll be my children. My children! Of course they'll be perfect. How could they be anything but?" The buck's chest puffed up. "How splendid! Of course they'll be perfect, and I will love them immensely. How could I not? They're my children!" A wide smile broke across the Acha's face as he thought of his elegant little dancers. "Thank you for assuaging me, good sir; truly, you are as wise as I'd been told!" He left feeling confident, happy, and for the first time, somewhat excited about being a father.

He deserved the best, so naturally he'd have the best children. It'd be ridiculous to consider anything else; he'd been so silly to worry!
 

[theCorniest]

"That's the spirit," he wheezed, his smile warm and fatherly. He rose at last from where he had been laying on the ground for the past hour, and shook his legs back to life. "Nothing to fear at all. I'll provide yet more assurance for you - grant your clutch the blessing of the Motherfather Themself, to assure their vitality and grace." And, hopefully, he kept to himself, being away from most of his family will mean they'll be a bit more tolerable to be around than him. Bless his heart, but he does talk so.

"Now, I have appointments to keep - a gathering to spin some tales at, but more immediately, supper. I bid you good day and good luck, young man," he concluded pleasantly.  

[Scaramouche Fandango]

"Thank you! Thank you so much!" Tyrant said, actually remembering his manners. "Thank you for your time and blessing- and for reminding me that if they're my offspring, they simply must be perfect. I've never known a kimeti so wise!" He skipped off, thinking of his perfect children, the glorious results of his flawless legacy. The Motherfather Themself guaranteed it. With that double insurance, nothing could go wrong!