Diary of a Teenaged Mimic

Dear Diary,

Saffron: fucking adorable or adorably fuckable? I can’t decide.

So yesterday after my little heart to heart with Loki, he dropped me off with Saffron. I walked in all leering, ready for private fun time.

”No.”

”No?”

”That is for after lunch. Before lunch you’re learning to write Celtic.” I gave her my best puppy dog eyes, kinda spoiled because what with her staying in the room until now she hadn’t bothered to get dressed. Room full of soft and fuzzy for the win! Still, she just shook her head and waved at me. ”Off with it.” I eagerly went from fully clothed to butt nekkid in record time. She managed to straight up stiff-arm block me, one hand firmly planted in the middle of my chest keeping us apart, one hand facepalming.

”What? You said off with it! Weren’t you supposed to be thinking up ways to assault virtue I didn’t realize I still had?” I tilted my head, trying to figure out the situation.

She took a deep breath, let it out with a little chuckle at the end. ”Goof.” She smiled up at me, reaching out to run her hand down my right arm, a slow, gentle caress. ”I have many ideas about that already. Enough to take up the entirety of the afternoon at least, so that’s not the limiter on our afternoon’s entertainment.”

Okay, I am the special kind of stupid that can absolutely recognize bait when I see it, yet not only jump for it, but put effort into figuring out how much bait I can fit in my maw before the trap springs shut. ”So, uh, what is? The limiter, that is?”

She tilted her head forward a little bit, pantomiming sharing a secret when she said, ”that would be how many new things you learn to write in Celtic.” She gently pinched my forearm and wiggled the skin back and forth. ”Now, off with it.”

As I’ve no doubt said before, I can catch a clue if it’s been tipped with bunker busting technology, and lemme tell you, buster, right at that moment I wanted nothing more than to bunk her, so my brain engaged enough for me to say, ”OH!” and drop my Blend like a Youtuber dropping a basketball off a dam.

Every part of Saffron but her hand and eyes froze. She ran her hand up my arm, which caught me directly between ’literally rubbing me the wrong way’ and ’intense rubbing sensation has caused an error in Tabitha.exe’. When she ran her hand the other way, her fingertips gently combing through the thin fur, sounds came out of me without conscious control; I surprised myself with an intense purr, and embarrassed myself with an absolutely childish needy whimper. She grinned, somehow injecting wholesomeness into that entirely unnecessary Panty-Obliterating Grin. ”You’re so cute. That gives me another couple ideas. We’d best get started on your writing, no?”

I don’t remember passing through the space between standing in front of Saffron and sitting at my desk, paper in front of me, pen in hand, literally bouncing in my seat with eagerness. ”Let’s get me my learn on!”

She laughed, striding across our blanketed floor, her hips swaying as she evaded the pillows and bolsters without her eyes ever looking away from mine. She reached out, ruffled my hair, and leaned against the back of my chair, propping her chin on my left shoulder. ”You know? I think I’m as eager for you to learn as you are. I know just what to start with.” She leaned past me, taking the pen in her left hand and guiding me through a few letters. The weirdest thing about dropping my Blend completely? I hadn’t been able to recognize the alphabet until Saffron taught me last week. I mean, I picked it up quick, but it still helped to have her guide me through the word the first time. She finished the word, pulled our hands away, and said, ”Eggs.”

Yeah, totally corny, but she’s right, I don’t think I’d learn anything faster than the words for food.

Okay, maybe one other topic might come easier than that, but I’m pretty sure Sister Cheryl would blow a gasket if I wrote about that in Remedial Celtic.

”OOH! After I get egg down, teach me corn!”

”Goof.”

So we spent like five hours with her never quite breaking skin to fur contact with me. Somehow it wound up keeping me focused on the lesson as much as my goal. Trust my Saffron to have shit like lesson plans prepared alongside aerospace tolerance kama sutra fanfic diagrams, all stored in that cute little cranium. We wound up working through lunch; hell, we worked well past lunch, because every so often she’d let out this cute little speculative hum and say something like, ”oh, I just thought of something else that might be fun to try.” I always thought moving goalposts were a bad thing.

By the time Marie rolled in with Isnomi banging on the domes of our dinner trays, chanting, ”Din! Din! Din!” at the top of her little lungs, I’d realized they weren’t ’moving goalposts’. I’d clearly misidentified them; what Saffron had been adding through the morning and early afternoon? Stretch goals.

Oh, yeah. Stretch goals indeed. Thorough stretching in several physical and countless metaphoric ways. I just stared dreamily up at Marie, cart, Isnomi, and dinner, too tired to properly giggle at how I’d got my ass isekaied to The World Without Science only to discover exactly how hot Engineering could be when applied to the hanky and the panky.

Marie just laughed her little Marie laugh at us as we lay there draped over some pillows and bolsters, Saffron as spent as I was. She lifted the lids from the trays, and we watched as Isnomi gorged herself on mashed pumpkin, grapes, and what absolutely looked and smelled like chicken nuggets. Eventually our combined pitiful hungry looks must have touched the mercy in Marie’s soul, and she lowered the tray down to the floor.

Like two feet beyond our reach. We are talking about the mercy in Marie’s soul, after all. Then she proved her sublime sense of cruel humor by setting Isnomi down between our dinner and us. The crotch goblin set about feeding us. One grape for Saffron, one grape for Isnomi. One nugget for me, one grape and one nugget for Isnomi. Bit by bit she worked her way through the plate. According to Saffron the nuggets weren’t chicken, but duck. Odd taste; not bad, but very darker-than-dark-meat. I think the word’s ’gamey’.

At any rate, we lay there letting the rug rat decide what and how much we ate. She squealed and clapped every time she managed to feed us something. Marie eventually settled down on the bed, pulling out a file and primly sharpening her nails while she watched.

Weird dream. Kinda like the ’bored in a box’ dream, but... not. All night long, lying on some bumpy ground, staring at the stars, just kinda vibing.

Woke up to Isnomi going full on King Kong on top of Marie’s shoulder, one hand braced on her ear, the other thumping at her own chest as she made tiny baby roars. Soul of patience that she is, Marie sat there motionless, the cutest little smile barely bending her lips.

”Do you want to take her today?” I asked.

Her eyes sparkled in the dark. ”Yes.” Her smile faded. ”Can’t.” She sighed. ”Work.”

I got up and walked over to her, wrapping my arms around her and saying, ”It’s okay. You’re welcome to take her along when you want, but it’s not an obligation. Grandma’s kinda supposed to be watching her on Saturdays and Sundays anyway. You do what you need to do, and just let us know next time you can and want to take her along for the day.”

Marie wrapped her arms around me and nuzzled me. Isnomi took the opportunity to descend from Marie’s Empire State to my much more manageable Chrysler building, but kept up her whole King Kong act. Totes adorbs, and when Saffron finally shook off her morning sleepies she said as much as well.

We got dressed, dropped Isnomi off with Grandma, hit Breakfast like a goddamned Olympic Eating Competition, then made it out to the Practice Yard only to find Lachlan of all people filling in for the Marshall. He let us partner up however we liked, and otherwise we did the normal morning run followed by pairs isometrics, then dancing until Lunch. Saffron and I worked on our Tango, and did the same after lunch. We’re not exactly Gomez and Morticia yet, but we’re getting pretty good at it. More isometrics after that, followed by an hour run until dinner.

When I asked Lachlan where the Marshall had fucked off to (I mean, politely, I have some ability to fake having class, if I lean on Blend heavy enough), and he let the class know the Marshall had taken a platoon of Senior Cadets off to the Amsterdam neutral zone, since there had been some rumors of the House of Orange doing some troop movements or some shit.

I swear, if that man gets himself killed before he gets his damn gold watch, I’m gonna be pissed.