*One shots

Mischief

So imagine if it were twelve years after War Storm and  Mare and Cal had a son named Shadow in honor of Shade.

In this Clara stayed the night (as she often does since Farley is always busy).

I don't know exactly what happened before my birth. I try and bring it up, but Mum & Father are always uncomfortable about the topic. I look up from my book, "The Art of Warfare" (Father will have my head if he sees me with it) to ask Clara. She gets along with me just fine, though she's three years older than I. "Clara, what did it use to be like?" She only smiles. "You're too curious for a ten year old. But Mom doesn't tell me much. Maybe a country with something to do with kings, queens- that kind of thing. I remember your dad calling me his princess when I was 5, and Mom gave him a death glare. And your mom calls you her prince." I am great at copying my Father's expressions, especially confused, even though I take my appearance after my Mum. Clara laughs outright. "But any parent would call their child something like that, wouldn't they?" I ask. 

"Does any parent talk about their crown?" Clara counters.

"Touché."

At this she looks at me like I've grown a second head. "Have you always had extensive vocabulary?"

I shrug. "Uncle Julian tutored me, and when I get confused with what he says, I look it up."

I can see it's late from talking and playing around, but I'm not tired just yet. "Do you want to find out? About the past?"

"How?"

I grin. "I take after Dad's personality, Mum's look, but my ability gives me the perfect cover for spying."

***

She teleports into the ventilation system. "I can't believe you talked me into this," she grumbled. "Won't we get caught?"

"Please. I know what I'm doing. See, I'm what you call a mimic. I kind of copy about any ability."

"Kind of?"

"Like if I mimicked a burner, the most I can do is control flames, and heat up a room. And I only use one ability at a time."

"So what ability will you use?"

"I'm going to be a resound."

Clara doesn't understand, but nods along. "So where do we go?" 

"Are you hungry, Clara? I figure we'll grab some snacks in case we get caught. Don't ask." But that's exactly what she tries to do before I silence any noise we make, so we hear everything, but no one can hear us.

***

"So, does this often happen?" Clara asked over the loud voices. Mum and Father. "Just wait five more seconds," I yell.

5...4...3...2...1...

Silence.

"What are they doing now?"

"Don't know, don't care. Here we are." I say triumphantly.

"A vent that can open to the pantry?"

"Yep. I found that out the first time I was shoved up here."

"Wait. You-"

"Stop talking and help me down here," I snap.

***

So with a big bag of pastries, bread, etc., we start back on our way to their room. But with Clara being a natural bigmouth with no limit to talking, our conversation goes on like this:

"So when did you start doing this?"

"There was a problem up here when I was 5, and Father wouldn't let me fix it, but Mum let me go up here. Ever since then, I-"

"Really? So you must really know your way around!"

"You're 13, Clara, and you talk more than I ever had in 1 year this past 5 minutes! Oh look, we're here."

I set down the bag and start munching on a slice of cake. She does the same, and we listen:

"Do you think we should tell him?" Mum asks.

"About the fact that he's going to have a sister, or-"

Clara choked on her roll.

I pressed a finger to my lips. "Shh!"

"He's too young, Mare. He can't know about this until he's-"

"You were the exact same age as him when you learned to wield a gun, and I was eight when I picked my first pocket."

"That was the past, and we can't dwell on it anymore."

"Coming from the man that said the past is important to determine the future."

He shifts to her- at least, it looks like it through the vent. I get closer to it. "When have you started listening to me?"

"Not long ago, Tiberias."

"It's obvious you haven't listened to me about that."

About what? Tiberias? That name... why can't I place that name!? I must've pressed on the vent to hard. It popped, and I was falling 11 ft. off the floor. With some quick thinking, I mimicked a gravitron, and I thanked my lucky stars that my parents were facing the other way.

I thanked them too early.

The bag of sweets fell on me. I could not silence it as it fell because I was floating, and when it hit me, I lost focus. Before I blacked out, I sent a mental message to Clara to go back to the room and pretend she was asleep. That's when I lost consciousness.

***

When I came to, my mother had her hand on my head, and Father looked through the bag filled with treats. He shook his head with laughter. "Thief."

I shrugged. "Obviously."

Why does his eye always twitch when I say that?

"Who knew eavesdropping was a passed down trait?" Mum chuckles, searching me for bruises.

"I'm a big brother?"

She blinked. "What else did you hear and why?"

"Your name is Cal. Why did Mum call you Tiberias?"

"Why were you in the ventilation system? More importantly- how?"

I blink, then shrug. "I found a better way into the walk-in pantry than having to pick the locks."

Mum shrugged, then popped a piece of candy in her mouth. "Go to sleep. Does Clara know where you are?"

I am a great liar, just like my uncle who they won't tell me about. "No, she's asleep."  She looks at me sternly, before nodding. "Go to sleep."

I groan from having risen to my feet, and trudge to the door.

"Shadow?" Father calls after me.

"Hmm?"

"When you're finished, I'd like my book back."

How did he know that? I look back, and he winks at me.

***

I climb onto my bunk. "Did you get punished?" Clara asks. I shake my head. "No."

"Your parents are too soft," she scoffs.

"You have no idea what happened, do you?" I ask before I blink the lights out.

This whole thing was 1035 words, and this was literally the very first fanfic I have EVER written in my life because I use to hate the idea of someone adding more to a story that might never happen. Well, now that changed since I figured it wasn't such a bad thing thing after all.

I first wrote this down on paper, and I never changed a thing except the spelling on one word, and the way it was organized.