#casey mackinnon

[theoriginalladya]

“How do you feel about this one?” (Character of choice)

You have really stirred Casey’s muse up with these prompts!  Thank you again!

100 Prompts List

~~~

“How do you feel about this one?”

Casey stares at the dagger in Papa’s hand.  Warily, she reaches out for it, but the minute it’s in her hand, she shakes her head and drops it.  “No.”

Alistair sighs and looks around the armory while scratching his head.  “You don’t want a sword and shield,” he glances down to see Casey shaking her head again, “and you don’t want a dagger.  I’m not sure what else …”

Tilting her head up at him, she smiles.  “I want a bow,” she says.

Alistair blinks.  Memories of the Blight return, of the few times he relied on the weapon to save his or his companions’ hides.  None of them ended particularly well.  “Well …”

“Mama says Father can teach me,” Casey insists.  

For the first time since coming in here, he sees her eyes sparkling with hope. Father.  Crouching down in front of her, he reaches a hand out to tuck dark hair behind one ear.  It’s getting longer now and stays put.  “Your Father, huh?”  She gasps, a soft sound filled with worry, and she starts to wring her hands together. Reaching out, he pulls her close so he can wrap his arm around her shoulders.  “You know,” he says quietly, conspiratorially, “you’re a very lucky young lady.”

Casey blinks, startled.  “I am?”

He nods.  “You get to have a Papa,” he gives her a wide, reassuring, cheesy grin, “and a Father.”  He sighs dramatically.  “One who, at least, is known for his expertise with the bow.”  Standing back up again, he settles his hand on he shoulder. “Have you asked him yet?”

Biting her lower lip, she nods.  “He said yes.”

“Right then.  Why don’t you go find him and your mother, and bring them both to our private armory.”

Her eyes widen, hopeful.  “Do you mean it?”

“Of course, I do!”  She starts running off, as fast as her young legs can carry her, as he laughs.  Once she is out of the door, he waves the guard over and informs him of the change of plan.

He arrives at what he affectionately calls the Warden’s Armory, because it’s where he’s kept some of the armor and weapons he still has from the Blight. Inside, he locates the proper weapons rack and examines the bows held there.  He knows little of the weapons themselves, except that he doesn’t like being on the receiving end, but it isn’t for him to choose.

The door opens, and he glances over to find Casey tugging expectantly on her mother’s hand as she enters the room.  Serafina is laughing, murmuring something to the man following in behind her. Alistair smiles when his wife looks over.  He isn’t sure why he decided to take Casey to the armory today, of all days.  After all, she is only just eleven, but something about the decision feels right.  He watches Serafina’s gaze shift to the weapon rack then back to him.  Her eyes widen in surprise, but she smiles and nods.  

Casey runs over to Alistair, her eyes locked onto the variety of bows nearby. Some are nearly as big as she is. “Which one?” she breathes.

“That,” Alistair replies as he meets the gaze of the man standing next to him, “is for your Father to decide.”  Winking at his wife, he adds in an undertone, “I have no skill with these things!”

Casey looks up at both men, her eyes flitting back and forth before settling on her father.  As he steps forward to examine the choices, Alistair moves over to Serafina’s side and slides an arm around her waist.  “She is so like you, I felt sure she would choose the daggers,” he whispers.

Serafina chuckles.  “She has some of her father in her,” she reminds him gently.

Alistair’s arm tightens.  “And for that, I am glad.”

[theoriginalladya]

“If you don’t want to talk about what happened, then say so. Don’t just lie and say it’s fine.” (Spin the character wheel.)

Hehehe ... have yourself a little more Casey MacKinnon, m’dear!  This one snuck up on me quickly!

100 Prompts List

~~~

He stands in the doorway, eyes watching her like a hawk.  “Look, if you don’t want to talk about what happened, then say so.  Just don’t lie and say it’s fine.”  

She freezes halfway across the room.  Her head tilts slightly, just the merest hint of a glance back in his direction.  He needs to get her attention; he supposes he has.  

“Do you plan to tell Mama?” she asks, her voice tinged with annoyance.

Sean MacKinnon straightens and takes a step toward her.  He doesn’t have the skill her mother has at masking his expressions, but he does have years more experience at life.  “Do I need to?”

Casey turns to face him fully; at seventeen, she looks far too much like his twin at that age, perhaps with a bit more of an attitude.  Hands at her hips, at full height, she stands just a scant inch shorter than her mother which puts her just below nose-height to him.  Her chin is thrust into the air; he can see her weighing her decision.  He takes another step.  She remains where she is.  

“Will you report me to the teyrn?”

A flutter of unease fills his chest, but he keeps his composure.  Just.  “I am here as your uncle, not as your commander,” he says.

From one moment to the next, she deflates; sighing heavily, she drops to the edge of the bed and sits.  “They were being rude,” she mutters, covering her face with her hands.

Sean frowns, moves a step closer.  “Who?”

“Haskell.”

The name sends ice racing through Sean’s veins.  Haskell?  Is he at it again?  The past, it seems, still has the power to haunt and hurt.  “Damon Haskell?”

Casey lifts her head and he can see tears filling them.  “Yes.”  

It’s barely a croak; he reads her lips more than hears her, but it’s enough. Three steps later, he takes a knee in front of her, braces his hands on her young shoulders.  “Damon Haskell is nothing but a bitter man who cannot get past old perceived hates,” he advises.  “He rants and rages at life but does nothing to try to improve his position in it.”

Deep blue eyes pierce lighter blue.  “He says Mama is responsible for his sister’s death.”

A scowl forms at his brow, dark and menacing.  It is enough to make the troops fall quickly and quietly into line for inspection.  His niece, however, does not cower.  “Rendon Howe alone is responsible for that,” he spits out.  Truth be told, the old anger is still there, buried deep to be sure, but still present all these years later.  “Your mother has told you the story, hasn’t she?”

Casey nods.  “She has. She warned me about him, too.”

“Your mother,” Sean insists, gentling his tone just a bit, “did what was necessary to keep the town folk of Highever safe at that time.  That is all.  Sadly, Haskell’s sister was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”  He pauses. Considers.  Tilting his head again, curiosity filling him, he asks, “What did you do?”

She sniffs and swipes her forearm across her nose before blowing softly at loose dark tresses that fell into her eyes.  “He was drinking,” she explains.  “Geier, Stephens, Loftis and I were minding our own business.  I got up to get us another round and he was at a nearby table.” She sighs again.  “Must’ve been deep in his cups and thought I was Mama or something, because he called me those names she warned me about.”

Sean winces.  He remembers that talk with Serafina during her first visit back to Highever after the Blight.  “She told you?”

Casey nods.  “You know Mama.”

Sighing, he nods.  That he does. “And what happened then?”

A sly grin curves at the teens lips as a coy look forms in her eyes.  “I am my mother’s daughter, am I not?”

Oh, shit!  In an attempt to remain stern, he scolds, “Your mother, as I recall, avoids him.”

The grin widens.  “I am also my uncle’s niece.”

It takes a moment to fully comprehend her words.  “How did you hear – oh, hell, Josie told you, didn’t she?”

Casey shrugs.  In a singsong voice, she replies, “Maybe.”

Rising to his feet, Sean paces the room.  Memories of facing Damon Haskell after a round of drinks at The Leeky Bucket under similar circumstances flash through his head.  Drunken insults, immediate anger, bloody knuckles and a broken nose.  He knows the story has been embellished over the years by the soldiers under his command, he knows his wife has helped with that.  He glances over at his niece and asks, “And how did Damon fare this time?”

Casey rises, the grin still in place.  “No one saw, uncle,” she assures him.  “I simply coaxed him out back into the alley and we had a … discussion.”

Discussion.  His eyes drop to her hands to assess the damage.  She is an archer, one of the best he’s ever seen.  And yet, her hands appeared fine.  Frowning, he looks back at her face, recognizes the smugness now there.  “Casey …”

Walking over, she hugs him.  “Do you really want to know the details, uncle?”

He shivers, reminded again of his twin.  He’s learned the hard way that when she uses that voice, you really do not want to know.  He runs a hand over his face and shakes his head.  “Probably not,” he mutters.  He returns the hug.  “Do I need to inform Fergus what happened?”

A soft chuckle slips past her lips.  “No.”

Releasing her, Sean catches her chin in his hand and meets her eyes one last time. “Sometimes,” he murmurs, “you really do frighten me.”  Releasing her, he starts out the door.

Casey laughs.  “I am my mother’s daughter!”

“Exactly!”