Ring Ring + Bonus Side Story(2)

I am pretty sure Gable has a phone, at least a landline.

Sometimes certain objects in his house let of a glow. It's the old clock in the hall, the decorative rock on the shelf, and a few random things but they all have something in common, slightly flat and reflective. Of course, this includes all the mirrors in the house, and there are a lot of mirrors.

The light is subtle but shaking as if it's vibrating in a ringing pattern. There's no sound but it's almost as if I can hear the vibrations ringing.

Sometimes if Gable is in the room he excuses himself if not just disappears entirely, the ringing soon stops after that. Once in a while I hear grampa's booming voice from another room right as the vibrations suddenly stop.

I feel like an idiot. A slow to realize idiot. Of course the mirrors are a private phone system, it's very Gable. All of a sudden grampa's excessive narcissism in front of the mirror makes sense. He's not that insane, he's just video chatting.

Oh, how I miss my smartphone and the internet. Kids these days in some other universe have it so good. I can't even rant or rage on the internet anonymously. I just have to suffer with all of me in my own head. Thus the occasional, okay many, internal monologues.

It is on a day that I am all alone that I see and hear the ringing. It doesn't seem to end, no one in sight. Gable was off experimenting on- er I mean playing with Lilyanne. Grampa was...honestly, I'm not ever sure what grampa is doing, but I at least I kinda knew the general room he was in.

Previously I was with the boys in Gable's upper library. Amar and I pulling out all sorts of books and knick-knacks while Lukas cried over his 'boring' assigned homework. What good little friends we are, keeping him company and not making fun of him all that much. The pain of homework is universal. The boy is currently working on his handwriting and cursive, which is good as any 6 year old's can be. Not like I can speak, I have awful handwriting, especially with my current pudgy hands.

Well, that's an issue for another day, when I'm older and actually need to write things out.

It was on my way back from the little girl's room when I take the chance to pick up one of these ringing 'video calls.' Like crossing some street I looked both left and right, seeing not an adult soul nor and end to the buzzing.

So I chose a random decorative mirror in the hall, not a bronze one Gable has some legit stuff, and picked it up.

Like magic, because it literally is, the light and buzzing stops to bloop an image to life. Not of my own face in the reflection but that of a strong gray beard and a long explosive list of expletives that no children should hear or repeat. Not if they're good kids.

"Sh##$#%$#$ shut your sniveling breathing holes you #$#@$beastslings. I'm on the- he's picking up- Ron you !#@@ swine2#@$ intestine sack of #$#@wookie cu- oh! Oh by the Goddess, Rosie?! What are you doing there?! Oh no."

"Hi uncle Geoff. Trouble back at base?"

"ER ah, little Rosalia dear...ahahaha you wouldn't happen to hear-er Rosalia, that's just some er- ah- spells! Yes dangerous spells that you shouldn't repeat...is your grandfather there?"

"Gable is out right now but if you'll give me a moment I'll go grab grampa for you to cuss out."

"Rosalia!!! Child wait!"

"I won't repeat anything bad, don't worry. I don't even know what they mean. Gable says a lot of worse things when he thinks I can't hear, I'll go get my intestine sack of a grampa now."

"..."

Cussing here is oddly creative. I prefer Gable's swearing, simple but potent. More importantly, it's actually understandable. Is this a world cultural difference thing? Because those swears were not in Rosalia's vocabulary at all.

Well nice to note down mentally.

I patter off downstairs and peek around through doorways will I spy a familiar broad back leaned over a wooden work bench. He must be very into his research to notice himself.

"Grampa, phone for you!"

"Pumpkin! What's a phone? Is it another dish?! Rosalia no fear, grampapa' will always defend your honor and say yours is best!"

Don't remind me, please. I don't want to see another egg for the rest of this week. Also grampa's opinion means nothing to me. Especially when he was still shoveling down Lukas' scrambled bacon fat monstrosity. That cheater.

But I digress.

"....A phone....uh the mirrors? They ring and light up? Uncle Geoff wants to talk to you."

"Oh those! Yes I'll be right there and ....oh how did you- did you pick one up?"

"Uh yes? Was I not supposed to?"

"Well you weren't not not supposed to, ehhh it's fine." grampa waves me off, pinching my cheek in that annoying self-satisfied way of his. Ow Ow ow my face. "Run along now before you have to listen to all the great praises people will report to me."

"Okay grampa red monkey butt."

"*gasp* Rosalia!!!"

"Uncle Geoff taught me that when he thought I was you. Bye now."

I lied but he doesn't have to know that and I quickly make my escape. Nothing ever good comes from being alone with grampa for too long. Last time I ended up crying over fish, the time before that I was crying over the transmigration thing. Interesting to note that grampa doesn't recognize the word phone?

Does he not have phones where he came from? Or is it just in another language, using another word? Perhaps he's from a differnt earth time period or maybe he's not from earth at all? Another planet? Another plane of reality. It's a lot to think about.

Yeah, let's not, Gable's place is my happy place.

Even if it's now invaded by bratty little heathens who dare challenge me on the universal truth that is soft boiled eggs. Gable forced us to call a truce and get along, it's not even a big deal. All eggs are tasty that is true. But I think a certain crack of damage has been set.

Oh well as long as we're not arguing over food again it's fine.

Back to making fun of Lukas' neverending homework. The circles and charms he has to learn are both fascinating and gorgeous! Can I get a copy of Gable approved lessons too? If I can't stay here can I do video call chat lessons like some kind of online classes?

Also, where do I get some magical paper and ink? Do I have to use feathers though? They're pretty and all but hasn't anyone invented a proper pen here? I'm not even asking for ball point, how about an antique fountain or something? A pencil? Anything? This requires more research.

"There are nibs and tips people put on the feathers or carved sticks? Beetle shells tips are pretty popular and cheap? Some countries like using brushes? I don't know what a pencil is though? Lukas do you know?"

"Mmmmmmmffff I don't wanna madskfsadfldfff"

I crawl over to Amar's reading corner since he seems more useful than a certain someone with their face smashed into their book. But understandable, homework has made me react very much in that same way before.

"Okay so a pencil is a stick and inside is a lead or a material that rubs off. Artists probably use it a lot."

"Um charcoal sticks? Or red clay sticks?"

"What are red clay sticks?"

There's a lot to be learned in Gable's little library. I could always waste a day or more in here but I admit it's a little more interesting with some voices and decent company around. It's ...a lot nicer than my own home library.

I wonder what my parents are doing right now? Did they make up properly yet? I hope father manages to save me from mother's attention.

I haven't been gone all that long, it's only been some days, but I do wonder. Ah having my own mirror phone sure would be useful in checking up on everyone and all my projects.

Soap, cream, shampoo bars, sunblock, beauty oil, face masks. The list is growing but we need to keep testing and maintaining quality before I can safely release my moneymakers into the world.

Then there are the recipes, I can't keep experimenting food just for fun. Not when my staff and occasionally members of the troops have such drastic reactions to things. There has to be a way to monetize this.

I also wonder how my staff members are doing on their lessons, it really is important to raise the quality of my people rather than rely on those gossipy maids from other, minor, households. Literacy, basic math, some writing so our head butler Alfonso doesn't overwork himself at his age. There's just so much to be done.

"That is a lot, but I'm sure everyone's fine," replies Amar easily, his hands and eyes flipping through a thick book with some geometric patterns.

Without even a blink in his casual response. It's as if I just ranted out loud all my thoughts again.

Ah I did it again.

I really miss the internet.

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(The side story no one asked for):

Frederick P.O.V.

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I have no doubt that one day a child of mine will come up to either my wife or I, possibly at the same time, with stars in her innocent eyes to ask:

How did we first meet? How did we propose? Or get married? When did we fall in love and all that very romantic stuff that women and little girls so seem to adore?

I am also of the opinion that child will be my sweetly simple Lilyanne, while Chip gags and chokes not so far away.

Our Rosalia is the dramatic one, I believe it's a trait from honored father.

Ah, I still have to pinch myself once in a while. To be calling the great Lord Commander father is too much of a dream, even if I've been successfully doing so for years now. Amazing, I'm not sure how I did it?

Ahem, of course, I married my beloved.

Unlike my precious wife, I don't have such a habit of speaking my thoughts out loud even if it's just under my breath. Which makes my private thoughts rather safe. It's an adorable and charming habit, makes it easy to understand what she saying versus what she means.

Though it's not so cute of a habit when it's the blatantly obvious one of my daughters inherited that very same trait.

It would be fine if it was my youngest, her thoughts are but sweet and simple clouds. The innocence from the mouth of babes. It's hard to believe but our tiny Lilyanne may be even more of an angel than my already heavenly wife Maria. Father agrees wholeheartedly.

Chip on the other hand...well Rosalia is my fault, so says...absolutely everyone. I find it increasingly harder to deny, nor do I really want to. Despite being twins with the same sleeping faces, our girls are growing quite different.

Even without the hair, which I am still puzzled over Maria's adverse reaction, it's easy to see Rosalia is my child.

My youngest might as well be all the good and sweetness my dearest wife has bestowed on her. One look at her and I see Maria each and every day. It makes me uncomfortably soft, makes me want to dote and lavish my all onto this tiny creature that so resembles the love of my life.

One look at my eldest, however, leaves me pinching myself endlessly.

I still don't believe it. Yes, yes that is my Maria's celestial beauty, her fine features on that tender baby face. One would think it would match perfectly with our angel Lilyanne's but of course, it doesn't, that's what had me near shooting myself in the foot at times.

Rosalia looks like mine.

She looks like my first love and mine. Proof that Maria and I were ever blessed in a union, with child. This unfathomable combination of the two of us. I still don't believe this child even exists sometimes, until she's tapping at the door to my study or rolling around in my drafting papers that is. Ah this child is actually real and not just a figment of my strange imagination.

Even before her hair burnt towards the spectrum of red she always had this look when her eyes were awake and judging the world around her. Her brows already sharp, more distinct. Sometimes there would be cute pout that looks a bit like she's sucking on a sour lemon, something I can now understand seeing it on another face.

Which is why is impertinent to keep her the hell away from the social death trap that is my own family. That woman I must call birth giver cannot lay her claws on my precious family, cannot come near to claim a damn thing, especially Chip. My precious troublemaker of a daughter is mine, not theirs.

My eldest is a prodigy, a genius even among my former family line. It's impressive to even me, the so-called scholarly prodigy of my generation. To be honest I believe it's a rather tacky title, one that my mother quite loved to show off. Which is exactly how I know it's awful taste.

I may not have visited my birthplace in years but I can see for myself my own daughter is vastly more capable and intelligent than any of my siblings' children. Now that, that is risky. That cannot be seen, not yet. Not till she's ready to stand on her own.

Chippy just...needs a lot of work on her control and emotions, to be perfectly acceptable. That is if she were to be a Bicchieri.

But she's not, thank the divine goddess for that. And by goddess I mean my own wife and light of my life, who gracefully granted me the honor of sharing her last name of course.

I need to pinch myself again because I'm still not sure how I did that?

Ah yes, of course, I didn't do anything. Not quite.

I might have said something initially to that dirty little girl, a goddess in disguise, that she found unpleasant. Thus the tiny goddess retaliated by barehandedly flinging a table at my face all while screaming the word 'carrot' as if it were an insult. Thus I can't for the life of me recall what exactly it was I said. The table did shatter in woodchips after all.

If you asked me if I fell in love at first sight, the answer would be no.

Nor was it the second time after I woke up, vision red from my own blood. Nor the third time or the forth or the many hundreds of times after that. It was most certainly not love after the first hit, punch or whatever violence ensued, though I was very careful to dodge it all.

I may have been taught to indulge young ladies but Maria was, and still is, a delicate vengeful goddess, that broken bones were too much of a risk.

Our relations did drastically improve after a certain point.

Perhaps it started when I offered my naturally more advanced aid in her studies? Maria, as perfect as she is, was never a particularly good student. That was more or less when she stopped seeing me as solely a red target mark and more of a companion, even a friend.

It really wasn't difficult, even with my birth giver's standards. My gorgeous wife was always a beauty but she made a very passable male playmate during our childhood years.

It really is difficult to time and place when the feelings of companionship became something more. I was just one boy against the gods' most perfect creation. Of course, I learned to love Maria over the years but by the time I realized it I was already on my knees.

Quite literally, she forced me down on my knees and the ground before carrying me, who was clearly older and taller, off to supposed safety.

I think I may have started falling in her arms, again both figuratively and literally.

Maria likes to think the... affections in our hearts started to bloom after she renounced fighting and started to seriously take lessons for ladies of the court. For she bloomed so dazzlingly no one from then on could ever look away.

But I believe it started long before that and we were just too young...and dense to tell. It's an odd trait that had us dancing in circles for years. No one tell her so for her pride wouldn't allow it but.... more than as the belle of any ball, I have infinite tenderness for that messy little tomboy who broke my world.

Also my nose on one occasion, and my femur on another, and then there was my...but it doesn't really matter. A small price to pay to be where I am today.

Maria has and always will be worth all the trouble that comes her way, or shall I say our way now.

That gets another pinch. Yes, I have confirmed I am still awake and still married.

Besides watching her destroy over half of my childhood mansion in front of my gaping mother and siblings was extremely worth it. Nothing says love like watching a divine goddess' wrath. I felt like proposing to sacrifice my body and soul in marriage right there and then if she hadn't already done so.

I don't dislike bold women, not when they're as perfectly messy and lovely as Maria. I don't dislike all the ridiculous amount of work either, to make her childhood home, our home, a better place. Early on to our marriage, I thought that I should at least contribute what I was good for, what I've been raised and trained for all my life. A part that someone like me could pick up and ease the burden of managing and representing the territory as a whole and in the courtrooms across nations.

That's what husbands do yes? They leave to work and sacrifice their time and energy to provide for their families. As a humble human man, the least I could do was that, and organize the entire account and logistics of the estates and troops.

My honored father in law and darling wife, are reasonably a tad....lacking on certain matters of economics, or common sense. Which....explains a lot.

There was a time I believed my dream to become someone of the political power of my own right. At the rate I was running, I am not being arrogant when I say there was no one more suitable nor desirable to be placed as the next prime minister of our conjoined republic.

But then I became a father.

That's something that you can't learn from any books, tutors or fine institution. Nothing any amount of money can buy.

Becoming a father, a real one, is life long learning experience. And I think I learned that I just wanted to be that, nothing more. I just wanted to be a good father, someone I never had, and make this world just a little bit better for Maria's children to grow up in.

It really, truly hit me as I watched my daughter run along the fields of rural farmland. Her face and clothes smudged from dirt, eyes wide and smile wild. She had found the carrots and was laughingly screaming them out at me.

Ah, I see.

So it's come this far, it's come to this full circle. This little ball of dirt that's half me and half Maria standing before me, yelling exactly just as her mother once did.

I don't need it, I don't need to prove anything anymore. I just want to stay with my love and the life she's given me. I want to keep all my girls close and safe, I want to make them happy.

It really is a strange coincidence, fate maybe. That all my silly unproductive interests and drawings, things I wasn't allowed to waste time in, that these useless things about me make my Rosalia happy.

Maria was right even all those years back, I could be happy.

I sincerely hope that when the day my little angel or a curious Chip comes to ask for the romantic tale that started it all they'll go to my better half.

I admit I don't speak well on matters of heart. It's better if I write it down and edit it into something pleasing to women? That's what I have to do when Maria gets a certain level of upset at least, always works thankfully.

Either way, I would do a terrible job telling it.

I'm still pinching myself over it some days.

Ouch, yes still married.

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