Dear Diary,

Sometimes I gotta remember not to borrow trouble. That's what my mom used to call it when I'd get worried about shit that hadn't happened yet. 'Borrowing trouble'. Like, shit will happen, she never tried to blow smoke up my ass that shit wouldn't happen, but unless something was a guaranteed problem, like food going bad or money running short or dying of fuckin' cancer, there was no point in trying to think up problem scenarios to justify nerves.

I mean, right now we're in good shape. Yeah, Adrienne still is nowhere to be found, but I've got until the middle of next month to find her. That's like six weeks away, and even if I can't find Adrienne, I've got a couple other surprises for my little Sidhe girl. Between now and then I've got to sort out something for Lindsey's birthday, and that's got me a little boggled, but not completely mystified. Like, she's really outdoorsy, so maybe a camping trip, now that we don't have to worry about random Bears of Unusual Size. Really ought to get with Little Panther and see if he knows of any good spots. For a kids camping trip, although I would not be averse to a quick recon with just two to four of us. Five if Siobhan wants to watch.

Marshall duBois is still up in Boltophsburg, and I don't envy him that, but last we heard the whole situation there was the equivalent of two strange dogs sniffing each others' butts and shit. Yeah, it could go bad, but if the dogs are already at the butt sniffing stage, they've gotten close enough they could have thrown down a while back, and hadn't. Also, Admiral Swanson had the Black Dragon standing by, and if the sixteen inch guns throwing over the horizon fuck you from twenty miles out isn't enough of a deterrent, she's got two dozen five inch guns to lend accompaniment. Not to mention a Mana Blade big enough to vaporize the fuckin' town down to the foundations. We, and I think I speak for Saffron and the better parts of the Alliance when I say this, don't want to do shit like that, but if they come at us with murder on their mind, we are definitely prepared to shove any non-vaporized remains into whatever orifices remain.

On the other end of the Alliance we've got Compton, which seems like they've pretty much decided to lean the same way Rich Man's Port did, for a lot of the same reasons. Those reasons being a choice between playing nice with the neighbors and getting treated like friendly adult neighbors who can be trusted to wipe their own asses, or being treated like childish wannabe tyrants who I will personally wipe out and kick the asses of if I need to. Which is entirely unnecessary, because as noted they're chill as fuck now. I mean, I guess I would be too if my main exports were chocolate and gold. Not like I'm all that into gold, but it seems like a solid trading commodity, and chocolate is just like gold you can eat.

So yeah, everything's copacetic. Not gonna go lie down and sleep until the end of winter or some stupid shit like that. If nothing else, it's only a few weeks until summer. Okay, more than a few, but less than several.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

So for the past couple days Marie and I have been going to town with a whole variety of grilled sandwiches. We don't have a panini press, but she's got a couple of those weighted things you squish burgers down with to make smash burgers. Okay, I think that's how you make them. She made some when I asked about it, and they came out awesome, so I'm gonna say it's how Marie makes them and leave it at that. But we've also been using them to smash all the grilled sandwiches down.

Ria's favorite so far is the grilled fried egg sandwich. Honestly that one was more to see if I could than anything. Pretty much just grilled cheese with egg in the middle. She loved it. Today at lunch as she nommed at it, I sat down next to her. "Hey, kiddo. Can I ask you something?"

She nodded, holding up a hand while she chewed and swallowed. Then she set her sandwich down and said, "yes, Mama? What did you want to know?"

I chuckled. "You don't have to stop eating just to talk to me, kiddo. I mean, yeah, I appreciate you not spraying me with food, but... that's kinda what I wanted to ask you about." She tilted her head. "Food. Do you not like meat?"

She looked down. "I'm sorry, mama. I'll eat my meat."

I pulled her to me, hugging her. "Not what I meant at all, Ria. Seriously. I worry that you won't get enough protein, but if you don't like meat, you don't like meat."

She made a face. "Really? Mother always made me eat all of my meat."

I rocked my head side to side. "Yeah, she cares about you. You need protein to grow. Meat is, y'know, an easy source of that. But it's not the only way to get protein."

"I don't want to be a bother."

I lifted her and sat her on my knee, looking at me, then pulled her plate over. "You are not a bother. You're my daughter. I care about you. Not just about your physical health, which is why I want you to get enough protein, but about your mental health, which is why I want to make sure it's protein you want to eat. That you enjoy." I shrugged. "Yeah, if the only thing we had was bear, I'd be trying to find the best way to fix it for you. Hopefully more than one, because not everybody wants to eat the same thing every day."

She looked up at me. "Why not?"

I glanced down at her, careful not to let my surprise show. "You want to eat this eggy sandwich every day?"

I kept the glee off my face when hers lit up. "Can I?" Then she paused. "Or, well, an eggy sandwich like this every day. I don't want to eat this same sandwich every day. That would be strange."

I laughed and hugged her. "Okay. Prolly gonna need to mix things up just the littlest bit, like something else for breakfast and dinner, just to make sure you get all your nutrition in. But I am absolutely down for making you the same thing every day. I mean, assuming you don't go all crazy and want something that takes so long I've got no time to make anything for anybody else." She sobered a little and nodded, so I head bunted her and said, "that's for special days, like birthdays. Or, y'know, days when Marie is cooking, because she's so much better at it than me."

She tilted her head, clearly pondering what I'd said, then turned and picked up her sandwich with both hands. "Did you make this?" I nodded, then kinda melted when she said, "She can't be that much better than you, then. I like this best."

I just sat there, trying not to get weepy, as my little Sidhe girl ate her eggy sandwich in my lap.

Is it weird that with all the kudos I've gotten for all the wacky shit I've gotten up to, that little comment is already one of my favorites?

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