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“Thancred, when I get you-!”
Mife’ra startled from where he was napping, a sleepy noise escaping him as he watched Thancred snap to attention across the room, book dropping from his hands as a furious Rael stormed in. At five fulms and eight ilms, Rael was taller than most other miqo’te thanks to their roegadyn father, but still didn’t quite measure up to Thancred. Normally that would be enough to give Thancred a sense of ease around his more blistering partner, but now that Rael was eight months pregnant and as full term as anyone could guess, there was no question who the most frightening member of the three of them was.
It certainly wasn’t Mife’ra, the Warrior of Light. Even though Rael had never fought with weapons in their life, MIfe’ra would bet on their destruction winning every time.
“What is it now, you woke our Keeper-!” Thancred found himself cut off as a shirt was hurled at his face, Rael fuming in a way that brought Mife’ra to war flashbacks over their cousin V’kebbe’s pilfered sandwiches. Thancred made a disgruntled noise in return, pulling the clothing off.
“I don’t know what it is you spilled on my nightshirt last night, but you’re going to go clean it so that I can wear it again tonight!”
“You can steal one of his shirts,” Mife’ra offered, stretching lazily. He was glad that Zaze’li was with his mother for now, if it meant he wasn’t being woken up in the middle of the day. Rael huffed, trying not to stomp at the floor and make themself look more unreasonable than they were sure they already did.
“No, I want to wear this one. It’s softest.”
“Hey, Fe,” Thancred held the article up, displaying the garment, “What do you make of this, hmm?”
“Like I’m the damn expert…” the Keeper hissed, leaning over to take a glimpse. “Huh. Oh.”
“What!” Rael snapped, tail lashing behind them. Watching Mife’ra awkwardly scratch behind his head only ruffled them further, but they would be patient for him. Always.
Not Thancred, of course, but he was far more easily bullied without the guilt that came with doing it to Mife’ra.
“Uh, Rael,” spoke the rogue, hesitance rewarded with a softer glance, “Thancred didn’t do that. Your milk’s come in.”
“What?”
Mife’ra idly circled around the area of his own chest where the nipples were, awkward. “You make milk for the kid, and since it’s not here to drink it yet, it’s just… leaking onto your clothes. Zaze can help ya with that if you want, I’m sure she has some garments better suited? We can still clean this one for tonight if you want…”
“Or if you’d like,” Thancred hummed, tossing the shirt to the bed so that he could lean forward, elbows on his knees and a cheeky grin on his face, “We could always take care of that supply for you ourselves-”
“Ugh, no-”
“So you still wish to be a dead man,” Rael hissed, walking to the bed just to snatch one of its pillows. “You think you’re so funny, huh? Think that you can beat me just because you’re some fancy Archon, huh?”
Mife’ra turned over, taking the other pillow and pulling it over his head as the chaos continued to unfurl in the room, hoping maybe sleep would find him again.
At this rate, he regretted not napping with Zaze and the kids himself.