Of Plans and Practices

Mission 3: Anya Attempts to Help Her Parents

Notes: Part of Anya's charm is the unique way she speaks Japanese. Most Japanese kids her age don't speak like that and definitely do not call their parents Haha and Chichi—to their faces. I tried my best to keep her in character but I used my own interpretation to recreate her quirky speech patterns in English. It might be jarring for some because I didn't use the official translation.

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Anya sat at the table and ate her breakfast calmly. She watched as across from her, her parents shared a look and then simultaneously blushed at each other.

They were at it again, this non-icha-icha that they always insisted wasn't happening.

She chewed her eggs slowly, leisurely savoring the food because it was delicious. Popsy made breakfast today, then.

She kept her gaze on Momsy because she seemed more skittish than usual. Popsy was cool, smooth as always, but his smile looked a little different.

She knew she could turn on her telepathy and listen to their thoughts, but sometimes waku-waku happened when she didn't fully know what was going on.

Like today, with her parents.

What happened with the two last night?

Her gaze sharpened, trying to piece together this wonderful mystery.

"How are you this morning, Yor?" Popsy asked.

If anything, Momsy's cheeks flamed even redder. "I-I'm fine, Loid," she answered, looked down at her plate, and then picked up her spoon distractedly.

Anya shoveled more food into her mouth, unable to keep her eyes off her parents. She watched the way her father brought his coffee mug closer to his mouth to hide the smile of satisfaction on his lips. And there, Momsy twitched nervously, brought a shaking hand to press against her heart.

Ooooh, something juicy definitely happened last night between the two of them.

Curious, she opened her mind, glanced at Popsy who was looking so relaxed, and focused on his thoughts:

...commensurate reaction to such a restrained convergence? But yes, the tactical applications from yesterday's exercise evinced Yor's current state this morning. If she remains amenable and unreserved, she would only continue to develop repeatable habits that would help to expunge the fractious attitudes mentioned—

And quickly shut down the receiving antennas in her brain before her head exploded.

Anya sighed inwardly. As usual, Popsy's convoluted way of thinking was so hard to read. She turned her gaze to Momsy instead.

That's right. She was a little bit easier to read. Momsy met her eyes and smiled brightly at her, making Anya feel relieved. She opened her mind again:

...the red or the white? Ugh. This early in the morning? No wine, Yor. You promised Loid! Plus, having some now would make me seem like a lush. But I feel like I really need something right now! I just can't deal with this sober. How? Why? And how far? Oh, my god. And shoot, I feel like I need to buy more liquor because there's never going to be enough for—No, wait. Don't go there or you'll truly lose it. But I'll stop by later at the store and buy a bottle, or two—or a whole case. Maybe they deliver?

Anya's heart shrank and she gave up on her, too, as she turned off the disjointed thoughts of her wine-obsessed mother.

She looked at her eggs again, at the last bite remaining on her plate. Her hand hovered over her spoon because she didn't want breakfast to end. She just wanted to stay here forever and watch her parents not flirt with each other. She knew that once she finished breakfast, Popsy would get up, take her hand, and then walk her back to her bedroom and help her with her school uniform.