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“And which one is the Monarch Butterfly?”
Kinger’s disembodied hand pointed to three different jars, each containing a different type of butterfly: a monarch butterfly, a morpho butterfly, and a painted lady butterfly. He sat, half curled up, in the comfort of his dimly lit pillow fort. The only thing illuminating the small room is the few jars of lightning bugs that danced around in their glass enclosures. In Kinger lap sits a young boy, small and bright eyed— it’s Aissac! The sweet little boy inspected the jars intensely, giving each one a good look over.
“It’s not the blue one, is it?” He squeaks out.
“You’re right! It’s not the blue one.” Kinger nodded, patting Aissac’s little head.
Right now, Kinger was babysitting. He promised he’d watch the boy on one condition— he’d help the boy learn memory retention… with bugs! Aissac giggled and beamed at the praise, and now with one of the answers eliminated, it was narrowed down to just two! Kinger had faith in the little clown. He just needed a little guidance from his old man!
“It’s… this one!” Aissac exclaimed, picking up the jar with the monarch in it.
“Correct! Good job, kiddo!” Kinger praised.
Aissac smiled big and wide, his gap toothed grin up for display. The golden glow of the lightnings lit his eyes up in just a way that they seemed to sparkle. Kinger clutched his heart (or where it would be, a rough estimate on his chess piece body) and held back tears. He was so proud.
“What’s next, grampa?” The little boy tilted his head as he asked.
Kinger sighed warmly as he took the jar from Aissac and set it back down with the others. His eyes squinted happily, mimicking a mouthless smile. He readjusted the boy in his lap, so he could face him.
“How about we take a break from learning for now? Why don’t I tell you a story?”
“Mmm…” Aissac thought aloud. “Okay! But, um, after the story can I— um— can I take a nap?”
“Of course, kiddo.” Kinger promised. “A couple of years ago, before your time—” He paused to boop Aissac’s clown nose. “—your mother and I were stuck together on an adventure.”
Aissac nodded and listened intently, his hands clasped oh-so politely in his lap.
“It was a real scary one that your dad made for us— a haunted manor. And, heh, your mother and I ended up on the really scary half of the adventure. We had to run from a big spooky monster!”
“How scary? What’d it look like?” Aissac questioned.
“Well… it was an angel! But not just any angel; it was fleshy and covered in eyeballs and had sharp, sharp teeth! Your mother and I managed to escape via an elevator, but we ended up trapped in the basement.”
“And then what!?”
“Woah, hold your horses pupa! You see, there was an evil man in that manor who was… sort of a ghost! He talked through tape recorders, and he tricked us! The angel came down into the basement… but I got a gun and shot it—!”
“Cool!” Aissac squeals.
“But because we shot an angel, we were dragged to Hell!”
“Woooah…” Aissac looked up at his grandfather in awe, his hands eagerly fidgeting with the zipper of his onesie.
“Your mother was really upset and scared. But she was also really brave. But she got possessed when she tried to escape! I had to beat the souls out of her… then I helped talk her through it, and…” Kinger paused, thinking back on the memory. “We walked together out of Hell, holding our breath so we wouldn’t breathe in the evil souls.”
Aissac’s eyes twinkled. He leaned forward to grip the fur lining of Kinger’s robe.
“That’s it!?”
“Yup! That’s it. Now it’s naptime, kiddo.” Kinger said and scooped up the little kid in his lap.
Aissac squealed and giggled as Kinger picked him up and carried him to a cozy pile of pillows. The chess piece laid the boy down on the bed of pillows, and then tucked him in with a cozy fleece blanket.
“But-” Aissac paused to yawn. “What happened after you and mama escaped Hell?”
“Well… I’m not sure. My memory’s not as good as it used to be.” Kinger doted.
“Ah… that’s okay grampa…” Aissac sleepily murmured.
The little clown’s eyes shut, as he shimmied underneath the blanket, getting nice and cozy. A comfortable sigh escaped him and Kinger’s chest swelled with pride and adoration. He tucked a few stray hairs out of Aissac’s face and hummed gently, singing the young AI to sleep.
Kinger sat back and twiddled his thumbs, sated with watching Aissac as he slept. He couldn’t be more pleased in that moment. The plush door of his pillow fort was moved aside, and a toothy head poked its way in. Caine opened his mouth to speak, possibly about to (loudly) send his thanks to Kinger, but he stopped when he saw his sleeping child. Caine’s upper jaw curved like brows kitting together, his pupils dilating and hearts popping up around his head.
“Hope it wasn’t too much of a hassle putting the little monster to sleep!” Caine whispered.
“No, not at all, actually. He wanted to take a nap after his memory retention tests.” Kinger whispered back. “I don’t mind watching him for a bit longer.”
“Well, if you insist!” Caine breathes. “Let me give him some night-night kisses.”
The ringmaster hovered over to his sleeping son, quiet as the dead, and pressed a toothy kiss to Aissac’s forehead. The boy smiled in his sleep and turned over onto his side. Caine practically melted.
“Precious…” He mumbled, and turned to face Kinger. “Thank you for watching him today! I’ll make sure to reward you for this—”
“No need.” Kinger interrupted. “Sorry, I just… don’t see the need in being repaid for something like this. It’s not a chore looking after my honorary grandson.”
Caine’s expression softened. Kinger could’ve sworn he’d seen tears in the man’s heterochromatic eyes. Kinger lightly patted Caine’s shoulder like a proud father-in-law.
“You’re doing good, Caine. You deserve a break.”
“I’ll… I will let Pomni know, then! Thank you. Really, thank you, Kinger.” Caine silently applauded the chess piece.
As Caine left, Kinger was once again soaked in the comfortable silence. Other than the tiny snores of his grandson, of course. Kinger curled up next to Aissac and cozied up with a pillow, shutting his bulbous eyes and allowing himself to drift to sleep.