Friday, August 11, 2017. Daily Brit Wit.
Noun, chiefly Irish, in phrase: bad cess on
A curse on.
*Part 2/9 in the A Warrior’s Child Series. Picks up from Pram.
“He stays up all night with his new son. Not due to worry so much as fascination. Okay, perhaps even the slightest inkling of worry that if he blinks the babe will disappear and he’ll awaken from a dream. Realistic dream, yes; but he doesn’t anticipate waking. Plus, the baby sleeps more soundly with his presence nearby. (It’s a habit he’ll have to break in the coming days, but not today. Not their first day together.)
He doesn’t know the first thing on how to raise a baby. He’s clueless how to a raise a warlock infant, let alone a vampire one. Yet he’s determined; never been so convinced he’s doing the right thing in his life. He’s known from the second his son nestled into his arms how right it all is. He can’t articulate it: the magic weaving through his essence spoke to him, sobered him much faster than any healing potion could hope to project, and voilà: Ajaxson now is a proud parent.
So he sits next to the makeshift bed for his son and dismisses names. He doesn’t believe his awful, neglectful parents (or parent, which sadly is the most likely scenario) named him. Not when his beautiful boy had been left out in autumnal air with three ratty blankets as survival needs. Ajaxson has to physically restrain his magic because the more he contemplates it, he realises how badly he yearns for a bad cess on the wankers.
It’s also around this time he acknowledges his magic has done perhaps a tad much to ensure he won’t lose his child.
The second after the sun blinks tiredly behind wispy, grey clouds, Ajaxson presses a kiss to his fingertips and allows the appendages to ghost the lad’s towhead. And then he’s up, pressing buttons on his mobile to make his first pleading case.
He calls his younger sister. She doesn’t answer the first two rings and when he does halfway through the third, she’s irate.
‘I ought to skin you alive and strip you of your magic, arsehole.’
‘Yes, good morning to you, too.’ He waves away the threat. He doesn’t truly believe her, but his magic tugs inward at his core for safety purposes. ‘I require your immediate assistance with your nephew.’
She sputters as shuffling and banging noises float into Ajaxson’s ears. ‘Give me fifteen minutes. And for the love of Magic, don’t do anything drastic.’
‘Too late,’ he whispers as the dial tone goes off.
His next four calls aren’t nearly as dramatic. He’s ending the final one when his sister cracks inside (literally: she enters by magic not regular, civilised means. Ajaxson ought to have anticipated that; thankfully, the child sleeps on.) with the grace of irritated sisters across the globe.
‘My nephew?’ She asks in lieu of greeting, eyebrows rising up a high forehead, and plants hands on hips. She looks frighteningly similar to their paternal grandmother.
He weighs how to explain the situation. Decides perhaps minor explanation before showing her should suffice before she loses her mind that her nephew is a vampire. He’s just sorta right.
‘He has parents, you know.’ She points out.
‘That abandoned him!’ He roars.
Brighton throws up her hands as if surrendering. ‘And your magic trick just so happened to bond you with him.’
‘My son’s name is Loxley.’ He grits out.
‘Oh, you’ve named him? Now I know you’re serious.’
‘Will you help me or not, sister?’
Brighton sniffs heavily and drops the attitude. ‘Of course I’ll help you, you daft git.’
Ajaxson doesn’t comment. He’s thankful his sister has more of an understanding what necessities an infant requires as she leaves to purchase them. So he’s left at home to tend his awakening child, and calling in favours for doctor visits, not-quite-forged papers to be signed, and airing out the ancestral home tucked away in the country.
He picks up the baby, temporarily clothed in shrunken vest and cleaner blankets, and examines him. The electric blue eyes yawn slowly in return.
‘I’ve much to teach you, little Loxley.’ He murmurs, offering his index finger to the babe. ‘And the country Manor won’t hinder your growth. The first heir to ancient Warlock magic in seven generations who’s not full-Warlock.’ A quick chuckle bubbles up his throat.
Loxley gurgles as he chews on Ajaxson’s finger.
He smiles warmly. ‘Ah, yes. We’ll be quite the surprise, won’t we?'”