#FierroChase

Pueri, Pueri! (Children are Children)

The trumpet of an angry elephant, audible even over the clatter of forks and knives scraping food off plates and a roomful of chattering einherjei, quickly causes a hush to fall over the vast crowd. All eyes fall onto a fuming Alex Fierro, who storms over to the table occupied by the Floor Nineteen, her eyes flashing. A quivering, child-sized bundle of pink trails along behind her, clutching onto a handful of Alex's forrest green button-up shirt.

"All right, who the –" Alex, apparently remembering the child at her side, trails off in time and catches herself. "Who did it?"

T.J trades a puzzled glance with Mallory and Half-Born. "Did what?"

"Who was the sorry sack of . . . Of potatoes who messed with Magnus?" Alex asks, making sure to raise her voice so that everyone is able to hear her.

"Sack of potatoes," Halfborn mutters under his breath, letting out a bark of laughter that echoes in the (mostly) silent room.

"Shut up," Alex snaps testily in response. "This is serious!"

"Could you please explain what you meant by that last sentence?" Half sarcastic and half serious, Mallory props her chin up with her hand. "Who did what to Magnus?"

T.J raises his hand, as though he's about to ask a teacher a question. "And who's that lost child tagging along with you?"

All eyes turn to said child, who whimpers unhappily at being the center of attention and buries a tousled head of blond hair into Alex's side. It's not hard to see the unhappiness and discomfort that seem to take tangible space and form in the space around them. Alex glares daggers at everyone staring, but speaks in a hushed whisper to the child at her hip, her tone soothing and light. Taking the hint, the einherjei present hastily turn their gazes down onto their plates.

"That," Alex says grimly, "Is Magnus. He woke up like this."

At the sound of his name, the lovely child raises his head. The boy is a toddler still, around five years of age. A soft, golden halo frames his round and cherubic face, with pale skin, apple-pink cheeks and full, upturned lips. The boy is dressed in a fuzzy pink sweater that slips off his shoulders and drags on the floor. It's enough to garner coos and sighs from the female ( and even some male ) einherjei. Magnus latches onto her waist with his tiny but manacle-strong arms, inching his way behind her.

Halfborn's mouth drops open, revealing a half-chewed mouthful of bread. "Magnus? That's our Magnus?"

Grey eyes, the colour of pale dove feathers, peek out at Halfborn from his place behind Alex, right before Magnus shakes his head frantically, and presses his face into Alex's stomach. Alex is quick to calm him down, holding him close as he burrows into her for comfort.

"How many other Magnuses do you know in this place?" Alex retorts in a quiet undertone, still keeping a protective arm around mini-Magnus.

Magnus trembles in her arms. "Awex," He whimpers, the first thing he's said since they've entered the dining room.

Her noxious bright green hair and generally dry sense of humour have not endeared her to children and adults alike ( not to mention her being transgender and gender fluid, which some particularly religious families have taken to mean that she'll be going to hell for her 'unnaturalness' ), but something warm and protective wells up in her chest at the sight of him clinging to her, trusting that she'll keep him safe from all the unfamiliar and possibly scary faces leering at him. And that's when Alex knows that she'll fight and fight to keep this child – Magnus – safe.

"Well, there's a Magnus down in Brooklyn who throws the best parties –"

"Does it look like I care about Magnus-In-Brooklyn?" Alex wants to scream. "My – Our – Magnus is a child! What are we going to do?"