Of Ginger & Spice

R&N: Princess Whirling Dervishes

48: R&N: Princess Whirling Dervishes

7 pm, Azores, Ponta Delgada Hospital, Department of Neonatology, Surgical Room

"Welcome to the world, Henry Thomas and Matilda Marcella Valensi. Welcome little ones," Harry murmured through his tears, repeatedly kissing his wife Macy. "Wonderful job, love."

9 am, Next Morning, New York Luxury Apartment, Master Bedroom

The sound of multiple basketballs bouncing on an oaken floor. Or was it the relentlessly pelting rain of the Amazon? The girls, Abigael realized, slowly gaining consciousness as the rapid pitter-pattering sound gravitated up the stairs, growing louder by the second. To her left, Mel was completely and utterly conked out, having chased after the two rambunctious little girls hopped up on sugar the night before. Two girls who had decided to bring her dark pony Midnight to life and ride it around the living room when Mel turned her back for the barest of seconds. Was this what having multiple children was like, with the amplified chaos of whirling dervishes that devoured everything in their path? She recalled Harry mentioning in passing that Maya was on a sugar-free organic diet; perhaps this was why.

She groaned, removing her black silk sleeping mask precisely at the moment when the two giggling little girls made a running leap for the lofty bed, landing with a THUMP.

"G'morning Auntie—Mummy—Mum Mel—Aunt Mel!" The enthusiastic girls talked over each other, rapid-fire, as Abigael attempted to collect her thoughts. "What's for breakfast?"

Abigael looked again at her partner's sleeping form. Blast. Her turn to feed the dervishes then, though she smiled to herself. As anarchic as her lovelies were, she couldn't help but feel a certain undeniable fondness toward them both that grew by the day. She sluggishly reached for her Japanese silk bathrobe and slid her padded slippers on. Both girls reached for her hands, pulling her behind them as they led her through the hallway, back down the stairs, and toward the kitchen, where Abigael had meticulously set out ingredients for what she termed "Princess Toast."

9:45 am, New York Luxury Apartment, Kitchen

Purple. Abigael's hair was streaked purple, thanks to the coconut milk jam that had organic beet and blueberry coloring. She glanced across the Ashford table to the two girls, who were contentedly chatting at the top of their lungs while munching on their Princess Toast—fresh whole grain bread with purple coconut milk jam, white edible pearl sugar beads, edible gold glitter sprinkles, frozen berries, mint garnish, topped with a tiny dollop of honey. "Girls, please—inside voices!" Abigael exclaimed, and the two girls lowered their volume by several notches, still continuing to chat amongst themselves about the thermodynamic horsepower of Midnight the pony. That's better.

"Morning, my Iris—" she felt Mel envelop her in a hug from behind, her dark hair as tussled as ever.

"Morning, Cricket," Abigael replied, trying to stifle yet another yawn. "How'd you sleep?"

"Like the dead," Mel groggily replied, though softly smiling.

"I made some extra toast—" Abigael pushed a plate of purple coconut jam toast covered in shiny sprinkles. "Maya added the pearl sugar, and Tory added honey."

"Aw, sweeties," Mel regarded Tory and Maya both. "Thanks for breakfast!"

"You're welcome!" the girls giggled, looking at each other then back up at Mel and Abigael.

9:59 am, New York Luxury Apartment

After everyone had breakfasted, the next order of business was having the little girls run about at Central Park. Since it was the weekend, there weren't many other people out and about this early. And a very good thing that was too, Abigael thought to herself, recalling last night's race to Balto Sculpture, in which Tory had popped over to the sculpture directly while Maya, testing her orbing skills, ended up soaked in the middle of Bethesda Fountain, shivering to no end.

Abigael had given them both a very stern talking to, and the girls had seemed sufficiently contrite, so she and Mel decided to give them another chance (granted, this was before Maya set Midnight the pony loose in the condo much later in the evening, which Mel blamed on her own momentary distractedness). Nevertheless, a promise was a promise. Plus, the girls were more likely to cause more damage and injury to themselves inside of doors than outside. As a safety precaution, Abigael gave them each a piece of "grown-up Aunt Abby jewelry" to wear of their choosing.

Maya had chosen a tiny pearl ring that she wore threaded through a child-sized sterling silver bracelet. Tory wore dainty pale green pearl stud earrings that matched her eyes. Doing so would dampen their innate magical abilities, assuming they kept the jewelry on their person; Abigael and Mel had repeatedly emphasized the importance of secrecy in using their abilities, but the jewelry was a last resort and safety measure, since the girls were so young with such volatile powers.

"Girls," said Mel sensibly. "We are going to Central Park now—no popping there, orbing, disappearing, snapping your fingers there, no telepathic transport, no magical pony-riding there, et cetera."

"Then how will we get there, Mum Mel?" asked Tory innocently, though Abigael detected a mischievous expression in the girl's eyes.

"By walking, my little dervishes," Mel broke composure with a small chuckle. Things are so different nowadays, she thought to herself. Small magical children feel no need to hide from their true selves. Which was a wonderful thing, she mused, unless of course you attracted the wrong sort of attention, such as from law enforcement. "It's only fifteen minutes from here. When I was a young girl, I had to walk thirty whole blocks to get to Central Park—no magic at all."

"Wow..." the two girls fixated on her words, eyes wide, impressed at Mel's stamina.

10:15 am, Central Park, Balto Sculpture

Mel heard a ping from her phone. Harry. She hurriedly unlocked the phone and read his message.

Twins, a boy and a girl. Mum and babies doing swimmingly. :)

She grinned, chasing after Maya and Tory, who had begun following the grey-pink park pigeons a little too closely.