Building Up
27th of October 2006 A.D.
"Soo... dad you know how I have to meet with someone on Tuesday?" Since your dad was currently serving as the preferred seat of a sleepy Hope watching reruns of Pokemon with the stated intention of teaching him what all the names meant, you do not mention Queen Mab by name. Let her thing uncanny things are all goofy and cure, locked behind the electronic looking glass of the TV screen.
He nods seriously over your sister's pigtail adorned head.
"Well I'm thinking of making something for her and I could use some help with the logistics of it if you have the time."
Judging from his expression dad expects something dire, enough so that he is briefly befuddled when you lead him up to your room, the laptop you had just acquired humming on its own against the pillow as CAD drawings and specifications, order forms for everything from titanium, molybdenum, aluminum and carbon to circuit boards and fuses to the green-empaneled innards of computer systems for the dashboard.
"I'm thinking of making Queen Mab a car."
"What is a pretty tall order," he finally manages.
"I know, what do you think I asked you here for? To order stuff for the build," you giggle. Truth be told you could have asked Thomas to do it through Chicago Synthetics, but dad has done quite a lot of work on cars, mostly on interiors, but when it comes to the family van and pickup, even your own Beige Wagon that included engine and even body work. As the years went by you had moved up from handing him tools, to handing him the
right tools, to learning how to change the oil, switch out a flat tire to eventually the more advanced stuff like replacing a broken valve and last year you even helped fix a broken radiator... at least sixty percent on your own.
"Looking to show your work?" his lips twitch upwards into a warm smile that make his eyes light up not unlike that time you had put that cap on backwards 'because it looked cooler', embarrassing as it is to remember from hindsight six years on.
"Yup," you admit, though adding: "I do need to know some local suppliers for this stuff. I'm going to need about twenty work hours to pull it off working flat out so that's gotta be two days so I'm going to need this to arrive as soon as possible..." You frown in thought trying to come up with the minimal possible timeline for each of the materials, something Clippy and company couldn't do since they do not have access to, nor fully understand the tools of the Wicked City at your fingertips.
Your dad looks down the slowly scowling screen thoughtfully, taps gingerly on the mouse to stop it.
"Details may be provided at spoken request or mouse input as desired," comes the instruction in Clippy's clear near-human voice.
"What are you hoping to get out of this?" your father asks, in that careful-not-to-imply-that-you're-being-silly tone that you used to hate when you were in middle school, but which you had come back around to accepting as just a thing parents did.
"Brownie points,' you shrug. "Not that I want the services of an actual brownie, you know the hearth keeper fey, but the better the mood I can get Mab into the better the chances we will part on if not warm terms than at least terms that are not cryogenicly frozen."
Dad huffs almost a laugh, but that does not put him off asking the real hard question: "Is that all you want, or do you want to know what she promised at the museum? Does she already have a temptation hanging over your head?"
You open your mouth to say something glib, maybe 'I'll see what the going price on secrets is', but that is not really true. As much as you would have hated walking up Harry's basement stairs without everything Bob knew about Mab so too you would hate to leave Mab's own company with less than all the insights she has about your power. The reasons for this are legion, it is yours, bound to your soul. It might be dangerous to be ignorant of something so powerful. What if a foe should know something about the nature of your change and thereby win a battle, but that is not the whole story. You want to know, you need to know, like you need air or water, like you soon won't need sleep.
Is that the catch, for all this power, becoming some kind of infovore like those that ply the junk drowned datanets of the Wicked City?
Not questions that should be asked of dad between Pokemon and car-construction. Instead you settle for: "I'd
like to know."
"Just be mindful of that and I'm sure you'll be alright."
He is not, but you appreciate the faith just the same. For now you have a gift to craft for the most wicked of all fairy godmothers and thank God she isn't yours.
What kind of car do you want to make for Queen Mab
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OOC: Some father daughter bonding, next up will be the car proper 
