Could I maybe try to get rid of Syr's A Bit Spoiled trait by writing an omake? The idea of an Avernite tutored by the Last Saint himself being spoiled just bugs me. I'm not very good at writing but I'm willing to try just to get rid of that annoying trait.
a good omake has a chance of getting rid of it as does time, I am rolling every turn to see if the trait is reduced or removed
*comes running in from a distance*
Co...commercial break...
~~~
TYRANNOSYRUS REX
~~~
"Lord upon the golden throne," said Frederick. "There's one for the albums."
Syr had been getting a bit rowdy lately, asking all sorts of questions. Mostly "do you know who I am" and "how dare you" and, most concerning, "do you have any grenades". Frederick had hoped it would pass, but after baby's first words and baby's first steps, came baby's first military fortification and aggressive territory acquisition. Privacy was very important to mental development, or so he was given to understand.
He was almost proud, if it wasn't in the middle of a major thoroughfare. So far, the People's Glorious Republic of Dearest Leader Syr spanned three boardrooms, sixty feet of hallway, and some kitchenettes. She'd been canny enough to fortify just after resupply, and was probably gorging herself on cookies and spoiling her appetite.
The megaphone blared, a red siren rotating on the peak of the crenulated tower. "THIS AREA IS UNDER THE CONTROL OF SYR ROTBART. INTRUDERS WILL BE SHOT."
"Sometimes, I fear we are too harsh on her. She has so much weighing on her shoulders," said Freya. "But who does she think she is, to get away with this? She has been spoiled, darling."
"Don't be silly, Freya, she's not a fruit."
"Please be serious, dear."
"I am paying exactly as much serious as this requires." The governor of Avernus turned fearlessly to face his daughter's cardboard supercastle. "Syr, you come out here and explain yourself to a court of your peers or else you are grounded!"
A metal dart thudded into the wooden banister relief, trailing a declaration of secession and the establishment of an independent state. Frederick tore it off, and gave it a once over.
"Well," said Frederick, and shrugged, "she's got the paperwork."
"What does that matter?" whispered Freya. "
Annex her."
Frederick scoffed. "I see where this sudden disrespect for due process stems from." He drew himself up to expound the merits of non-violent conflict resolution when Borealis coughed.
"If this keeps going on, we'll miss suppertime, and she's intolerably cranky when she hasn't eaten." Borealis shifted his impaler, which was set to stun. "Sir."
A red spotlight clacked open, forcing a burning crimson light upon them. "INTRUDERS. STEP BACK FROM THE GATE OR YOU WILL BE TERMINATED."
Frederick cupped his hands around his mouth. "Oh yeah? You and what military deterrent?" He saw a gunbarrel swivel to face him, and stepped backward as the floor cracked with small craters. "Damn. That is a heck of a trigger-finger."
"Nasty things," said Henry, sitting just outside the makeshift gateway. "Ball bearings from an Impaler. Just magnetic enough to fly, but not enough to fly straight."
Frederick sat next to him. "Henry, give me the facts. How bad is this?"
"Speaking technically, she's off the fucking chain," said Henry, tapping out a signature on his dataslate. A stool catapulted over his head, barely ruffling his hair.
"Language," muttered Borealis.
"Just you watch, old man," he continued morosely, approving a shipment of heavy textiles. "You got me when I was fully cooked. First it's the tantrums. Then it'll be staying out late, getting drunk and dancing with girls and injecting warp knows what into her eyeballs. Then, before you know it, it'll be
puberty."
Frederick gave his second-in-command a weird look.
Henry tilted his head. "Or maybe boys. Whichever is worse."
"Boys," muttered Freya sagely. "Awful dancers. Two left feet, the lot of them. Never seem to know what to do with their arms except windmill."
"Hey," said Frederick weakly.
"Shush, it's true, don't deny it."
"The only dance I know is the dance of death."
Freya pinched his cheeks, and stood up. "Syr, I am your mother!" she projected, a mighty valkyrie. "I carried you for nine months eating protein and calcium pills and vitamin shakes to make sure you didn't turn out a mutant!" She put her hands on her hips. "I built you from DNA and steaks! I am your
creator! You will
obey me!"
Frederick pulled her down before a bucket clipped her forehead. "Somehow, I don't think that's ever worked."
"Is she mad I didn't mention you? I guess you helped too," grumbled Freya. "If you count donations."
A light of censure swept across them. "GROSS."
~~~
Syr chewed furiously. She had gone through all the packs by hand, finally finding a choco-chip packet among all the raisin and oatmeal abominations. The traitors were summarily executed, via Matthias.
Just outside the catapult envelope, the adults had built their siege counterfortress out of trolleys and canvas. When they thought she wasn't looking they moved it forward, the wheels squeaking like a whistle.
What did they think she was, an idiot?
"Kelly," she barked, swivelling on her chair. "Status of our defences?"
There was a clang as Kelly popped into the command hut with a grin. "The springbots are ready, president. The enemy nipples will face hot, mustardy death."
"Exactly what they deserve," said Syr seriously. "Take five, Kelly."
"Five what?" said Kelly, still grinning.
"I don't know. But whatever it is, take five of it."
Kelly gave her a lazy salute, and slid back down the ladder. Poor thing still thought this was a game.
But this was deadly serious. It was a matter of such obvious import that the very issue of its negligence was a profound issue in itself.
There was not enough royal blood for Avernus.
It had seemed so obvious to Syr, once she got to the genealogy chapter of her lectures. You needed two royal lines to start off and produce two children. Those two children would then produce two further children each, who would then produce their own pairs, and so on exponentially. And an exponential growth curve was exactly what you needed to counter the attrition rate of Avernus' infant mortality.
But Mom and Dad weren't producing their second child. They just kept wasting their time hiding in closets and losing their clothes. Way to waste time you could be using to get a spare, you dolts.
"Matthias! Release the hounds!"
Jane had done good work. The buzz of tiny choppers filled the air.
~~~
On the other side of the canvas, twenty good men of the Governor's Own cowered beneath the tarp shield. Overhead, the ceiling was black with tiny plastic assault drones.
One of the men, a rookie freshly promoted from red ops, uttered gutturally, "Out of all the sieges I've been in, this is the most harrowing."
"Suck it up, Mertagh, we killed a dragon last week."
"It didn't have an
airforce."
"I am glad to know," said Frederick flatly, "that you are the paragons of skill and strength I have come to expect." He snatched the air in a blur, coming back with one of the drones. Its blades whirred viciously, and he kept it far from his fingers. "Where did they even get these? Another one of Tranth's…ex-peri-ments?"
"I don't know sir," said Yelis, one of the elites, "but they've got a mean bite to them."
There was the sound of a vent hatch being crawled through, and then the tone of machinery coming online.
"I am doing this under duress," cried the child as he let loose the second wave. "So sorry, won't happen again."
Mertagh perked up. "Matthias! Is that you?"
"Huh? Hey, dad, what up!"
"Nothin' but the sky…" Frederick stared at his guardsman, who had the decency to look mildly sheepish. "Son, I have to tell you a secret. Come over here so I can whisper it in your ear."
Dutifully, the boy got within lasso range, and was promptly wrangled by three of them.
"We've got a prisoner!" cried Yelis triumphantly, before immediately backing down. "Sorry sir."
~~~
Matthias, once sufficiently interrogated in the spinny chair, sang like a siren.
"You can't take her down, mister governor. She's got a deadman's switch hooked up to drop a whole roll of chewmints into fizzy cola."
"Is she insane?" hissed Freya. "The stains take forever to remove."
The child shrugged. "Idunno, miss Syr's mom. If you can't take her down, maybe you could go talk to her?"
"I did exactly that. Then she threw a chair at me."
"Well, there's no more chairs. Try again, I guess."
So that was how Frederick came to be standing at the entrance of his daughter's fortress, waving a treaty flag against ten thousand years of tradition.
A red light flicked on above him. "ENTER." The gate eased open, and he stepped through.
Well, he thought as he looked around, this was a respectable fortification, in shape if not people. There were serviceable barracks, the bunk beds piled high with pillows. In the training yard, a squad of small children barely out of pre-literacy were punching the air. And Syr Rotbart was slouching on a command chair, the squishy velvet upholstery sagging.
"Have you come to surrender?" she said imperiously, raising an eyebrow.
"I've come for negotiation. You haven't yet named your terms."
"Do you accept your defeat?"
Frederick shrugged.
Syr turned away from him in condemnation. "You're not cool. You're lame."
"I'm cool. I'm way cool," opined Frederick. "Freya, tell her how cool I am."
From behind the barricade came a distant thumbs-up.
Syr harrumphed, and tossed him a packet of papers. "If you're so cool, cheat these taxes."
Frederick flinched, and drew the aquila on his chest.
"Hah! Chicken."
Frederick frowned grimly. "You're a sick kid, Missy Rotbart."
"And you're wasting mom's time. I want a little brother, and you're in the way."
"…What?" said Frederick.
"What!" cried a distant wife.
Syr slipped off her chair, and started walking around him, hands behind her back. "A royal family produces two heirs, in case of incidental mortality. On Avernus, even more so. How can mom produce an heir when you keep wasting her time with your games?"
"Games?"
"Fire in the Hole. Loading Magazines." Syr squinted with accusation. "
Hide the Cache."
Frederick had the feeling he'd missed a spark, and now the fire was burning beyond his ability to douse. "Um."
"You all keep calling it dumb names, but I know it's called se—"
"You're ten thousand years too early to defeat me!" cackled Frederick desperately. "Alpha Team, secure the asset go go go!"
Pink flashbangs bounced into the fort, detonating with sad farts of glitter and choke-safe fog. Armoured commandoes ziplined through the window.
"You'll never take me alive!" Syr yelled before she got puppypiled, which was a lot like being dogpiled, but with more teddy groxen. Soon, she was immobilised beneath a mountain of soft hypoallergenic foam and ultrafine stitching.
"Deadman's switch disabled, sir!" cried an enterprising sergeant, ripping the horn from an air canister. "Package is secure."
Frederick wiped his forehead. "Excellent. There's a medal in this for you."
"Rather not, sir."
Even beneath her plushy prison, Syr struggled. "You will regret this!"
Freya marched up. "I hope you're happy, Syr. Because you are
grounded. No leaving the walls of this building, no going out after dark, and definitely no
nightclubs." She nodded, full of righteous power, having dispensed motherly discipline and stern disapproval.
The governor squatted, putting him knee-to-face with his daughter. "You really want a baby brother."
"You have to build a dynasty to establish your stranglehold over the planetary governance."
Frederick rubbed his face. "You are definitely getting grounded." A grin grew on his face.
~~~
"Welcome, Miss Rotbart," said Saren,
"to Puberty and You." He raised his hands in exultation as a banner unfolded behind him, the projector reeling up an ancient torrent.
"If you require an adult, I am fully certified."
Syr screamed.
~~~
AN: Sometimes, Syr, things don't go your way.
Regarding the general state of war, let me just say that we could've unleashed Xavier's Eye of Sauron Super Happy Fun Time and gone back in time for tea. Molten magma worked for primordial Earth, it'll work for Avernus II.
