Theea
a lost son is called a prodigal
I giggle, quick and breathless at first, and then shake my head with a grin that lingers.“The Dragoons? For a water balloon fight?”
It comes out with disbelief wrapped in delight. “Gods, it had to be wild if it was disturbing the peace enough to warrant actual authorities.”
I try to picture it—warriors scrambling after a bunch of mischief-makers with dripping clothes and slingshots full of soaked nonsense—and nearly laugh again. The image is perfect, perfectly fitting with the woman in front of me.
“I've never had any issues like that. But the last time my mom had the authorities called, she got arrested by Ronin,” I add, glancing over with a spark of mischief of my own. “Not for a game, though. Street brawl. She insists it was justified.”
I shrug, but there’s a gleam in my eye. Ashe’s version of fun wasn’t always entirely legal, but it was always loud, fast, and heartfelt. I’ve got a feeling Melita would appreciate the sentiment.
And when she offers to pull me into the next set of games, I nod, quick and sure.
“I’d love to.” It’s simple, but I mean it completely. “Thank you. I could use some…” I pause, searching for the right word. “Some real fun. Normal fun. Not running-from-something, not avoiding-the-grief-swirling-in-my-chest kind of fun. Just... the messy, ridiculous kind.”
a lost daughter is just called lost
