Who Bought Lord Mel? (18 Oct 2001) Alice inquires of her parents where "Lord Mel" came from.

Westfield Residence
A pretty little Victorian-styled two-story house, painted white with pale pink trim. Its rooms are bright and cheerful, though small, and as is typical of the houses built in that era, most of the rooms have multiple doorways and archways, to promote airflow. A wide green lawn surrounds it, with flower beds positioned near the house and along the white picket fence. A winding path of stepping stones in the back yard leads through a vine-wreathed arch to a concrete and stone fountain with three tiers of bowl-shaped basins.

Mr. Westfield, a tall, forty-ish man with trim sandy-blonde hair, lays on a mechanic's rolling pallet beneath the family station wagon. Faint clinking sounds come from beneath the hood as he works. An open toolbox rests on the ground beside the car, various wrenches, screwdrivers, and less easily-defined items, neatly arrayed within it.

Amidst the clangor of things mechanical and so much associated with her dad, Alice exits the house with her stuffed animal Lord Mel in arm. She makes her way along the walkway and over the grass, calling out a questioning, "Daddy?"

At first, Mr. Westfield doesn't seem to hear her. There's a muffled oof from under the hood, then he rolls out on his pallet, sitting up to investigate his toolkit.

After waiting a moment for a reply, the little girl continues to walk on over to where her father works. "Daddy?" she repeats when she gets closer, blinking and peering in to the toolbox that always seems to be lined in a fine layer of grease.

"Hmm?" Her father lifts his head from the box, holding a socket wrench in his right hand. "Oh, sorry, angel, I didn't see you there. Did you need something, honey?"

Alice nods. "I have a question," she explains as she holds out her unicorn doll, "about Lord Mel. You said Mommy got him for me, but Mom says you got him for me."

"She does?" Mr. Westfield starts to brush his hair back from his forehead, then stops himself, wiping his hand on a rag and then using the rag to tuck stray hairs back underneath the sweatband. He gets a smear of grease on his forehead anyway. "Well -- are you sure? I know I didn't buy it. At least, I'm pretty I didn't. I guess it has been a long time, though." He looks puzzled.

Blinking again and mirroring her father's confusion, though in her own way and minus the grease smear, Alice shakes her head. She then reaches for the rag her father's carrying while she inquires further. "Well if Mommy didn't get him and you didn't get him, then ... who did?"

"Er ... I'm not sure. Just a moment, angel, I have to finish this job," he says, lying back on the pallet and sliding beneath the car again. His voice, loud if somewhat muffled, emerges from the far side, continuing, "Why did you want to know, sweetie?"

"Well the faeries came along and then the king was missing and the Lord Protector is somewhere missing and I thought maybe it would be helpful," rambles Alice in her serious Alice-voice, nodding as solemnly as she can manage to look.

"Oh, that's nice," the adult replies, in traditional fatherly tones. There's a bit more mysterious clanking around beneath the car.

The door to the house opens. "Dinner's ready, Alice, Dean," Mrs. Westfield calls from the doorway.

"So ... I really need to know because Tommy doesn't want to play the faerie game anymore and Rebecca said that the Year's ... " Alice stops short as she hears her mother, and she turns around to wave. "Mom! I have a question for you and Daddy."

"All right, Alice," her mother answers. "Come in and wash up. You can ask us at the table. Hurry up, Dean, or it'll get cold."

"Okay, Mommy!" She turns back to her father and informs him, "I'm going to go wash up now for dinner. Bye, Daddy!" She puts the rag down, then heads off towards the house to clean up for dinner.

Mr. Westfield shouts an affirmative back, then rolls out and stuffs away his tools, packing them up. He goes into the garage to put them away and to wash his grease-covered hands in the garage sink.

The kitchen smells of chicken, rice, and the summer breeze which wafts at the curtains. Alice's hands and Gabriel's pass Mrs. Westfield's inspection, but she sends Mr. Westfield back to the garage to clean the remaining grease from his face. The oldest boy smirks, but eventually the whole family, including little David, is gathered around the table to eat. Mrs. Westfield smiles at her family. "Alice, would you like to say Grace?"

"Yes, please!" answers Alice. She thinks a moment -- it's not often she gets to say Grace after all -- and says, "Bless us God for this meal, and for our family and even brothers who call you 'squirt' and friends and the Year. And bless Mr. Kuning too, and even mean old Mr. Year's End." She then bows her head.

The family bows their heads as she speaks, her parents with approving looks, though Gabriel gives an amused snort at her mention of brothers. When she's finished, there's a chorus of "Amen," and then everyone begins to eat, setting themselves seriously to the task of devouring food, though Mrs. Westfield spends a good deal of time helping David eat -- the toddler being at least as inclined to throw food on the floor as put it in his mouth.

After five or ten minutes, with the edge taken off everyone's appetite, Mr. Westfield delivers his usual compliment to Mrs. Westfield on her cooking, then asks, "So, what did everyone do today?"

"I was helping try and find the legendary treasures and the hidden wolf-lord, and then I played with Kuon!" Alice beams at the last part.

"That's nice, Alice," Mrs. Westfield says. "Did you find the legendary treasures?"

Gabriel chuckles, and he leans forward over the table, cupping a hand before his face as if to suggest a muzzle. "I am the wolf-lord!" he declares, snarling.

Alice gives her brother a look, then sticks her tongue out at him. "Are not! The wolf-lord is a real lord and he can turn in to a wolf and talk," she explains, matter-of-factly. Then she turns to her mother and nods a yes. "Oh yes! We found magic mirror and flute that makes weeds go away."

"Now that would be handy," Mr. Westfield says. "You need to bring your mother that flute, right, Martha?" His wife smiles and nods, wiping David's chin with the napkin.

"What's the magic mirror do?" Gabriel asks, then jibes, "Does it have a magic so potent that -- it doesn't break when you look in it?" He gasps with mock-astonishment at the thought.

"Gabe," Alice's mother rebukes, helping David take another bite of chicken, "don't be mean to your sister."

"Okay, but we need it to save Mirari from mean old Lord Year's End I think. So maybe after unless the year stops," answers Alice. She gives her brother another raspberry, then asks her mom, "Mom, Daddy says he doesn't know who got Lord Mel. Are you sure you didn't?"

"Yes, I'm positive," Mrs. Westfield answers, glancing down the table to give her husband a sharp look. "You got Lord Mel for Alice, dear. Don't you remember?"

"I did?" The father has the same blank, puzzled look as before. "I just -- mmph -- can't remember for the life of me. I could've sworn you got him, Martha."

Alice looks back and forth between her parents, her nose wrinkling a little as they both turn up confused. "But ... nobody knows?" she asks.

"No, it was you, Dad," Gabriel chimes in, swallowing a mouthful of gravy-coated rice and chicken. "I remember because if I borrowed Mel for one of my soldiers to ride when I was little, Squirt would always come grab him back. 'He's mine!'" Gabriel squeaks in a falsetto. "'Daddy gave him to me! Not you!'"

Mrs. Westfield nods. She doesn't seem hesitant on the issue. "Your father got him for you, sweetheart," she assures her daughter. "I'm surprised you forgot. Well, not that you would remember getting him; you were just a baby. But surely you ought to remember, Dean."

The littlest of the Westfield women looks about to give her brother another raspberry, but stops when her brother says something surprisingly useful and her eyes widen a little for it. She gives him a smile instead despite his brotherly mockery. And she gives her father a smile too. "See, Daddy?"

"Oh ... " Dean Westfield scratches his head. "I guess I'm outnumbered. Sorry for confusing you, angel." He eyes Lord Mel, watching from a stool beside the kitchen counter (no toys allowed at the dinner table), the puzzled look still on his face. "I just ... plain don't remember it. I guess it was over ten years ago. Still ... where could I have found such a funny toy?"

Alice's smile fades a little as she watchers her father regard her Lord Mel. "You don't know? Aw, I was hoping you'd remember," she tells him.

"Sorry." He looks to Martha for support. "I don't suppose you remember, honey? I mean, the bag I got it in or the receipt or something?"

Again Alice turns her head to follow her parent's conversation, a shuffle of attention that's so very common at a busy dinner table.

Mrs. Westfield stays silent for some moments while she considers her husband's query, but she finally shakes her head. "No, I think I was out shopping or something. I don't remember you giving it to her."

Mr. Westfield gives a little shrug and glances apologetically to his daughter.

"Oh ... okay," says Alice. She picks up her fork and, just before scooping up some food, asks, "If you remember please tell me, okay?"

"I remember when you gave it to her, Dad," Gabriel volunteers, taking pity on his father. "You'd just put her down for a nap."

"I had?" Mr. Westfield says. "Did I have him in a bag or something?"

Alice's fork lowers at her brother's words, and she watches him, then looks to her father again curiously.

"Uh ... I don't remember that part," the teen-ager confesses. "I just remember that I went in ... to check on her, and she had Mel tight against her chest. There was a thin red ribbon around his neck, and on it was a tag that said "From Dad" or something like that." He pauses, then adds, "You got me a baseball glove like two days later, remember?"

"Oh! Yes, I remember the glove!" Mr. Westfield laughs, then looks abashed. "You seemed to feel a bit neglected, with all the fuss over Alice. But ... ah -- you're sure about the tag?"

Gabriel looks annoyed. "Of course I'm sure about the tag. Though I think Squirt might've pulled it off and ate it or something. I dunno, it might've been 'Love, Dad' or 'From your father' or something. Can't have been too complicated; I'd only just learned to read. I just remember it said it was from you, Dad."

Alice tries to think if she remembers getting Lord Mel and the tag that was on him, but try as she might, she can't quite remember that long ago. She was very little then. She also ignores her brothers teasing for the moment, this being important information and all -- and she can raspberry him after. "But Daddy, you remember Gabriel's glove and not Lord Mel?" she asks.

Mr. Westfield squirms uncomfortably, and his wife gives a heavy sigh. "It's a man thing, sweetie," Mrs. Westfield explains gently. "Baseball is very important to your father."

"Boys are weird," Alice tells her mother. "Tommy is in a tree because he likes Elinor. I didn't think Elinor was like baseball but maybe she is." She nods once, then looks to her father expectantly as she waits to see if he remembers.

Her father smiles sheepishly, his cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Sorry, angel. It's just not ringing a bell with me. I guess -- I remember you having Lord Mel. But ... seems like I thought Martha brought him." His wife gives him another sharp look and he raises his hands defensively. "Not that I'm saying you did, Martha! I just don't recall picking him out."

"Can I go look for the tag, Mom? Dad? May I be excused? I really want to know." Alice looks to her parents, then to Lord Mel, and back again.

"Finish your dinner, Alice," Mrs. Westfield orders. "Then you can go look. Though where it'd be after all these years ... "

Gabriel chuckles. "I bet it dissolved under all your acid-drool, squirt. You drooled on everything."

Picking up her silverware again, Alice works on her meal with a reply of, "Okay, Mommy". She takes a bite and with rice in mouth wrinkles her nose at her brother for a moment before ignoring him so she can finish up quickly.

Alice's Room
The bed, beneath its canopy trimmed in pale blue lace, dominates the little room. The remaining glow of evening sunlight makes the tidy chamber dim, but it illuminates the closed closet, and the chair pushed in against a clean desk. A hamper stands beside the door, while the white chest of drawers, with its decoupaged flowers, has a dust-free top with only knick-knacks carefully arranged on it.

Alice rushes in to her room, closing the door behind herself so she can mess up her room in some amount of solitude. She places Lord Mel on the bed and asks him, "Do you remember where the tag is, Lord Mel? Maybe ... my desk!" And she hurries over to her desk to search through the section of the drawer where she puts important odds and ends -- especially neat rocks, little trinkets, and such.

Though her trove of odd-shaped rocks, earrings, penny-arcade winnings, and other items, seems intact, there's no sign of a tag or other identifying remnant that might have gone with Lord Mel, when he was new.

Alice frowns as she thinks where else to look, then hurries away from the desk to open her closet and look for her toy box where she keeps all her old toys.

In the box, she finds Miss Fire and Baby Kat and all her other things, but no tag in there, either. A knock comes at her door. "Alice?" her mother's voice calls.

Alice looks up, and since she hasn't time to clean everything up, just turns around where she sits on the floor next to her box and asks, "Yes, Mom?"

"I think I found it," Mrs. Westfield says, entering the room. She holds a small baby book in one hand, "Alice" embossed on its white satin cover.

The little girl puts Miss Fire and Baby Kat away, tucking them carefully in to their place in the "toy house" so they won't be uncomfortable, and then rises. As she walks over to her mother, she picks up Lord Mel and hugs him, holding him in both arms where he can see the book too. "Can I see Mommy?" she asks.

The mother nods, sitting on the bed and pulling her daughter to her, stuffed animal and all. "See?" she says, leafing through the early pages of the book. "We have all your pictures from when you were a baby in here. And some other things, too. Like this." She pulls it open to where she's set its white satin ribbon to mark a page, and there, beneath a layer of cellophane, lies an old piece of marbled paper, or maybe cardboard. Engraved on it are the words, "For Alice, From Your Father. A Faithful Protector, Always." A red cord is tucked inside with it.

Alice sits comfortable against her mother, leaning on her with her head and shoulders tucked under her arm so she can see the book. "Wow," she says when she sees the strange marbled paper. "Daddy can write very pretty. Why doesn't Daddy write like that all the time?"

Mrs. Westfield smiles. "I'm sure he had someone at the store write it out for him, angel. That's not his handwriting." She rubs her daughter's shoulder affectionately, flipping casually to the next page. On it a faded black-and-white photo of a cherubic blue-eyed baby gazes back at them, innocent.

The little girl nods in apparent understanding, though a bit disappointed her daddy can't always write like that. While thinking on that she looks at the next page and her baby picture and giggles in her mother's arms. "That's me!"

"That's you, sweetheart." She flips to the next page, where a beaming blond boy is -- with the help of a larger man's arm behind him -- holding the same baby up for the camera. "And that's you again. And guess who that is, holding you?"

After thinking a moment Alice makes a face. "Gabriel!" she exclaims in answer. "When he was my age, right Mom?"

"He was younger then than you are now, sweetheart. He was only, oh, seven, maybe, when this photo was taken. Just a little boy." Mrs. Westfield gives a little sigh, smiling wistfully. She turns her head to kiss her daughter's hair. "How quickly you grow."

Alice tilts her head and leans up to kiss her mom back, right on the cheek. "Is there any more, Mommy?" Alice then asks, turning her gaze again to the book.

"Oh, lots more," her mother says, smiling and turning the page. "See? Here's you with your father. And here -- " She turns another. "There's your first tooth. And I think on the next page -- that's a little Alice foot-print." She nestles her head in her daughter's hair, looking with her at the book.

Snuggling in to her mother's lap and comfortably resting her head against her arm, Alice loosely holds Lord Mel in her arms as her mother continues to relate about each picture. She watches with quiet attention, smiling, and listening to her mother's memories of her.

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This site serves as a chronicle of sessions in an online roleplaying campaign moderated by Conrad "Lynx" Wong and May "Rowan" Wasserman. The contents of this site are (c) 2001, 2002 by Conrad Wong and May Wasserman except where stated otherwise. Despite the "children's fantasy" theme of this campaign, this site is not intended for young readership, due to mild language and violence.