Wonder Made

Fourteen, Part Two

Throughout the annals of history, a single line of dialogue has sparked the fires of revolution, summoned the hammer of war to fall heavy and hard, obscured kingdoms, erased dynasties, and plunged nations into nightmarish darkness.

But in all the world's millions of years alive, none had witnessed this. Peneloper's fury was so righteous, so fiery, her aura, after expanding to fifty times its size, consumed the Luric residence. The air sizzled, and Crispen found he had no words to describe this moment other than these:

Miss Auttsley, at having been defiled so thoroughly, so completely, that her soul would need several runs in a washing machine to get the slimy, putrid stink of the word, that will, hereafter, not be named, did not take a chill pill. She took the pill that caused her essence to explode and threaten the safety of everyone present.

"Well," Peneloper said, dusting off her hands. Lyabelle ran up the stairs, her trembling sister trailing behind her. "Forgive my outburst, it was most untoward." She curtsied.

Mrs. Luric, with the help of a sturdier Mr. Luric, picked her jaw off the floor and finding her mandibles still worked, forced out, "I never knew you could be so fierce." Admiration and awe wove through her words.

Peneloper gave a sheepish bow and smile. Her aura returned to normal, a small smattering of paisley print, her embarrassment, bobbing through the tempered sea of purple. "I guess I get it from my mother."

Mrs. Luric smiled. "And your grandmother. Mildrea was a terrifying creature in her day."

Peneloper sank to her seat and nodded. "Yes, I remember a little."

"I find women are always more fearsome than men," the Luric matriarch stated, "because we're often put in situations where we must fight for what we love."

"Surely that's biased."

Mrs. Luric craned her neck to stare up at Mr. Luric. "Well, Cas, what say you on this? Have a defense for your gender?"

Castor Luric eyed his wife and slowly set down his spoon, pudding dribbling off his chin. He cleared his throat. "As I'm no ambassador to male-dom, you can't expect what I say to ring true for the majority. But I have seen what you have fought for, my dear," he reached out, grabbed his wife's hand and planted a kiss on her knuckles, "and I have heard great stories about your grandmother and mother, Peneloper," Peneloper puffed with the pride of a narcissistic peacock, "so yes, women fight for what they love, but I think, all of us fight for that which we love. We just happen to go about it differently."

Mrs. Luric leaned in and gave her husband a quick, bashful peck on the cheek. "Watch your words, honey," she cooed, "or you're liable to make all the women of Potter Oaks come knocking on our door, looking to claim you for themselves." She smiled. "I can fend off several, maybe forty or so before breaking a sweat, but I couldn't fight them all." She snarled sweetly. "Not without cracking a few skulls."

Chant, embodying the disgust of all children when faced with a blatant display of parental grossness, thrust his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes. "We have company."

Mrs. Luric turned her eyes upon her dinner guests, a not-so-embarrassed blush on her cheeks. "Everyone, eat up. I've got seconds cooling the fridge." She plucked up her spoon and tore into her pudding. "Chant go wrangle your sisters, and make sure you-know-what is never uttered in Peneloper's vicinity again." Ten clocks behind Chant chimed in unison signaling it had turned five. "Peneloper, do you still have a curfew?"

She nodded. "Eleven on weekends."

"Then we have enough time to tell you all you want to know, but first," she raised her spoon in the air. Mr. Luric followed, Peneloper. Chant raced up the stairs to fetch his sisters. "We finish our puddings."