- Sixteen years later-
"That's why?" Missy Cobb stared down at her mother, large azure eyes full of outrage.
"That's why ya saddled me with this, this… ruttin'-"
"…go se …"
"It's…cheery," River soothed.
"You do know it means "dung on a twig," don't you? How could you do this to me?"
The demand was followed by a moment of the ominous, seething, teenaged wrath at which this firstborn daughter excelled. She could maintain this level of rage for a tiresomely long time, too, since she was very definitively a Cobb. Her mother pondered the possible results of telling Missy that she'd still been plagued with peek-a-boo days of sanity back when she'd given birth, but abandoned that gambit for a more expedient solution to her problem. It had, after all, been used successfully for years.
"It was your father's idea," said River smoothly.
- Fin -