"Naturality comes at a price; Not at a skill."

When they danced, or played or sauntered aimlessly along; it wasn't uncommon to merely glance at the rather intricate steps they took.

It wasn't uncommon at all.

As they stepped toe against toe; hopping aimlessly...gracefully...gently across the living area, ears bobbing softly as their fur was only slightly ruffled across--wasn't exactly anything new.


Ofcourse it wasn't.

Two blizzardians; draped loosely in summer atire; sleeveless shirts, cargo shorts, regime peaked caps ever so slightly askew atop heat-blushed hair.

Nothing uncommon at all.

Yet he still watched them; staring at them. Unusually red crystal balls fogging over in unfamiliarity at their oh so intricate little display of play. The only disturbance in the air was the lullabiac thudding of weighted pads against soft steel.

Even after an entire year; his head still tilted as he gazed deeply at their almost ritualistic display of bonding; heel matching heel--to touching toe, and the commander's son being gently passed from chest to breast; giggling in soft amusement at the ride.

They were twins. Fraternal twins.

And it was blaintently obvious at first glance.

Ace should've been busy; should've been doing his maths 'Homework.' Oh he hated it: wrong answers galore--as if anyone could ever spot the distinction between two degrees off Yar and a metre to Starboard. And as if his coordination could ever improve itself over studying a couple of graphs; damn things made his eyes practically bleed just glimpsing at them!

Hence that he should have been doing it.

But he could not, not for the life of him; get his head around any of it.

Just a tangled mess...scribbles and blinks; stares all around.

Just had to watch; as they danced gently across the room, one of them mouthing the lyrics to an oddly familiar...distant...soft tune; the other bouncing the red-headed baby against their hips.

It was alien...

It was familiar...

It was just...natural. Boy and Girl, skipping softly along their ever shifting living area; baby gently pressed and re-pressed against chests, hips, shoulders and arms.

Handling fragile cargo with energy laced care.

It was only common knowledge that naturally the marksmen would be blessed with such accuracy; such timing.

He should've been concentrating; they'd told him a million times, almost too many to count--just white noise at this point; fading with him into the background.

He should have been brushing up his skills, he should have been applying it generally.

The black-haired boy absentmindedly shoved his tainted page away; grunting at the fact that his red-inked calculations clashed terribly with the freedomic doodles of his pride and self.

He didn't like it when he was interrupted like that.

But this; this...oh this was a blank page, a canvas...an opportunity.

He was in control now; smirking--he loved to relish the almost squirm-worthy potential. As the pin-sharp nib of his pencil hoverred...just hoverred in the air...he could taste the freshly intoxicating victory that his tool; his sword, would reclaim.


The fifteen year old spluttered heavilly as his pertruding shoulder blade was clapped, heavilly, across--sending his 'sword' spiralling down into a charccoal like mess atop the gaping, blank wasteland.

Sharply; he turned--blood practically circling in shock, horror, surprise. Ace found himself practically nose-diving back into reality upon finding the offender's, the boy's, cracked and crooked choppers practically slicing, oh so carelessly through his gums. A second to blink...and contemplate really...it must've taken a fine amount of tuning in one's own...derranged...mind to show those babies off without grimacing at every second word.

"Ya done?"

"Uhm..." lips pursed; casually, very casually as he snaked the paper away from either twin's line of sight "Uh-huh!"

And they whooped joviously; naturally joviously--upon their youngest squaddie's daily achievement.

Obviously he always finished, always got the last laugh; "Ace was a good boy, eh!"

Not like they'd ever bothered to watch him that close.

"Dance!" both baby, Aerrow, and girl squealed. He couldn't tell which; each was as bad as the other at times. But still; Ace laughed, shaking his head as he tried to smuggle his nimble wrists out of the muscular grasp.

But who was their little squaddie to argue?

Who was he but to bounce, awkwardly, gracelessly--just apparantly along with them as the natural duo circled uncle and nephew around and through in careful little loops and flicks and staggers galore.

The boy could've snuffed; ofcourse it wasn't a dance. Anybody who was anybody around here could tell it wasn't a dance.

It was just...

It was...



"Watch out kiddo, eh!"

But again; who was their little squaddie...actually who was anyone to know? To register, specifically, presently what any of them were shouting out about?

He counted; it took exactly 4 painful, ankle straining stumbles and a sharp whang against the table to snap him back out of their little routine circle. X + Y = One Hell of a painful cry--who in their right mind let scalding hot coffee on the edge of a table?

"I'm ok!"

The sopping boy was practically choking against his own throat's need.

"I'm al-alright! M'alright!"

Aerrow was the first to break; screaming out in terror at the horrible loud noises. As far as he was concerned, it was all distruption, distruption, distruption. Ace merely dripped and sloshed himself all the way into a rather...standard pose...for someone solely wet.

"Just..." he swallowed; stiffenning--bloody eyes glassing firmly, refusing to fog over their images just yet "Just...gotta..." he wanted to bark out at the pair of them; their baby blue orbs squinting and shifting from his dripping sleeves to their rather snowed-brained memories.

Ace took in a long...deep...intense drag of steamed air; exhaling it gently through his gritted fangs. His eyes were dying, just pleading with him to let them lose it, "Got to change."

He left a steaming trail of familiar...identifiable liquid behind him. His heels clamped down on the stray, questioning droplets. Firm and firmer; one brisk step after another. Just trying to block out the heat of a blush beginning to rise up in his cheeks.

But Ace was still only fifteen years old, a baby amongst his elders; even if he'd just haphazardly flunked his homework off for the day, and who knows; maybe gotten his pennance in one twin's stray "Cup o' joe."

Could you really, honestly blame him if his ever-reddening eyes started draining his stress away?