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Elinn Johnston had come into Carver Johnston's life, small-sized, orange-eyed, with such sheer affront that she had done so that Carver knew from the start that he was going to have to revise his childproofing system in his apartment. He had loved her dearly from the first moment he saw her and had taken to her foibles like a patient Griselda, all of which seemed to make Elinn madder, a tiny hydrogen bomb of frustration and deep hatred of the Care Bears and all their ilk. And she could throw a tantrum that should have won county awards from miles around.

"We're going upstairs now," Carver said, at the foot of their building, and desperately tried to remember what one did in the case of a tantrum.

"NO," his child said, with her strange, throaty, oddly gravelly voice. It was one of her favourite words. "NO NO NO."

"We have to go upstairs so that you can have your lunch," said Carver.

"HATELUN," came the Sophist reply.

"You'll get hungry if you don't have your lunch," said Carver.

"HATELUN."

"Please please please have your lunch," said Carver, who was moving through the stages.

"HATELUN," announced Elinn, and threw herself down on the concrete floor: there she let out a shriek worthy of any steam engine, working her way from the low bass notes to the high soprano dog-whistle shrill, as Carver knew that at any moment the child protection police were going to come and arrest him for crimes against small persons. "HAAAAAAAAAAAATELUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN."

Fatherhood. Bliss.

Haki's appearance was nearly on par with Jesus coming down from heaven as far as distractions were concerned; Carver lit up like a big fistful of fairy lights at seeing the little blonde toddler, somehow moving past the embarrassment stage into pure white-of-his-eyes desperation, and rested his hands on his knees.

"Look, Linnet," he said. "There's another little girl over here. I'm sure you don't want her to think that you're a bad girl."

Elinn stopped the tantrum, face bright red, tilting her head back to get a good upside-down-look at Haki. She was breathing hard, orange eyes blazing, her shock of hair everywhere as she took in the pretty little blonde.

"Look at how good she is," her father said. "Don't you want to be a good girl too?"

"NO," Elinn said, and kicked her feet in the air to show Haki how she was not at all a good girl in any way. Haki did sound like hatelun, which was Elinese bawl-ese for HATE LUNCH. Maybe a coup could be had.

"NO," hollered Elinn in return, sitting up and waving her fists in the air, now deeply entranced by Haki. This was obviously a girl of class, of taste, of the same interests Elinn had: her terrible hate for everything that existed softened mildly in the excitement of yelling NO with somebody else. "NOOOOOO."

"I'm dreadfully sorry," the man murmured to Marc, incredibly pained. "I - I've only been a father for two days, you see."

"Good to meet you," said the man, though the unsaid implication was, though it probably should have been under less humiliating circumstances. "I'm Carver Johnston; I live on the top floor with my daughter, Elinn. My, but Haki's a pretty little girl. Why don't you say hello properly, Linnet?"

The little girl shook her head until her few braids wobbled and her brains were probably yoghurt. Then she stuck out her bottom lip and sat up, regarding Haki with huge suspicion at being loved: it had to be known to Haki that Elinn was not the sort to be messed with, no matter how much the little tangerine-eyed girl secretly and jealously admired the other's slinky golden hair or pink lace.

"Nnnf," she grunted, and then pulled out her ace: "Poop."

"Elinn," her father said sternly, "we do not say that kind of thing."

"POOP," his daughter growled in her strange low voice, and: "Haki." Before Carver could feel relieved, she rounded this off with "Snot," and a curious round of grunting noises.

"Toklate," gruffed Elinn, not wholly sure about this word - chocolate was a word she hadn't been introduced to. Then she attempted to make a raspberry, too, but couldn't really, so just ended up with a spit bubble. "Gnarg. Not knows."

"She is very opinionated," her father said weakly, but looked pleased to have the compliment anyway. "She's, ... very opinionated. I was wondering how she would get on with... the other children. I've only met Gavin, you see."

"Haki haki haki haki," Elinn was grunting, having liked the word.

"Tskocholate?" Carver tried out the odd word, brow furrowing as he tried to think of what it was - "oh! Oh, chocolate... I haven't dared try Elinn on the stuff yet. I'm afraid of a sugar high. She's bad... well, rambunctious..." (Rambunctious wasn't quite the word.) "... without it."

Elinn covered her face at the embarrassment of having Haki love her, quite guarded about the whole thing and not quite knowing how she felt yet: she was fascinated with Haki, and the idea of Haki therefore loving her was opportune. "Hrrrrrg," she said. "Not know." She was on the verge of declaring 'tskocholate' stupid, as was her wont, but decided this might be a bad idea.

"YES," Elinn announced immediately, which was a word she rarely used. She made it in her extra-loud gravel-voice, to show her emphasis. "YES. GO."

"Well, I think she's decided," her father said a bit ruefully. "Are you sure you don't mind? Only she seems to like your Haki a fair bit - " (Currently Elinn would gladly pound people for Haki, but that was unknown.) " - so that's a pleasant surprise." Poor Marc; Elinn had found the 'good influence', but Haki most definitely had not.

Elinn was yanked incautiously by one braid, through which she made a noise of deep anger but refrained - amazingly, thought Carver - through punching Haki with her chubby little fists; obviously, the wonder of Haki had not worn off yet, with the tiny blonde carrying a curious mystique that somehow made her alpha of the temporary pack. "HAIR," she squealed. "HAIR. Gnnnngh."

"I'll take her home as soon as she starts to get overtired," Carver promised the other man. "I do appreciate her chance to have a playmate."