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It was one thing when you had children to deal with at the daycare center, it was quite another when you had their parents as well. Em the Black had insisted on accompanying Merroth at the daycare center, "to see how Merroth adjusts to it," and she would not be dissuaded. The simple fact was there existed no rule that prevented parents from hanging around the facility. Black assured them, "I won't interfere. You'll hardly know I'm there."

And the weird thing was, she meant it.

There were always parents who had trouble letting go. They needed to be sure their precious little one was going to be cared for and safe. They hovered, helicopter parents, trying to watch over every little detail of their child's life. Black was not one of those parents. When she released Merroth's hand at the doorway she said, "I'll be over there," and promptly sat down in the furthest possible corner with a book. She did not give Merroth time enough even for a goodbye. She did not look to see what happened to him, just turned her back and left him standing there in the doorway staring after her with vague forlornment. He looked like someone had just run over his cat and stood seemingly rooted to his spot.

A hand. Evan might as well have offered a lit cigarette -- at least Merroth could have started a fire with it. He stared angrily at the friendly gesture and made it very clear what kind of a child he was going to be when it came to daycare: "No."

Merroth promptly opened his mouth and said the dirtiest word he could think of, which was fairly terrible given that he lived with a genuinely salty sea dog of a sailor, and tilted his head up with smug superiority. There, he challenged Evan, what do you make of that?

Evan's words had the desired effect. "Roth!" said Roth hotly. "My name is Roth!" He scowled, gnashing his teeth in frustration at being thwarted, but the last thing he was going to do was allow them to call him Spot. That was a total injustice and he would not tolerate it. At all. Ever. He made a mental note to be sure no one called him "Spot" ever again.

Merroth's first thought was: where is this paste and how much can I eat of it? His second thought was, oh, look, a brightly-colored wooden toy. (It was a train.) He immediately brought his shoe down on the train, trying to stomp it to little effect. Like most toys, it was made to withstand a certain degree of abuse from small children.

Merroth gave the toy a kick, sending it sailing across to the wall. Thankfully no one was in the way. He whirled on the newcomer. No one told him what to do, even if the unbreakability of that toy was a total fact. Merroth threw his hand in the air in illustrative point. "Right!" he proclaimed, and proceeded to try and locate a better, more breakable toy from the assortment on the floor.

Merroth made a face. Had he known what a gerbil was he probably would have promised to kill it on sight. Nerys defined such small scurrying creatures as vermin and declared that their only purpose was to die by her foot. As it was, Merroth responded only with a resounding, "NO," that bordered on a shout. He then grabbed a little stick that had gotten separated from its drum set and broke it over his leg the way Nerys broke sticks for the fire.

That was what Merroth needed. He immediately grinned and held up the two halves in the air triumphantly. He had finally proved his mastery over something in this universe.

Merroth opened his mouth to retort but he had no good answer, at least not immediately. "Later" was not a term that figured much into Merroth's mentality. He was far more interested in the now and immediate gratification. Then he had an idea. "Make Black buy a new one." He smiled with pride at his own accomplishment in figuring out the right answer to Evan's question. Black always replaced his things for for him, the only type of affection she seemed capable of.