This is a private RP between: Atticus and Rett

Where: Hearts, near the stables.
What's happening: A grandfatherly psyduck stumbles across a lonely venipede egg.

It was a balmy, peaceful afternoon in the Heart’s Faction. The sun was high, the breeze was pleasant, the birds serenaded one another, and most the faction members were out and about, enjoying the long awaited warmth of spring and summer after a blustery winter. The day was, by all accounts, perfect and little could happen that would spoil it. Those who were most well to do were out, playing a rousing game of croquet, while those who were of a lesser station busied themselves with outdoor work, or simply lounged in the cool shade the grounds’ trees offered.

The tiny venipede egg seemed to appear out of nowhere, yet looked for all the world as if it had been hidden beneath a well manicured row of hedges just outside of the stables. It sat, perfectly tucked, twitching now and again as a breeze washed by, ruffling the leaves that made a comfortable nest around it. How it came to be, well, that was unknown. Eggs seemed to come on their own accord, either a blessing or a burden to the hapless man who came upon it. The fellow in question was a kindly, old horse-keeper by the name of Rett, who had just so happened to walk past the hedges. A glimmer of violet, an almost rosy shade, caught the eye of the aging psyduck, who knelt down and peered into the leafy nest.

“Well now, what have we here? Bless me, poor little thing. It’s been ages since I’ve seen one of you lying about the grounds.” The elderly, white-haired man gently picked up the insect egg, wiping it clean on the hem of his dirty, cream shirt. There was still much work to be done, but he couldn’t simply leave the little thing sitting out like that. He was getting on up in age, certainly too old to be raising a little tike, but he would certainly find someone looking to rear a child. Until then, he would keep it safe and warm, as he had done on a few occasions in his younger days. Oh, but how he missed the patter of tiny feet! He felt a sway in his heart, an urging for the joys of parenthood.

Thus, Atticus very nearly was raised into the task of stablehand. Nearly.