The cottage was had unusual noise in it today. The dogs were hiding. Michael was sitting in the easy chair, overwhelmed. He'd been summoned to The Three Broomsticks, only to find an old crone of a witch there, with two babies in travel seats.
"You're Michael Tremaine?" she'd asked.
"Uh...yeah?" he'd frowned, expecting perhaps a reconnaisance mission for the parents or something. He didn't see the next bit coming.
"Congratulations," she'd said, sticking a folded parchment in one of the travel seats and handing both travel seats to him. She'd left in a puff of smoke without another word.
Michael was confused. He had known Maddie was due any day with their child when she disappeared, but who the devil were these kids? Where was the obviously destitute mother and sot of a father....
He had drawn out the parchment and read it. Birth Certificates. Two of them. Scott Ryan Tremaine, born 3.01 am, December 25, 2027. Five pounds, 2 ounces. Craig Wesley Tremaine, born 3.27 am, December 25, 2027, Five pounds, 6 ounces. Mother, Madeline Tremaine. Father, Michael Tremaine....
He had stopped reading, his mind blank. He'd somehow gotten home with the delivery, and now the travel seats sat on the floor. That had apparently been some time ago, because the travel seats were screaming. The dogs were hiding, and the hat rack was spazzing and racing back and forth trying to shove different foods into the mouthes of the babies to stop the noise. What the heck did he know about babies anyway? That was supposed to have been Maddie's job. His job was supposed to have been to keep them in the lifestyle that was comfortable and slightly below oppulence.
There was a knock on the door. Maddie, perhaps? He hoped anyway. He got up, the din still scaring the furniture, and went to the door and opened it.
Thaor. Much too much like his father, always blowing in and blowing out. He'd blown out without a word, and evidently, the wind had changed and had blown him back for awhile. Ah, well, the allergy to roots was evidently in the Elldir dna. Michael had been that way for a years himself, to a point.
"Well, well," he said, glad to see an adult aged friendly face, "welcome home. It's not quiet, but come on in and make yourself at home." He opened the door for him and glanced back at the hat rack who was bringing leftover cold pizza to feed to the screaming babies. "Snidely, do they eat that?" he asked hesitantly. He glanced back at Thaor. "You do have a clue about these things, right?"