Date: 2012-06-14 04:24 am (UTC)
It's late and their feet hurt, their knuckles ache beneath worn gloves. He stumbles off to bed with a kiss, there's work in the morning; she hangs their coats and checks the doors, windows. It won't do much against a thief who can break down walls, but she's made sure that they won't have to be afraid.

The kitchen is lit up, and An-Chen is stirring soup and noodles, up too late for their sakes.

"How was your meeting, Mama? They must really be working hard to make the neighborhood safe."

"We are, sweetie," she replies with a smile, and accepts a bowl graciously. They're a warm little tribe all their own, but her grandmother would be delighted to see the old-time manners in her child. An-Chen is the child of a new world, but she has all the best of the old within her, without the dead weight that's destroyed so much.

Her daughter gives the pot a final stir, and sits down. The ladle spins a time or two as they sip, and talk, and it's only as the conversation dies that she realizes the ladle is still slowly spinning in the pot.

"I didn't want to show you until I could do more. I know that lessons are expensive."
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