Phase One: Toy Domination
The moment the rattle touched my fingers—well, teeth—I could feel it:
Power.
Not literal power, mind you. Just an enchanted bauble that jingled ominously when shaken. But symbolism matters.
Mimi regrouped quickly, adjusting her lacy bonnet like she was suiting up for round two.
Bobo, still sniffling from his earlier defeat, glared at me with the ferocity of an injured bear cub.
Roffleford… continued eating his sock.
Clearly, I had seized control of the playdate's moral authority.
Millie clapped her hands from the sidelines.
"Look at little Fuoco! He's sharing so nicely!"
Sharing?
This isn't sharing.
This is domination.
This is seizing the relic of influence and staking my claim over the nursery battleground.
This is the first stone laid in my road back to power.
I shook the rattle solemnly, like ringing the bells of judgment over my conquered foes.
Bobo began to crawl toward me with the grim determination of a siege weapon.
I narrowed my eyes.
Not today, sir.
Using all the tactical genius of a once-immortal Hell King trapped in a chubby infant's body, I employed my next move:
Sparkle Blink!
Okay, technically it was me rolling sideways again while drooling, but it was a tactical repositioning maneuver.
Bobo missed and collided with Roffleford, who squeaked like a distressed piglet and promptly sat on Bobo's head.
Beautiful.
Mistakes were made. Alliances collapsed. Fortunes shifted.
Mimi, sensing weakness, tried to snatch the rattle while I was momentarily tangled in my own feet.
She smiled sweetly.
I smiled back.
Then promptly screamed at the top of my lungs.
Mimi, startled, fell backwards onto her parasol and began wailing indignantly.
Millie sprinted over in a panic.
"Oh no! Babies, babies, what's wrong?!"
I let out a soft, innocent gurgle and nuzzled the rattle lovingly.
Operation Distract and Secure: success.
Phase Two: Nap Time Negotiations
After the Great Rattle Incident, it became clear the adults had lost control of the situation.
A mass evacuation was called.
We were herded—wrangled, really—onto a row of soft, shaded cots lined up under the magnolia trees. Fragrant petals floated down, drifting like lazy snow.
It was idyllic.
Deceptively peaceful.
A trap.
Millie placed me onto a frilly pillow with a sigh.
"There we go, little lamb."
Little lamb, she says.
Little demon overlord, she means.
Across from me, Bobo was already snoring like a warthog drowning in pudding.
Roffleford muttered "Mama… cake…" in his sleep, with a blissful drool stream.
Mimi lay there, plotting vengeance beneath closed eyelids, one pudgy hand still clutching a scrap of her destroyed parasol.
I lay on my back, staring at the vast, endless blue of the mortal sky.
My thoughts ran deep:
Could I begin mana core formation during naptime, thus securing an advantage for later physical confrontations?
If I burned a diaper using latent mana, would that count as an act of war under noble house rules?
Why in all the hells do baby socks never stay on?
Millie leaned over and tucked a soft blanket around me.
"There we go, sweetheart. Sleep tight, my little star."
I blinked up at her, utterly solemn.
Sleep?
Me?
The sovereign architect of nightmarish dominions?
No.
Sleep was for the weak.
I would close my eyes…
...only to better plan my next move.
I let my eyelids drift shut, rattle still clutched in my iron baby grip.
The battlefield would rest for now.
But the war of the waddlers was far from over.