>You smack aside a high kick, stepping back and swatting it along in trajectory.
>You manage to lower your hand to barely block the elbow scythe Dash throws at your solar plexus as she uses her momentum to simply spin around rather than waste energy and stagger herself.
>She's getting good.
>A little too good, but that's your ego talking.
>You wrap a hand around the crook of her elbow, barely managing to get a hold due to the sweat.
>Your other hand grabs her wrist.
>You turn, propping her captured arm over your own shoulder and forcing her onto your back briefly before you complete the throwing maneuver.
>Unlike the movies, she doesn't go far.
>You were more focused on forcing her to hit the sparring arena's padded - not to say, soft - flooring.
>You snap your foot onto her back, leaning forward to twist her arm out of comfortable range of motion.

"Dash."
>She wiggles in pain and discomfort, hissing through her teeth.
"Dash, if you don't give I'm gonna break this arm. And I'll make sure we stick it out until we've stopped you falling for this same damn trick."
>It's harsh, but true.
>If she doesn't learn, she's going to get herself stabbed, shot, bludgeoned, vaporized, raped --
>Working beat as a newbie isn't easy.
>You watch her carefully as she tries to free her arm, by digging her nails into your ankle and scratching away, getting under your loose training pants right leg.

>Being a girl isn't so easy, either.
>Not everyone can be magical royalty who can bitchslap armies.
>Dash seems to forget that.
>But fuck, if you aren't proud of her for working her ass off to try and change that.


"For fuck's sake, Dash. Come on!" You twist, and you can almost feel the joint beginning to pop from the shoulder.
>"No!"
>Is she serious.

>On one hand, she's your baby.
>When she was 9, she said she was going to 'train super hard, like, really super hard' to run one of your half marathons with you.
>She did.
>12, same shit. Except a full marathon on a scenic route around the base of Canterlot's mountain.

>Got a little embarrassing at 17 when she almost beat your PB for the very same route.
>Guess that gave her a taste. Because her dumb ass followed you into the Department the second she hit 18.
>Sure as shit is ironic she followed her mom in the divorce, but hey, your ex has to win some same as she loses some.

>But it also means that you're on double thin ice if you fuck her up in one of your after duty training sessions.

>On the other hand, if she doesn't learn now she'll get it worse on duty.

>You stare at her, still wiggling and trying to put her knees under her.

>You can sit on cloud nine until she figures out its game, set and fucking match here.

>You've been good at risk assessment. 
>Part of being a cop, and not dying in some stupid incident and being able to wake up and see your girl.
>Also wondering how she's gonna make you want to punch a hole in your office wall.
>Again.

>The guys in Canterlot Mid decided it'd be hilarious to get some carpenter to 'frame' the entire punching wall.
>Then remove all the posters, your calendar and the ridiculously huge whiteboard you hung up to cover it.
>In their place, they left the holes uncovered and threw on a snazzy looking plaque.
>It read 'Times Lieutenant Bow was really proud of CPL Dash'.

>Assholes.
>They get points for effort.
>You'd take a bullet for most of them, but you also wanted to start being the guy firing at them for that.

>You kept it there, though.
>Seeing as Dash sneaks into your office when she's meant to be doing paperwork, but really reading.
>She even has some of her adventures next to your noir detective paperbacks.
>And a few manuscripts sit up there by an 'Incandescent Sprint'.
>Either way, it's a good reminder for her to at least try and behave.

>Girl can face down an active magic user without thinking (and she really fucking should start thinking for once) but she's afraid of a publisher rejection.
>Kinda like how she's not afraid of you twisting her arm in some things.
>Like literally twisting her arm to get her to just give up.

"Dash, it's been two minutes since I got you, just give up so we can go a final round and eat."
>"Ngnfhgf!" She grunts in response, fighting between the pain of twisting her arms to help get up and your foot on her back and getting her knees beneath her.
"Okay, I see this isn't reaching you, and you are being belligerent by the laws of Your Fucking Dad, and through him, Equestrian Law." You pause for effect, before continuing, slacking on your impromptu arm lock.
"See, that feels great? Good cop, bad cop. So, here's the bad. You keep this dangerous, stupid and childish shit up and I'll treat you like a child."
>She stops wriggling, barely managing to turn her head so her cheek is on the mat to look at you with a single purple eye.
>".. Whad'ya mean?" She asks, hindered by the position.
"No takeout."
>"Awww c'm'n." She pleads.
>You loosen her arm as you prep yourself from Instructor Lecture Mode to Dad Chiding Mode.

>And that's when she earns another hole in the wall.
>And makes you so fucking proud.

>She went and managed to get her knees under her, and push herself forward.
>Now, for most that isn't much.
>Take some mobilitas muscle structure, and the fact that, once again, Dash is a girl.
>Good speed bursts, as opposed to your stamina.

>She slams into your ankle, knocking you off balance easily, yelling the world's scratchiest battle cry.

>"TAKEOUT."

>You'd laugh if you weren't trying to roll with the--
>let go of her arm you stupid fucking
>You try but you're a split second from hitting the mat back first.
>You land and the breath leaves your lungs.
>Dash clambers atop you, peppering your torso with sharp jabs as you're trying to stop being so winded.

>"Takeout or death!" She chants, each cry punctuated by a good average of eight punches of varying severity. "Lemme hear a 'I GIVE' I - KICK - YOUR - ASS - YOU-SAY-WHAT?"

>You focus on trying to grab her fists, but she's got you down and isn't even using technique anymore.

>"I kick your ass, you say what? I give!" She chimes in, answering herself.
>She's almost using her chant as a running cadence.
>Except she's not running.
>Nope, she's just waling on you.
>Thank fuck she's not using her left hand.

>Fuck it, she's surprised you and even shown good escalation management. She made you drop your guard.
>She develops that further, she's golden.

"Give. Da- fuck, I swear to-- I GIVE, you jackass."
>Her face is interesting. It's a mix of emotions.
>Confusion, pride, happiness, confusion, excitement, hunger, confusion, then both of the previous two.
>"That mean I get to have whatever pizza I want?"
>She leans back, eyeing you critically.
>She rests a hand on your chest, kind of a promise she'll keep you there until you agree.

>You feel your lips start to pull, and grin.
"Sure, whatever you want, rainy day. As long as you open up that wallet I know you own, and get the damned credit card that doesn't have my name on it."
>She has to have bruised you earlier in the sparring, because she presses right down on a sore spot.
>"That's not what I meant, dad." She almost whines, and you're getting flashbacks to those nights when she used to act like she loved you.

>When she'd occasionally come over from her mom's after school, and complain because you were purposely jumbling what she'd asked for.
>A master of dad jokes.


>Either way, now it's your turn to be surprised.
"You haven't called me dad since you joined up. I rattle your brain with that jab in round two?"
>It's true. She started dropping off from 'daddy' to 'dad' to 'hey' and then 'LT' when she managed to get assigned to C Mid.
>"I got you, so you have you're buying, alright? It's, like, in the code of conduct." She puffs out her chest, which looks.. well. Anything but unintimidating.
>No binders on duty.
>And she wears hers tight enough to hamper her breathing, so she couldn't even try to say it helped agility.
>Shit, it actually looks kinda good.
>You'd like to--

>"Hellllooooo? Dad? Pizza. You. Buy me. I win." 
"Wait, what?"
>Yeah. What the fuck, Bow.
"Sorry, just.. not important. Also, get off me, you're putting a lot of weight on my--"
>Crotch.
>She looks down, and laughs and bounces 'lightly'.
>Meaning she slams herself down repeatedly with as much force as a 20-year old Mobilitas can muster.

>You realize quickly that something isn't all aces, realize you need to a) push her off before she notices and b) get laid.
>Hit the bar, pick up some girl who's either looking to sleep with a 35 year old man, or is really impressed by your uniform.
>The last one is sleazy, but fuck right now it's kinda getting stupid.

>Helping Dash try to get enough training to start her detective exams.
>Which is half drilling her on law, and man do you drill her.
>Your mind rolls again, and its around that time you realize Dash has stopped bouncing and looks sorta frozen.
>Ah, fuck.

"Off. Shower. We're eating in ten."
>She looks at you, and you can't read her.
"Now, Corporal."
>Your LT voice seems to get her moving, and man is it not the way you--

>Cold shower. You need a long, LONG cold shower.
>And a fucking priest.
>Or a nun.
>A couple of them.

>Dash interrupts whatever sick shit is ricocheting around in your braincage, waving her right hand in front of it.
>".. Dad?"
>You accept the hand up.
>Felt like this was all easier when you joined back when YOU were eighteen.
>You're getting old.
>The gray is really hammering that home andpleaseSundon'thinkabouthammering.
>Know what? Tool euphemisms are banned.
>Violators will be held in contempt

>Taken in by Dash for what you're thinfuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

>She's looking at you worriedly.
>"You 'kay? Didn't hit your head on the mat did you?" She asks, and angles herself this way and that to look at your eyes.
>Snaps a finger by each ear.
>Her mom raised her right.
>She's good people. Her and her mom both.

>Trained observer is what you call yourself. 
>And somehow you didn't twig the fact she's still holding your hand from helping you up.

"Yeah, fine, kid. Just.. just hit the showers."
>"I mean, sure, but I'm gonna be a while."
>You stare hopefully.
>HORROR. You stare in HORROR.
>"Woah, hey. No, I mean my shoulder's kinda sore so I'm gonna be a while." She raises her hands hurriedly, finally letting your hand go.
>Don't think about how nice that was.
>You absolute asshole.
>If you knew a guy was thinking this shit NEAR his daughter never mind ABOUT her you'd get a warrant and mysteriously have to leave him with some oddly clumsy officers for a few minutes.
>Cuffed.
>Accidents happen.
>That's how Dash came about, now you think about it.
>An accident that, true to her nature came two weeks early.
>Figures she saw a birth date as a speed record to beat, and not, you know, a birth date.

"Yeah, I didn't mean that you were gonna jill it in the shower. Yeah." You nod, and her reaction's
>well
>Blend of "we look at homicide cases daily" impassivity and "don't let my parents know I masturbate".
>"NO. DAD, COME ON. That's fuckin' --" She grabs at her eyes, making gargled noises of discomfort.
>She kinda looks like a Cringe user.
>Glad she never got into drugs.
>Your time in Narcotics kinda fucked you up in regards to that.

>"Look, I'm gonna be a while unless you wanna help me out here?"
>You stare again, and ignore the slight tent forming in your loose and tightening training bottoms.
>Thankfully she takes your look of .. doesn't matter what it is, as shock.
"Uh."
>Is all you got.
>"No, the showering, not the fucking masturbating, which I wasn't gonna do and why am I even TELLING YOU THIS?! I meant it as a joke, because it was gonna be funny because you wouldn't help, that'd be too lucky of me, amiright and I'm just gonna go shower now, see ya!"
>Dash dashes off.
>You almost see one of those smoke clouds around where the air hasn't realized she's left that physical space.
>You're pretty sure that's how physics works.

>You decide to fuck off to the guys' locker room.
>Especially because you wanna try and leave the 'not that lucky' comment right there in the fucking sparring area.

>You're sore, and now freezing.
>And boy do you deserve it.
>Seeing as the second you got into one of the shower stalls you tried to collect a debt your dick hadn't paid up.

>Then the icy shower kicked in and you started to focus on your breathing not to hyperventilate.

>Yeah, Bow.
>Grab dinner with Dash.
>Then head to that pub that does the good wings, watch the game, relax.
>Pick up someone that reminds you nothing of your ex who you may or may not miss and wish you'd not let things get like they did.
>Not knocked up Charge when you were barely out of high school and married out of fear of what your parents would think.
>If you could go back, man.

>Squeezing you eyes shut, you force your body to lock up, before focusing on relaxing each muscle slowly.
>You turn the dial on the shower, and make your way out to the main area of the locker room.
>You don't bother with a towel.
>Shit, you don't bother when the locker room's full.

>When you were a kid, you heard a theory from Joe.
>Wasn't like his donuts, which were a theory made into a real tangible fucking thing and based in reason.
>And delicious, delicious fry fat.
>No, he'd sat there, nodding all conspiracy like.

>>"See, you ever notice how most of our crew's moms are hot?" He looked around furtively, and nodded as though taking you silence as a yes.
>You hadn't said HIS mom was a damned good example of that, just giving a slight nod.

>>"Yeah, you get it. See, I got a theory, man. What if, WE get hotter once we have kids?"
".. Joe, I gotta say, I love you like a brother - but I.. I can't have children." Affecting a solemn look, you stared off into the mid distance.
>>"Fuck you, Bow. No, I mean think about it. I call it the dad dick phenomenon."
>You'd pushed yourself up from the park bench. "Good talk, Joe, catch you after class tomorrow."
>He scrambled after, you can hear him snatching his SlamBurger bag from the bench before catching up quick.
>>"Come on, man, think about it! Nothin' weird, I'm just saying. We're gonna be Royal. Fucking. Guards. Like your dad, and my mom's sister. We're gonna get buff, killer shape."
"So where does the.." you look around, for people being too close. Nope, you're alone. Loitering here in the City's main park for hours to shoot the shit like always. ".. dad dick thing come in?"
>>"Oh, yeah. Look at it like thi--"
>You held up a hand, stopping.
"You mention any sort of childhood trauma about getting dickslapped by your dad and this sparking this wild dream you're telling me right now, and I'm gonna floor you."
>>"Oh fuck you, you probably actually had a similar thing, except it was your uncle."
>You emphatically hiss, wincing.
"Oh, we're taking this to a dark place now."
>>"Yeah, I'm so-" he starts, but you close the punchline.
"Only happened once with Uncle Ran."
>>"Wait, fuck, wha--?"
"Actually," you carry on. "I don't even think he was my uncle. Just some dude who came by and let me play snake eater in the basement with him."
>Joe, like he still does, stayed true to his gullible nature.
>>"Bow, shit, what the fuck, when did this happen?"
"I'm fucking with you, man." You cuffed him upside the head, and resumed walking.
>>"First off, screw you. For that I get to explain my sweet new theory."

>>"Buff, older guys. Girls go insane for that. Shit, your dad's fighting off girls whenever he's out with the Guard. You've SEEN him turning chicks down, pointing to his ring!" He pokes you, insistent.
"Well, yeah, but -" He didn't let you finish.
>>"Girls eat the whole hardworking, married guy up. And so, I have shown you the light, Mr Taut."

>No matter how delusional the guy was about anything other than snacks, he wound up being right.
>Girls seem to throw themselves at you.
>Maybe its because you usually just intend to drink yourself stupid, and don't go looking.
>Maybe its the Dad Dick Phenomenon.
>Foretold by a guy who's now selling donuts.
>Not to knock him, but yeah, not the smartest guy.
>Guess a broken clock's right twice a day, huh.

>Either way. Head out, bang some pretty gal who's well within the dumb-ass rule.
>Half your age, add seven.
>Subtract one for every double you slam down, until a hard limit of eighteen.

>Math is tricky when you're hammered.

>You cross to the mirror and look at yourself.
>Man, you remember when your stomach was almost sharp enough to cut Charge if she felt like fooling around in your car.
>Now the sharpness went and gave way to a good rise of muscle and scar tissue.
>Surgeries, a bullet hole on your hip, cuts from letting some junkie with a switch get within shanking distance.
>Less toned, but more muscular.
>Dick's still there. You're not sure what part the dick played in the 'DDP' theory.
>Maybe it just occurred to Joe that you're dick's the main reason you wind up getting a girl pregnant.
>You run a hand across your jaw, and try to remember if it was yesterday or the day before you actually shaved.

>You cross to the mirror and look at yourself.
>Man, you remember when your stomach was almost sharp enough to cut Charge if she felt like fooling around in your car.
>Now the sharpness went and gave way to a good rise of muscle and scar tissue.
>Surgeries, a bullet hole on your hip, cuts from letting some junkie with a switch get within shanking distance.
>Less toned, but more muscular.
>Dick's still there. You're not sure what part the dick played in the 'DDP' theory.
>Maybe it just occurred to Joe that you're dick's the main reason you wind up getting a girl pregnant.
>You run a hand across your jaw, and try to remember if it was yesterday or the day before you actually shaved.

>You look more like a bum than a lieutenant, with the scraggly hair.
>Dull black and grey.
>Dash got Charge's hair. 
>Eyes too.

>You remember those eyes looking up at you, popping and twinkling with a plea to get fucked.
>>"Can't wait until we get home, so you can just pooooooooooooooound --" 
>One of your biggest regrets is not letting your horny girlfriend finish that sentence.
>You were too busy locking lips and slamming her against your battered old muscle car.
>You figure you didn't disappoint in what she wanted.
>She got pounded.
>Just in the back of your car, not in your shitty one bedroom apartment.
>Fuck, that place was nearly a bedsit, if they took a door out.

>Weird how your biggest regret spawned another huge regret. Rushed marriage and divorce.
>Also brought your little girl into the world.
>But it also gave you that beautiful image.
>Even thinking about her lying there on the backseat, half-wearing a bra with one perky tit pulled out SOMEWHERE in the chaos that was your back seat session.
>Smirking proudly, she'd looked up at you.
>Those fucking eyes teary from squeezing her throat a little as your other hand used the hand grip above the door you were slamming her head against.
>Damn you miss fucking Dash.

>You jerk your hand away from your dick.
>You stare at yourself in the mirror.
>And it makes you sick as shit that you look so pleased with the idea behind the shock.

>Not Dash. Charge.
>Both.

>You never handled confusion well. So you slam your fist on the counter.
>You keep doing that until your hand hurts appropriately and you feel the red heat seeping out of your muscles.
>You check your hand.
>A little red and swollen.
>Nothing major.

>Splash some water on your face, Bow.
>She
>Just looks like Charge a lot.
>You miss your ex wife.
>Nothing new there.

>Just coupled with a long dry few weeks, you're misfiring.
>Yeah. That happens, right?
>Not like you can ask.
>Hey, guys - you ever think about banging you daughter because she looks like your ex wife a lot?

>Yeah. That'd go fucking great.

>You keep splashing water on your face and letting it trickle down messily onto the counter and down the rest of you.
>It's not even that cold compared to the ice shower.

>"Hey, Dad, I heard something banging and I got worried and oh heeeeeeeeeey" she trails off as you turn in surprise.
>A second or two passes.
"I'm fine, kid. "
>She's got an ice compress bound onto the left shoulder.
"Your shoulder okay?"
>but besides that she's wearing some off duty 'clothes' if a string back vest you're sure she stole from your place at some point and..some
>tight-enough-to-show-enough-and-not-too-much yoga pants.

>".. Are you getting ha-"
>You stammer, and Sun you haven't stammered since you were younger than her.
"dash, get--"
>She takes a step closer.
>No way in Hell or Tartarus.
"CORPORAL!" You shout, pointing at her before jerking your arm to indicate her leaving the fucking room."GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE MEN'S."
>Dash squeaks something about 'jiggles' and blinks herself back to thought before once again departing in a hurry.

>After throwing your training gear into the laundry chute, you quickly get dressed, pulling on your CMCD ("Protection until the Sun and Moon cease") shirt, pulling up some jeans and old sneakers. You eye the cheap ring hanging on a chain in the back of your locker.
>You run a finger over it, as though it'll do any better a job of saving your soul than it did your marriage.
>You adjust the picture of your ex wife and Dash tucked into the mirror, and slam the locker closed behind you.
>You quickly check your brick of a phone for any texts as you walk by muscle memory back to your office. Solar's deserted besides some sergeants chasing up reports, but you've no doubt Nocturnal's bustling with the Night Police.
>Mid station's been around since the construction of Canterlot, so it sticks by the old customs of each of the Rulers holding sway over a slot of 12 hours.
>Explicit sovereignty exercised by both meant for some differences in Night and Day.
>Luna was often more eager to use more shadow tactics to keep the peace where the Guard weren't deemed necessary.
>Celestia tended to be more for displays of force if called for, but more public interaction.
>Pastries with the Police being a recent one.
>Some unlucky bastards got selected by "lottery" to go out and have to interact with the civilians of Canterlot.
>Usually it's you and some other guys from around Solar.
>It's not bad.
>Just tiring.
>But you get all you can eat pastries from one of the few places in the world with Celestia's stamp of approval.
>Shit, she rocked up once and you got to say 'hi' dumbfoundedly.
>What followed was a zany conversation regarding her prized pupil, who apparently is 'ever so close to your Rainbow Dash'.
>Weirdly, you could only mumble and nod, taking this in.

>And that was the day you learnt that the nice girl who occasionally picks Dash up for lunch or drops off books, the 'Egghead' was being prepped for.. something by the Sun Princess.

>Speaking of your daughter, she's lounging on the small couch you have wedged between two bookcases.
>Upside down.
>With her, wait, yeah that's one of your vests.
>One of YOUR workout vests gathering on the bottom of her tits, which is now the top of them from your perspective.
>She got the abs from you, definitely.
>Her mom threw in the tits.

"Kid, you're gonna blow out the four brain cells you got in there from blood flow. And three of those you're loaning from Twilight."
>You get behind your desk and idly check emails as you try to decide where you want to order out from.
>"Pfft, you're just jealous because I'm rocking what I got."
"Girls down Eclipse way 'rock what they got'. I forgot I had a hooker in my office, not my daughter."
>You look at her hard, before you resume scanning emails.
> WANTED notices, meetings coming up in the next month, workshops, Academy timetables you need to teach on the odd weekend.
>You're also trying to teach a Mage-Sergeant Detective's son to drive a little in exchange for him sending Dash some extra study materials.
>On the sly.
>You start replying to his most recent message.
>Mornstep, bring him by the Academy fleet workshoop --
>You fix the typo and start to continue.
>"Hey! I could be both! Your daughter and your hooker!" Dash frowns, looking up -- down? -- from her phone.
>You let that hang for a minute.
>Because half of your brain is trying to reinvent police brutality on the other half that's thinking that's a sweet idea.
"Pimping days are over, girl."
>You sound a lot calmer than you feel, that's for sure.
>"Aw-- UH, they are?" She asks in a hesitant tone.
>You stare really hard at the words 'no pursuit training'.
"Gotta keep on the straight and narrow or I'm packing my shit in a box if they don't jail me first." You offer a cheesy wink.
>Why did you do a cheesy wink.
>She knows you're joking.
>She's joking.
>Sun, you hope she's joking.

"Hey, chin up - or down. Actually, just sit up like a normal kid, would you?" She flops to the floor ungracefully, cursing like a sailor as she bangs her sore shoulder.
"You had that coming, but don't worry, if I start having to hire hookers, you'll be the first on my list."
>She falls face first into the couch as her legs seemingly give way.

>You quietly stare off into the far-flung realm of 'Doodayriooserus".
>It's a mystical realm.
>You visit rarely.
>Which is good, because it usually chips five years off your life.
>This is a ten trip.
>You're a fucking 38 year old man.
>With bills.
>And you went ahead and said you'd John for your daughter.

>You try the top drawer for your service pistol, and you're half happy it's locked tight.
>It's kind of one of those trips to Doodayriooserus that makes you really wanna shoot yourself in the mouth.
>Not to kill you, just to stop you talking.
>The suicide potential is usually a perk.

>Dash seems to have regained motor function, and she quietly clambers into a sitting position, legs crossed and vest not entirely on right.
>She asks a question, and it buzzes out of any meaning.
>What'd she ask?
>Food?
>You're hungry, she's hungry.
>Probably food.
>Take out. Yeah you gotta work on getting that ordered.
"Yeah, a little."
>She goes a slight shade of red, looking up at the ceiling.
"Guess you were hoping I'd say that, huh?" You do what passes for a chuckle, and start looking up pizza places like you don't have a drawer to your right full of leaflets and fliers.
>"Y-yeah, I was." She nods, face still flushed.
"So, here or you wanna get out of the precinct and go to my place?"
>"Here?!" She looks out at the glass wall, and starts fidgeting with the metal shutter-style blinds."Here works."
>Fuck, she sounds happy.
>How much pizza is she planning to eat, and how quickly, to merit hiding it away from the potential person that may come to Solar at this time of night?

>.. Can't back out now, just keep acting like you know exactly what you're talking about.
>She starts checking her face and hair in her phone camera, breathing slightly erratically.
>Probably a lot easier without the binder.
>Good point.
"Hey, gonna be easier without your binder on, huh?"
>She looks at her chest, puzzled.
>"You think so? I didn't really think you paid that much attention."
>Got you there. You lean back, happy things seem to be going less .. unfatherly for you.
"Well, of course I do. I imagined you would struggle with it on, shit, I always thought you'd be more comfortable and enjoy it more without."
>She puts her phone down, and leans forward, hands clutching her crossed ankles excitedly.
>"You've.. think about me and this kinda stuff a lot?" She's pretty much vibrating in place, muscle fibres twitching.
"Sure, whenever we're sat here after training."

>She splutters, seeming to choke on air.
"Okay, if you're choking on AIR, I don't think we should move up to more solid things, Dash."
>She clears her throat, coughing and trying to adjust her hair after each cough.

> "No way, dad, this is AWESOME. I can handle it. It's so fucking awesome, I mean, I figured it was a weird day today, but YOU'VE been thinking about it, like, FOREVER." She grabs one of the battered old cushions and hugs it to her chest, squealing into it.
>You have no fucking idea what's going on.
>Okay, how do you deal with this type of situation on duty?

>Try to steer the conversation, reduce agitation or highs of emotion.
"Why would it be a one off thing? We're always working ourselves up sparring, so it's natural I'd sit back and think about.. it." You nod slowly
>Wait, shit, will that cue her off you have no idea what's going on.

>She looks up from smothering herself with the pillow, and grins. 
>Then she winks, and resumes laughing and hugging the pillow.
"Alright, let's get going."

>She laughs in triumph, throwing the pillow across your office.
>"Alright, dad, lose the belt."
>Wait, what?
"I was kinda planning to keep it on? I mean -- "
>"I mean, sure, or you could hit me with it." A firm nod, and she looks at the belt in question.
"Yeah, that'd be pretty dangerous. Plus the pizza place probably doesn't want my damn jeans to fall down as we order."
>She snorts. 
>"Oh man, that'd be hilari.. wait. Pizza place?"
>Considering you guys have been talking about this for a good few minutes, and how excited she is, you have no idea how she's suddenly confused.
>Maybe you DID hit her head.
>Or maybe she knocked yours. 
>You did kind of fade out mid conversation.
>Which led you right here.
"Yeeeeeeeeah," you start slowly, watching her carefully."I was thinking Marco's. Just off Summer's Blaze, as it joins on to that small sidestreet from the main concourse."
>Her smile's gone, and she blinks quickly.
>"Pizza."
"Yeah, MARCO'S. IT'S ON --"
>She stands up quickly, and walks off with a "I'll be in the parking lot."

>What the hell was that about?
>You mentally rewind.
>She said SOMETHING.
>You said 'yeah a little'.
>And apparently from there you both had an entirely different conversation.

>She'd need to take the binder off to put a lot away if she was going to try to hide her appetite away from anyone who'd walk by, you guess?
>And she seemed excited you'd been thinking of getting takeout.
>Also handling eating pizza?
>And being hit with the belt.

>Wait. No. Enhance that shit, like in the crime shows.
>You lean back on your desk, arms folded.
>Removing the binder for an ACTIVITY.
>Excited you'd been thinking about doing something with her a while.
>Choking on something.
>Hit with a bel--

>Oh sweet fuck.
>You just simultaneously got your daughter to admit she wanted to fuck.
>Then strung her along without knowing.
>Then finally trying to make sure you were talking about PIZZA.

>You rub a knuckle into your eye.
>Okay. This is bad, but saveable.
>You've saved worse starts to dates.

>.. Dates.

>Fuck it, you're already going to Hell, or getting dragged off to Tartarus by the Guard and Magicians personally.
>May as well go smiling.

>Dash, your dad's got a date.

>You run a hand through your hair, and head out to the parking lot.
>Here goes fucking everything.

>Or at least, fucking your everything.