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"HUGO! Mama's calling!" A feminine voice calls you from downstairs. Your eyes half-open, you look around and watch dust dance under a nearby beam of light for a moment, your brain still turning on.
Groaning, you force yourself up off your bed and stretch, getting ready for a new day. Your baby sisters are almost certainly not awake this early in the morning, so at least you'll get to start the day with something other than changing diapers.
Well, hopefully, they're not awake. If your sister screams like that again you'd be surprised if they didn't start wailing in their cribs.
You quickly make your bed and head downstairs, wondering what all the commotion is about. The moment you left your room, it was as if an explosion of sound echoed into your ears; the incessant chatter of bickering sisters and the never-ending scolding of your mothers is as familiar as your father's apple pie. If you concentrate, you think you can even hear the voices of your older brother over the pandemonium downstairs.
Are they already serving breakfast without you? You enter the kitchen, but only find your brother rummaging through the pantry.
"Hey Michael, what are we making today? Poppy and Serena are still sleeping. Probably." You sheepishly smile, still fighting off your sleepiness.
Michael hurriedly speaks without turning around. "Mama Bea's calling you downstairs from the basement. I'll deal with breakfast here, so hurry!" You nod, the two of you very aware of her fiery temper. Dodging a pair of wrestling little sisters, but not before glaring them into submission, you head over to the cellar door, minding your head on the way downstairs.
You don't think you'll ever get used to your mothers' bulk. Wolfesses twice as tall and heavy as you are, you pity any husband raider coming over to steal your family's men away. One good bite on the neck and they were dead, assuming they weren't shot a mile out.
Mama Bea and Mama Anne look rather harried as they pore over bottles of wine and sort through their dates. A project inspired by your late grandfather, he somehow managed to convince your grandmothers to build him a wine cellar soon after he was married to them. After a while, you finally realized his foresight when you learned of the wealth your family attained by selling this stuff. Unfortunately, you're forbidden from drinking any alcohol- something about being too "fragile". Too bad you still have to work on processing the grapes that make the wine.
You clear your throat, getting the attention of your mothers. "I heard you called?"
Mother Bea looks back, her tail swinging rapidly. "Yes we did, dearie. Sort these bottles out by year and *be careful*. I don't want to hear anything about broken bottles, ya hear?" Her eyes narrow with a clear warning. "Last time we let one of y'all down here, we lost *three* vintage bottles from your grandparents' time. Never again!" She gets up with a grunt and pats you on the shoulder before walking back upstairs. You look back to the mostly empty shelves and kneel next to Mama Anne.
She looks up and ruffles your already messy hair, "Good morning, sweetie. I thought I told your father to give you a haircut. You need to look good for your future wives, Hugo."
You quickly flatten and comb through your hair with your fingers, chagrined. You completely forgot to ask your father about that. "Yeah I know..." you mumble.
Moving onto your task, you notice some empty bottles mixed in with this new batch of wine. How'd that happen? You'd need to talk to Sally about that. It's tempting to just tell Mama Anne right next to you, but you're not that cruel.
With her help, you manage to finish organizing and shelving all of the bottles in record time. Sooner or later, these bottles will be on the tables of some big shot in the city. Or so you hope. Raiders are not limited to stealing just husbands these days; your family's been investing in armored transportation for their goods for a while now. Even the most mundane milk and cheese is at risk if not hidden behind a few inches of hardened steel, and you constantly hear your sisters repairing damaged windows and doors outside. Your father used to help them when you were younger, but as more people started settling in these parts, the more your father's been sheltered in the house.
It's been a busy, yet nice day. Decent weather, little to no family drama, and you even got your haircut! It always feels good to get some extra weight off your scalp, especially when it gets hot in the kitchen. Even the babies were rather quiet today, a true rarity. The last thing to do is set up dinner for your family, thankfully with the help of your brother and father. Tonight's going to be a pretty simple meal: leftover beef stew, buttered asparagus, and a pot of beans and rice to keep you from going hungry during the long night. Hmm, maybe you could throw in some cookies for the little ones?
Your thoughts drift to whatever tasks you have left as you stand near the stove stirring the large pot of chili. Other than cleaning up dishes, tables, and countertops after dinner, you're pretty much done for the day, excluding requests for playtime from your baby sisters. You like the kitchen. It's a place where you can create and provide for others while not being bothered too much by your sisters, and it's certainly better than cleaning a young baby's bottom. Once you get good enough at it, cooking is almost like breathing- or a mindful state of rest.
"Make sure you taste for seasoning, Hugo." Your father stands next to you and inspects your work. You always had problems with memorizing recipes, and your father's been drilling you ever since you were tall enough to properly operate the stove. You grumble, it should all be mixed and seasoned well.
A quick taste test proves you wrong.
"We'll need more beef sooner or later. You know how much everyone loves meat," you mumble. Concentrating on salting the overly spicy concoction in front of you, you barely notice the tugging on your shirt before a tiny voice pipes up.
"Hugo? Are we eating soon?" Turning around, you stare down at the cute thing pulling on your shirt, trying to get your attention. Her ears down and tail tucked, Halley must be really hungry, you think guiltily. Before you can comfort her, however, your father next to you swoops in and picks her up, eliciting a few happy giggles out of the young cub. The soft baritone of your father is always a thing to behold as he expertly distracts her and sends her running out of the kitchen. "Tell your mothers and sisters that dinner is ready!" he yells, to no one in particular.
Giving him a knowing nod, you turn off the burners and pick up the hefty pot full of chili and quickly head over to the dinner table, already teeming with all your sisters and mothers discussing the events of the day. Mama Melissa thankfully heads over to you and helps you place the pot in the center of the table, ready to be devoured by your hungry family. Before you can sit down though, you quickly head back into the kitchen and get a few bottles of water to pour into everyone's cups. Little things like this separate mediocre husbands from great ones, and you need more than just looks if you're going to maintain not just a happy household, but good relations between your family and your future wives'.
Sitting down at the table, you quickly scan to make sure everyone's eating. Sally, the cub who somehow mixed up empty and full wine bottles, is still not using proper manners as she eats with an open mouth. Halley is inhaling your overly spicy chili, which is honestly kind of relieving. The rest of your mothers and sisters look okay, and Poppy and Serena are getting fed by your brother and father respectively, so you're finally free to eat.
Mouth shut to keep from drooling, you ladle a generous portion of asparagus onto your plate. Michael really did a good job on these. Soft and seasoned just right, you take your time, savoring the buttery coating on the chewy vegetables. "These are really good Michael. You should make more of this next time," you say between bites, "once they get put on sale again." You look to your older sister Annabelle, who immediately shakes her head in opposition. "Please, Annabelle? You know I like this stuff."
"Make better food and I'll consider your request." She and some of your other sisters chuckle, their tails whipping the chairs next to them. You turn red with embarrassment, a pit of anger building up in your chest. "If you want better food, you should take my place in the kitchen. I'm sure I'll be *real* lucky to have a master chef cooking for me" you say, rolling your eyes.
Annabelle growls as your sisters roar in laughter at her expense. Of course, they have lower expectations for your wit compared to Annabelle's, but it's good to see her seethe anyway. You smirk and go back to your food, not wanting to escalate a stupid argument- Annabelle's always been a bit of a bitch.
Besides, you're always given a little leeway as a boy; your mothers will tend to side with you in petty fights and disagreements, and you're not going to complain when the other side of the coin is being born to be someone's husband and father, as well as be a bargaining chip to sort out blood feuds and make deals. A little privilege feels nice then, and a little goes a long way out in the country.
You lay in bed, waiting for your mind to give in to exhaustion and sleep. The only sounds you can hear now are the crickets outside, a far cry from the usual noise of your forty-strong household.
Try as you might, your mind always goes in obvious directions during the night. You know one or two of your sisters are on watch right now, but families larger and more powerful than yours have been raided successfully before. What would happen, and how would they go about it? You tried asking your mothers about this before but you got some variation of the same answer: "Don't worry about things you can't control and focus on your own duties."
They're not wrong, you think, but given the fact that your body is constantly in demand (danger) and your family is the best thing to whittle down first before getting to you, you worry nonetheless. You've had nightmares of dead family members before, and they never get any easier to bear even as you age.
Indeed, as your mothers have given you more sisters to love and take care of, the more you worry. Who will *they* marry in the future? Will they become unloved spinsters and end their bloodlines? Or will they have families you can occasionally visit with your own, reminiscing over the good times? Of course, that depends on you and your brother getting sold or swapped for a husband plus some more in a few years, tops.
You sigh, knowing you'll never get to see your baby sisters grow up to know you, or get to see your other little sisters mature into grown women. At least, you'll have little ones of your own but hot damn, it's going to take a hell of a lot of work in the beginning. Fatherhood- your father described it as endlessly busy, infinitely stressful, and a constant test of patience, and yet he'd do it all over again if he could. Mixed messages, but that's to be expected from your parents.