A day with the Pierce Siblings Winston scowled out the window. It was raining. Pouring, in fact. He could, by no means, go out to practice his flying as he had wanted to do today. He huffed, loudly, to express his displeasure.
"What's wrong?" he father asked, not really sounding interested in his son's problems, but at least he asked. He hadn't looked up from the letter he was writing, so maybe the apparent disinterest was just because the letter was about something important.
"It's raining and I'm bored," Winston complained.
"You could play with your sister."
Winston made a face. He was ten years old. Caitlin was only seven. She only did baby things. (Granted, Winston had done those same things only a few months ago, but he was a big kid now, and would be going away to school in less than a year! He had to do big kid things, now, like fly, and Caitlin couldn't do that because she was a baby and a girl. And it was raining, so neither could Winston. Rain was awful.) "I'm too big to play with Caitlin," he told his father, who should know this.
Father actually looked over at him and frowned. "Find something you can both do. I don't know. Color." And he turned back to his letter.
Color? Color! How old did Father think he was?? "I'm too big to color," he stated petulantly.
With a sigh, Father laid down his quill and looked at Winston directly. "A gentleman is never too old for art," he stated. Narrowing his eyes, he continued, "Go find something to do with Caitlin. Pretend she is an important associate's daughter. Practice your diplomacy. If you bother me again, I will assign you a much more unpleasant task."
Penmanship exercises probably. Winston hated penmanship exercises. He hurried away to find his sister.
"Miss Caitlin," he greeted with unaccustomed formality once he found her. "Would you care to join me in creating some artwork?"