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Paul carefully adjusts Alia's costume. "Thank you for being so patient," he tells her. "We're almost done. Just a little bit longer." Her dress is white and, in it's current state, too long for her. Paul pins the material so that it transforms into loose, flowing, but much more manageable robes. Then, a red scarf—or is it a shawl? is wrapped around her shoulders.
He places some sort of crown on her head; it's just a band of metal with a large disc covered in gold leaf attached to the back. Paul hands her a silver dish where a pair of green eyes molded from clay stare, unblinking. In Alia's other hand is a wooden dagger, painted silver. Alia bounces on her feet. Underneath her costume, she's wearing tiny sneakers.
"Done?" she asks.
With one final ruffling of her dress, Paul sits back on his knees and studies his work. He smiles at his sister. "All done! Do you want to take a few pictures? Mom and Dad will be so impressed."
Leto and Jessica Atreides are currently at some sort of seasonal fundraiser for some sort of charity, which is why their college-aged son is currently taking their six-year-old daughter trick-or-treating instead of interacting with people his own age.
Good thing Feyd is here to keep him company.
As Alia holds the platter and the dagger aloft, her expression unsettlingly stoic, Paul snaps a few photos with his phone.
"What are you supposed to be again?" Feyd asks her. He's sprawled on the couch, hoping at some point they'll actually get to leave the house and walk around the neighborhood.
For some reason she's been especially moody with him this evening. Her expression is withering as she says, "I'm Saint Lucy."
Why a saint? What's so interesting about them? "You didn't want to be a pumpkin or a—bat or something?"
"I'm not a baby," says Alia. She's a little red-headed mirror of Jessica; her sneer of disgust is a sight to behold. It always gets him, how expressive she is.
Paul finishes texting his parents and says, "That's right, you're a big girl, and you make a wonderful Saint Lucy."
Alia preens. She tells Feyd, "Saint Lucy is one of my favorites. There was a man who wanted to marry her, and she kept saying no, but he kept asking, and he said that she had the most beautiful eyes, so she took a dagger and gouged them out and gave them to him on a dish and told him to leave her alone."
He glances at Paul, who simply smiles and shrugs. Are all little girls like this, or just Alia? Feyd wonders if they're going to see a whole herd of miniature saints wandering from house to house, holding buckets and pillowcases of candy along with their gory accessories. "Good for her," he offers, and the girl beams.
"Alright, let me just grab my jacket and shoes and we'll head out," says Paul. "Feyd, can you grab Alia's candy bucket?"
Finally. Feyd pushes himself to his feet. The bucket is a store bought plastic cauldron with a handle. Alia's name has been hot-glued to the front with colorful, shining plastic gems. From the look of the dried, smeared glue and the lopsided, haphazard placement of the gems, Alia undertook this effort herself.
With Paul out of the room, Alia takes this moment to point at Feyd accusingly with her dish of eyeballs. "You didn't dress as anything."
That explains her attitude with him tonight. Feyd replies, "Paul isn't dressed as anything."
"Paul is my chaperone," she says.
"Chaperones don't have to wear a costume?"
"No, because he helped me with my costume." She twirls. Her dress billows. The halo wobbles. The eyeballs stay in place. The hot glue must have been used there as well. She notices him looking and holds it up to him again. "Paul made the eyes for me."
Why do they still have skin attached? If Saint Lucy gouged them out, shouldn't there be just two round, bloody eyeballs with equally bloody stalks? Maybe that was where Paul drew the line at the violence and gore. It seems like he put together Alia's entire outfit. A lot of time and effort went into it.
Feyd says, quietly, "He's a pretty good big brother." Rabban never did anything like that for him—not that he'd have ever asked the stupid bastard.
Alia nods. "He's the best big brother. And when I grow up, I'm going to marry him."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah!"
"Well, guess what?" Feyd can't stop himself from grinning. "I'm already grown up, so I'm going to marry Paul."
"No!" Alia says, aghast.
"And then I'll live in the same house as him! And he can make me a Halloween costume!"
She shrieks, "No!" and stamps her foot, a furious little saint. Her face is alarmingly red. Her eyes are watery. Feyd almost thinks she might start crying, and he starts to apologize, because he doesn't want to get her upset before they've even started walking, but then Alia's green eyes narrow and she takes on an expression that is exactly like Paul's when he's realized something. "You're teasing me."
"I am." He doesn't know how to take her sudden change in mood. "Sorry?"
Alia says, "I see," and her voice is considering.
Paul peeks his head around the corner. "Everything okay? We ready to go?"
"Yes," Alia intones. She raises the dagger. "We're ready."
There's a logistical issue as soon as they begin. Alia only has two hands, but she wants to carry her eyeball dish, her dagger, and her cauldron. After a few minutes of struggle, Paul kneels next to her and asks, "Why don't I hold something for you? Pick one thing, and I'll keep it safe while you carry the others."
Alia debates between the dagger and the dish. Her cauldron rattles with a few pieces of candy as she finally hands Paul the dish. "Carry this, please." She then tromps to the next house, wielding the dagger, making wild, crisscross motions in the air that send the other children scurrying.
"Saints are very careful and observant of their surroundings," Paul calls after her as Feyd snickers.
It's a cool, autumn night; street lamps light the neighborhood in a soft glow, fallen leaves crunch underfoot, and there's a breeze in the air. Feyd takes the opportunity to ask, "You warm enough?"
Paul smiles. "Maybe I could do with some body heat."
Pleased, Feyd wraps an arm around Paul's waist and pulls him closer. Paul turns his head slightly, lips brushing Feyd's temple. It's barely more than a peck, but Feyd's heart starts racing anyway.
"Thanks for coming with me," murmurs Paul. "I'm sorry if this has been boring for you."
He replies, "I wouldn't be here if it was," which is true, but also, trick-or-treating with Alia is infinitely better than being at a party with a bunch of drunken idiots vying to take Paul home. Here, Paul's attention is split between Feyd and Alia, and now that Alia has gotten comfortable with knocking on doors and demanding candy, Paul's attention has mostly shifted to Feyd.
There are other people around—other couples with kids. Walking like this, watching Alia, it's almost as if he and Paul are—
Alia hops back to them to show off her cauldron, already halfway full with small chocolate bars and tiny boxes of gummy-shapes and an assortment of bubblegum and lollipops.
"Where's the full-sized candy bars?" asks Feyd. "Your neighborhood is rich enough for it."
Paul jabs him in the side with his elbow. He hisses, "Feyd!" but his smile gives him away.
Alia looks between the two of them and then tugs at her brother's hand. She says, "Guess what? Feyd told me that he wants to—"
"—make a costume next year," Feyd says, firmly. Alia squawks in outrage either at being talked over or his lie or both, and Feyd just glares at her. A saint? A little demon, more like. At Paul's quizzical expression, Feyd hastily adds, "Could be fun. Getting into the spirit of things. Whatever."
He can tell from that Paul doesn't believe a word of that, but Paul also never pushes if Feyd isn't willing to talk. Instead, he squeezes Feyd's bicep and says, "Is that so? Then maybe next year I'll help you put something together. We could brainstorm ideas later—if you don't have other plans tonight."
All of his plans tonight involve Paul. But Feyd inclines his head towards Alia, who looks ready to come at him with her wooden dagger. She must be getting tired. It's a quarter past seven and they've only been walking for half an hour, if that. Children, he's come to learn, have a lot of energy in short bursts, and as they begin to run out, they become terrors. Luckily, Paul knows just how to deal with his sister become her anger becomes a full-blown tantrum.
Paul says, "I'm sorry we interrupted you. That wasn't polite of us."
"It wasn't!" Alia shouts.
"I'm so sorry," Paul says again. "We'll try better next time."
She takes a great, gulping breath, then lifts her chin and says, imperiously, "See that you do."
Christ, this kid. Even when she's irritating, she's funny.
"We're going to finish this side of the street, and then the other, and then we'll go home and get ready for bed, okay, Alia?"
Alia slowly spins around in a circle. "I want to eat candy before bed, though."
"Three pieces." Paul holds up three fingers. "You'll get to pick which ones. But we have to finish trick-or-treating first. Let's see if we can fill your cauldron."
"Okay!" She skips down the sidewalk to the next house. Feyd and Paul follow behind her, waiting at the edge of the driveway.
Feyd hums. "Brainstorming, huh?"
"Maybe I'll take your measurements, too."
"Didn't know that was on the table."
"Well—" Paul clears his throat. "I can't be as thorough as I would usually be, with Alia in the house, but I think we can get some work done."
"Progress is progress," says Feyd.
Before he can sneak a kiss to Paul's neck, someone tugs at his jacket. Alia stares up at him. "Open your hand," she says.
Mystified, he does so.
She places a piece of candy in his palm. It's red licorice. Alia tells him, "Eat that. You need to keep your energy up. You're straggling," before returning to her route.
What the fuck? Feyd stares after her before whirling around on Paul, who's trying and failing to keep himself from laughing. "Where'd she learn that? Have you been letting her near Halleck?"
Paul's smile is both infectious and irresistible. Feyd kisses him once then, and, when the night finally winds down, many times more, and each is sweeter than the last.