stowaways

Valentine had not been invited to the party, but now that it was over he was aware of its existence thanks to the steady trickle of returning drunks. In truth he was a bit put out by the lack of an invite. It sounded like the sort of thing that would have been right up his alley. Damn those kids and their inability to see him as anything other than a crotchety old man. But, perhaps it was for the better. If given half the chance he'd have stolen all the pretty young women out from under their woefully inadequate partners and it would be frustrated, cock blocked grumps dragging themselves home now. Age had neither grayed him nor stricken him and while he technically fit under the label of 'wizened' Valentine liked to think he pulled it off as 'wiry' instead of the standard old person 'shriveled'. It would have been a shame to upstage his youngsters. That was the thought he was trying to mollify himself with, anyway.

Since he had nothing better to do, Valentine had decided to be a good little old sage and shepherd any fallen drunks he'd found home. He'd found Tyrian first. Poor thing had made it over the border but not far beyond that so Valentine, being the good dad he was, had taken him to his den and tucked him in. Kinda. He'd woken his son with a booming 'good morning!' and then pitched him into his den with a promise to wake him soon to take care of the sheep. He'd done it out of love, honest. The cruel satisfaction at seeing his son flinch awake had just been a bonus.

"Well," he purred as he came upon the scene. Valentine planted his feet wide, his stance lackadaisical and his expression mild as he regarded the women. "What have we here?" He rolled his head to the side and fixed his attention on the paw that was touching Jupiter, who appeared to be out cold. "I've seen a great many things but I can't say I've ever interrupted the molestation of a grandson before."