Four years have gone by since the littlest Kennedy was born, and she's finally moved on to cooler, frillier endeavors. She'll wrestle with him, of course, but with her favorite princess dress on. She'll do her best to drop kick him in her little plastic heels and beat the shit out of any bug that gets into her room with whichever poor Barbie is within reach. Even with her fourth birthday a little over a week ago, she's still jazzed about her presents, one in particular from her zia Claire. The moment Daisy unwrapped that little makeup kit, Leon looked at her with a look that screamed 'you son of a bitch'. Daisy is a daddy's girl through and through, and that means he gets to be the model for her newest passions. It was adorable, of course, how quickly she'd swiveled her head around to look at him, her wide smile, the way she held it up for him to see. She immediately thought of him, and it warmed him to his core to be so easily loved by his daughter, that she looked so forward to spending time with him, and knew he would be there.

It was no surprise, of course, when she came up to him after you'd gone to pick up dinner with the little kit in hand, sticking out her lower lip and giving him her best puppy dog eyes. You'd only be gone for ten minutes, max, but he couldn't say no to that face. He knew she'd been waiting all week to be able to play with him.

He doesn't need to explain why he looks like Hannibal Lecter in drag when you get home, standing in front of the counter where Daisy sits, swinging her little feet and humming to herself as she carefully swipes some bright blue eyeshadow under his brows.

"You're late," he smiles, trying not to laugh at your expression when you see him. It can't be that bad, right? He's almost afraid to look at his reflection, if the way you're so clearly trying to keep a straight face tells him anything, he should be.

Daisy looks over Leon's face thoughtfully, and then looks back to you, "I'm making babbo a princess," she announces with a smile, "do you wanna help?"