Logs:Then There Were Three
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 4 December, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Drex |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh has a baby. Drex drops by. They're horrible parents, already. |
| Where: Farideh and Roszadyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 6, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
  |
| Where had the time gone? The months and the days and the countless hours spent waiting. They'd gone by too fast. They'd gone by too slow. It was time. It was too early. In the late hours of day fifteen, the healers came to Farideh's weyr and left soon after. There was plenty of time, they'd told her. Hours followed -- night into day and early afternoon of the following day -- before their son made his arrival earthside, on day sixteen. In the quiet that settles after the healer and her apprentices leave, while the goldrider's personal assistant is still tidying up the mess, Farideh's lying on her side on the bed; with bedding that doesn't fit in in her weyr, from its subtle pink hue, in lieu of the standard. Her head is cradled in one arm and she's staring quite wonderingly at the perfectly-pink, swaddled newborn sleeping docilely beside her. One would think she'd never seen a baby before, but others might attribute the dreamy-eyed stare to newly discovered motherhood. Aside from the muffled movements of the young, dark-haired assistant, all is tranquil and noiseless. Even though the talk around the Weyr that the plague has mercifully past, there's been little sign of Drex, and certainly he hasn't yet returned to Farideh's weyr. He's still around -- that much is clear from the occasional incomprehensible letters he leaves outside, weighed down by a stone. Of course, he doesn't think about logical things like how exactly she bends down to pick said letters up being as pregnant as she is -- and neither does he think about logical things like when she might be due. Thus, it's not until afternoon -- after the birth is over, perhaps by no coincidence, that the sailor finally shows up, standing hesitantly in the door, just staring at them -- mother and son -- expression odd. It's the assistant that, clearing her throat in the silence, alerts the weyrwoman to Drex's presence; she quickly tosses the blanket she was folding on a nearby piece of furniture and, blushing, high-tails it out of there. "You're here," Farideh says, needlessly obvious, once the other girl has fled the weyr. She sounds relieved, but noticeably exhausted. "Come," she orders, patting the bed softly on the other side of the baby, inviting Drex to take his spot, there. Drex barely even seems to notice the new assistant, his gaze not even flickering her way. His hair is unkempt, and he tugs a hand through it before he steps closer, warily. "Aint sure it's safe yet," he begins, stopping halfway to the bed, a faint frown tugging his features. And then, because he can't help himself, blurts: "Fuck, but he's small. He aint a runt or nothin', is he?" "You haven't heard? It's been three sevendays since-- and they discontinued the volunteer wing. I think they're cautiously saying the worst is over. That's-- what?" Farideh goes from dazed-looking to angry in a matter of seconds. "What do you mean? What size did you think he would be? Don't say things like that-- he's perfect." She's scowling at him, now. "Heard," Drex allows, "But these things have a way of coming back. Didn't want to risk it." He's gesturing towards the pair of them like that's reason enough. He looks affronted by Farideh's response, folding arms across his chest. "Aint seen a baby that small before." But then it's not like he's had cause to, ever. "His head kind of looks funny, too," he adds, as he creeps closer. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, the tired-looking goldrider is leaning up on her elbow to glare (not so) menacingly at him. "If you just came here to make fun of him, you can leave," Farideh says, stubbornly. "I thought you would be happy, not-- not-- finding any silly reason to call him funny looking." "Aint unhappy. He just looks--" Drex catches sight of Farideh's expression, and seems to think better of finishing whatever he was going to say. Instead, he amends: "He's got your eyes." Finally, he leans (gingerly) on the edge of the bed, leaning closer. "Pretty." Even if his head still looks funny. He just looks-- saved, by seeing that angry look. Mollified, slightly, Farideh eases back to a lying position and brushes their baby's cheek softly with her knuckles. "You think so?" sounds overtly hopeful. "Maybe he'll have your hair. Your nose?" Wonderingly, her fingers reach up to brush the downy-soft hairs on the top of his head. Drex doesn't reach out to touch the boy; instead he stretches so that one arm rests over the other side of Farideh's legs, giving him a good view of baby and mother. He makes a noise as she mentions his nose. "Yours is cuter. But then, he should have a man's nose." He gives a determined nod of his head. "Do you, uh... need anything?" he sounds a little hazy on what that might be, which is perhaps why his gaze flickers from her to the babe. Farideh's fingers still on the baby's head as she considers his reposed features with leisurely scrutiny. "Lips? He's not-- very tan, but he hasn't gone out in the sun yet," she says, but pulls back her hand and tucks it beside her head. Through it all, he only stirs a little, seemingly content in his swaddling clothes. "No. Not-- yet. They gave me something to take later, to sleep, but I'm not-- that tired yet. I'm just-- I want to lay here." A pause and: "I'm glad you came. I almost thought you wouldn't." Drex can't help the little protective scowl that appears, briefly. "Shouldn't take him out. Not safe yet." Despite no new case of plague in the area in sevens. His shoulder lifts and drops in that half-shrug of his. "Wasn't sure, either," he admits, honestly. "But I wanted to see... are his ears supposed to stick out that much?" he says, distracted. It had to be expected, that eventually, Farideh would reach out of give him a weak slap of her hand. "Stop it. His ears are fine. He's a baby-- everything's too big until he grows, and making fun of him doesn't help," she says, scowling again, and more protectively, shielding one of his poor ears from his father's view. "How would you like it if I made fun of yours ears?" she grumbles, fretting over the blanket, suddenly. "Well, he doesn't know what I'm saying. Aint like it's going to scar him for life to hear he was funny looking as a baby," Drex says, somewhat defensively, along with a none-too-apologetic grin, "Besides, we're his parents. It's our job to mess him up, right?" He reaches up to tug, self-consciously, at one of his ears at her latter grumble. "Aint nothin' wrong with my ears. He must've gotten it from you." "How do you know?" she shoots back, albeit quietly, as the baby squirms in his sleep. Farideh watches him for a minute and then sighs, slanting another look at Drex. "Is that what you think we're supposed to do? I don't think my parents messed me up. I think-- don't you want the best for him? Even a little bit? More than dragons or ships or--" That look earns a rueful grin in turn from Drex. "I was joking, Fari. I don't want to... I want to try not to mess him up. Aint like I've done such a great job with me, though," the sailor amends, with a shake of his head. He's silent for a moment, staring at the baby. "Aye, I want the best for him. Whatever he chooses, aye? If he chooses a ship, or... or even a dragon, we should respect that. Even if it's a dumb choice. Ought to be his." A slew of emotions crosses the goldrider's face, but annoyance settles in the form of a frown. "Why do you always have to be so-- so-- negative. There's nothing wrong with you, besides being infuriating, and there's nothing wrong with Ethran," Farideh says, rubbing at her forehead with her fingertips, flustered. "You'd let a child choose? What if he sits around picking his nose for the rest of his life?" "Then he'll have a big nose from all the picking, but at least he'll be happy," is Drex's philosophy. He pauses, however, when she says his name -- the first time she's said it aloud. A smile breaks out, and he exhales. "Ethran," he repeats, leaning forward to brush a hand against the boy's head. "You're not a nose picker, are you, little man? Noo." The discontented noise Farideh makes is in direct response to that nose-picking talk. "Not yet. Not-- he should have an education. Better than the weyrbrats get. Etiquette and history lessons, too. One day he might be a journeyman or a stores assistant or a hunter, but he should at least-- have a good start. You can't say no to that," she tells him, obstinately. "Aint saying no. He can still pick his nose as a Journeyman. Just because you know things about history doesn't mean you don't occasionally want to get in there and clean it out," Drex is clearly teasing, now, leaning forward to press a kiss to the tiny babe's head, then shifting his wait so he can lean forward and likewise plant a kiss on Farideh's forehead. "He aint even a day old. He's gonna be fine." This time Farideh is placated by his words rather than incensed, though she does chew at her bottom lip worriedly. "It-- he should be. Fine. He'll be fine," she repeats, gaze settling back on the still-sleeping Ethran. "We'll be fine. Everything will be--" eyes lifting to Drex. "Fine. Right? We can do this. I'm a weyrwoman, you're a sailor. We can handle a baby." "A baby aint nothing compared to wrangling an entire Weyr, or a fierce storm on the open seas," Drex agrees. Because clearly he's had so much experience with babies. "Ought to sleep," he urges her, as he straightens. "I'll stay here, watch over the pair of you." His suggestion is met with little resistance. "I should. I'm tired and-- he won't sleep forever." Remorseful is that admission, but Farideh tries to grab Drex's hand, frowning. "You don't have to watch us. We aren't going anywhere. Just-- come, stay with us. Sleep? Or don't Just-- stay, here. Please?" Drex frowns in thought, glancing at the exit. "Aint sure it's safe yet." But her words, as much as her reaching for his hand, makes him relent eventually. She's trained him enough that he at least stops to pull off his boots before he crawls onto the bed next to her, settling in on his side with a protective arm curled over her, where he can watch their child sleep. With Drex at her side, and their baby at hand, it's all too easy for Farideh to let go and let sleep take over. Until the baby wakes up. Probably soon. Because.. babies. Perhaps it's a good thing that Drex still has his alternative sleeping spot all set up. He's probably going to need it, soon! No, you have to suffer with me. NO ONE ESCAPES No. The crying is clearly something he inherited from his mother. |
Leave A Comment