Logs:Lyrisa
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| RL Date: 11 March, 2016 |
| Who: C'ris, Lyrisa, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lyrisa is born. |
| Where: Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 4, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Risca/Mentions |
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| The final weeks-- months-- of Quinlys' pregnancy have had their ups and downs, mostly downs; she's not the most patient of people, and the bigger she gets, the more frustrated she feels... and the more likely she is to yell at C'ris, or demand his departure from her sight. As mounting Olveraeth gets harder and harder, eventually she ends up spending her nights in the weyrling barracks, eschewing the comforts of home for the bonus of not having to feel quite so incompetent at riding her own dragon. It's the middle of the morning on the final day of the third month, as she lazes upon the battered couch in the training cavern, that she first feels the pains that will eventually lead to full labor; she ignores them. She's not due for another seven or two; it's fine. In fact, she goes through the entire day without commenting on them, her mood surprisingly even-tempered and calm. In further fact... although she does eventually head to the infirmary sometime after dinner, it's not until several hours later that she permits Olveraeth to inform Mivength of their location... or their reason for being there. It probably goes without saying that her calm is quite, quite gone by then, and that there's likely no one in the Weyr's infirmary who isn't aware of exactly how much she hates everything and everyone. But at the end of it, before dawn on the first day of the fourth month? There's a baby, a girl, and she's snuggled in Quinlys' arms as she reclines, pale and exhausted, in her infirmary bed. C'ris is as he ever is, through Quinlys' progressing pregnancy; that is to say, that he is patient and understanding and kind, even where her temper frays. He has tried to be there for whatever she has needed, but with his own wing dissolving around him and Quinlys herself sending him away--. But he's definitely here for this. Or, well, he's been as close as hovering around the infirmary all night, sometimes being shooed away to pace in the Bowl instead before inevitably drawing back into the cavern. And even as the bare hint of light in the sky falls over the bluerider continuing to wear his track in the packed dirt of the Bowl, an infirmary aid is the one to fetch him, dishevelled with finger-raked hair and wrinkled clothes, back to finally join Quinlys. His features are a mess of joy and relief and a hint of being overwhelmed as soon as he pushes back the curtain, and he doesn't even remember to close it before he's at Quinlys' side and smoothing a hand over red locks of hair. "Quin, she's-- You're-- You're both ok? What have the healers said?" is his first rush of words. For all her mixed feelings about... well, so many things, one thing is certainly true now: Quinlys can't seem to tear her eyes away from the sleeping, red-faced bundle in her arms, barely even seeming to register C'ris' presence until his hand upon her hair. She does look up, then, and her eyes are shining. "C'ris. I'm fine. We're fine. She's--" All eyes back on the baby; their baby. She's perfect. "We made a person, C'ris." "We made a little baby girl," C'ris breathes out in agreement, dragging back a stray piece of Quinlys' hair from her forehead with his thumb. His smile is a slow, soft thing when it comes, one that will linger a long time in the corners of his lips. "You are amazing, Quin. I love you. I love her so much already--." It's inevitable at that, really, that his hand falls away from the mother to reach to brush a knuckle very gently against his child's cheek, as if she might break if he applies any pressure. Quinlys, so easily replaced in C'ris' affections~ (okay, not really). The redhead turns a wan but exultant smile upon the other bluerider, promising, "You won't break her. Take her-- you should get to hold her, too." Not that she really seems to want to give up that burden, but oh, she does look tired. "She's perfect, but I'm telling you right now, C'ris, I'm never having another one," she adds, sounding a little more herself as she does so. That offer to take his daughter is accepted without hesitation, even if he is very careful about the placement of his arms and hands as he gathers the swaddled baby from Quinlys and cuddles her to his own chest. While Quinlys sounds more herself, so does C'ris as he questions softly as he stares down at their baby, "How could you not want another one, looking at her?" (He also sounds a lot like he didn't have to give birth, either.) At least with the baby in C'ris' arms instead of her own, Quinlys can look up and focus her attention on both of them; two out of three of the most important people in her life. "Try saying that to my other set of lips," she says, all tart amusement and exhaustion. "They may have a few choice things to say." Only she's smiling, too, looking rather as though she might cry-- tears of happiness, even. "We need to name her." "I guess we do; we can't just keep calling her perfect the rest of her life," agrees C'ris with a touch of warm humor, tearing his gaze away from his daughter for only a moment to flash his light smile at Quinlys. "We had-- I mean, we had a couple options we had, right? Not Isys. She's-- not an Isys." He says that like he knows already, having only just met her. "She's not." Quinlys, too, is definite about this, straightening a little so that she can lean forward and look more closely-- more objectively, ha-- at their new daughter. "And as perfect as she is, I can only imagine what the other children in the nurseries would say to that." Children can be so cruel. "She's not a Quisa, either. Is she a Lyrisa, do you think?" It's to the baby that C'ris coos the next question, picking up Quinlys' suggestion to repeat, "Are you? Are you a Lyrisa?" And she blinks, and that seems to delight the bluerider as he turns back to her mother. "She blinked. I think that's a yes. She's-- Well, a cute, little Lyri right now, I think, and a Lyrisa when she's all grownup and important." Augh, the hormones: they're the only reason there are tears in Quinlys' eyes now, promise. She sniffs, but her smile is beatific. "Lyri," she agrees. "And Lyrisa, when she's grown up... or when she's naughty." She's Quinlys' daughter: this is inevitable, despite the C'ris in her. "You'll have to bring your mom in to meet her, in the morning. The actual morning." "She's your daughter when she's naughty; you'll need to be the one calling her Lyrisa then and giving her extra chores," is C'ris' answer to that, though he draws back to Quinlys' infirmary bed to carve out a spot to sit next to her on the edge, with their daughter close to them both. "Later, yes. Now-- I'm sure you're tired and could use rest and... I just want it to be the three of us, for a while." "Oh, of course. Your daughter would never do anything wrong, I'm sure," teases Quinlys, leaning back upon her pillows again as if she can no longer quite keep herself upright, despite the exhilaration and nervous energy so-obviously still coursing through her. Her fingers can't help themselves, though, reaching to nestle their tips upon Lyrisa's tiny cheek. "I'm sure she won't cry, either." Her lack of comment on his mother is probably tacit approval; her smile certainly is. "Five of us. Well. Four, at least. Olly'd be in here himself, if he could be." "We'll have to bring her out to meet him, first, then," replies C'ris softly at that, snuggling only closer to Quinlys as he leans to press a kiss against her temple briefly. "Once you're ready and the healers let us. Mivength, too, if he-- Well, he says he doesn't care." So, not Mivength, but it does nothing to dampen his happiness. Instead, he'll continue, "And no, my daughter is perfect and happy and all smiles." He's smiling even as he says it. Quinlys leans in to C'ris' touch, into his snuggle, too, albeit gingerly. "Miventh's and asshole," she tells his rider, but there's affection in it all the same. "Olly'd like that. When the healers let me. It should be fine. I only needed a couple of stitches." The words aren't quite as easy as the tone-- the tone, which suggests she's a little scared to think of the state of that part of the body which, previously, had been used for rather more fun activities. She's silent a few moments, and then: "I'm sorry I was awful to you. I know things have been hard for you... the wing and everything." A laugh touches C'ris' exhale at the statement, the simplest agreement for his absent dragon, but he is quick to move on and assure Quinlys, as if he might know what that tone meants, "Of course, Quin. There's no rush. No rush for anything. And you'll be healed up sooner than you think; women have been doing this for centuries. You-- You're made to do it." It's the latter bit, the apology and the mention of his wing that is harder for the bluerider to address, his gaze dropping to study Lyrisa instead for a long moment of his own silence. "Things were hard for you, too. My things-- I'll adjust; it's just that I had my place in Frostbite, and my wingmates, and time to study with the dragonhealers, and now. Now, well." Quinlys makes a noise that could be an indication of snippiness or bad temper, probably in relation to those bits of her most cruelly abused, but she stops herself; now is not the time. Today is a happy day. Instead, she holds her silence, waiting for C'ris to complete his comments before she'll say anything further. "I know," she says, simply. "You should talk to K'del. There's got to be some good options. Ways to get the balance back. That's important, especially now." "I will. I'll-- It'll be fine," answers C'ris, a simple mixture of dismissal and reassurance for the thoughts of wings and duties. And he's quick enough to try to turn thoughts back to the happy day as well, adding to Quinlys with soft concern, careful given the edge he'd already walked earlier, "And you should get some rest. Should I go, so you can? Or can I--?" He glances down the length of the bed, weighing its size with a judging look. Too tired to argue, too elated to want to, Quinlys lets herself do little more than give C'ris a look that suggests her badgering may continue at a later date. She is, after all, a mom now: it's her job. But that soft concern, and her exhaustion, are both currently louder voices. Reluctantly, "I should sleep. But you should stay. There's room." She has to sidle over a little, true, which involves a wince or two, but if they're willing to be cozy, there's room: one little happy family. And C'ris does stay, because leaving would mean that one of them would be out of Lyrisa's presence, and that seems like an unbearable choice for him at the moment. Instead, he adjusts carefully next to Quinlys so that their daughter can be between them. And while Quinlys rests, he might end up catching a z or two himself, given his own sleepless, if less strenuous, night. |
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