milliways_bar | (no subject)

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*Meg is sitting at a table in the bar, engaged in several tasks:

a.) attempting to feed the baby in her arms with some sort of pureed baby food, provided by the bar

b.) keeping said baby from wiggling off her lap to go exploring under the tables

and c.) rather frantically paging through a book on child care in front of her, whenever Derry stops squirming long enough to allow her to use one of her arms.

Derry, meanwhile, is engaged in one task: becoming the universe's foremost artist in the medium of pureed baby food.

Hey, everyone needs to have a dream.*

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*Meg aims a glare Kittywards.

- and then hastily returns her gaze to Derry, because taking her attention off of the baby is dangerous. As she has learned.*

Next time, it'll be you, *she says, darkly.*

"It was already me," calmly, waving at Derry a little. "Hi, sweetheart." And then Kitty looks up at Meg.

A grin, this time, instead of a smirk. "And hi, Meg. You look like you're having fun."

- okay, point, *Meg says, and makes a face at Kitty.* But you're, you know, older. And, like, responsible and things.

Remind me, *she adds, a little despairingly,* never to try to be responsible around members of our family again?

"I thought you were older, oh ye born in the 19th century," still calmly.

She's been taking lessons from Moiraine.

Except not.

"What happened?" Not laughing. At all. "And do you want me to hold her so you can, um, get carrot off your face?"

- yes that would be sort of nice, *Meg says gratefully; she's already reaching over to gift Kitty with an armful of squirming baby.*

And, fine, out-logic me, that's proof right there that you're better equipped for baby-handling - and as for what happened, *she adds, rather out of breath by this point,* an Endless family squabble, is what. Which was kind of funny at the time, but now -

"Hi again," grinning and giving Derry an eskimo kiss, even if it means she gets some carrot on her nose.

And then she looks back at Meg and tries not to laugh. "But now you're stuck with a baby?"

*For lack of a napkin, Meg tears a page out of the baby-book that Bar has given here, and uses it to start wiping off the carrots.

It was Dr. Spock, anyways. No great loss.*

I think it's supposed to be a sort of secondhand punishment of Desire?

Only, you know, the flaw there is it's not Desire who gets stuck with the kid - not that I'm not fond of Derry, *she adds, hastily.* She's tres mignonne and sweet, it's just -

Derry seems to be looking at her. Intently. In a way that says, "It's just what, bitch?"

"I see." Straight-faced.

So not laughing at Meg.

So. Not. Laughing.

*Meg, catching Derry's glance over the top of the crumpled sheet of paper, hastily concludes,* It's just that I don't take care of her as she ought to be taken care of. Is all.

- and, you know, much as I love Andrew and great as he is with Derry he is not exactly ready for surrogate-fatherhood either.

"Better hope you don't have Derry as long as Ed did, then."

Derry perks up.

She liked Ed.

Even if he wouldn't let her have chocolate crickets in her crib.

Silly Ed.

"But I don't see why you think you can't take care of her well."

Well - I mean, I'm good at taking care of her for a while, *Meg explains, and tosses the crumpled paper over to the bar (where it lands on a rather vexed waitrat.)*

And I really am fond of her, it's just -

*A quick grin.* Well, I'd rather be the cousin who gets to spoil her.

"Nice shot," Kitty admires, while Derry gives a thumbs up.

"...Instead of the one who ends up having to, you know, raise her cause Mama thought it'd be funny to make UncleAunt Desire suffer for a few more years?" A little ruefully. "Spoiling's more fun, yes."

Merci, *Meg says, a trifle smugly.

The rat looks as if it were less well-behaved, it would be shaking a little rat fist. Idiot patrons.*

And, yeah, that's pretty much it, *she adds, a little wryly.* I mean - being a mother wasn't ever something I had in mind for the future, even before I died.

Cousins are good! I'm all in favor of cousins.

"Well," bouncing Derry a little, "you can have all SORTS of cousin time, now."

If I don't drop her, *Meg points out,* or, I don't know, forget to burp her, or feed her the wrong kind of baby food and make her throw up all over the Threshold -

"Well, it happens," with a shrug. "You wouldn't be the first. The first to do it to the daughter of Insanity, but not the first."

. . . comforting as that is, *Meg says, wrinkling her nose at her cousin,* I think I'd still rather avoid it if at all possible.

"She probably bounces."

Yes, *Meg says, darkly,* and then she'd bounce i>away and I'd lose her.

- probably she'd bounce into the lake. And make friends with the shark. And do you really want Derry with a shark on her side?

"...I'd say I'm family, but in our family, that doesn't necessarily mean much," she considers, "so no, not really."

I, *Meg says, loftily,* am thinking of the greater good, here.

We might be safe - but what about, you know, the rest of humanity?

"...I think Derry's got to get in line behind her mama, aunts, and uncles, before we have to worry about her too."

- well, okay, *Meg admits,* but there isn't exactly much we can do about them.

I mean. I may be dead, but I'm not suicidal.

"It's sad that we have to make that distinction, y'know?"

. . . little bit, *Meg agrees, giggling.*

Probably even sadder I didn't even think about it before I said it.