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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*Derry burbles, in appreciation, and dabs some mashed orange artistically on Ash's hand.*

She inherits it from her mother, *Meg says, a little amused.*

If he's at all surprised or annoyed at being used as an infant's human canvas, he manages to hide it rather admirably.

"Wonder if Picasso got his start in vegetables."

*Meg looks a little puzzled.*

Who's Picasso?

*Derry, on the other hand, gives an angelic smile. She approves of the comparison.*

"Some famous painter. I think he was Spanish."

Okay, so he's not exactly the world's foremost authority in art history.

"...Mind if I hold her? I could use the practice."

Sure, go for it, *Meg says, a little too eagerly, and plops the baby in Ash's arms.*

My arms could use the rest -

Only, you know, don't run off with her or anything, *she adds, belatedly,* her mom's an all-powerful being who could turn you inside-out, and all.

"Yeah, like I don't have enough of those in my life."

He's kidding. Mostly.

For her part, Derry just giggles and sets to decorating Ash's arm. Fortunately, he wasn't too attached to that shirt.

You're telling me, *Meg says, with a tiny snort.* I'm related to seven of them -

He raises an eyebrow at her.

"Family reunions must get pretty interesting."

One of those, *Meg says, a little dryly,* is how I got stuck with the baby in the first place, so.

"Got saddled with the babysitting gig, huh?"

He beeps Derry's nose. Some things, it seems, just come naturally.

"Could be worse, I guess."

*Meg considers her family.

Meg considers her family's habit of turning people absentmindedly into butterflies.

Fervently:* Yes.

"Yeah, I know the feeling.

It's the one that says things can always get worse."

And Derry really is a sweetheart, *Meg adds; her face slips into a fond smile, for just a moment.*

- just, you know, also a pain in the derriere, *she concludes, and sticks her tongue out at the baby.

Ash smiles as Derry gives her cousin a Who, me? look.

"Think she's got ya there, kid."

*Meg grins.*

- see, I can do that when someone else is holding her.

But when I'm holding her, I feel like I have to be all - you know - responsible.

"Yeah. Been thinking about that a lot lately."

You've got a few more months, *Meg says, helpfully.* Live it up. Go to cabarets. Get drunk.

. . . I'd tell your wife the same thing, but apparently alcohol's bad for unborn babies.

He snorts.

"Getting drunk's what got us into this situation in the first place."

He looks down at Derry contemplatively.

"Half the time I think everything's okay, I'm an adult, I can do this. The rest of the time it's 'Holy shit, I'm gonna be someone's dad.'"

Derry helpfully responds by patting his cheek with a tiny, carrot-smeared hand.

*Meg grins, a little ruefully.*

From what I hear, it doesn't get any different.

Except, instead of 'gonna be', it's 'is'. And then, 'dad to a ten-year-old', and then 'to a teenager' -

....

"I'm doomed, aren't I?"

- you're not the first, if that helps? *Meg offers.*

"Yeah. And at least it's doomed in a good way, this time."

*Meg grins.*

Exactement.

. . . keep thinking that while you can, even.

*Derry burbles her agreement, and tugs in interest on Ash's chin.*

"Hey, take it easy there. I've only got one of those, y'know."

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