(no subject)

[balletrat]

*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.*

Comments

[blue_ajah]

She shakes her head at this.

"I grant myself the credit I deserve, Meg. No more than that, perhaps -- but no less."

[balletrat]

'No word that is not true,' right, *Meg says, lightly.*

But, you know, no one's their own best judge - at least, that's sort of the way I've figured it to work, generally.

[blue_ajah]

"Is it so?" she murmurs.

Noncommittally, although a shadow flickers in her glance.