fighting_mad | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's a nice day out by the lake, unlike on Eiattu.

(Plourr loves her planet fiercely, but the rain season is not her favorite time of year.)

The sun is shining, the breeze is light and warm; light sparkles off the lake. Ianna, seven months wise as of 0537 this morning, is sitting on a blanket (several blankets; extra padding for when she inevitably falls on her face. Plourr likes to say she inherited Rial's sense of gravity), propped up by several pillows that look suspiciously like the ones that are usually on the couch by the fireplace inside the bar. She's wearing a very fine floppy hat over her bright red hair, the hat secured under her chin with elastic, and she's currently squinting at her mother, a handful of ripped-up grass clutched in one small fist.

To be fair, a lot of people would probably be squinting at Plourr right now. She's dressed for an audience, her only concession to the nice day the removal of her long-sleeved outer tunic, and she's doing push-ups in the grass. Swift, sharp push-ups with military precision, to be exact. Life's a little busy, these days. You exercise when you get a free minute, or you don't at all. Plourr has worked hard to get back to the shape she was in before a certain princess turned everything upside down and inside out; she isn't about to let that all that effort (or these biceps) go to waste.

"Naga hada hoo?" asks Ianna, opening her fist and letting grass rain down on her chubby legs.

"Yeah," Plourr grunts, barely out of breath as she levers herself up and down. "You said it, Monster."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Men have a way of leading to this particular problem." She explained, with a wry tilt of her mouth and a stern look at Ianna.

"I am not your Auntie." Said with complete confidence. "I will consent to being your personal trainer, of course."

Reaching for the baby, Aeryn tickled her fat little arms. Her smile finally blossomed, along with a short laugh.

Ianna stares at Aeryn for a long moment -- and then shrieks a laugh, flailing her hands at Aeryn's fingers. Plourr grins from ear to ear. "She likes you, Auntie. She's breaking her charming habit of screaming bloody murder when anyone but Rial or I touches her."

Still beaming, Ianna babbles at Aeryn.

"Watch out," Plourr says to Aeryn. "Once you get her started, she'll talk your ear off."

"As long as I don't have to pretend to know what she's saying."

The bar translated many alien dialects but apparently not this one. Baby talk would forever be a mystery. Truth be told, babies un-nerved Aeryn, reminded her of Andrei and the past and the future, timelines so confused that who knew when they'd be sorted out. She was less interested in Ianna than in Plourr, fixing her eyes on the fighter pilot.

"Do you miss flying?"

[OOC: Kyle and I may be handwaving Aeryn back into canon plot...in which case this can take place before that handwave XD]

"What're you, nuts?" she says. "I'm still flying."

"Specially fitted baby seat?" She quirked her brows at Plourr.

John had told her of such things, baby-proofing apartments and cars and practically everything else. Aeryn thought that teaching your baby not to be un-intelligent about where it put it's hands, was a much safer method.

Plourr raises her eyebrows back, high. "Yeah, you're nuts alright. There aren't any baby seats in X-wings, and I'm not about to put my daughter in a snubfighter. Rial or his parents watch her when I want to fly."

"It's better for her to learn young." Her mouth was a grim, tight line; impossible to tell if she's joking. She was.

For some reason, Aeryn found it easy to convince people she was raised in a strict, military environment that forced their young into fighter craft. Still, Ianna was too young even by Peacekeeper standards. She'd need stilts to reach the pedals.

"Young, maybe; seven months old, no," says Plourr, but there's an amused tilt to her mouth.

Ianna has apparently decided that she has been ignored long enough; she gets a fist in Plourr's shoulder-length hair and yanks.

"Ow-- holy-- what have your father and I said about -- son of a bitch -- hair-pulling--"

(This is as she's peeling Ianna's fingers away.)

Edited 2008-06-16 22:05 (UTC)

"That's definitely something you want her learning." Another hint of sarcasm, Aeryn leant over to stare at the child, blue-grey eyes fixed on large round baby ones.

"Now I can't figure out if she's a fighter, or just impatient."

"Both," says Plourr, and she sucks a sharp breath in through her teeth as Ianna gets one last good tug in before Plourr gets her hands off. "Definitely both. She's not much of a princess."

"She's got her whole life to train for that."

Her brow furrowed as she straightened her back. Actually Aeryn figured once the child was old enough she'd rebel against anything Plourr actually wanted for her and run away.

She didn't think quiet obedience was in the Estillo genes.

Plourr's mouth tightens, as she glances at the bright-eyed little girl who's watching Aeryn with interest. "I don't intend for her to be trained for it at all," she says.

"She's not your heir?"

There wasn't a lot she knew about royalty. What she was aware of was all protocol and breeding, snobbery and forcing their children into something they didn't want.

She thought better of Plourr. Marriage, children; they have a way of making things complicated and the Peacekeeper was no longer sure of her friend.

Testing the water seemed sensible.

"That," says Plourr, "depends who you're talking to."

"Problems with Rial?" A pause. She kept it succinct and without emotion, careful not to offend.

"Or the royal family?"

"Rial wants her to be the heir; I want her to have a choice."

Two can play the succinct game.

"She's your daughter."

Perhaps unwisely, Aeryn had less concern about offending her friend this time.

Edited 2008-06-22 01:06 (UTC)

"Yeah," says Plourr, her eyes narrowed a touch. "She is. What's that supposed to mean, Sun?"

(The entire subject is a little touchy.)

Arms folded, she stayed silent for a moment. Contemplated what to say - how best to explain what she meant.

"I never knew my mother --" Not even the destroyed version of the woman she'd had a chance to meet. "-- we were bred as soldiers, that was our duty. No choice in the matter. Taken from our parents, who were little more than cattle chosen to birth us. They had no say in our upbringing."

It took great strength to talk about her past like this, open up for no reason other than the hurt look (no matter how adept she thought she was at hiding it) in Plourr's eyes.

"I want you to understand. I loved my life. I never knew anything different. When I went with John, I began to understand. The things I had been forced to sacrifice; missed out on. I don't think choice should be a luxury."

Her gaze fell on Ianna. "I wanted better for my children."

It went without saying that the thought included Plourr's. The only children she would instantly try to love solely on the merit of their existence, barring her own.

Plourr looks at her, for a minute, and then one side of her mouth slowly, stubbornly lifts, just a little; silently understanding.

"I want better, too." She looks at Ianna, who is (for once) oblivious to all of the attention she's receiving and is happily gurgling at Plourr's shoulder. "I got forced into all this, fine. But I want different for her."

It's probably just about time to start up this argument with Rial again.

Aeryn, surprised even at herself, broke out into a full-faced grin.

"You make a wonderful mother."

It was easy to strip her voice of sarcasm, laying to rest any doubts. Plourr was happy; she had her family and she was doing a good job of it.

Plourr was lucky.

Hell, Plourr's surprised at her, too.

There's a second where she looks at Aeryn with narrowed eyes, where she's listening for sarcasm, waiting for the other (fond but gruff) shoe to drop -- but it doesn't come.

"Thanks," she says, and she's got enough abruptness for both of them, but it's a genuine thank you. It's still weird, thinking she's got a kid, thinking she's somebody's mother; still freaky, sometimes. And Aeryn's opinion matters.

"Now, c'mon, Auntie Aeryn; take her off my hands," she gestures at the blanket with her free hand, "and take a load off." She's passing Ianna over, whether Aeryn likes it or not; Ianna looks mildly quizzical but not yet concerned about this turn of events.

Plourr's lucky that Ianna wasn't crying. Natural instinct in that case would probably be 'throw' or 'kill'. Sometimes it was necessary to suppress natural instincts in order to keep a friend sweet.

So Aeryn took a seat, narrowing her eyes at the tiny baby face now in front of hers. Her grip was steady and she'd never drop the baby on purpose. Ironically enough, Ianna was in safe hands.

"Is this going to be a regular occurrence?" Aeryn asked with a hint of wry amusement.

Ianna stares at Aeryn. Her eyes are a dark, dark brown, inherited from both parents.

Plourr dusts off her hands and resumes her push-ups. "What, you actually sitting down for once in your life? Or babysitting? 'Cause either way--" She grunts, crossing her right arm behind her and setting the back of her hand against the small of her back, as she continues her routine.

"--I'm pretty sure you're gonna be in this for the long run, Sun. Whether you like it or not."

She swaps arms.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only