WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

[deadgirlslikeme]

A door opens, and suddenly the sound of a baby wailing echoes across the nearby chunk of the Nexus. A bleary-eyed Victor Van Dort steps through, bouncing said wailing baby in his arms. "It's okay, it's okay. . .look, we're -- um." He blinks a few times as he registers where he is. "This isn't. . .oh, dear, how did I manage to choose the wrong door?" He goes to step back through --

Then stops, shakes his head, and proceeds to the nearest safe-looking bit of furniture, still cradling his son. "No. Perhaps someone can help here. At least, Alice and the others will get some decent sleep for a change. . ." He looks up, an exhausted man at the end of his rope. "Is there anyone around who's had at least one child and might know why they sometimes just start crying in the middle of the night and won't stop no matter what you do?"

Comments

[lastest_ringbearer]

We did, yesss!

It'sss not that fun, we do not recommend it.

[deadgirlslikeme]

[Victor does his best to bite back a chuckle] No, it didn't sound fun, from his description. Something about a volcano? [he shakes his head] My mind's not -- working its best, I'm afraid.

[lastest_ringbearer]

Crying isss dissstracting, I agree.

[deadgirlslikeme]

You can say "earsplitting" -- you're not telling me anything I don't already know. [Victor tries adjusting his grip on Chester, wrapping up the squirming baby a little tighter in his blanket as he walks] Come on, aren't you out of breath by now?

[lastest_ringbearer]

Earsssplitting it isss, then.

Not blue yet, isss he? Ssso we think no.

[deadgirlslikeme]

No, he isn't. . . [he shifts Chester again, holding him upright and sort of bouncing him on his palm as he goes from side to side] I don't even know what I'm -- doing -- anymore?

[Except that he seems to have stumbled upon the right thing by sheer luck, as Chester is starting to quiet down. Possibly out of confusion, but Victor will take what he can get.]

[lastest_ringbearer]

That'sss better. *He tries to remember his own childhood, but not a lot comes up.* Know any lullabieses, does he? We don't anymore, but we remembers sssome poetry we thinks.

[deadgirlslikeme]

Much better, yes. [Victor gently bounces Chester some more, reveling in the quiet] I do know a few. . .tried them out before, but they didn't seem to help then. [glances at Smeagol] Which poem?

[lastest_ringbearer]

The sssong we heard the dwarf sssinging in Moria. Our little rhymeses about the fishes in the lakeses.

Mossst of the ones we know aren't happy, mind. Praps the Man should sing his own inssstead.

[deadgirlslikeme]

Ahhh. . . [he looks at Chester, who is now amusing himself by sucking on his fist] Well, to be fair, some of the lullabies I know aren't very happy either. "Rock A Bye Baby," for example -- what do you think of a song about a baby that falls from a tree?

[lastest_ringbearer]

Not happy at all. Picking another would be best, yesss?

[deadgirlslikeme]

Heh, yes. . .though most of the other music I'm familiar with doesn't have lyrics. I favor the piano when I'm the mood -- er, do you know what a piano is? [no judgement, just asking]

[lastest_ringbearer]

No, we don't think ssso. Is it nice?

[deadgirlslikeme]

Well, I think it is. It's an instrument for making music -- a big box with strings in, attached to a bunch of keys. You press the keys, and little hammers in the box hit the strings for different notes. I'd, um, try to demonstrate more, but. . . [holds up the baby, still sucking away]

[lastest_ringbearer]

A good reassson not to. Praps another time, yesss?

[deadgirlslikeme]

Perhaps, yes. I found a piano here before, so maybe I can do so again.

[Chester loses interest in his fingers and makes a few tentative whimpering sounds] Oh no no, please. . . [Victor starts panic-humming the first thing that comes to mind -- the beginning of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. Yes, not exactly a lullaby, but he's frazzled and just wants to keep this kid quiet.]

[lastest_ringbearer]

Husssh, child of Men. You live in far too kind a world for you to cry ssso much.

[deadgirlslikeme]

[Chester's response to this -- is a little baby laugh, wiggling in Victor's grip. Victor relaxes some, adjusting his hold] He's right, you know. You needn't cry nearly so much. Especially at night. . .I didn't introduce myself properly, did I? Victor -- and this little fellow is Chester.

[lastest_ringbearer]

Good to meet you, my loves.

[deadgirlslikeme]

Good to meet you as well. It's nice to talk to someone outside my immediate family again. I haven't had much of a chance to get out lately. [he gives Chester a mocking frown, which he burbles at] Babies take a lot of work.

[lastest_ringbearer]

We think it lookses hard jussst to keep them from wandering off. Never a good thing, to go wandering. You never know where you might end up.

[deadgirlslikeme]

Oh, he's too young to go wandering much yet, fortunately. He's still getting the hang of just moving around in general. Though Alice and I are already trying to think ahead to that time. . .you're right, we don't know where he might end up, and. . .well. It's a tiny bit terrifying how dangerous even a nice house can be to a baby.

[lastest_ringbearer]

At leassst you can keep him in that house. If you can keep him out of here anyway. Then . . . well. Cold be heart and hand and bone/Cold be travelers far from home/Never wake from ssstony bed/'Til Sun has failed and Moon is dead. Too many doorses here go to sssuch places, yesss!

[deadgirlslikeme]

[Victor pulls Chester a little closer as Smeagol recites the rhyme, gently bouncing him in lieu of having a tie to pull] Um -- was that part of your "fishes" poem? I can see why it wouldn't suit as a lullaby in that case. . . And yes, I know there's a lot of dangerous doors here. Me and mine have been lucky so far, but Chester -- well, he's not coming here without supervision for a LONG time. Goodness, he wouldn't even be here tonight, except I was so bloody tired I accidentally stepped through the wrong door.

[lastest_ringbearer]

No no, the fish poemses be a bit different. Alive without breath, cold as death . . .

Walking through the wrong door sounds bad, it does. Worse from thisss side, mind. With our luck we'd be back in Mordor somewhere, yes we would!