victormakesart | (no subject)

(no subject)

More of the Sanir's eggs have been hatching since Victor started meddling, hooking them up with calcium supplements and dark leafy greens, and this hatching ceremony is particularly productive, in part because Victor's hatching an egg as well. Metaphorically.

She's burning herbs with the rest of the prospective parents, singing the birthing song, fretting a bit over the health of her spawn (and the other children of the community). She spends so much time here that the past batch of hatchlings all know her by name, and the oldest of elders hum greetings to her.

They're all painted in the room, with plant paste, with clay, and she has feathers woven into her hair because she has no feathers of her own.

It's stifling in the hut, with the eggs surrounded by warm rocks and cloths, and a long shape under a sheet, about the size of a child.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She gives him a light kiss on the cheek and nods her head. "I'm trying."

One couple is singing right to their eggs, then listening, singing, listening, encouraging their clutch to hatch. They have four eggs, two of which are wobbling, two of which they're pondering the little hammer to help them out.

"I know. You're doing great."

Trying to be sneaky, she pushes the button one more time.

A new hatchling 'eeee's as his parents cup them in their palms. Singing in a language Vic is only just beginning to understand.

He puts his hand over hers, silently telling her not to worry, and to stop pushing the button because it won't help.

She pushes it one more time and then stops. She's a person of minimal self-control.

Then -- is she imagining it? Then, the sheet begins to shift a little.

No need for the little hammer here, thank goodness, because that wouldn't help either. He holds her hand, waiting to see what happens. He really hopes she did everything right, if only because he's spent so long assuring her that she hasn't.

The blanket is definitely moving, around the mouth and nose, it's like there's someone breathing in there, and she holds his hand so tightly that if she had any actual muscle it might hurt a little.

And, symbolically cracking out of his egg, Jude pulls the sheet back and scans the room, face breaking into an easy smile, recognition when he sees his dad and Uncle Cole. "Susurrus," he says. "I spent, like, all of Thursday thinking about what my first word should be, and I decided on susurrus."

His hand presses to his mouth, still sitting there, draped in that sheet. Feeling his lips move. "I'm talking. Oh my stars and garters (why did I say that that's so... not cool)."

He's a pale boy, like his father. Big brown eyes, a big nose that rather suits his face. And he looks thrilled. "Dad dad dad do you have a mirror?"

Cole relaxes slightly, because the kid seems all right, and definitely seems human. He nudges Victor slightly. "I can get your bag if you have one in there."

"Gosh, I don't, I don't carry mirrors. I should've thought of that," she says, fretfully, and Jude runs his hands over his face, stretches his fingers out in front of him, wiggling them, watching them wiggle. It's like the Doctor when he's regenerating, except more. This is his first experience being tangible.

"Dude, this rocks!" He gets up, all stumbly, all arms and lanky legs, and Vic stands, hobbles over to touch his shoulder. "Woah, slow down, buster," Vic says.

"You just got your legs. Take it slow and easy." Cole isn't sure if Jude has any kind of instinctual responses, like how to walk, or whether that got left out of his programming. Either way, it's like watching a newborn foal try to stand.

It's programmed in, but he's so entranced in the new sensation that he's improvising. Vic wraps an arm around his shoulders, though he's almost as tall as she is, and leads him down to their little spot of the hut.

"But this is so cool. Dad, dad, okay, so, like, we're going to have cake, right?"

"Of course. It's your birthday. And a Tuesday."

Cole follows, trying not to hang back too much, although this is Victor's kid and not really his as such. "Of all the food in the world to be your first, and you choose cake. Good choice."

"He's his father's son," Victor says, proudly, ruffling his hair.

"Heyyyy, quit it. You're embarrassing me."

"I knew it. Five minutes in and I'd already be embarrassing him."

"You're going to spoil him rotten, though." Not that he doesn't approve or anything. He's seen how she is with the girls.

"Oh, no question."

Jude is all flushed, thrilled, smiling so big, so happy to be alive. He can't sit still, also a hallmark of being Vic's kid. "Do we have to stay here the whole time?" He wants to run around and eat things!

Now it's Vic's turn to blush. "Yeah. C'mon, these're my people."

"Some of them, anyway."

"Yeah, they're my homebirds. Just be patient, sweetie. D' you wanna play with your sisters?"

Jude shrugs, then breaks into a huge grin. "Sure." It means he gets to walk some more. And play peekaboo without being stuck in a monitor.

Vic can't stop smiling.

Cole makes his way over to the girls, kneeling down next to them. "Hey, girls. Jude's awake, do you want to play with him?"

Wide-eyed and happy they squeal, Athena floating out of the pen, Anya determined to try to climb out on her own (that should probably be nipped in the bud). "Nah nah nah yay Jude!" Anya yowls, in her rendition of the Beatles, with very little beat, even less tune.

A chorus of tiny birdchildren echo her.

Jude hops up and Victor clambers up with him. She directs him, tells him to slow down, he's not used to having to watch where he walks, and there's fire and people in the way.

Cole picks up Anya before she can get too far. "Careful there, kiddo."

Athena bobs and floats right into Jude's arms.

Anya isn't sure if she believes this is her brother. All of the times she's seen Jude it's been through a computer monitor. And Vic did explain it, but Anya is two, and Anya doesn't get it.

But Vic takes her from Cole, and carries her gently to Jude. Anya grabs at Jude's cheek, while still in the safety of her father's arms.

"Hey, ouch!" he says, laughing.

At least it's a good test of if the pain receptors are working. "Careful, Anya. We have to play nice with people."

Anya makes a grab for Jude's hair and Vic stops her hand, curling her fingers gently around the teeny fist. "Stop," Anya orders, looking as innocent as a painted cherub.

Victor shakes her head. "That's not how it works, darlin'. No hair pulling. No hitting. No pinching." Pause. "No biting. No scratching. Okay?"

She's conspicuously silent, so Victor bounces her a little. "Okay?"

"Okay." She says it grudgingly, lower lip pooched out into a pout.

"She doesn't know how to play with you, yet," Vic says.

"Roger," Jude says. He climbs carefully into the kid pen, sets Athena down next to him, and reaches his arms up for Anya. "We'll play don't-hurt-your-brother first, how's that?"

"Maybe a nice round of peekaboo?" Cole suggests. It's something familiar and holds very little risk of accidental injury, after all.

"Yeah, we'll do that."

Anya climbs into Jude's lap and Victor gives her a warning look.

But Jude goes, "Hey, hey, hey, look. Look. Where'd I go?" in an excited, high-pitched voice, hands over his eyes, and Anya laughs. He's there, still, of course!