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witticasterPerscitia and Temeraire late at night. With a baaaaaaaaby.
"You are not feeding him correctly," came Perscitia's yawning voice, from the shadows of their bed. "He likes his bottle at a fifty degree angle."
Temeraire spared only a glance in her direction before looking back down at their son, who seemed to be eating perfectly cheerfully despite the fact that Temeraire was holding the bottle at a rather lower angle. "You do not have your glasses on," he told her, a little waspshly. "I do not think you should be criticizing what you can't even see."
At that remark, Perscitia reached over for her glasses, the lenses flashing in the dim warm glow of Larkin's nightlight, and Temeraire hurriedly adjusted the bottle's inclination.
"See!" Perscitia said, now sitting up comfortably in the mess of pillows and blankets their bed inevitably became each night (particularly lately, when they were up every few hours anyway). "You weren't holding it at the right angle."
"He was eating, all the same." Temeraire nodded down at the baby, whose attentions seemed primarily on ingesting as much milk as he might be allowed, rather than exactly how it was presented to him. "You can do it, if you think you'll do such a better job."
Perscitia leaned back into the pillows, her long hair sticking up in odd places, and said, with no small gladness, "It's not my turn to. I'll just watch."
"I hope he sicks up on you, next time it's your turn," Temeraire muttered, as Larkin made clear he was full. He could not help but feel a little gratified at the thought that Perscitia was awake with him at this moment, though; for all her talk of making sure Temeraire did not drop Larkin in the night (which he would never do, he always rejoined, and probably Perscitia was projecting), he suspected that was not her true motive. And he thought he looked very well--or as well as anyone could, at two in the morning--when taking care of Larkin like this, the orange light and dark shadows accentuating his better features as he murmured in Chinese at their child.
As Temeraire climbed back into bed, Larkin having been set back into his own, he felt Perscitia slide down from where she sat, to lay close and warm next to him. "There," he mumbled, feeling sleep tugging at him. "You cannot have complaint: Larkin is fed and happy, and now perhaps we can sleep."
"You forgot to burp him."
With a sigh, Temeraire dragged himself back out of bed and over to Larkin's bassinet.
"You are not feeding him correctly," came Perscitia's yawning voice, from the shadows of their bed. "He likes his bottle at a fifty degree angle."
Temeraire spared only a glance in her direction before looking back down at their son, who seemed to be eating perfectly cheerfully despite the fact that Temeraire was holding the bottle at a rather lower angle. "You do not have your glasses on," he told her, a little waspshly. "I do not think you should be criticizing what you can't even see."
At that remark, Perscitia reached over for her glasses, the lenses flashing in the dim warm glow of Larkin's nightlight, and Temeraire hurriedly adjusted the bottle's inclination.
"See!" Perscitia said, now sitting up comfortably in the mess of pillows and blankets their bed inevitably became each night (particularly lately, when they were up every few hours anyway). "You weren't holding it at the right angle."
"He was eating, all the same." Temeraire nodded down at the baby, whose attentions seemed primarily on ingesting as much milk as he might be allowed, rather than exactly how it was presented to him. "You can do it, if you think you'll do such a better job."
Perscitia leaned back into the pillows, her long hair sticking up in odd places, and said, with no small gladness, "It's not my turn to. I'll just watch."
"I hope he sicks up on you, next time it's your turn," Temeraire muttered, as Larkin made clear he was full. He could not help but feel a little gratified at the thought that Perscitia was awake with him at this moment, though; for all her talk of making sure Temeraire did not drop Larkin in the night (which he would never do, he always rejoined, and probably Perscitia was projecting), he suspected that was not her true motive. And he thought he looked very well--or as well as anyone could, at two in the morning--when taking care of Larkin like this, the orange light and dark shadows accentuating his better features as he murmured in Chinese at their child.
As Temeraire climbed back into bed, Larkin having been set back into his own, he felt Perscitia slide down from where she sat, to lay close and warm next to him. "There," he mumbled, feeling sleep tugging at him. "You cannot have complaint: Larkin is fed and happy, and now perhaps we can sleep."
"You forgot to burp him."
With a sigh, Temeraire dragged himself back out of bed and over to Larkin's bassinet.
no subject
on 2010-07-16 06:12 pm (UTC)I imagine William could be pretty good at cooking because it's an activity with clear set rules that rarely change randomly, he just lacks confidence because it's a traditionally feminine skill (like gardening) and he has trouble reading recipes. But Tharkay could probably teach him pretty well... with lots of sighing along the way, because Tharkay would be a terrible teacher. /tl;dr.
no subject
on 2010-07-16 06:17 pm (UTC)Yeah, I can definitely imagine William being able to handle cooking, only--he hasn't, up 'til that point, and I imagine he's vaguely mulish about learning up until the point that he realizes he's pretty good at it. And Tharkay shows him how to make all sorts of things Archie likes to eat at restaurants in addition to their boringass national meals like SOME KIND OF MEAT WITH STARCH.
no subject
on 2010-07-16 06:25 pm (UTC)And once William starts to get the hang of it, is incredibly pleased with himself.