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"The Deus and the Diaper"Date: December 15, 1998  Light streams in a window, falling across the settee where Eranthe is seated. She is turned slightly, with her wings trailing back out behind her. She's holding something in her arms, a small bundle, and seems to be fussing over it. Two, three steps in ... it becomes clear. It's a baby. A baby? Glancing upward, she sees Meg and her worried expression gives way to deep relief. "Oh..." she breathes, moving to stand, "you have to help me. I think he needs to be changed." Wait, hold on. Back things up. What is she doing with an infant? The thought of explaining the situation hasn't occurred to her yet, it seems. The door opens and closes and Megeara has turned a mildly disgusted look back over her shoulder before she makes her way into the room. "Eranthe? I hope I've not...." interrupted? Usually, this room smells of parchment and ink, but now... *sniff*sniff* Yes, there's a definite odor of something/one needing changing around here. She doesn't look particularly surprised to see the infant, although his being in Eranthe's arms draws up a question or two. "I, uh... see you've met Father's 'guest.' I would have thought he'd already be on his way to Civitas Dei and his family?" Leaning forward, despite the smell, she wriggles her fingers within the baby's view. Eranthe trades in her expression yet again, shifting from relief to confusion. "Guest?" she queries, looking between Meg and the baby. She holds him a bit awkwardly, as if unfamiliar with the proper way to cradle an infant and is terribly worried about dropping him. The child squirms a bit, his face all scrunched up in a hiccuping cry. Phew... yes. He needs to be changed. Why she wants to take on this task herself instead of passing it along to a slave to take care of is a mystery. But, then again, Eran has always been an 'odd' girl. "Why would he ... oh goodness, um ... I cannot get him to stop crying!" Her thoughts are confused and jumbled by her panic, the young Dea greatly vexed over the wailing child. Glancing around the room, Megeara doesn't find any slaves to pass this task along to. *Heavy sigh* Why does Eranthe continually insist on doing such things herself? She's not much more familiar with babies than Eranthe, but he did seem to respond to her the day before. "Let me try?" she says quietly, trying to keep herself calm, despite the overwhelming desire to simply yell for a slave to deal with this. An encouraging smile is directed toward both the Dea Acesian and the young howling creature as she reaches for the babe. Eranthe passes him over, handling him verrrry carefully. Which is a good thing, for it is widely known how she has this knack for breaking things. It would be horrible if she were to drop the baby. Which would bring a question to mind: why entrust an infant to her? A breath she hadn't even realized she had been holding is released once the child has changed hands without incident and the young Dea presses a hand over her heart. "Oh, thank you..." she says with a great deal of relief. "Here, let me get a new diaper." She rushes over to a dresser--hey, that's a new piece of furniture--and pulls out a drawer. "There just seems to be so much to this. I hope that I can learn it all." Triumphant, she draws forth a clean, cloth diaper. "Here we go." Megeara cradles the child with something that comes near to resembling confidence. After all, she held him for all of twenty minutes or so the day before. That makes her something of an expert, right? She holds him carefully, but not too close--that scent is quite a bit stronger from this angle. The piercing wail dies down, if from curiosity over this new face to look at, if nothing else. That gives Eranthe's words a chance to make their way into Megeara's brain. Slowly. Turquoise orbs flick up briefly to follow the movements of her friend, land on the dresser, but then drift back as she is presented with a square of soft cloth. Oh. That's a diaper, I suppose? Moving to an awkward seat upon the couch, the baby is automatically shifted to make up for the loss of lap. "Thank you..." she says in vague tones, though she makes no move to accept the offered diaper. "Learn what all, Eranthe?" Suspicious comprehension is sneaking up from somewhere at the back of her mind. Surely, Father wouldn't... I mean, this is a baby not some bit of jewelry or a small pet. One doesn't give people (read: Empyrean people) as gifts. The blue-green of her eyes becomes more evident as they widen and just sorta stare at Eranthe. That is, until the baby starts up with fussing once again. Eranthe purses her lips, glancing about as she tries to decide the best way to do this. "Oh, you know. How to care for him." she replies distractedly. To take care of him. Of course she means... to take care of him while he's here. Of course. Squinting, she gestures to the bed. "Maybe we should lay him down there?" A faint frown dots her expression, one fingertip lifted to press against her lips. "No..." she murmurs under her breath, speaking aloud to herself, "...that could get messy." Pale eyes flick about to other points in the room, settling on that spiffy new dresser once more. "Maybe here? This would be better," she says more loudly, striding over to the piece of furniture and sweeping her hand over the broad expanse of its top. Yes, that seems to be a good idea. She grins, proud of her resourcefulness. See? She can do this herself... The cranky cries of the baby cradled in her arms pull Meg back from whatever direction her thoughts had been about to go in. About to make an attempt at laying him on the couch, Eranthe's words regarding the bed come through. Hmm, p'raps here isn't such a good place after all. She looks closer. Oh yes, this was the couch where she and Arahael... Uhm... the dresser, "Yes, that might be best." It's a bit of a struggle to get her unbalanced self up and off the couch with her arms tangled up in swaddling, but somehow she manages it. Laying the fretful child where Eranthe has indicated, she looks sideways. "Uhm... now what?" The door opens and Lysander appears from the darkness. He glances back over his shoulder for a moment and then turns his attention towards the two ladies in the room--his wife and his daughter. Taking a few steps forward, he smiles a bit, "Seems as if you two have your hands full?" Clearing his throat, his hands slide behind his back, eyes gazing towards the baby who now lies on the bed, "I hope I'm not interrupting?" Eranthe chews on her lips and stares hard at the kid, as if he'll suddenly stop his crying and instruct her on what to do next. Okay, she can do this. The mongrel slave showed her. Once. Slowly, she reaches forward and unfastens the diaper the child is wearing. Whoa... she takes a major step back, waving a hand in front of her face. How could something so small make a smell so bad? Then the door opens and in strides Lysander. Oh, good. He can take over. "No. No, of course not." A small smile. "You have come just in time." Megeara steps back right along with Eranthe. Getting used to the smell of Haven was nothing compared to this. Lifting one hand automatically to cover her mouth and nose with the clean diaper she holds, she turns watering eyes in Lysander's direction. No, she'd never dream of his taking over, but she shoots a pleading look at him all the same. One of... 'help-me-what-in-the-world-is-your-wife-doing???' Lysander remains standing there, his hands behind his back, wings folded in place. It is clear that he doesn't intend on moving much from his position, unless he's asked. After all, is it really his job to take care of his son's diapers? He is the Princeps of the Empyre. "I see I am just in time for... the changing." He inhales once and though it smells quite badly, he does his best to not make a face. Shifting his stance a bit, he covers his mouth as he clears his throat. "You know..." he fades off, "...I remember when I changed your diapers, Megeara." Looking straight at his daughter, he smiles a bit and takes a few steps closer to survey Eranthe's damage so far. The child is still very much put out about having a dirty diaper, even though it's been loosened. He continues to cry, his face all red and bunched up... his tiny hands curled into equally tiny fists. Eranthe's gaze bounces from person to person... Lysander, Meg, baby... as she worries her bottom lip. Settling her gaze on her approaching husband, she smiles a bit sheepishly. "I thought I could do it myself. But I do not really remember what Magda showed me." Maybe the smell is what obliterated her memory? Probably. Changed her diapers? Could Meg's eyes widen any further? From 'your wife must be crazy' to 'Are you just as nuts?' Meg continues to look at her father for a long moment. Finally, it occurs to her that she's holding the clean diaper, and that the baby is still crying (a noise genetically designed to give the maximum annoyance factor to adults, and thus ensure that it can't be ignored). Taking one last, somewhat filtered breath, she lowers the diaper and moves forward. First, make the kiddo comfortable, then find out what the heck is going on around here. With great daring, she peeks to examine the damage. Icky, but not too terribly beyond yuck. "We'll need a damp cloth," she states with what she hopes is firmness. Tentatively, she begins pulling the soiled diaper away. Lysander just continues to watch Megeara without shame--he is her father and he can gloat over such things. As the two women tend to the child he casually takes a step forward and examines their work a bit closer. Arching an eyebrow, he nods approvingly. "Here, let me take that." As the dirty diaper is grasped without hesitation and neatly folded into a neat little ball. He almost immediately takes a step back and lets the both of you take care of your 'business'. From the way he did that, you get the impression that he's done this before. His wings flex once and then he straightens, just holding the cloth and watching, "It gets worse, over time. The smell that is." A rather offhanded comment. Ever hear the saying 'In the wrong place, at the wrong time?' Well, it would certainly describe this situation nicely. There is Lysander--the Dignified Princeps of the Empyre, the Respected Patriarch of House Acesius--bent over the crying infant. If he had been a moment sooner, or a moment later, things would have been different. However, the Fates have taken a hand. Just as he removes the soiled diaper, up arcs a golden stream and down the front of his chiton it goes, wetting it nicely. Eranthe shuffles back a step or two, bumping against Meg as she watches with wide, wide eyes. Did the baby... just ... pee ... on her husband? Any and all words are lost on her--she doesn't know whether to gasp or burst out laughing, so she simply lifts a hand to cover her mouth. The child, though, has stopped crying. Ahhhh, he feels so much better. He's been shot with an arrow, he's been poisoned, he's been lost behind Varati lines, hell, he's run the Empyre for almost a decade as an advisor to the most serious men this world has ever known. But, he's never been urinated upon. As a matter of fact, it is something that is so unthinkable that he doesn't even seem to take note that this event has actually happened. When the arc of steaming yellow strikes his chiton, Lysander continues his motion of stepping back with the diaper in hand. But the time he settles in place, he's realize that his wife is looking at him with wide eyes like she's seen a ghost. He smiles, a bit too widely--you know, that smile where you know something's wrong, but you don't want to know what it is. "What is it, Eranthe?" It is about that time he feels the wetness his of his robe pressing to his skin and he just stops, his lips pursing. He does not want to look down, because he knows he's been used for a fire hydrant by his new son. Maybe it's some female instinct, or maybe it's some memory of watching her brother being changed as a child. Whatever the reason, Megeara takes a solid step backward as Lysander moves to take the diaper. Eranthe's bump into her is returned with a bit of jostling from the other direction. That... *tinkling* sound becomes mighty loud in the sudden silence after the baby stops crying. Like her friend, Meg isn't sure whether to look horrified or simply to fall over laughing, and she too claps a hand over her mouth. At Lysander's words, she points. To that big wet stain on his front. Helpful, isn't she? Eranthe is shaking. Oh yes, she is. Suppressed laughter chases a tremble throughout her body, right down to the tips of her wings. It's not funny. No, of course it... *heh* .. isn't. Slowly, she pulls her hand away from her mouth, working very hard to keep her lips from turning up at the corners. She goes to speak but, instead, takes a big gulp of air. Words are a little difficult to come by in this moment. She gestures to the baby, "H-he..." Blue-eyes sweep from the child to settle upon Lysander. "He..." As her gaze filters down to take in the wet spot on the front of his clothing, she begins to lose her thin-control over her amusement. "He had to go..." she manages to get out before the laughing takes command. Lysander is standing there, fresh urine dripping down the front of his chiton, a stinky, smell diaper in his right hand. Princeps of the Empyre? More like the Princeps of the Fecal Factory. Only minions he should be commanding at this moment is the Tidy Bowl Man. Yet, he is a noble, and after a momentary pause he speaks in response to Megeara and Eranthe, "I know." It is one of those 'bitter' acknowledgments and he closes his eyes for just a second as the laughter comes. Most certainly were this not his daughter and his wife, these two would be dead for even uttering a smile, let alone a snicker. Bigus Dickus has nothing on Lysander Acesian. Calmly, he looks down and spies the stain on his clothing and clears his throat. Turning, he sets the dirty diaper down on the edge of his desk. This is taking a moment to sink in and that is clear. The urine sinking in? Or the concept that he's been peed upon. Its hard to tell and the jury is still out. The clean diaper is still in Megeara's hand and, rather like locking the barn door after the horse has escaped, she drapes it carefully over the nekkid little body laying so comfortably in a puddle atop the dresser. Wouldn't want the tyke to catch a chill now, would we? Nooo.... she doesn't laugh. Wouldn't dream of it. *cough* With one glance toward Eranthe and another toward Lysander, she moves back in to attempt to regain control of this changing. Step-Mamma has clearly lost it, and Pappa... well, it's doubtful he'll want to have any more input in this particular changing. For his part, the baby seems to find the whole thing as amusing as his new mother, a delightful baby-laugh mingling with hers and bringing a smile to Meg's face, despite her best efforts at seriousness. Eranthe presses her hand back over her mouth, although the remains of her laughter continue to filter out through her fingers. Even though Lysander looks less-than-pleased, his wife is still mirthful. Of course, it's easy to be so since she wasn't the one urinated on. Slowly, she starts to close the distance between herself and her husband. "Come now, do not be so serious," she says, letting her hands drop to her sides. "You have been anointed. He must like you." Drawing up to his side, she slides an arm around the back of his waist and turns to look back upon Megeara and the baby, smiling widely. "Would you trade it, pappa?" That title trips off her tongue, accompanied by happiness and contentment, in obvious reference to the child. Eran is pleased. Okay, so he's been urinated on. So a perfectly good chiton's been ruined? It is just a chiton and at most his pride. But, it is his son, and the child's only an infant. How can he be mad or gloat over something like this? Especially not when his wife is so lighthearted about it. Her touch seems to draw his attention towards the child who is being changed by his daughter, and upon seeing him there, any notions of him being upset vanish with the smile that comes to his lips. "Nay, I would not." Lysander comments as he lets his own hand find a place at the base of Eranthe's back, "Even if he soils my clothing, he is still my son, and I love him the same." However, a quick glance is cast toward his wife and then to his daughter, "The things I allow my family to get away with are beyond my understanding. I assume I can have both of your discretion on this matter? Were rumor to get out that the Princeps was urinated upon, I am certain I would be the butt of many a jest." There is a light tone to his voice, but the implications of this are worthy of him making at least a qualifying statement. Pappa? Only Megeara's eyes lift from her position half bent over the baby, and then, only long enough to take in the peaceful, 'familial' pose of her father, and Eranthe at his side. The smile brought on by the baby's uninhibited laugh falters slightly, but she says nothing while doing her best to mop up. Meg's no idiot, and with all of the bits of information that she's been hit with since first seeing this child, it's pretty apparent how things stand. Why? she hasn't a clue, but surely there must be some reasonable explanation why these two would take in a war-orphan and decide to make him their own. Right? Her movements in first cleaning up, then rediapering the child are not graceful, but neither are they completely without skill. It helps that her mind is off on a tangent, wondering, and leaving her hands to perform each step in natural succession. When she's done, the babe is relatively clean, and the new diaper is wrapped round the correct body parts. Whether, or how long it will stay in place remains to be seen, but as she gently lifts him, the blanket covers most of it up anyway. Lysander's words come just as she's cradling the child into a comfortable position and her eyes drop to him, rather than going to the couple before her. "I will not say a word, father," is said softly. It's in response to his request, but also perhaps a reference to the questions which continue to dance in her head. Leave those for later. This is all strange enough as it is. Eranthe's lips curl into an impish smile and she pats Lysander's arm lightly. "The butt of many a jest?" she repeats, laughter darting in and about her tone. "Wrong end, dear." She giggles lightly as she lifts up on tip-toe, depositing a quick kiss upon his cheek before she moves off to help Megeara. Well, perhaps 'help' isn't the right word. Observe, yes, observe Megeara. She pays attention to what the other woman is doing, even if she is not, for Eran is determined to be able to do this herself eventually. Reaching out, she strokes her fingertip along the curve of the infant's fist just as Meg finishes up with the diaper. Most impressive! She smiles at her friend as she takes the baby into her arms, shifting her gaze between the two. "Is he not beautiful?" she asks tenderly. Lysander's eyes drift from his wife to his daughter as she finishes placing the diaper on the child. He watches how she handles him and while she is not skilled, she has potential. "You are good at that, Megeara. I never knew you had such talent with children?" Gesturing towards the swell in her stomach, he smiles, "You already have quite a head start on child rearing." As Eranthe speaks, his voice fades off, studying the two women with the child again. Megeara may have questions, but there is no doubt or hesitation in his voice or manner, "He is beautiful. I will make the announcement of our adoption of the child to the community tomorrow. All shall know how proud his mother and father are that we were able to offer this child a new start." Reaching around, he begins to remove the most soiled portion of his chiton--folding the cloth back. Impressive? Well, she wouldn't want to be the one who was holding this little guy the next time he decides to turn on the waterworks, but Meg has done a fair enough job. "Yes, he is. Quite beautiful. You are very lucky." Her tones remain soft as she passes the baby over to Eranthe, automatically supporting his head until the other woman has him in her grip. Then, she turns to Lysander and an odd sort of look enters her eyes. "I helped the nurses quite a lot after Caius was born." He's mentioned that he had a hand in changing her diapers, but given the circumstances surrounding her brother's birth, it's doubtful he would have taken much part in that task with him. Maybe that's why the Princeps got caught with his new son's pants down? One hand goes to rest on her belly and she gives a small shake of her head. Parenthood is such a tricky place to be. In any case... With a look to the door, she begins backing away. "I... I should be going," The new father needs a change of his own, they probably would like to be alone... Yep, time to go. Lysander nods very slowly and examines his clothing, "I should be going to get cleaned up as well. I think a nice bath would take care of this stain very nicely." Looking towards Eranthe, he arches an eyebrow, "I could use your assistance in that matter, my wife." That being punctuated by a small smile, "We can put Alexander down and then spend some time alone. I have a few things I would like to discuss with you." Turning to look at Megeara as she moves to go, his clothes sort of hanging there, he keeps that smile, "Thank you for coming by, Megeara, it was a pleasure seeing you. Come by anytime you like, we've missed you since you've taken on your responsibilities at House Jove." His voice fades off a bit as he sends his good-byes, "May the winds keep you safe."
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