bigapplesauce | Just a Few of Us [Open to Multiple]

Current Music: August 28th - September 3rd, 2013

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Just a Few of Us [Open to Multiple]

If it was just the one baby, Greta suspects it would be easier than it had been at home. She doesn't have to balance childcare with running a bakery, and her apartment is too newly-settled (and little-trafficked) to require anywhere near as much cleaning as a shop. And if ROMAC hasn't provided her with much in the way of human aid - there is a nursery she can bring them to when necessary, but it's busy and noisy and a few of the children there have alarming Rift enchantments to contend with, so she treats that as a last resort - at least they've given her all the material things she could need.

(It both helps and distantly rankles that she's used to doing the bulk of the work herself, anyway.)

Two, though. Two are a literal and metaphorical handful. She often finds herself thinking it's just as well the Witch only promised them one, for both their sakes, and then just for his, and then she has to stop thinking about it. So perhaps it's just as well that she has two to distract her, now.

The poor, motherless things. If they're really motherless. She should stop thinking about that, as well, if only because she hasn't the first idea how to track down their parents if they are here, and it's not safe for her to reach out to those who might be able to help her. Maybe they are orphans. Either way, the best use of her time and energy is giving them the best possible care, so... that's just what she's going to do.

Alone, if she has to.

[ooc: so, Greta's gonna be watching these two tiny babies for about a week and presumably is not going to have much time for anything else, poor woman. But she'll almost certainly welcome visitors ~~unless you're an emotion-nomming creep~~! If your character can finagle their way into the ROMAC base, feel free to have them drop by her apartment. If you can't realistically get into ROMAC but still want in on the baby-related redonkulousness, drop me a line and we can finagle a way to get her out into the Park or something.

Also, since this could take place at any time over the course of a week, just pick your date and put it in the header of your top-level for reference.]

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If the Balladeer were thinking properly, he might have realized that was a bit of an insensitive thing to say. As it is, though, he just looks down at Bea in vague surprise, which quickly morphs into a small smile. Awwww, how cute! He hadn't even noticed her falling asleep!

"Oh? I don't - " He stutters a little in surprise as Greta matter-of-factly reaches up to feel his forehead; casual touches aren't common for him, but he stills to let it happen. " - I don't think so." He's never been sick before in his life. What good is a narrator who's sick? All the same, he's got the idea of it, and he likes to think he'd notice if he was coming down with a bug. Considering that he might not just makes him feel slightly more disconnected from normal humanity.

Anyway, that's not it. No, what he's been doing is mostly stressing himself out trying to translate a weird otherworldly din into something comprehensible.

"I don't mind coming around if you need help." His voice is quiet, careful of the baby sleeping on his chest. "Though I don't have a lot of experience with kids." He's been doing okay so far, but...well, she's asleep. All he had to do was walk around a little bit.

Greta pulls her hand back with a pensive (and somewhat dubious) hum - perhaps he's not ill, but there must be some reason he's looking a bit worse for wear - then sidles back to give him a bit more space and resumes rubbing Abbie's back.

"I wouldn't say I need it," she says cautiously, not wanting him to feel obligated. He might have enough on his plate already, and she's used to the nigh-constant scramble of looking after a baby. "But it would be nice," she admits, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. Inexperience aside, she trusts the Balladeer a sight farther than she trusts ROMAC anymore. She might have to teach him quite a bit, but she won't have to worry about his motives.

And he's willing - that certainly helps. The thought stirs up a faint echo of old frustration, and she presses her lips together until it fades.

"You're doing wonderfully for someone who's never held a baby before," she says, giving Bea a measuring look. "If you wanted to put her down, you probably could - just over there, in the crib. She might be done fussing." It probably won't be long before Abbie follows suit. If they could get both of the twins down for a bit, she could make tea and sit for a little while - and possibly also figure out what has the Balladeer looking off.

The Balladeer smiles slightly in response; he's sure it would be nice, not having to look after two babies alone. "It's not that hard," he demurs, following her suggestion and moving to lay Bea in the crib. It's obvious that he's trying to be cautious in settling her in, holding her carefully and moving slowly to try and keep from waking her. Right, support the head...and there.

"I'm sure it's worse when they're actually awake though." He dares to raise his voice a little more as he returns, tilting his head to peer at the other twin. "What's - her name?" he ventures, hesitating slightly at the pronoun. He really can't tell either way.

To be fair - Greta deliberately reminds herself - there is a big difference between minding someone else's child and having one of your own. And perhaps the Balladeer's lack of experience is tempered by a lack of self-doubt, his past untroubled by runaway fathers or a Witch's casual scorn. But the way he proclaims it 'not that hard,' and the care he takes in setting Bea down - there's no fear there, or crippling uncertainty, just care - it almost makes her want to bang her head against the wall.

Look at how easy it could have been.

"Oh, this is Abigail - Abbie." It's a relief to be steered off the path her thoughts were taking, and she turns a little so the Balladeer can get a better look at the child. The twins are so young that their range of expression - when they're not squalling - tends to land somewhere between 'solemn' and 'baleful,' but even that manages to be cute (perhaps because you wouldn't think an infant had anything to be solemn about). "I'm, er... not sure who named her that - who named either of them - so I've been calling them both 'baby' more often than not," she admits. She feels a bit silly for that. Maybe those are their birth names - or might as well be - but if they're not, and there's even the slightest chance of them being reunited with their proper parents... well, she doesn't want to confuse them.

Abbie's burped and seems to be settling, so Greta starts meandering towards the crib, silently praying that Bea stays down as well. Looking back at the Balladeer, she softly requests, "Put the kettle on? I can make us some tea. Just make sure it doesn't start whistling."

The Balladeer hums thoughtfully, peering down at the child's face and wondering to himself how well he could tell them apart. "They're nice names, but they do seem a little...alphabetical." There's no reason their actual parents couldn't have named them that way, of course, but if ROMAC were just processing them, thinking about Baby A and Baby B...

That's a bit of an ugly thought.

"How soon do they start learning their names?" he asks, moving to put the kettle on. He doesn't own one himself, but that's just another of those things that he just magically knows how to do. It's handy, even if he can't always tell the logic behind it. The last couple nights he's been drinking more coffee than he thinks is really healthy, and he's intending to stop sooner or later; maybe he'll pick up tea drinking. Or, you know, he could just calm down on the caffeine front altogether.

Greta winces at the observation. It's occurred to her, too, that 'Abbie' and 'Bea' sound practically identical, which could either be considered appropriate - for twins - or just clumsy. Honestly, the more she thinks about it, the less comfortable she feels with the entire arrangement. But her discomfort only makes her more determined to stick with it, because the alternative is ROMAC taking the twins away and doing goodness knows what with them.

"I... I don't know," she replies with a startled blink. The twins seem far too young to remember much, which is one of the ways she's excused not being firm in her name use (for all that it runs contrary to her other excuse about not wanting to confuse them; if they won't remember any of this, then it doesn't matter what she calls them). Regardless, it's hard to judge whether they're ever responding to their names or just the sound of someone's voice.

And with her own son, it was never something she felt the need to question.

"They're quite a few months away from talking, at any rate," she says with a bit more confidence as she settles Abbie down in the crib. When she straightens, it feels as if she's set down more than just the baby's eight pounds or so, and she stretches a bit in silent relief before rejoining the Balladeer in the kitchen.

As she rummages for tea, she gives him an assessing look, trying to decide if she ought to go for something caffeinated or not. He could probably use the boost. He could also probably use a nap. Well, he came to visit, not doze off on her couch, so she goes for something green. "No busking today?" she asks.

The Balladeer nods, taking Greta at her word regardless of how confident she actually is. It isn't as though he knows anything about how children work. Then again, he doesn't look as though he's in the mood to too carefully question anything at the moment; he leans against the counter as Greta brews the tea, and drops his head back against the cabinets with a faint sigh.

"Not today. Weather's not great." In truth, the weather is cloudy but pretty much fine. He doubts it'll really rain, and normally he'd probably be out there anyway. That's what the tunnels are for, right?

It's a weak lie to begin with, but honesty compels him to add, "I've been feeling a little run down anyway."

The weather is an odd excuse, and she casts a brief, dubious glance out at the overcast but nonthreatening sky. Fortunately, he doesn't need any prompting to finally admit the real issue. Greta relaxes a little, relieved that he's willing to address it.

"You look a little run down," she says, not unkindly. She's seen him in rough shape before, when he was shot in that dream, but that was different. More to the point, it wasn't real. Maybe it was only a matter of time before the realities of life in Manhattan started to weigh on him a little - before the relief of not having to deal with those awful people he'd been stuck with stopped outshining everything else. He'd seemed to adjust so easily compared to her, but... maybe they both got complacent.

"Sit," she urges, shepherding him over to the table and setting a cup of tea and some honey in front of him. She settles herself in the chair opposite a few moments later. After a cautious sip of her tea, she ventures, "Did something happen?" Something must have changed recently; even when they were dealing with their respective curses, he still looked all right.

The Balladeer snorts, allowing himself to be ushered over to a seat. He hadn't thought he looked as bad as all that, but he certainly isn't going to argue.

"Not really." Does he actually have any idea how he likes tea? He picks up the honey and looks at it for a second, before squeezing a random amount in. There; he takes his tea with honey now. The spoon clinks against the sides of the cup as he stirs it in, watching the liquid spiral around for a few moments before confessing: "I've been trying to figure out what's going on with Johnny."

Greta doesn't think that's his business, he knows. The Balladeer would argue that point. If someone's going to prove a danger to others, he thinks it's the business of anyone around with some kind of ability to head it off. Mind, he isn't certain that Johnny's going to threaten anybody, but...well, that's why he's been looking into it more. He just has no idea what's going on there, besides the fact that it's unnerving as hell.

Besides, he's got a very good memory for music. It's far too late not to involve himself at all.

Greta carefully sets down her cup, brow furrowing. Johnny had spoken of his past as if it was a sickness, and she hadn't quite believed him because it had seemed impossible. How could one person's history take root in someone else? Or was it just that Johnny was so unused to sympathy that that struck him as poisonous? As if concern for him was something he infected people with?

But here's the Balladeer looking distinctly worn - enough so that she thought he might be ill in earnest. Whatever he thinks of Johnny, she's certain he's not suffering from too much pity for the lad.

"I wish you wouldn't," she says quietly. "It doesn't look as if it's been very good for you."

The Balladeer wraps both hands around his cup, enjoying the warmth. "I don't think it has been," he agrees. "It just - "

He sighs and presses the heel of a palm to his eye in exhaustion. The curse hadn't helped matters, but it wasn't the only reason the explanation he gave her didn't make sense. Nothing about this made much sense to him either. "It's not right," he insists, knowing that it isn't helpful. "It's more like noise than music, I can't even decide how many melodies are going on at once, and the echo doesn't help anything. It's not supposed to do that either."

No one else has sounded even remotely like that. He knows there's people here from all different worlds, some who aren't even human, and it's not reasonable to expect everybody to match up exactly to his expectations. Still...everyone except Johnny basically has. He hasn't listened too closely to a lot of other rifties (Bee was right, it's probably rude) but he'd have noticed if anyone else was doing that. It isn't the kind of thing you don't hear.

He lowers his hand again and takes a sip of tea before continuing. "Everything I've heard before - oh, this is good - when people have songs that are...not the best." He just punctuates that with a shrug; Greta knows what he means, and this isn't about his own past. "It's down to them. The mark they leave behind, what they made of themselves. And he - "

The Balladeer shifts his grip on the mug, a little anxiously. "It's creepy." That's likely the closest he'll get to admitting that it scares him. The worst thing he could do would be to give it more power, even that much.

Greta listens to the Balladeer's fractured explanation in silence, trying not to let her mounting distress show. She doesn't like the implication that Johnny's mess of a song is something he deserves or brought upon himself, something he's earned - that would be awful. But if Johnny's warning was correct, does that mean his history is--is infecting her friend?

She looks down at her cup for a few moments, as if seeking inspiration in the few swirling bits of looseleaf that made it through the strainer. But she's not a Witch; she doesn't know how to read the signs in these things (and she doesn't want to know; knowing seems to bring no end of problems). "Johnny... doesn't like talking about what's happened to him," she says slowly, as if navigating a treacherous bog, testing each word for stability before proceeding. "But I never got the sense that it was because he was ashamed, as if he'd done something terribly wrong. It was more like he thought his problems were catching, like an illness." Or a Curse, if you get too close.

Lifting her gaze back to the Balladeer, she continues, "And now you're getting close to it, and it's taking a toll on you." The words come faster, now, in a troubled little torrent. Whatever the exact nature of the problem, the solution seems clear enough to her. He needs to stop this before it's too late, regardless of what form 'too late' chooses to take. "You're not going to help anyone by making yourself sick over this."

The Balladeer listens in thoughtful silence, sipping his tea. It's pleasantly warm, leaving heat in his throat and chest, but it does little to sap away the lingering unease from the past few nights. If nothing else, Greta's right about that much; he needs to take breaks in between working on it.

If he's going to at all.

"People aren't always ashamed." In his experience, those who do the worst things are the least ashamed of them. But Bee also suggested that: that Johnny's song was less him and more something that had happened to him. It's never worked that way before. Bad things happen to everybody, but it doesn't have to warp their entire lives. People always have a choice. Put it like an illness, though...that changes his perspective a little. Can that happen? Could something have gotten at the song itself to do that?

He doesn't know. The Balladeer carefully sets his cup down and passes a hand over his eyes again; this caffeine isn't working fast enough for his liking.

"It's what I do," he says finally, somewhat plaintively. "And I can actually get out ahead of these things now. If he really is dangerous, I don't know." It sure seems that way to him, but he's been losing steam on that argument. Whatever the sound is, it has been wearing him down. "Who else is gonna do it?"

"He doesn't want to hurt anyone," Greta insists. Johnny has been vague about the danger he poses - deliberately so - but if he truly wished to harm anyone, why mention it at all? The lad's not exactly imposing, and he'd be able to cause a lot more trouble by pretending to be harmless than he would by insisting that others avoid him. "And this," she adds with a Balladeer-encompassing gesture, "is the exact sort of--of damage that he's worried about causing."

She halts herself with a deliberate sip of tea, trying to prevent herself from getting too worked up and accidentally waking the children. Does he really think it's his job to monitor people just in case they should prove dangerous? That sounds a little too close to what ROMAC's been doing - though at least she believes in the purity of the Balladeer's intentions.

Sighing, she sets down her cup. "Is it what you do?" she asks, her tone gentler than it was before. "Listen in on all of our songs in case one of us starts feeling murderous? Have you been doing it to me, too?" She raises her eyebrows, a little challenging, but also genuinely curious. If this is just about Johnny, that's one thing; it's quite another if he's on some sort of one-man crusade to root out potential assassins.

"What?" The Balladeer sits back a little, frowning. Is that what she really thinks? He's not some kind of freakish musical CIA. "No! Well..."

That's not completely true. He trails off, looking a little guilty, and sets down his cup. Curse aside, his explanations haven't really been the best; he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and thinks for a moment before he speaks. "Okay. It's like this. Say there's a radio playing quietly in that room." He waves a hand towards the nearest shut door. By now, he's assuming Greta's encountered a radio. "You can hear it, and maybe get a general idea of the tune, but you'd have to actually stop and focus to hear how it really goes. But you know...you're doing things, we're having a conversation. So you tune it out."

"I can tell you have a song, and it sounds - " Here he hesitates, giving a little half-shrug. Ordinary is both exactly what he means, and not right at all. " - well, no two are the same, but it's not anything I'd worry about. And I haven't listened to it."

His tone is earnest. That's the important part, to him. On some basic level, he's always listening, but he hasn't been going about prying into his friend's pasts.

"Now, Johnny." The Balladeer shifts, shoulders hunching a little, and picks up the tea again. Not to drink, just to hold. "That was like if the radio was just playing an air raid siren - or screaming," he hastens to add, as he realizes Greta probably hasn't heard those. Neither is a particularly accurate representation, but he thinks the point is clear. "He just walked past me, but I'd have to be deaf not to have noticed that."

She meant no insult. Honestly, she doesn't think he'd pry on purpose. It's just that she didn't know how much he could help but tune in.

And, well... she can't help but wonder about her song in particular. What does it sound like to him? How does it compare to the others he's heard? Is it... is it pleasant to listen to, even if only half-so, like a forgotten radio in another room? But she can't bring herself to ask, because that would be as good as giving him permission to listen closely, and she's... not sure she'd like that. In fact, she's fairly certain she wouldn't like that at all. What if it's boring?

But he hasn't listened to it - she believes him, and her expression softens into a faint, placating smile. At least she can say her song isn't worrisome. That will just have to be enough.

Her expression darkens when he shifts back to Johnny's song, though. "That does sound... unpleasant," she allows. But he hasn't been tuning it out - quite the opposite. No wonder he looks so run down. "Can you tune it out?" she asks, suddenly fearful that he can't. There's little point in asking him to leave it alone if it's already too much to ignore, but she hates the thought of him just being stuck with an unfamiliar din in his head because Johnny had the bad luck to walk by.

The Balladeer, somewhat unnervingly for him, has to consider the question for a second. "I could," he says finally with a slow nod. "I did, for a while after I first met him." He'd never once forgotten about it, but it's only over the past few days that it got stuck in his head like this. He can still hear it now, though it's faint under the sound of Greta's voice, her usual harmonies, and even the faint disparate notes he's picking up from the babies asleep in their crib.

Thinking about it makes it louder, and his grip tightens a bit around his mug. It's fine. He's fine. He can get rid of it anytime he wants.

"It's a lot easier when he isn't actually around," he continues more firmly, careful not to actually raise his voice. "I can handle it when he is, I think, but..." Well, he doubts they're going to be in close contact from now on if either of them has a choice. Those bridges are well and truly burned. The Balladeer is content enough to let it stay that way; even if Johnny is somehow a victim in this, he's never gone out of his way to befriend people who punch him. They're stuck in the same city still, but New York is a big place. They can easily lose each other.

"But I - "

He stops. But what, exactly? Greta doesn't want him listening to it, Johnny certainly doesn't, and he's not exactly enjoying the experience himself. There seems to be a general consensus on that, but something about the situation still bothers him. The Balladeer starts again, speaking as if feeling out the words. "I've never been able to actually change anything before. It didn't bother me - I mean, history is what it is." He'd have driven himself mad, worrying about things no one could ever erase. And, of course, he'd never known anything else. "Here, though...I don't think I could forgive myself if anything happened, and I could have done something to stop it."

He knows he's being vague, but he can't help it. Through all this, all those nights spent trying to translate noise into notes, he's never been able to form a clear idea of what it is he even thinks Johnny might do. It's all too loud and jumbled together, and perhaps he's worn down too from throwing himself at it over and over again. It just seemed like something that horrible and lingering had to be either a relic of unspeakable deeds, or worse, some kind of terrible omen.

If it's something contagious, maybe it still is.

"But if you're sure he's not dangerous..." Whatever the case, his hearing is failing him, and he doesn't know what he's supposed to be doing. Maybe he should try just trusting someone else's normal human judgement.

That is an unnerving pause as he considers the question, and Greta releases a breath when, at last, he nods. It's not a lost cause, then. He'll be fine - or he can be, if he makes more sensible choices than he has these past few days.

Well, 'senseless' isn't fair criticism. It's not his fault that Johnny's song is so alarming, and after however many years of repeating the same events over and over, how difficult must it be to cope with an uncertain future? She can't blame him for wanting to protect people - or wanting to at least try.

It's just that trying to unravel this particular snarl might do him more harm than anyone else good.

"I am sure that he doesn't want to hurt anyone," she says slowly. If she was talking to anyone else, 'not dangerous' would be an easier conclusion... but Johnny does seem to pose an indirect threat to the Balladeer. Not an intentional threat, but... well. Greta winces, then admits, "But I'm worried about what listening to his song might do to you." Look at what it already has done. He's losing sleep over it. "If you left it alone, I think everything would be all right."

She doesn't want to think about what could happen if he didn't - or couldn't - just tune it out.

Edited 2015-04-15 19:33 (UTC)

Not being dangerous and not wanting to be dangerous aren't at all the same thing. But he thinks he sees her point.

The Balladeer sighs. "You're probably right." Under normal circumstances, he'd never even consider backing down from a song, regardless of the potential dangers. These have been far from normal circumstances, however. Taunting the assassins was a careful dance between fun and reckless endangerment, but there haven't really been any fruits from this investigation so far.

Plus, this sounds like it could end a lot worse than just getting shot.

"Okay." He drains what remains of his tea, shakes his head, and mentally tries to focus more on the faint music from the crib. Not fully, the way he would if he really wanted to hear, though it sounds simple enough that he doubts he'd learn a thing - which is actually really interesting! Infants are a new experience on all fronts for him. But even on a low level, it's enough to make Johnny's noise fade a bit in the background.

"Okay," he says again, nodding and mentally counting out time. "I'll try to let it go." Normally he doesn't need to focus on another song to get rid of the first, but this won't be forever. It'll go away. It has to.

"Thank you," she says quietly, as if he's doing her a favor. Well, he's certainly doing Johnny a favor, and maybe it's not such a stretch to say it covers her, too. She'll rest easier knowing he's not pursuing this - as easily as anyone can rest while caring for two babies.

After a beat, she adds, "I do... appreciate that you're trying to protect people." Herself included, though any dangers Johnny might pose have yet to touch her. "But someone has to look out for you, too." She props her chin on one hand, then slides the other across across the table. A peace offering, if he'll take it.

"And you'll let me know if you can't let it go," she says, somewhere between an order and a plea. If he can't forget it, she won't have him wrestling with it alone.

Maybe it's not quite a favor, but he's certainly doing it for Greta more than he is for Johnny. Perhaps a bit for himself too, but he knows himself well enough to know that he'd likely have gone right on doing it if they hadn't had this talk. The Balladeer has always been a little too tenacious for his own good, and that song's strange way of lingering makes it even easier to keep his focus sharp.

"Okay." He smiles and reaches out to take her hand in one of his, squeezing it lightly. Though his expression is still undeniably weary, it's warm. It's going to take some getting used to, having other people looking out for him, but it's a nice feeling and he wouldn't trade it away again for anything. "I will. Thanks."

(He doesn't know what good it would do - she can't do much about it herself and he wouldn't want to risk exposing her. But he's made a promise now, for better or worse. Even more reason to try hard at forgetting.)

"Good." Greta returns the smile, the last, lingering bits of tension draining out from between her shoulder blades. It's nice to think that she's done the right thing by both of her friends, especially when they were so at odds over this. Johnny will be relieved, and the Balladeer will be fine - she refuses to entertain the notion that it's already too late, or that the damage has been done - and they can just pretend this whole mess never happened.

Well, except for the part where the Balladeer and Johnny should probably avoid one another, but she doubts it will be a hardship for either of them. They'll probably both be happy to just go their separate ways. Some small part of her is sorry that they can't all get along, but now that she's been given a glimpse of the risk involved... it's better this way.

She squeezes his hand, then releases him and gets up out of her chair. "I'll get you some more tea," she says, giving his shoulder an absent little pat in passing. If he's been neglecting himself over Johnny's song, he could probably stand some food, as well, but she has biscuits, too. She'll take care of him.

"Alright, thanks."

The Balladeer releases her hand and smiles fondly as she pats his shoulder. Domesticity. How strange. He really IS going to have to get used to this. That's not really a purpose like the one he used to have, but hey - it's something. Hopefully he'll figure out something to do with himself other than Johnny at some point.

Cookies will probably help~

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Just a Few of Us [Open to Multiple]

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