Max.jpg Jonavan.jpg Hope.jpg

Date: 2011.05.13
Location: EW - Living Caverns
Synopsis: Jonavan happens upon one frustrated beast manager and his wilful daughter, stabs the child with a fork, teaches her how to cuss, ends up with a dubious nickname and ultimately, winds up doing a good - Shock!!
Rating: PG18 - Language (Bad Hope, no biscuit!)
Logger: Max

Its day two of Indira’s absence and not much has changed. Granted, Hope had eventually fallen asleep the night before but only because she’d bumped her head in the bathing caverns and had quite literally cried herself to sleep. Max…is at his wits end and trying very hard to ignore the disapproving looks coming from the table of old aunties just across from where he and one very stubborn two turn old are sitting. Oddly enough, they’re the only ones at said table with others giving it a wide berth despite how quickly the living caverns are filling up for the lunch hour.

Having half turned to send a narrow eyed look at someone that had made a behind-the-hand comment, Max doesn’t see the next food missile coming until it splats against the side of his head and oozes downward in a sticky mess of the inside of a herdbeast pie. “Hope, I swear to Faranth, that if you do that again, I’m stickin’ your arse up on the star stones for the next wherry to find! Now just eat your shardin’ food and let’s be done with it.” – “No!” the obstinate child glares back not in the least bit phased by the threat, arms folding across her small chest.

Coming in for lunch, Jonavan faces a choice as usual: find a relatively calm spot to sit and ignore the other diners, or decide who he'd like to annoy and plonk himself down right across. It's the food-flinging that sways him, as well as Max's threat, and coming up alongside the beast manager and the girl, Jonavan suggests, "I would have thought hog-tying would be more your style." He slides in next to Hope with no food of his own yet and clearly intending to start eating hers. He steals a spare fork left on the table, giving it a once-over to make sure that it's clean before he tries to fork a piece of meat from the inside of Hope's pie.

Hog-tying…now why didn’t he think of that? Max sends Jonavan a look and then reaches for a napkin to try cleaning up the side of his face. Watching as the healer slides in next to his daughter brows go up, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warns, quite certain the man’s about to get food missile his way. Hope for her part unfolds her arms and wraps them protectively about the plate of food she isn’t eating, “Mine.”

"Leave it," Jonavan suggests, smirking. "It's an improvement." Hope has hardly deterred him, and he just tries to spear her food without, say, accidentally stabbing her arms in the process. "I'm helping," he tells the little girl.

While Hope isn’t looking Max gives Jonavan the middle-fingered salute and then tosses the herdbeast pie encrusted napkin at him and settles back to watch the healer get nailed, high amusement at play. “Owieee!” Hope bleats when she’s speared by the fork and immediately tries to sink sharp little teeth into Jonavan’s arm as retribution. “Not yours!” To her credit, she hasn’t yet whined to ‘daddy’ but is instead, fighting her own ‘battle’.

"Fuck, those are sharp!" Jonavan complains, not nearly as concerned about watching his language and gestures around Hope as Max is. He manages to come away with a bit of the pie, though in the process he's got bite-marks too. Rather than eat the bite he's won, though, he flings his own forkful of pie at Max - retribution of the napkin, maybe. Or more likely, Jonavan's childish sense of humour.

Wryly Max holds up an arm where a half moon of teeth marks can be seen from where the two turn old had bitten him the day before. “Told you not to sit there,” the smirk open and then he sends Hope a faintly amused look, “Don’t bite the healer, darlin’, you don’t know where he’s been.” Apparently Jonavan’s language in front of his daughter doesn’t seem to faze the beast manager. Hope however, is quick to assimilate new words and echoes brightly, “Fuck, those are sharp!” and takes a swipe at the retreating forkful of pie. However, when Jonavan ends up flinging it at her father the little girl goes into a fit of childish giggles and tosses her hand at Max who know has pie dripping down the front of his face. “Blam!” Hope giggles. “You’re as bad as she is,” the beast manager growls and picking up his fork leans forward to try and stab the healer with it. From across the way an old aunty gasps one of those ‘Well, I never!’ types of disapproval.

"Exactly," Jonavan tells Hope, encouraging her newly learned communicative skills. He tries leaning out of range to get away from Max's fork but can't go too far without topping backwards, so soon there's tine pinpricks to join the bite marks. The meddling aunty receives the full force of Jonavan's insolence as he mets her gaze squarely. "Oh, don't look so surprised. You'd do it too if you still had your teeth." Calmly, he goes for another piece of Hope's pie.

“Indira hears her speakin’ like that and I’m layin’ it all on you,” Max notes cringing slightly at the language coming out of his daughter’s mouth. And then it’s a triumphant, ‘Ha!’ that sounds out when he successfully spikes the healer with his fork, “Got you, you bastard.” – “Bastard,” Hope echoes and sends Jonavan a look as she tries to make a grab for his fork holding hand, her little mouth opening and chasing after it like that of a baby bird attempting to snag the piece of pie off of the utensil before he can make off with her pie.

"I can take her." Jonavan sniffs dismissively. "I'm not afraid of your mum like you are." He sticks his tongue out at Max, rolling his eyes, and it's the distraction that has him losing a great deal of the pie on his fork to the table when Hope takes hold of his hand. "Look what you made me do," he grumbles, looking down at the small child. "You have to eat that." Off the table.

“That’s cause she ain’t never laid into you with a belt before,” Max shoots back with a smirk, “The woman’s got a mean right hook on her too,” he adds and having tossed his napkin at Jonavan, wipes his face on his sleeve. “You made a mess,” Hope chirps helpfully and then launches herself across the table to try and grab at her father’s arm (the one with the pie encrusted sleeve) to offer to the healer to wipe the mess up on the table with.

"Or maybe I would like it," the healer answers, poker-faced. While Hope's otherwise engaged Jonavan makes another foray after her food, this time managing to come away with a bite that makes it all the way to his mouth. "Have at it," he says, gesturing for Hope to mop up the pie as she likes. "You made the mess."

Dark eyes narrow onto Jonavan, the beast manager’s face dropping into a scowl for that was not the reaction he’d intended with his words. “She’d plant you on your arse,” he notes as humour once again returns, “In fact, I’d pay good marks to see that happen. Might even set up a ring in the bowl and charge folks to watch.” Griiin. But then his arm’s being yanked at and he realizes only just in time what Hope is planning to do with it and pulls it out of reach, “Not a chance.” Having launched herself forward the way she had done, the hemline of the toddler’s top has dragged through her plate of food. Denied access to her father’s handy rag-on-a-arm, she plops back into her seat and eyes the mess on her top in dismay as she mutters a lisping, “Fuck bastard.” Juuust great! That is until Jonavan accuses her of having made the mess on the table and she jerks her head up to give him the eye, “Did not!”

The reaction that Jonavan was going for, if his grinning expression is anything to go by. He lets the remark on the ring in the bowl pass by uncommented on - better not to encourage Max in that direction. Hope's commentary as the mess multiples gets the healer's grin. "Did too," Jonavan then insists indignantly, not above arguing with a two-Turn old. The respite is probably welcome when the healer finally stands up and moves to collect his own food instead of continuing to eat what's left of Hope's. "Don't want that after what you've done to it," is his excuse.

And once again, Max has walked into one of the healer’s verbal traps, the former giving a roll of eyes in response to the grin once he realizes as much. Those newly learned words being uttered by Hope along with an old biddy on a direct path to supposedly add in her two marks worth on children with bad manners, foul mouths and even worse examples in the form of the two men sitting with her, finally has the beast manager leaning forward and setting the toddler with a warning look, “Say those words again and I’ll wash your mouth out with sweetsand.” He’s a fine one to talk. “And you’re next,” he points to Jonavan, because he himself hadn’t taught her any bad words. Nuh uh. “Did not!” Hope shoots back quickly gobbling up several spoonfuls of food when the healer moves, likely assuming he’s about to try and take her plate from her and finish her food. With him returning with his own food, she quite calmly reaches over to try and shove her gobby spoon into his food because well, let’s face it, share and share alike, right?

"I'd like to see you try." Jonavan's snide retort turns into a criticism of Max's parenting skills. "You're no fun," the foul-mouthed healer complains on his behalf as well as Hope's. "You'll turn her into a prude. She does live in a Weyr; she'll learn it all sooner or later." Passing the older woman, he receives a look of disgust, the only answer to which is a cheeky grin. Returning, he shifts the plate of food to the other side once he's clear what Hope's up to. "Back off," Jonavan warns, and just as calmly as Hope, tries to take the spoon right off her.

Max utters a snort at that, “I’ve seen you fight,” he returns sardonically to the snide retort. “That’s not what your sister said,” he quips right back at being no fun preferring his daughter learned such language later rather than sooner. The older woman, stalls in her path of righteous indignation and sets the grinning healer with a look that could turn dragons to stone gargoyles. “You boys should be ashamed of yourselves!” she splutters and then tries to make a swoop at Hope to liberate the child from such unwholesome company. Hope of course is having none of that and summarily bites the old biddy who with a startled yelp glares at both men and then the child, “You lay down with dogs, you get fleas. Seems you done got them fleas, girlie!” And she storms off.

Dark eyes the same as her father’s narrow onto Jonavan when she’s told to back off and instead of relinquishing the spoon she tries hitting him with it declaring loudly, “Share bastard!!” For apparently she believes that to be Jonavan’s name.

"Well of /course/ she's got fleas, you see who's taking care of her," is Jonavan's parting shot at the biddy as she huffs away, a slur undoubtedly meant for Max. "Well done kid." Jonavan praises Hope's biting as long as she's not biting him. Her hitting him with a spoon is better, because at least she hasn't got the strength for it to really bruise. "No!" he answers just as loudly. He liberates the spoon from her small hand and sends it clattering down the table and out of reach. "There." And he tries to eat his pie, knowing full well that Hope probably won't let him.

A withering look is sent to Jonavan for his comment and then Max is settling back in his chair, hands lacing together over his abdomen as he watches the show unfold, looking more pleased than he really should when Hope gives the healer just the kind of uphill she’d been giving him. “She got you aaall figured out, mate,” that his amused response to his daughter calling the other man a bastard, seeming to forget the threat he’d just made about washing her mouth out with sweetsand.

“Share!” Hope growls out like some kind of little feline furball trying it’s attitude on for the first time. Her spoon being taken from her and banged down onto the table has the little one sending a mutinous look over to Jonavan and one can almost see the cogs turning in her head. She eyes his plate, with the fresh food and then she eyes hers with the mussed up moosh on it and then calm as can be she lifts her plate and will tip its contents into the man’s lap if she is able to.

"Think we can teach her mama's boy for you?" Jonavan gets a few seconds of peace when he sends the food flying, long enough for one bite only. He doesn't immediately respond to the heapful of food landing in his lap. He looks down, studies it a moment, then stands up suddenly and unceremoniously makes a grab for Hope. A two Turn old won't be fast enough to get away from him. He slings her under his arm, the biting side facing back, and declares to Max, "Time for a bath. Look at all this mess." His one-armed gesture encompasses Hope as well as the glop that's now slid from his lap to the floor. He isn't going to be the one to clean it up.

“Real funny,” Max shoots back and then Hope is upending her plate into the healer’s lap and the beast manager is finding it very hard to contain his mirth. Oh yeah, he knows exactly how that feels for that had been him the night before.

Hope is indeed scooped up under Jonavan’s arm but not without the little one kicking and shouting and trying to beat him with little fists of fury. But then she hears the word bath and suddenly she stiffens for that’s the nasty place where she’d slipped and bumped her head. Her lower lip quivers and then a long wail of distress pierces the air and fast becomes sobs as she reaches her arms toward her father, hands clutching at the air. “Nooo…no bath. Hope be good…” sob, sniffle, wail, “no…bath.”

Small fists pounding his back doesn't bother Jonavan; it's the feet he has to watch out for. Tears don't seem to faze Jonavan either, who is apparently far from above being mean and fierce and wicked and scaring small children into submission. "Lake then? I could dunk you in head first." He carefully changes the way he's holding Hope, now upending her so she's head-down, keeping a firm grip about the shins and calves so there's no chance of her slipping. He practises for the lake, dipping her down until her head's almost at the floor. Some children would find that fun, if they weren't distressed.

It’s less the tears and promises to be good and more that of the way Jonavan changes his grip on his daughter and starts dangling her upside down and dipping her head towards the floor that has Max out of his chair in an instant. “I’ll take it from here,” he states gruffly, paternal protective instinct kicking in and he reaches to take Hope from the healer. If she’s released into the beast manager’s care, the toddler will burrow her head in against his neck, stick her thumb in her mouth and still sniffling, with little shudders going through her body state, “Bad,” hiccough, “bastard.” – “Aye, love that he is, but he’s also a right clever bastard too,” Max replies with a wry look going to his friend and then adds a quiet but sincerely spoken, “Thanks,” for what he thinks it is the man had intended by his seemingly cruel actions.

Jonavan relinquishes the child without a fuss, holding her out feet-first. The healer would at least like to pretend that his motivations are all fiendish ones, so looking at Max, he answers with a wry, "What for?" Looking down at himself, disgust wars with amusement but in either the case the result is the same — "You owe me. I accept rum, whisky, and hot girls." It goes without saying that he needs to change; Jonavan moves off saying, "Next time it's into the lake with you!"

What for indeed/…Max however leaves the man his illusions of fiendishness, simply sending him a knowing smile before he gives a laugh. “Booze and woman? Get her to stop calling me ‘Arsehole’ and I’ll think about it.” Seems the healer’s not the only one that’s been given a dubious nickname by the beast manager’s truculent offspring.

With Jonavan starting to head off, Max tilts his chin down to where Hope, who having finally calmed down, has her head nestled in against his neck, “Say ‘Bye Jonavan’.” Dark eyes like her father’s watch the man take a step or two away and then a little hand lifts and tilts back and forth in a wave. “Bye Jonvan,” comes quietly lisped out. Hopefully she’ll remember the man’s given name for future use.

Faith Hill - She's A Wild One

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