What a messy girl.

===26 Summer 1395==========

“Roland!” I yelled frantically up the stairs, for the third time. “Curry’s here!”

I went to the door, balancing the crying Zory on my hip, and yanked it open. “Sorry,” I apologized. “I know we’re already late. This morning… isn’t going to plan.”

Curry politely refrained from observing that none of my mornings ever went to plan anymore.

“I don’t know what the f—what Roland is even doing,” I complained, stepping around a young halfling shade who had taken up residence in our kitchen months ago and whose only apparent desire was to radiate constant and steady pathos at me. I had been determinedly ignoring her, but she was more persistent than most shades. I needed to up my suppressants again, if I could make it to the temple in the next couple days, anyway.

Curry followed me in and nudged the door shut behind him with his hip, then set down his work satchel on the kitchen table, along with the two coffees he’d brought in paper cups.

“Oh, gods bless you,” I gasped, and took one of them. The coffee had cooled to just the perfect temperature, and I took a grateful drink before setting it back down. “Never forget that I would simply drop dead without you,” I said, gently jiggling Zory in that way that seemed to prevent her from crying quite as loudly. “Please don’t tell Roland this isn’t tea.”

“Never.” He gave me a little smile. “Want me to take her?”

“Yeah—I’m almost ready—” I turned and looked around for my hairbrush, before deciding it was upstairs somewhere and a lost cause with the time I had left. “—ugh, I know it doesn’t look that way but I just need to pull my hair back quick and—”

Zory made a little coughing sound, then as I looked down to see what that meant, opened her mouth and vomited up a disgusting purple mixture of milk and mashed plums all down both our fronts.

Curry quickly set his coffee down and took Zory from me. “Well, look at you, little bug,” he said, planting a kiss on her head. “Let’s clean you up—what a silly mess, little one!” he exclaimed. “Ooh—what a messy girl!” he cooed, bouncing her in his arms while somehow not getting baby puke on himself as he went to the sink with her. Zory didn’t really like baths, but Curry was disgustingly adept with babies. He was much more natural with her than I was. “How can you make such a big mess for Mama like that, when you’re just a little bug! How do you do it?” he asked her, and she smiled and thrashed and made a series of meaningless baby sounds, smacking her little hands happily together when he nodded thoughtfully and replied, “Oh, yes, I see, you make a good point. Well, I’ll just have to take your word for it, bug.”

I stood frozen, eyes squeezed shut. I was not going to cry, because I did not hate absolutely everything about my entire life, and one day things would be fine, and—all right, I was maybe going to cry a little, because we had court at the citadel today, and my daughter had just thrown up on what might be my very last clean shirt.

At least Curry was here. If I were the one trying to give her an impromptu bath in the kitchen she’d be screaming. Well, screaming louder, anyway. For Uncle Mag, she had nothing but smiles and burbles. She would gladly let him bathe her and it wouldn’t even occur to her to hate it.

“Thanks for doing that,” I mumbled, because it was important not to take him for granted, and then continued to stand there stupidly because what was I even going to change into? And where the fuck was Roland, I wondered irritably.

“Ready, bug? Arms up, now—oh, that’s my good girl,” Curry cooed, pulling her little shirt off and setting it aside. He held her steady on the table with one hand while he pumped the sink handle a couple of times with the other to prime it up, then reached for the kettle I’d put on earlier but hadn’t actually managed to use for anything. He used that to fill a basin and warm the water for her. “If it's quicker than running upstairs, Fuzz—there’s one of your bras and a clean shirt in my bag,” he said over his shoulder in between nonsense baby talk, since I hadn’t actually moved to do anything yet.

“What?” I startled back to myself. “You—no shit? There really is?” I rummaged through his satchel and sure enough, found a fresh brassiere and shirt, which smelled only of Curry and not at all of stinky baby or sour milk. I almost wept. “Oh, my gods, Mag. It’s so fucking weird that you have this, and I’m so glad you do.” I turned my back on him and Zory and quickly peeled off my pukey shirt and nursing bra, wadding them up and setting the bundle by the sink. “Aw—fuck,” I said, catching a rank whiff of myself, then fumbled for a clean rag in a kitchen drawer. I didn’t want to put on the only genuinely clean clothes I had while I still smelled like this. “Don’t turn around yet, I’m half naked,” I told Curry, “but would you wet this for me?”

He did so, wringing it out and making sure the rag was a comfortable temperature before handing it back over his shoulder to me. “Now, listen to me, baby-bug,” he play-lectured Zory. “The penalty for throwing up on Mama is… do you know what it is?” he asked her. “Do you?—ohhh—wait for it—oh, no, it’s tickles! Mister washrag is going to tickle poor little Zory!” Zory screeched with laughter that quickly subsided into hysterical baby-giggles. “Toss me a kitchen towel?” Curry asked me, and I paused in wiping myself down to pass him one.

The little halfling shade drifted with mournful slowness into the room and looked disconsolately at me. Not that I could touch shades, but in my current mood this made me wish I could slap her for being so stupid and pathetic and harassing me instead of moving on with her afterlife. Fuck off, I mouthed at her, then resolutely avoided the girl’s pitiful gaze as I stepped over to the stairs. “Roland!” I yelled again. “Curry and I have to go!”