My kid… is… chocolate.
Made of chocolate. Infused with chocolate. Like Edmund. And Bora. And that Jim fella.
I… I don't know why. It doesn't really matter to me, but it is rather confusing. I mean, when two vanilla people have a baby, it usually turns out vanilla. I imagine if Edmund and Bora had a baby, it'd be chocolate. And if some other skin variation had a baby with another skin variation, it'd be… y'know… skin variation.
Why is Fynn chocolate?
Whatever his colour, he's a healthy boy. Slept most of Friday, so I didn't get much of an acquaintance with him, but today he's been awake and gurgly for hours. Already up and walking around on his own, laughing at things, walking into things, pestering people… strong kid. No grasp of language, but strong.
(Though not Eve strong. I… think. Not that I'd be adverse to it! There's nothing wrong with that!)
Despite his size… which is, I gotta admit, pretty big, being roughly three feet tall… Fynn is more a normal child than I've seen before. He acts exactly as I'd expect a kid to act: he laughs, he cries, he whines, he's needy. He's expressive in ways that Eve and Grayson were not. It's the crying that really gets me - Eve never bothered with it, and Grayson apparently only used tears to manipulate us into steering our caravan towards that damned mountain.
Fynn? Fynn cried because I took a cookie away from him. And then promptly wet himself. Seems like my kid, alright.
Fynn ain't the problem right now. Everybody onboard loves him, now that they know I haven't rejected him. No, the problem comes from two adults: Libby and Edmund.
Libby has locked herself in our cabin. She refuses to come out. She's been acting like that ever since she woke up and first laid eyes on Fynn. Same for Ed: nobody's seen him out of his room since he ran away from me on Friday. I suspect Bora's been bringing him food on the down-low. He's a skinny bugger already, so I doubt he can go too long without chow.
I've tried to get into Libby's cabin without success. All I've heard in response to my cries is something about 'afraid' and 'divorce'. I can put two-and-two together, and I assured her that I wouldn't divorce her over barricading herself in a cabin, but… no dice. She's still in there, and though she's let one or two other people come and go, I'm not allowed in.
Sigh. Can't any of these pregnancies go smoothly?
Oh well. At least I've got an awesome
Dragomir the Daddy