When in his castle, Ramon doesn't tend to use doors as much as you'd expect the average person to. But then again, since when was he even remotely like the average person in any way?
The castellan is first peering at his wife from an opening above one of the bedroom's doorways, his eyes glinting and shining like a cat's. Then he crawls through, lizard-like, and looks down at Hips with curiosity.
"What do you have there, mi amor?" He asks. From up on the ceiling. Oh, Ramon.
He's asking her. After all the awful things he's heard about the man, Ramon isn't so certain that he wants to put a face to the dreadful person. He was content just lumping him into that amorphous, faceless percentage of humanity that he hates. Which is a large one. Significantly so.
She just shrugs. "I'm not upset, if that's what you're wondering. And it's not like he's here. I asked Holly to see if my uncle Frank had any pictures of me as a kid, and...well..."
She gestures at the computer with a vague sort of 'go ahead' wave of her hand.
He hesitates, glancing away as he mulls over whether or not he really does want to see this picture. Then his feet unlatch from whatever inhuman hold they had on the ceiling and Ramon drops neatly to his feet.
After straightening up, he walks over to the computer and, after a deep breath, leans over her chair and looks at the screen.
She chuckles. "Thanks. Look at that nose. Cripes, I hope our kid doesn't have my nose, it looks awful on such a tiny face."
There's a moment, when she doesn't say anything, and then leans into her husband, smiling slightly. There's a strange, quietly bruised feel to the air, but not a painful bruise. A fading, healing, yellowish bruise, as weird as that metaphor is.
He's not sure what to say. It feels odd to compliment the woman in any way (and he'd certainly have to grope for one), but it doesn't feel right insulting her either. It's Hippolyta's mother. If there's one part of Ramon's Spanish noble upbringing that'll remain with him to the day he dies (for good), it's respecting one's heritage and forefathers. Even when they're reportedly awful people.
So he just makes a soft grunt of acknowledgment, letting Hips take this conversation where she'd like to.
She wasn't looking for a compliment, anyway. She's just slightly awed that, well, she looks like her relatives. Like this is news, somehow. It's definitely news to her. She'd thought that perhaps she'd gone out to become her own wholly independent person, separate and better than the genes that spawned her. To discover that she's still their daughter is...weird. Heart pounding. Sad.
"Anyway."
She closes the picture, and tucks the file onto her hard drive, carefully labeling it so it doesn't get lost. Glad to have some little sliver of her past that doesn't make her want to scream.
He's wondering briefly if he should pursue this, ask what she's thinking and feeling about this whole thing. (As their plaga link, when they're not desperate for a way to understand one another or communicate remotely, is tuned inward. He's good about not rooting around in her head and heart when it's not warranted.)
But, again, he's not sure what to say. She doesn't seem mad, or sad, or even disgusted. Just mildly interested. Like coming across an obscure and strange fact in a biology book.
"How's the baby doing?"
One nice thing about having a pregnant wife; you never are lacking a conversational sidestep.
That elicits a remarkable grin, as she spins away from the computer entirely. That's the nice thing about being married; they can have entire conversations with only a few words, a gesture, a look. A parasite song. Okay, most spouses don't have that, but still.
Although she will admit she's feeling a tad wistful for their long, hours long conversations that they had when they first got together. There was so much that was new and wonderful back then...
"He's fine. He's hungry a lot, recently. This kid's gonna eat us out of house and home." Which would explain the weight gain. She's not only eating for two, but a second who is, apparently, a glutton.
"Understandable. As he's a, erm, big baby." She's already MASSIVE, what would normally be considered eight or so months along, but she's still got three or so more to go. Of course, that seems about right, given all the legs that are forming inside of her, and how much space they would take up...
"You're making sure to eat a lot of red meat?" Because he knows a baby of his that's like this needs that kind of protein. He just does, okay?
"Honey, if I eat any more steak, I'm going to start mooing. And I keep craving it rare. I'm so going to fulfill the cliché of screaming, 'You did this to me!' at you, only I'll do it at the dinner table."
Yeah, she's so massive that her daily baby yoga has devolved into an ambling walk through the hedge maze every day...and that's it. That's all she really can do. It's not exactly fatigue, but she's wholly unused to carrying around this much weight. It's awkward.
Speaking of awkward, she stands up, her hand on his shoulder to steady her. She doesn't really need it, but she just likes touching him.
And he stays steady and still, planting his feet, to allow her to to use him as a way to hoist herself up.
Even though he's long since made his peace with the fact they're having a baby, it's still a renewed shock every now and again to see his wife so...large. That bulge in her stomach is still strange to look at and think that there's another life, one that he helped create, taking form in there.
Which is still kind of funny when you remember that this train of thought is coming from someone who's spent more than a decade housing a parasitic lifeform in his chest.
He's not sure of the decor, of course. He wasn't raised in a nursery that looked in such a way, and he was raised in this very castle! But...Hippolyta is the mother, and he's been giving her several allowances in preparing for their baby. After all, it's not like the room can't be converted back to what it once was when the child is older and has outgrown the need of a crib.
And...heh, the crib.
"You've really outdone yourself with this one," Ramon quips as he cross the room, leaving Hips' side to run a hand over the edge of the crib, and giving an experimental shake one one of the bars to test its strength. Seems to be pretty sturdy.
"Oh, I didn't make it. I just told Sharpe what I needed and he made it happen. Although my sketches kinda helped. I just hope it works."
She's grinning at his praise, though, and settles back down into the comfy, overstuffed chair in the corner. Her reading chair, also just ordered. She's really looking forward to snuggling up and reading to her son here.
Her grin fades as her husband inspects the crib, though, and she bites at her lower lip.
The castellan is first peering at his wife from an opening above one of the bedroom's doorways, his eyes glinting and shining like a cat's. Then he crawls through, lizard-like, and looks down at Hips with curiosity.
"What do you have there, mi amor?" He asks. From up on the ceiling. Oh, Ramon.
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She glances up at him, a wry little half-smirk on her face.
"Something I thought I'd lost. Wanna see what my father looked like?"
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He's asking her. After all the awful things he's heard about the man, Ramon isn't so certain that he wants to put a face to the dreadful person. He was content just lumping him into that amorphous, faceless percentage of humanity that he hates. Which is a large one. Significantly so.
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She gestures at the computer with a vague sort of 'go ahead' wave of her hand.
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After straightening up, he walks over to the computer and, after a deep breath, leans over her chair and looks at the screen.
He observes for several silent seconds.
"You were cute."
Awww.
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There's a moment, when she doesn't say anything, and then leans into her husband, smiling slightly. There's a strange, quietly bruised feel to the air, but not a painful bruise. A fading, healing, yellowish bruise, as weird as that metaphor is.
"Lookit my mom. Jeez."
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So he just makes a soft grunt of acknowledgment, letting Hips take this conversation where she'd like to.
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"Anyway."
She closes the picture, and tucks the file onto her hard drive, carefully labeling it so it doesn't get lost. Glad to have some little sliver of her past that doesn't make her want to scream.
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But, again, he's not sure what to say. She doesn't seem mad, or sad, or even disgusted. Just mildly interested. Like coming across an obscure and strange fact in a biology book.
"How's the baby doing?"
One nice thing about having a pregnant wife; you never are lacking a conversational sidestep.
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Although she will admit she's feeling a tad wistful for their long, hours long conversations that they had when they first got together. There was so much that was new and wonderful back then...
"He's fine. He's hungry a lot, recently. This kid's gonna eat us out of house and home." Which would explain the weight gain. She's not only eating for two, but a second who is, apparently, a glutton.
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"You're making sure to eat a lot of red meat?" Because he knows a baby of his that's like this needs that kind of protein. He just does, okay?
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Yeah, she's so massive that her daily baby yoga has devolved into an ambling walk through the hedge maze every day...and that's it. That's all she really can do. It's not exactly fatigue, but she's wholly unused to carrying around this much weight. It's awkward.
Speaking of awkward, she stands up, her hand on his shoulder to steady her. She doesn't really need it, but she just likes touching him.
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Even though he's long since made his peace with the fact they're having a baby, it's still a renewed shock every now and again to see his wife so...large. That bulge in her stomach is still strange to look at and think that there's another life, one that he helped create, taking form in there.
Which is still kind of funny when you remember that this train of thought is coming from someone who's spent more than a decade housing a parasitic lifeform in his chest.
"Are you going to lie down, mi amor?"
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And...heh, the crib.
"You've really outdone yourself with this one," Ramon quips as he cross the room, leaving Hips' side to run a hand over the edge of the crib, and giving an experimental shake one one of the bars to test its strength. Seems to be pretty sturdy.
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She's grinning at his praise, though, and settles back down into the comfy, overstuffed chair in the corner. Her reading chair, also just ordered. She's really looking forward to snuggling up and reading to her son here.
Her grin fades as her husband inspects the crib, though, and she bites at her lower lip.
"Hey, Ramon?"
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