(Untitled)

[ingwiel]

*goes for a walk*

*is a little bored following his fight with his father*

Comments

[caranthire]

*chases after a hysterically giggling toddler waving his toy sword with Feanorian glee*

[ingwiel]

*freezes*

*is scared shitless*

[caranthire]

*lunges*

*grabs her son around the waist*

HAH!! Gotcha. Stop menacing squirrels like that.

[ingwiel]

*squeaks* He's not just menacing squirrels.

[caranthire]

*raises an eyebrow*

Chill. He's a toddler. He can't do any severe damage with a wooden sword.

[ingwiel]

He looks pretty handy with it. :s

[caranthire]

He was begging for a mace all morning earlier. Still the sword seems to preoccupy him.

*picks him up*

[ingwiel]

... He was begging for a what?

*looks confused* Where's your baby?

[caranthire]

A mace. Type of weapon.

This is him. Believe me, nobody's more stunned about the whole affair than me. Kids have a habit of erratic growth rates here.

Still... HAH! I'm free from two AM feedings!!!

[ingwiel]

...

*has only one response to all of this*

*faintly* Must be a Noldorin thing.

[caranthire]

*snorts*

No. It's a Tirion thing. It just happens here.

[ingwiel]

Oh, right.

*is confused but that's fast becoming a perpetual state*

[caranthire]

Yeah. It's weird. I go to bed, amazed that my son can sit up by himself, I wake up and he's wandering around demanding to know what everything is and accosting people with sudden hugs.

[ingwiel]

Ri-ight.

I see.

*doesn't really but, hey, is not about to antagonise this scary individual*

[caranthire]

It's pretty screwy, I'll say that.

[mornaquilde]

*peers, clinging to his mother*

*points at you*

Wassat?