Arrakeen, Arrakis, 10,224 AG, Tuesday Afternoon Fandom-Time
Tuesday was not going very well for Lady Alice of House Atreides, also known as Queen Alice of Wonderland, also known as Alice Pleasance Liddell (rhymes with 'fiddle').
The problem was that Hania Matilda Sihaya Liddell Atreides, who had enough names that she did not require any 'also known as' additional ones, was highly displeased with the world around her, and had registered her displeasure by screaming tempestuously for the better part of the past four hours.
She did not wish to eat, and turned away from the breast when it was offered. She refused all attempts to lull her to sleep. She did not wish to be changed, and there was nothing on her outfit that might be sticking or poking her. Walking and shushing could coax her into a bit of a daze, wherein she whimpered and cried softly; this would last only a short while before she once more began filling her lungs with tears.
The pretty trees of the garden conservatory did nothing to improve Hania's mood, nor did settling into a quiet rocking chair in a secluded bedroom. Perhaps Alice could begin screaming? Or pulling large quantities of her own hair out. Hania might shove the hair in her mouth, and that might soothe her.
Somewhere, under the exhaustion, and the frustration, Alice was beginning to panic. Hania needed to stop crying. She could do nothing to stop her from crying. All her nerves were on high alert, searching for the predator she might kill to protect her young, the monster that was tormenting her child. There was nothing. It was maddening, quite literally: her sanity felt as though it were beginning to melt around the edges. She may have been here for days and not hours. How could she tell?
A more skilled mother could have soothed Hania; her own mother could have taken the babe from her arms and calmed her in moments. She was sure of it. She had warned Leto that she would be no good at this. And now, and now, and now she was covered in spit-up, her right breast aching from some sore spot upon her nipple, and her darling daughter would not stop wailing over some imagined plight that she could not solve, and Alice felt very much like she would like to find a convenient hole in the ground to climb into and never, ever come out again. At the very least, she would find herself able to nap there.
(just for Leto, unless his sister-self would like to call, in which case she's welcome to do so, as well)
The problem was that Hania Matilda Sihaya Liddell Atreides, who had enough names that she did not require any 'also known as' additional ones, was highly displeased with the world around her, and had registered her displeasure by screaming tempestuously for the better part of the past four hours.
She did not wish to eat, and turned away from the breast when it was offered. She refused all attempts to lull her to sleep. She did not wish to be changed, and there was nothing on her outfit that might be sticking or poking her. Walking and shushing could coax her into a bit of a daze, wherein she whimpered and cried softly; this would last only a short while before she once more began filling her lungs with tears.
The pretty trees of the garden conservatory did nothing to improve Hania's mood, nor did settling into a quiet rocking chair in a secluded bedroom. Perhaps Alice could begin screaming? Or pulling large quantities of her own hair out. Hania might shove the hair in her mouth, and that might soothe her.
Somewhere, under the exhaustion, and the frustration, Alice was beginning to panic. Hania needed to stop crying. She could do nothing to stop her from crying. All her nerves were on high alert, searching for the predator she might kill to protect her young, the monster that was tormenting her child. There was nothing. It was maddening, quite literally: her sanity felt as though it were beginning to melt around the edges. She may have been here for days and not hours. How could she tell?
A more skilled mother could have soothed Hania; her own mother could have taken the babe from her arms and calmed her in moments. She was sure of it. She had warned Leto that she would be no good at this. And now, and now, and now she was covered in spit-up, her right breast aching from some sore spot upon her nipple, and her darling daughter would not stop wailing over some imagined plight that she could not solve, and Alice felt very much like she would like to find a convenient hole in the ground to climb into and never, ever come out again. At the very least, she would find herself able to nap there.
(just for Leto, unless his sister-self would like to call, in which case she's welcome to do so, as well)