Pareidolia: The instinct to seek familiar forms in disordered images like clouds or constellations; the perception of random stimulus as significant.
Loki has yet to return from wherever he has popped off to, and Helblindi is currently wishing for the sweet release of death, if only to get his nephew and that accursed poultry to just stop squeaking indignantly and trying to see who could shout over the other. Helblindi had considered banging his head against the wall several times in order to knock himself out, but, he mused to himself, the nursery was really quite tastefully done, with seafoam-coloured walls and a nice, thick creamy carpet. His little brother did have quite good taste, and what a shame it would be if he cracked the paint or damaged the walls in his attempts.
"Where Mama?" Modi asks Helblindi, reaching a pudgy arm through the bars of his playpen and swatting ineffectually at Helblindi's knee. "Where?"
Helblindi sighs, frowns at his nephew, but clearly Modi has built up a resistance to jötunn disapproval, and is completely undisturbed by it.
And when Helblindi doesn't answer him, Modi scrunches up his face and begins to shriek in disapproval, rocking back and forth and looking for all the world like a victim of demonic possession, a tiny blonde Satan to rule over the world.
Helblindi finds himself thinking that he can never have children (or, if he does, Darcy will have to take care of them, because he just cannot deal with this), finds himself staring at the aurora borealis outside and straining his eyes, hoping beyond hope that one of the glowing shafts of light will signify Loki's return.
A few hours later, when Loki comes back from Midgard, he finds Helblindi with ruffled hair and a panic-stricken, shell-shocked look on his face, rocking in the corner and muttering about devils.