[OOM] Eiattu - Palace Corridor

[fighting_mad]

The private hall outside the royal apartments is quiet now; the warm, faded red walls and shining tile floors tell no secrets. The two guards dressed in charcoal and purple uniform, standing uneasily outside of the door, however, are a different story. For one thing, there only ought to be one of them. For another --

Lelian and Marama stand in close conference. His arms are crossed over his chest, and her hands are twisting in front of her. Every so often, one of them glances down the hall or starts to bring a commlink to his or her mouth, but one guard always halts the other. Neither of them has produced a weapon, but both look deeply troubled and out of their element.

"Do you think we should call--" asks anxious Marama for the fifteenth time, ginger hair piled high, but Lelian only shakes his head and begins to pace.

Comments

[fighting_mad]

It's not easy to describe how she was feeling; what might have translated to her expression. Angry would be one word. Young, another. Afraid.

But with the response, some of the immediate fury, the desperate rigidity, slowly bleeds out of her posture. The fire in her eyes fades and she is tired, her shoulders curving inward. The doctor had told her that fatigue was 'perfectly normal' but, just -- kriff.

"You busy?"

[eiattu_pride]

All in one, Rial would say. But then she slumps, just a little, and he shuts his eyes for a moment.

"Of course not."

[fighting_mad]

The gratitude in her eyes can't be measured. "I said I'd go back to the infirmary." Once she calmed down and had gotten over the immediate shock. Her arms are crossed loosely, and she feels every meter of space separating her from Rial. "They wanted to run some more tests and start giving us information."

'Us.' Not 'me.'

[eiattu_pride]

"You want me to go with you?" He holds out a hand, eyes quiet and dark and serious even if he can't suppress that little spark of excitement.

[fighting_mad]

That contained but obvious excitement -- it sends a pang through her, makes something painful rise into her throat. But she's glad of it, at the same time. At least somebody's happy about this.

She takes a deep breath. "Yeah." She steps forward and slips her hand into his.

[eiattu_pride]

He squeezes her hand gently, smiling at her.

"I'm here."

[fighting_mad]

"I know," Plourr says, leading him to the small pile of her things by the door. She steps into her lightweight running shoes. "Hard to miss that when I've got you by the hand."

She knows what he means, though, and as she balances on one foot and uses a finger to wedge her heel into her shoe, her hand tightens on his.

[eiattu_pride]

Rial shrugs, half-rolling his eyes. "You could be highly mistaken. I could, in fact, be a mynock."

[fighting_mad]

"No wings," she points out, with the ghost of a smile. She falls silent, stuffing the roll of athletic tape into one of the boxing gloves and picking up the pair. She glances at him, tips her head at the door.

[eiattu_pride]

"After you, my princess."

He bows, holding a hand out in front of him.

[fighting_mad]

He still calls her princess. She likes that. Even when her head and her stomach are whirling, she likes that, and it's adding some sense of -- almost of normalcy, even if things can't be normal.

Even if they won't ever be the kriffing same again.

She steps through the doorway and into the abandoned, dusty corridor, not relinquishing her grip on him in the slightest.

[eiattu_pride]

Rial keeps his grip in her hand, stepping out after her. Shifting so that his arm isn't twisted uncomfortably, who's to say it isn't an accident when his other hand brushes against her flat stomach and stays there for a moment.

Then he's sorted himself out and it's like maybe it never happened.

[fighting_mad]

When Rial lingers, it gives him away. Plourr freezes a half-second, then rolls her eyes. "Oh, for fuck's--" She stops and turns to face him abruptly, and she lifts the big hand that is already wrapped around hers.

She presses his palm flat against her abdomen.

[eiattu_pride]

Cue a sheepish grin, tugging his hand away. "I know, I know. It's barely a fetus."

[fighting_mad]

Derailed by that--fetus, holy hell but that sounds real--she holds still for a moment, but then she shakes her head. "No." Beat. "Well, I mean, yes, but I meant -- you don't have to sneak. You're--" the father, but that's too real and she slams the door shut on that thought, "you. I'm not going to bite your head off here."

She sighs, scrubbing a hand over her face. "I'm not making any kriffing sense."

[eiattu_pride]

"You," says Rial, leaning forwards to kiss her forehead lightly, "are making Plourr-sense. Which I happen to be used to.

"Which is to say I understand."

[fighting_mad]

She laughs shortly, and it's only a little borderline-hysterical. She takes refuge in blunt words, in an attempt for her usual manner, though she holds entirely still to let him press that kiss. "Yeah, well, my Plourr-sense tells me we haven't got all day. You touching or are you walking?"

[eiattu_pride]

"Walking."

He pulls away, still holding her hand, tugging her down the hallway. "C'mon."

[fighting_mad]

Plourr lets herself be tugged, glances up at his smile. It's quiet and it's purposely small, but it's there and she can almost taste his excitement, his happiness. It practically thrums in his hand.

This is, officially, the most fucked up day of her life.

Her first instinct was to scream and hear things shatter, her second was to hit, and her third -- she wants to get into bed and not come out for a while. There are things to do, though, she understands--she thinks--and she walks silently at Rial's side, a pace or two farther from his shoulder than she has to.