fighting_mad | [OOM] Eiattu - Royal Apartments

[OOM] Eiattu - Royal Apartments

The sun set hours ago. All day spent in meetings and treasury committee meetings and Plourr is in search of sustenance. She may not have much hope for her mind after today (and yesterday, but she is steadfastedly not thinking about yesterday), but her body has to go on, appetite or no appetite. Crouched in the kitchen, she digs around on the shelf, arm chilled by the artificial cold and hip chilled by the open appliance door resting against it.

"No," she mutters, setting down an ancient canister. "Not that. No. Frell. No."

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"Find what you're looking for?"

And lo, there was a Rial. He's leaning against the wall, watching her, hair messy and around his face.

In rapid succession from the inside of the appliance come a yelp, a thud, and a low curse. Plourr emerges, wincing and rubbing her head. "Not yet. I was looking for something easy to heat up." Since that's about the extent of her cooking abilities.

"I think we have some leftover rygg noodles in there somewhere?"

He shrugs, still watching her thoughtfully.

"Unless you ate the last of them."

"Unlikely," she mutters, and she crouches down again, out of sight behind the open door.

"True."

He glances away for a second, and then back. "How're you feeling?"

She spots the covered bowl, tucked away behind a number of other items. "Tired." She pulls out a bottle of milk and sets it beside her bare foot. "Not hungry." She sends a couple of free-range bluefruit rolling across the shelf; one of them rolls straight onto the floor and continues toward Rial in its quest for freedom, and she has to bite back a curse.

"But mostly tired." She pulls out the noodles; replaces the bluefruit that she can get her hands on along with the bottle of milk, and she rises and closes the door on the chill. She glances in his direction as she pads across the kitchen, wearing shorts and a black sports bra, and her voice is as dry as the Tatooine desert. "Everything the doc said, right?"

Except irritability. All this displeasure is clearly the rational kind, Plourr is certain.

Rial bends to scoop up the bluefruit, setting it on the counter. He's watching her every movement, like he's afraid he'll miss something, (like he's afraid she'll leave), like he can't tear her eyes off of her.

He half-shrugs, nods, then takes a step forwards.

"Isplourrdacartha."

"Yeah?" she asks distractedly, closing the door on her noodles and running her thumb down the console for the timer.

"May I ask you something?"

He's being formal. Too formal, maybe, and that's a strange light in his eyes.

She selects a time--twenty seconds ought to suffice--and, as the noodles begin to heat up, she opens a drawer, looking for a fork. Her back to him, she misses his expression, but she doesn't miss his tone. Her head comes up, though not high enough to see his reflection in the window. "Yes."

"Have you considered," a pause, searching for the words, not sure how to phrase this, "other options?"

Glances away from her, not wanting to see her face.

"It should - I mean, it's probably still early enough..."

Plourr freezes where she stands, hand buried in cutlery in the drawer.

She sucks in a breath and turns. Her face shines white and so do her knuckles in their grip on the countertop.

"That will never be an option."

She may be unsure of a hell of a lot right not, but that is not a difficult decision. Mainly because there is not one to make.

"Oh," he says, just that. "Oh."

He's done something wrong, he's almost sure of it. And so he takes the bluefruit from the counter, ducks his head, turns to leave.

He'll go eat on the roof, probably.

"Rial--" she says, and she lunges after him, catching his arm. "Rial, what--"

"Nothing," he says, turning back. "Just...trying to help."

"No," she says, and she holds his face between her hands, stepping in and pressing her forehead to his, "no, I got that, sweetheart." Her voice drops to a low murmur and the timer has dinged, but she lets it go. "I can't even fathom how much it took for you to ask. I just -- I couldn't do that."

Rial can't tell her how much that means.

Her voice, the way she's not mad at him, they way she calls him sweetheart and understands him and Rial's heart, inside of him, does a funny little beat.

He slides an arm around her, after a moment, and then another one. Stands there and holds her against him, holding Plourr and, somewhere, just barely getting started on its life, his child. But it's not for the baby that he's holding her now, it's for Plourr. It's for his wife and it's for the woman he married and the woman he loves.

"I love you so much," he says into her ear. "So much and we are going to do this, Plourr, together. We can get through it. We will. And you are going to be the most astral mother ever."

She inhales hard and wraps her arms around him fiercely, hiding her face in his neck, and she gives one curt nod against his skin. Her eyes sting and she may not agree with the last but that doesn't mean it hurts to hear. The rest certainly doesn't hurt either. She holds onto him with a silent strength.

"Hey, c'mere." He's attempting to tug her in the direction of the living area, regardless of the food she's left.

She disentangles herself from Rial, if reluctantly, and she goes with him, shooting him a questioning look.

He tugs her along until they come to the couch, plonking down on it and attempting to pull her down with him.

Plourr blinks, but she doesn't put up a fuss, dropping into his lap. She swings her feet up onto the sofa and settles in sideways, her near arm around his neck.

"What're we doing?" she asks quietly, raising her eyebrows at him.

"We," Rial informs her, moving over to lie down (although it's a little difficult with her on him), "are doing this new thing, I hear it's really popular...called 'doing nothing' and 'being happy with each other'. In younger children, I believe it's called 'snuggling'."

Plourr -- stares at him strangely, and then she laughs in disbelief.

"Okay," she says, and she flops down on top of him, stretching out from her neck to her bare toes. Her toes are cold; she tucks them against his calf mercilessly. She rests her cheek against his shoulder. "I can do that."

He squeaks (yes, squeaks) and flinches as she wriggles her toes on him. But he's not unhappy, not really, because it's Plourr and she's on top of him and hey, that's nice.

So he manages to get an arm over her back, and grins.

"Better?"

Her breasts are pressed against him and she makes a displeased noise, shifting again until less of her weight is leaning down on her chest.

After a moment's repositioning: "It's not so bad." She rests her upper arm on his collarbone and lets her hand smooth back brown hair at his temple.

"Good."

He half-closes his eyes, watches her thoughtfully from under his eyelids.

She watches him right back, until she closes her eyes.

After a moment or two, she says, "Rial?"

It takes him a moment to answer, wrapped up in his own thoughts.

"Hmm?"

Head resting on his shoulder, her eyes are on him. "Think we can keep this quiet a while? Officially, I mean." She does not want to deal with the hubbub and cheerful media frenzy this announcement is going to cause.

Not ever, to be honest, but especially not right now.

"Sure."

He smiles at her, eyes lazy and half-shut and really, he's just enjoying the moment. "Maybe 'till you start to show?"

She tenses, but only a little and she's trying. "Doctor said it'd be months," she reminds him, eternally grateful for strong abdominal muscles.

Rial grins at her, just a little. "Then we have that much longer before we tell."

Damn if that ain't a half-bad thought. She smiles back, slow and tired but genuine, and she lets her eyelids fall.

Rial lets her be, for a few minutes. And then he pokes her, lightly, with his toe.

"I seem to remember something about rygg noodles..."

"Mrpgh," says Plourr against him, burrowing her nose into his neck.

"And you were heating them...intending to consume them for energy..."

"Cold by now anyway," she grumbles, stubbornly keeping her eyes closed even if he's going to insist on talking to her.

"Then we can reheat them."

Beat.

"Re-reheat them. Rereheat them? Reheat them squared?"

"They get tough and tasteless with multiple reheats," she says practically, fisting a hand in his tunic at his shoulder, making herself more difficult to move.

"I can cook you something?"

That...probably wouldn't go over well.

She cracks an eyelid.

"You're going to have to talk to me if you expect me to stay awake."

"You could help me," he suggests, already smirking.

"And besides. You'll have to get off me."

"That was not the original offer," she points out. She rolls off gracelessly but still manages to land on her feet as though it were nothing.

Awww, she's better them him. Rial pries himself up, rolling his shoulders, and sets off for the kitchen.

"Come along, then!"

Plourr snorts softly, but she pads after him.

Rial isn't a great cook, but he can do simple well, which is more than Plourr can say about herself. She sits cross-legged on the countertop and lets him sweet-talk her into chopping up ingredients, and when she leans back against the cabinets and he leans over and squeezes her knee -- she manages a small smile for him.

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[OOM] Eiattu - Royal Apartments

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