[OOM] Eiattu - Royal Apartments

[fighting_mad]

Plourr takes a seat (slowly, bracing her hands on her knees) on the chest in the little room, taking a look around at their handiwork.

The room is light, cheerful, and airy in greens and yellows, the window open to the humid, sunny air of Eiattu VI, birds singing in the distance. There's a closet, a chest of drawers, a changing station, a chair, and a number of smaller items tucked here and there. A quietly proud someone (read: Plourr) has hung several cheery abstract paintings, along with a portrait. The six people in it share certain characteristics; Plourr and Rial stand together, and so do the other two pairs. One duo is elderly, with the white-haired and white-mustached, dignified man leaning on a cane, and his aristocratic wife standing beside him. The other pair are in early middle age, the man tall and broad-shouldered and handsome with brown hair and a broad smile, and the woman graceful and slight, her red hair wound up into a loose knot and her smirk mischievous.

(Plourr had looked at it for a long, long time, when Rial had first showed it to her.

"I -- thought it might be appropriate. The Pernons and the Estillos, yeah?"

"It's perfect."

"What?"

"It's perfect, Rial. It looks just like they did.")

Plourr glances at the portrait, then away.

Comments

[eiattu_pride]

Rial looks at the pout on Plourr's face (although he's pretty sure that if he called it a pout out loud, he'd be looking for his teeth) and decides that it could transform into a full-blown scowl any moment.

So he makes a wise decision influenced by the ever-powerful survival instinct, and backs down.

"Er - no, dear."

[fighting_mad]

Her expression clears abruptly. Well-accustomed to Rial's occasional habit of letting her have her way rather than getting into an argument (not that she minds it, all the time), she looks at him, momentarily serious.

This is rather a saner expression.

"Does it really not matter to you, Rial?"

[eiattu_pride]

His expression softens, and he pushes off the wall to come stand in front of her, a hand resting on her shoulder.

"It doesn't, Plourr, honestly. Ianna Estillo-Pernon."

[fighting_mad]

She tips her head back and studies him, and then she nods once, in assent. "I always thought I would be, but I guess I won't be the last Estillo after all, huh?"

[eiattu_pride]

"Not at all," he says, and lightly flicks her chin. "We'll have a whole herd of children and they'll give us grandchildren and they'll give us great-grandchildren and every single one of them is going to have Estillo as a last name."

Beat.

"Estillo-Pernon."

[fighting_mad]

The last person to carry her family's name, the last to guard their honor--

--She very much likes the idea of not being the only living Estillo.

Her smile, though, takes a swift hit, though, as if it had hit a ferrocrete barrier and rebounded. "A herd," she repeats.

[eiattu_pride]

Rial stands, and swings his arms out wide, indicating the room. His tone is more joking now, even if he hadn't been, exactly.

"Ten at least. Maybe twelve."

[fighting_mad]

"Try nine less than that," she says. "Maybe eleven."

Husand and wife are in their usual bantering mode (where Rial banters and Plourr rolls her eyes and scowls and tries to pretend she's not laughing), Plourr's eyes narrowed -- but the truth of her feelings is easy to read on her face.

[eiattu_pride]

Which is, possibly, exactly why Rial's not pushing the multiple children thing for real right now.

"What about five? Could we do five?"

[fighting_mad]

"We could 'do' the exact amount of times I accidentally get knocked up," she says, shaking her head.

"Which is once."

And only going to be once, says her face.

[eiattu_pride]

"Oh, fine." Rial sulks momentarily, before plonking down on the floor next to Plourr's big chair.

"How're you feeling?"

[fighting_mad]

She exhales. "I've been better."

[eiattu_pride]

"Uh-huh?" He reaches out, gently prods her foot. "Need anything?"

[fighting_mad]

She wiggles her toes at him.

[eiattu_pride]

"As milady commands."

He moves over until he's in a better position, then pulls her left foot off the dresser drawer, strong fingers massaging it easily.

"You're getting spoiled, you know that?"

[fighting_mad]

She always has loved his hands, right from the start. "You saying I don't deserve it?" she enquires, smirking lightly.

[eiattu_pride]

"When was the last time you gave me a footrub?" Nevermind that he's not pregnant, that's not the point.

[fighting_mad]

"I'm not touching your feet," she says frankly. "They smell."

[eiattu_pride]

Rial drops her foot like a hot tuber and looks wounded.

[fighting_mad]

Plourr's foot goes thunk against his knee, and she winces.

"Oh, stop it," she says. "You know they do."

[eiattu_pride]

"They smell," he says, "of roses and violets and other things like that. Unlike yours, which bring to mind garbage heaps."

So there.

[fighting_mad]

"Keep going," she says. "I like it when you keep the couch warm for me."

[eiattu_pride]

Rial doesn't even dignify that with a response.

Well. A verbal one, given that he sticks his tongue out at her and turns away.

[fighting_mad]

She rolls her eyes (tolerantly) and prods his knee insistently with her toes.

[eiattu_pride]

"I spoil you," he says sadly, but begins to rub her foot again.

Sigh.