[OOM] Eiattu - Royal Palace

[fighting_mad]

Dinner over with, the sky outside dark and filled with stars, Plourr is sprawled across the sofa, her feet in Rial's lap. "I don't know how the idiot ever thought it was a good idea."

She shakes her head, but here's a rare thing, amid all this misery and restlessness and rampant boredom and discomfort and fucking helpless waiting: there's a thoroughly obnoxious grin threatening.

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[eiattu_pride]

Rial is playing idly with her toes, grinning as well. Facepalming just a little, maybe. "Are you positive he was in his right mind? I mean, that's like...above and beyond the call of stupid."

[fighting_mad]

"He's a Rogue," she says, and she shifts her weight. "Stupid is part of the job description."

[eiattu_pride]

"I'm surprised they don't have screening processes for intelligence," he says, and then smirks at her. "Mind you, then you'd have never gotten in."

[fighting_mad]

After a noticeable pause: "I have my foot very close to somewhere you wouldn't like to be kicked, Rial Pernon."

[eiattu_pride]

"...You wouldn't." He shifts slightly away anyway.

[fighting_mad]

She smiles sweetly, though it manifests small and slightly off. "It's not like I'm using it right now, anyway."

[eiattu_pride]

"Hey," says Rial, going D:, "hey hey hey hey hey. Not nice."

[fighting_mad]

This is definitely it, confirms Dr. Wilen matter-of-factly, and she sends them away to take a walk before an open-mouthed Plourr can even begin to think of the implications of that.

Oh fuck fuck the implications of that; shitshitshitshitshitshit.

"It's early," Plourr tells the doctor, "it's still too frelling early--"

But Dr. Wilen will hear nothing of it. "When it's time it's time, Your Majesty," she says briskly, "and apparently, the princess has decided that a week early is time. Go on, now. Out of my infirmary," and she ushers them out into the corridor.

[eiattu_pride]

Upon their return an hour later, they find (knew ahead of time) that the room set aside is small, quiet, and relatively cozy, medical instruments and implements tucked away discretely. Rial crouches down near the door, rummaging through a small bag at his feet, talking quietly.

"Anyhow, I brought sabacc cards, if we wanted to play, since I think we've got some time yet, or we could walk a bit more, uh, it's really your choice."

[fighting_mad]

It's been an hour. An hour for the immediate explosion of sharp panic to settle into -- well, dull panic, roiling just under the surface, and sulky denial. An hour for the pain and discomfort to increase, too, for her back to start to ache and for increasingly creative combinations of obscenities.

"Sabacc's fine," Plourr says sullenly, a little out of breath, settling back in on the bed with her back against the wall. She props her feet up (shoes long gone) on a couple of pillows.

[eiattu_pride]

Rial grabs the bag, forgoing the search through it (it's possible that it also contains several other things including reports that he has yet to finish, a holorecorder, a datapad with the screen currently showing oh baby oh baby - Your First Pregnancy and What You Should Expect) to dump it on the bed and plop down next to Plourr.

"Are we playing for credits? Because I would feel bad taking money from a pregnant woman."

[fighting_mad]

'Bitch,' says Plourr's face expressively, 'please.'

"You? Beat me? Don't make me l--" Her face twists and her breath catches and sticks in her throat, and she tenses and mutters something choked and foul in Rodian.

[eiattu_pride]

"Don't hold your breath," he says softly, reaching out to take her hand. "Deep breathing, remember. And I totally would beat you. Always do."

[fighting_mad]

Plourr swears, low and sharp and not at all quiet, her voice raw; propped up with one hand on the headboard of the bed and the other gripping Rial's hand tighter than it probably should. Her eyes are shut tight and she shivers, rocking back and forth, her face covered in a thin sheen of sweat despite Rial's best efforts to mop her brow.

[fighting_mad]

Dr. Wilen pauses in her bustling to say sharply, "Princess, pant if you must, but don't push."

[eiattu_pride]

"You're doing good, Plourr," Rial says, deciding that if the kid even has half her grip they'd better be careful about the fragility of any toys she might happen to have. "Not so much longer now."

Hopefully, anyway, and he shoots an inquisitive look at Wilen.

[fighting_mad]

The doctor gives a tiny shrug of one shoulder.

[fighting_mad]

Plourr, meanwhile, is panting hard, sweaty strands of hair plastered to her face, and she finally relaxes -- but only long enough for one gasped breath, two breaths, three -- and then it's ripping through her again, almost immediately, like nothing she's ever felt; she's dying, she's sure she is goddamn it she can't do this--

She doesn't say anything, and probably couldn't if she tried, but she's rigid again, with a choked gasp for breath, and she's back to blowing, wild-eyed, back to warring not to give in to the tremendous pressure, and shaking with the strain.

[eiattu_pride]

"It's okay," he says, soft and low and gentle and maybe gripping her hand just as tightly as she's gripping his. "It's okay, it's going to be okay, you're going to be just fine, my princess."

[fighting_mad]

If Plourr was shaking before, that was nothing compared to nearly an hour later.

She's on her hands and knees, she knows vaguely, and and Rial is holding her up, his hand nearly as twisted in the bedsheets as it is in her fingers. Her arms are trembling; she's shaking against him in exhaustion, her head held low and her hand slack in his, and she's breathing loud and harsh, almost in low whines.

The next contraction follows hard on the heels of the last, and she sure as shavit doesn't need the doctor's instructions to push; pure instinct, mostly consisting of a running internal monologue of splintered cursing, is doing that job well enough on its own. It's unclear whether it’s a groan or a grunt or a growl or maybe some combination of all three that escapes her, but she's bearing down, pushing with everything she's got left.

She has been for a while, now.

[fighting_mad]

"--ush push push-- I can see dark hair," says the little old doctor calmly amid the flurry of nurse activity.

[eiattu_pride]

"Hear that?" Rial is talking to someone who can't hear him, by now, but damned if he's going to stop. "They can see her head, Plourr. I bet she's got my hair."

Softly, holding her, trying not to wince as the bones in his hand threaten to grind against each other.

[fighting_mad]

"Come on, Princess; not long now and this'll all be over with," Dr. Wilen says, glancing up at her currently-slumped patient, knowing fully well that that will change in a moment. "Make this a good one."

[fighting_mad]

A howl is her only response.

[eiattu_pride]

"Make me proud, Isplourrdacartha," Rial says, whispered so softly into her ear. "Show me how strong you are."

Goading her towards the prize now that it's in sight. Now that this is more real then it's ever been and the pain in his hand where she's gripping, the sour smell of fear and sweat, her screams are all that he can feelsmellhear.