birthrightgreen | (no subject)

(no subject)

It had been a pretty room before she started throwing things around it. If she could, she would have hurled Craft to shred the rest of it to bits, but even in her hurt and fury she had a care for her child. A human doctor might tell her that such upset wasn't good for the baby either, but there were none of those around.

Vases had splintered and mirrors were shattered in every direction. She was sobbing her fury now, at a loss for what else to do. A knife in his back, or across his throat, seemed like a plausible solution, and she wondered how much it would hurt him. If he would bleed out and have to be resurrected.

He'd promised. He'd promised. And she'd given up everything to come here. Her home. Her family. Daemon. That she could go back was no matter. She'd moved to his world, brought her Jewels and her knives and her wolf and taken up residence. She'd allowed him to seed her, when she'd fought conception every other time it seemed imminent. Trusted him enough to be here, vulnerable without her powers for nine months.

And now he was inconsolable because the bloody Watcher hadn't cried on his shoulder instead of some blue girl's. It was a slap, painful enough that it hurt to breathe. She'd been there for him, all along. Done everything she'd known to do. Been willing to be his whore, accepting Luella's position as primary in his life. And he'd made her believe...

A home. A family. Him, as her own. The two of them trying something different.

But nothing changes and it was stupid of her to think that someone like her could have those things. She smashed a piece of a mirror into smaller bits, heedless of the cuts on her hands. Without her power, without a target, she didn't know what else to do. Couldn't go home and face them. Not again. Not after Falonar. But she wouldn't be tossed aside again either. She wrapped her arms around her midsection, protective of the child growing inside, not caring about the blood she stained her skirts with. She never should have come here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He attempte to refocus, to control his anger. It would do Surreal no good, and enough hard had already been done.

He chose to be frank instead, something they always been together.

"What can I do?"

She gave him a tired smile, trying to put on as brave a front as possible. "Could you get me some tea? The little flying things...I haven't figured out how to call them when I need things yet..."

"Some tea."

He took the request as seriously as he would have any order delivered by a war council, and left the room. When he returned there was a tray, laden with simple biscuts and a pot of tea, steam slipping upwards.

She'd changed into simple trousers and a sweather, washing her hands and trying to restore some order to the room.

She smiled at him when he came back in. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Rainier studied the changed in the room.

Had she lifted? Had she bent down to collect -- glass? And broken pottery?

His face darkened again.

She poured them both tea with a graceful lift of her arm, a skill honed in centuries of playing for clients.

She looked up at him, his face giving away his emotions even if she couldn't dip into his thoughts.

"Rainier...please."

"---he hurt you."

Was his only answer. His defense.

But he did sit down.

"He didn't mean to," she said softly, handing him tea.

He watched her, then accepted the tea.

"And that makes it better?"

"There was no malice against me in it, so." She shrugged. "Doesn't it?"

"He should have been thinking about you. About both of you."

She couldn't argue about that, and just curled her hands around her tea cup.

"So what happens now?"

He had yet to sip his tea.

"I don't know."

He did drink his tea, then. If for no other reason than to stop his mouth.

"Has he apologized?"

"We haven't spoken about it yet."

That was rewarded with another sharp look. The man deserved sharper things than that.

"Does he know you know?"

"I doubt it," she said quietly. "I haven't spoken to anyone..."

ooc: *eyes you* why are you tagging instead of sleeping?

"You will send for me --"

He bit off the words 'next time', but was aware of how he wanted to use them.

Did the man not see what he was doing?

Showered. Done now. Really. REALLY!!! *hides*

She glanced at him, and then she nodded in agreement, too disheartened to protest.

*g*

He was only upsetting her more. He knew that. He neded to be more than than. His voice softened.

"Other than -- how are you feeling?"

sweet dreams!

She pushed the upset away, giving him a wry smile. "I'm tired all the time and sick in the mornings and everything aches. Morghann assures me this is perfectly normal and should pass in the next month or so. It can't happen soon enough."

you too!

He wondered if he would get slaughtered for asking her to prop up her feet.

"Are you getting enough rest?"

She nodded. "I am. I've even taken naps." She was annoyed at the weakness.

"A nap, you say?" With a small attempt at humour, he looked around the room. "Do you have pen? Paper? I need to remember that. It will be of great interest to everyone back home."