Who: Mora, Don, any Weird Sister who feels like stopping by.
When: Late Morning the 25th of March
Where: Donaghan's flat
What: Likely R for language.
Why: Look who's rping?



Morag didn't like muggle illnesses. They made her sleepy. They made her cry when things happened in the novels she'd been reading. They made her eat a strange variety of things spicy, bitter, and salty. She'd taken a pepper-up and...nothing. Fucking muggles! However, today Mora was feeling better in general and had actually got out of bed and bathed before moving into the living room, clad in one of Don's shirts and a pair of black pajama bottoms...all at eleven a.m. which was vastly unusual. She sipped her cup of tea and lightly stroked Churchill's fur as she waited for Don to wake up.

Her stomach growled and Mora forced herself up and walked into the kitchen. She threw open the pantry door to see if anything looked good. Not really. She moved to the fridge and looked. There was a fish and as she looked at it, the bile rose in her throat and she turned just in time to vomit in the sink. She'd have to ask Don to get rid of it even though it was still good, it looked and smelled terrible to her. Mora rinsed her mouth out before opening the fridge again, this time looking away as she reached in and pulled out a jar of gherkins. That'd work. She went back out into the living room and sat back down on the sofa, a strange sort of ill with hunger. As she crunched on her pickles, Mora silently vowed never to go into muggle London again.