|Isobel Brandt \\ Persephone (praxidike) wrote in paxletalelogs,|
@ 2017-02-26 18:09:00
|Entry tags:||hades, persephone|
here's to the hearts we break
Who: Isobel & Obed.
What: Isobel's in a foul mood and Obed tries to help.
She was fairly certain that she wasn't pouting, even as she sat on the wide, empty couch in their living room. Hanni was curled up on her lap, her pajamaed legs comfortable and yet a tiny bit too hot. The nausea she'd been suffering for the past few days swam in her belly; that combined with the lack of response to her offer about the Oscar party made her feel depressed. She kept telling herself to not take it personally, that people had lives, that there would be other times for get togethers and friendly meetings. As bile rose in her throat, she began to realize it was probably for the best that no one had come over.
"Obed?" She glanced away from the Oscar pre-show, across the dining room and toward the kitchen. "Could you please bring me a glass of water?" Her mind picked at how whiny she sounded, but she let herself fold back against the couch regardless. She was allowed to feel poorly, every once in awhile.
Off in the distance, her fiance made a muffled sound of acquiescence. He shuffled into the living room in short order, a glass of filtered ice water in one hand, a chilled bottle of Perrier in the other. He leaned down to press a kiss to her temple, then handed out both for her to chose from. Hanni licked condensation from the bottom of the bottle; Obed warned him off with a click of his tongue.
"Is everything all right?"
Isobel started to nod, and then shook her head as she swallowed again. She reached for the glass, taking it and swallowing both the water and the nausea back down.
"I think I caught a bug," she replied as she leaned forward enough to set the glass down after she'd taken another sip; Hanni resettled on her lap, yipping at Obed's nearness. Her mouth felt cleaner, though the feeling that she was going to vomit didn't fully abate. "Maybe it was something I ate; that fish I made for dinner yesterday did seem a little questionable." Her gaze swung around the room as she leaned back on the couch, her dissatisfaction with its emptiness clear. She looked back at Obed. "Hopefully I'm not contagious, but I don't feel like I've got a fever."
Hanni rose to his little feet, circling again before settling, quiet as though he knew exactly what was being said even as he glanced from his mistress to his master in question.
Obed leaned over her, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead. "I don't think you do," he said, "but if you still feel badly tomorrow, maybe you should go see someone."
He sat down beside her, disturbing Hanni from his space as Obed moved closer to them both. His leg pressed flush to hers. He cracked open the bottle in his hands. "I don't think it was the fish, though. I had it, too, and I'm fine." He nodded to the dog. "I even gave him a bit, and he's right as rain. Are you sure there's not something going around? Flu, or something?"
She frowned at the idea of going to the doctor, for reasons she didn't feel like detailing. "Maybe," she replied, voice soft. Her eyes watched as he went through the motions of opening the bottle, his form close. Hanni took up a spot on her far side, grunting a little in annoyance as he was made to rearrange himself for a third time.
"I'll take something before bed. I'm sure I'll be fine." Her arms curled around her middle, gaze shifting back to the TV. It didn't provide much distraction, though she felt too lethargic to move and find something else. Once Obed had finished opening his drink, she forcibly cuddled in next to him, moving the arm not holding the bottle around her side. At once his arm tightened around her, his fingers tracing lines along her upper arm.
"So, Moonlight or La La Land?" Her voice was still thready and unhappy, but she forced herself to focus on something other than her warring emotions.
He heard the odd note in her voice, and for a moment he was quiet, uncertain how best to address it. If she wanted a distraction, he supposed she had more than earned one. His thumb drew over her skin, and he sipped idly at his water.
"Which should it be," Obed asked, "or which will it be? It should be Moonlight, but La La Land will probably take everything they're nominated for."
She relaxed against him, glad for his presence. A smile worked its way across her face despite her ill mood. "The Oscars are overrated anyway. At least we can see what we missed." She didn't honestly care one way or another; she was just grateful to be sitting on the couch with him. Her head came to rest on his shoulder, her breath slowing. When her stomach churned again, it wasn't as bad, and she thought the problem would be gone the next morning.