... (itendsinfire) wrote in shadows_rpg, @ 2018-04-09 13:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | #october 2017, caius, caius x reagan, reagan, reagan x rostislav, rostislav |
Who: Reagan, Rost and then Caius
When: Sunday, Oct 15, Early afternoon
Where: The cemetery, and then Reagan's house
Status: Complete
With a rather trying, and eventful weekend nearly behind them, Reagan and Caius had finally managed to find the general area in Point Pleasant Cemetery where they believed Abigail Baron might have been buried. It was a little off the grid in terms of the cemetery, but she figured Rost would probably be willing to help her locate it, given how many protection spells and hex bags she had given him over the years. Reagan decided to seek out Rost on her own, since Caius was still healing quite a bit from the incident Friday night, and she felt as though she could make more headway with Rost on her own than allowing Caius to tag along. Reagan had a bit more patience in dealing with people when there was something that she wanted, and while she knew she and Caius would do what needed to be done even without Rost’s blessing, it was just easier to have him on their side. Reagan didn’t want to make this any more complicated than it already was.
She arrived at the cemetery short after one o’clock, hoping to catch him out and about before she had to go into work, since the rain had let up for the time being. Reagan wore a simple long sleeved t-shirt under her rain jacket, jeans and simple boots since traipsing through the cemetery after a bout of rain could get rather muddy. She didn’t see anyone else in the cemetery once she entered, but for two older women carrying their umbrellas as they left. Slipping her hands into her jacket pockets, Reagan headed for Rost’s trailer, but kept her eyes open for him in case he was out wandering.
Rost had put in a lot of hours the day before, so he was taking Sunday off. It was raining off and on anyway, and that made it difficult to work outside. Sitting outside under the canopy -- which was really just a tarp he’d rigged up to be a canopy -- that jutted out of the side of his trailer to make a little porch was perfectly fine, though. Rost was lounging in one of the rusty metal outdoor chairs he had out there, his long legs crossed and propped up on the table while he thumbed through a book. The wet air was no good for his guitar, but reading was just as good as music sometimes.
He caught some movement in his peripheral vision and looked up to see a female someone approaching his trailer. Rost squinted, then smiled brightly. Reagan Kelly didn’t often come to visit him, unless he was asking her to ward his trailer, so that was a nice surprise. Rost folded down the page he was on and set his paperback down on the table, standing up to greet her. “Well hello there friend,” he said as soon as she was close enough. “What brings you here on such a beautiful day?”
"Hello friend," Reagan replied, smiling as she approached him. His trailer left something to be desired, but Rost always seemed pretty happy there, so she tried not to judge it too harshly. Oh, but lord, she could already see Caius's face, taking in the sight of Rost's "home" and his makeshift canopy. The simpler things in life had never appealed to Caius, or Reagan, but she could appreciate the fact that they worked for some. Still, Reagan was glad she had left her husband home today. Reagan came to a stop a few feet in front of him, her hands still tucked away in her jacket and her chin tilted up. Reagan always forgot just how tall he was. "I've come because I'm in a bit of trouble, and I'm hoping you'll be able to help me. I'm looking for a cemetery plot. A very old one, probably not visited by many people anymore... except for maybe you."
Rost knew that people judged him and his home and his life all the time, and he just couldn’t care. There was so much else in life to spend energy on, why waste it fretting about the thoughts of others? It was neither creative nor changed anything, people’s judgements were entirely beyond his control, so who cared? His mother had always told him that his particular light would draw the right people in ... and it seemed to have done so, finally. Those people weren’t currently around, but they were close enough for comfort. Rost’s brows curiously lifted at the word ‘trouble’ and he hummed a bit at her request. “I visit all my old friends,” he confirmed, giving a tiny grin. “Who are you searching for? Some of them have names still, some do not. But we can try to find.”
That was one thing she liked about Rost. He talked about the dead as if they were still living, as though they were his friends. It almost made her feel bad for fucking around so much in the cemetery with Dom years ago, including digging up a grave or two for the hell of it. But that was then, and she had helped him keep his place protected from any negative energy, so Reagan figured she had more than made up for it. "I'm looking for a woman named Abigail Baron," Reagan explained, pulling her hand from her jacket pocket, and with it, a folded up piece of paper. She unfolded it and handed Rost the map of the cemetery that she had copied, including the two circles she and Caius had made after they had narrowed down where they believed Baron might be buried. "She may be buried here, or here," she said, pointing. "But I have no idea if her name would be on the headstone or not. Or if there's even a headstone anymore."
Rost stepped in a little closer, reaching out to take the map, tilting it so she could still see it too. He was of course familiar with the areas they had circled, and there were several very old graves within both of those areas. “Abigail Baron ...” Rost murmured to himself, tasting the name to see if it sounded familiar. Sometimes the way people pronounced things out loud was different than how he read them in his head. “I believe there may be a Baron on this side,” he said after a moment’s thought, gesturing to one of Reagan’s circles. “I do not linger there. Would you like to look?” Rost glanced out at the world beyond his canopy. It wasn’t raining at the moment at least, but it would be muddy. He would have to get his boots on.
"I would." Reagan nodded. She would explain her problem, and the solution, if they found the actual headstone. There was no sense in potentially upsetting Rost unless she had a valid reason to. Right now, all that mattered was finding the marker. She gave Rost a small, but hopeful smile. "If you don't mind walking me out there. I would hate to interrupt what you were doing." It didn't matter that she had already interrupted him, it still felt necessary to semi-apologize for it. Thankfully all he had been doing was reading a book, and that was quite easy to get back to.
“Nonsense,” Rost declared, waving a hand at her. He handed the map back. “Just a moment.” Rost turned and walked up the steps into his trailer, disappearing for a couple of minutes to get a better jacket on for the rain and pull on his big rubber boots. He came back more ready, and gave Reagan a bright smile. He was curious why she wanted to find this particular grave, of course, but Rost figured she would tell him when she was ready. She’d helped him out so much in the years he’d been living there, she more than deserved a small favor like this without questions. “Onward,” Rost said, setting off for that old corner of the cemetery.
Reagan waited patiently, glancing up at the sky every few moments to try and predict if the heavens would open up on them again while they were out and about. She hoped not. She had left her umbrella in the car. Reagan refocused when Rost emerged from his trailer, and she returned his smile before falling into step beside him. "So how have things been?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the ground to avoid large puddles or the potential to trip and fall. "I haven't seen any recent news of vandalism here. Things have been quiet?"
Rost was so used to getting rained on that he didn’t bother with umbrellas anymore. He liked the rain some days, it felt cleansing. It was just hard to work in the mud. But sometimes he wandered around outside of his trailer to just enjoy the earth watering itself. He led them down the least treacherous path toward where they were heading, into the less-organized, older parts of the cemetery. He kept these grounds fairly closely, since the overgrowing grass could hide sunken footstones and ancient markers. “Things have been quiet, yes,” he told Reagan. “I am thankful. Robbery and desecration are bad enough, having a body dumped at my door ...” Rost trailed off and shook his head, looking dark for a moment. That face still haunted his thoughts sometimes. “Nothing since, it is good. How are yourself?”
Reagan nodded, because while she and Dom had dug up graves in the past - or, well, Dom did since Reagan refused to do it - they had never taken bodies before. She couldn't even imagine who had done it, or why, unless it was a darker magic than Reagan ever planned on practicing. Necromancy, perhaps. It was unpleasant to think about that being a possibility. But she was relieved to hear nothing more had happened since, so maybe it was just a sick prank. "I'm glad to hear that," she murmured. Reagan felt a wet drop on her forehead, and she lifted a hand to wipe it away, sending up a threat to keep the rain away for now, or else. "I'm... well, the easy thing to say would be fine. But this little hike sort of ties into how I'm doing. I got married," she explained, that part quite obviously the highlight of how she was. "Caius and I went to Anguilla on vacation and impulsively tied the knot. Since then, we've run into some issues, which is part of the reason why I'm here now. Abigail Baron is the problem, and could be part of the solution."
Rost made a pleased sound when she said she’d gotten married. He’d known Reagan had a partner, a young man Rost had seen around but hadn’t ever spoken too much. He always looked gloomy to Rost, but there was no accounting for taste. If Reagan loved him enough to marry him, that was great for her. “Congratulations,” he said first, then added a short traditional blessing in Roma. The rest of what she said was intriguing, so Rost didn’t linger over the social niceties. He eyed her for a beat before returning his gaze to the path in front of them. “That sounds like a complicated issue, if the long dead is part of the problem,” he commented. Though with witches, it wasn’t a terrible shock. They seemed full of complications.
She smiled, deciding to take whatever blessings she could get. They certainly couldn't hurt. "It is complicated, yes." Reagan sighed as they passed one of the stone angels that littered the cemetery. She always felt such a negative energy from the angels. She knew her protection bags were hidden around the cemetery, but it didn't blanket the dark vibe as much as she would have liked. "The simple story is that Abigail Baron cursed my family, and Caius's family, centuries ago. We need to find someone remaining in her blood line to stop it. That's why I need to find her first. If we don't, there's a very good possibility that one of us could get seriously hurt, or worse. Many of our ancestors have died because of it, and I don't plan on being the next."
Rost listened, his eyebrows inching upward. Interesting. He pursed his lips as he wondered how finding Abigail Baron’s grave would help them find her descendants, until his imagination provided an answer. It wasn’t like anybody came to visit their great great great great great grandmother. Rost’s steps slowed a bit and he looked at her more closely. “You are going to dig her up,” he assumed, not phrasing it as a question exactly. Unless Reagan had some fancy trick up her sleeve, Rost had to assume she would need a part of Abigail Baron to find whatever was left of her bloodline. He looked fretful, not sure how he felt about yet another grave being disturbed in his cemetery. Especially one of an apparently powerful witch.
Reagan wasn't surprised Rost figured it out. He could be eccentric, yes, but he had a brain between his ears. Sometimes she felt like people underestimated him, just because he was the 'weird gypsy' living in the cemetery. She arched a dark brow calmly. "Yes," she answered, because it would make no sense to lie to him. Reagan was trying to do the honorable thing here and get his blessing for it before she and Caius actually did what they needed to do. But she hoped he understood that it was going to happen whether he approved or not. "We need some of her bones to create a spell that will lead us to a living member of her bloodline, if one still exists. People in our families have unsuccessfully tried to find a solution to this curse for a very long time and this is our best bet right now." Reagan inhaled deeply and took a moment before speaking again, her expression pained. "If it helps, Rost, Abigail Baron was a terrible person. Jealous and vengeful. She's the reason so many of my ancestors have died, and it's possible I'll be next, or Caius. Or both of us. Please help me."
Rost wasn’t blind, he could see that this was a big, dangerous deal. If what she was saying was true, it had plagued generations. He couldn’t exactly stand in the way of fixing that, and he did know that it would probably happen whether he liked it or not. At least she was there telling him about it. Reagan Kelly asking directly for his help, while she looked more young to him than she ever had, sealed the deal. Rost heaved a big sigh, then started walking again. “If she was bad as you say, I do hope you will put up protections when you unearth her,” he said, giving her a serious look. “A peaceful life usually leads to peaceful death, but those who had no peace will give none of it back.” It was a roundabout way of him being concerned about them waking up some other buried magic, some curse a vengeful person might put on their own grave. “And for the sake of gods, re-bury what you do not take, yes?”
A relieved sort of smile formed on Reagan's lips when he seemed to cave, and she turned, falling back into step beside him as they continued on their way. She was mostly sincere in her plea, but Reagan was more than aware of how manipulative that look of barely controlled anguish could be. She had used it on Caius a hundred and twelve times before he had finally caught on. But despite that, Reagan was appreciative of Rost for agreeing to let she and Caius do what they needed to do. "We'll come prepared," Reagan promised, "and we'll leave nothing distressing behind, I promise. You won't be able to tell the earth had ever been touched." She understood what danger came with waking the spirit world. And if Abigail Baron was as vengeful as Reagan believed she had been, she and Caius would know to recite the proper spells to keep themselves protected, as well as the cemetery. "Thank you," she said, nudging him gently with her elbow. "I know it's a difficult thing for you to agree to."
Rost might not have been as agreeable with someone he didn’t know. He trusted that Reagan was much more informed than most about such matters, and that she wouldn’t do anything stupid. She was a trained, capable witch, and from what she’d told him, so was her boyfriend. Husband, now. He just hoped they didn’t leave a spiritual mess behind that would make things worse in his sanctuary. There was already enough darkness that lived there. Rost looked down at Reagan with a wan smile. “It is my duty to protect them for a fraction of their rest. But the living are more important,” he said, reaching up a hand to briefly pat her shoulder. “It is this way.” Rost nodded to the left and changed their direction. They were getting closer now, the headstones they were passing getting progressively more worn down and faded.
It would have been easy to do something stupid - to jump into some half brained solution out of desperation. But she and Caius were trying to be smart about this. She had no idea how many chances they would have, and this just felt like they were on the right path. They wouldn't know for sure until they got the bones, but Reagan was feeling optimistic. She followed Rost, noting how old and decrepit the headstones were becoming. Some of the names were completely faded, the stone smooth but for some ridges and indentations were the letters had been. It scared her that maybe Abigail was here, but they wouldn't know where. She couldn't imagine Caius digging up every single grave to collect various bones, but then again... maybe he would, if it meant saving them both. No. If Abigail Baron was lost to them, they would find her next of kin, and so on. They would find someone. "She was born in 1674, died in 1746, if that helps." Reagan said, her gaze scanning every headstone they passed.
Those numbers sounded vaguely familiar to Rost, and he thought he was pretty sure he knew where this grave was. Humming and murmuring something to himself, he turned them down another row of graves, most of these cracked and weathered down to almost nothing. Some were gone completely. He approached one that had been cracked in half at an angle, so it stuck up like a jagged tooth. The top part of the stone lay behind it, the rain and wind having worn it smooth again, but the half that was still stuck in the ground sat at somewhat of a protective angle. The ‘BAR-’ was very faintly visible, with ‘B. 1674 - D. 1-’ underneath it. Rost crouched in front of it to run his fingers over the surviving letters -- they were almost easier to feel than see, but he thought this was it. He squinted up at Reagan with a little smile. “Yes?”
Reagan felt her heart rate pick up when Rost led her down a row of headstones - or what was left of them. It was probably just her mood and the situation, but she could have sworn she felt a faint sense of magic in the air. Reagan pulled her hands from her jacket and crouched down next to Rost to run her fingers over the BAR still visible on the stone. "Yes," Reagan said, smiling over at Rost. "This is her." Pulling out her phone, she took a couple photos of the headstone, and then stood to take a couple more of their surroundings. She didn't think it would be a problem leading Caius down here, but it was always better to a few landmarks to refer to, just in case. "Thank you," Reagan told Rost, once she lowered her phone. "I owe you big time for this."
Rost moved out of the way so Reagan could take pictures, assuming it was to mark the spot to come back to later on. He hadn’t expected her to magically pull out a shovel and start digging right then, he figured she would get her man to come and do the hard labor part of it. Part of Rost was tempted to offer to do it for her, but he didn’t have the kind of power they had, and he didn’t want to risk pissing off some vengeful witch in the afterlife. He had enough problems. He gave Reagan a wan smile at the thanks, and shook his head. “It is likely that I owed you more,” he reminded her. “Consider us even-stevens. I hope it assists you. You deserve to live curse free and happy. Shall I walk you out?”
She did deserve to live curse free and happy, and she intended to do just that, no matter what the cost. Reagan smiled and slipped her phone back into her pocket, eager to call Caius with the news. But that could wait until she was back in the car, or home. "Even-stevens it is," Reagan said. He was probably right. Reagan had done plenty of protection spells for Rost through the years, and she was sure he would need her again in the future. Hopefully she could maintain her promise not to let anything dark out into his cemetery. "You can walk me back to your home," Reagan told him, turning from Baron's grave to head back. "I can find my way out from there."
Caius kind of hated how much the exorcism had worn him out. He knew the spell, he did it all right, but the only other time he’d ever done it, Anthony had been there with him. All of the other demons Caius had ever encountered had been summoned and were bound within their control, not out running wild in some teenage boy. He knew it could’ve been a lot worse, but he hated being slowed down. Reagan had healed a lot of his more minor cuts, but a few had been deep enough that they needed to heal the rest of the way on their own ... and the backlash injury couldn’t be touched by magical means. That one was bandaged up and aching in spite of the Vicodin he’d popped before stretching out on Reagan’s couch.
She’d gone to the cemetery to talk to the weird gypsy there about finding Abigail Baron’s grave. Caius had been too tired to have much hope that it would be fruitful, but before he knew it, his phone was ringing to wake him out of a doze. It was Reagan with good news. Fabulous. Now, he really just needed to heal, so he could go digging for old bones. “That’s great, baby,” he’d told her, still sounding half asleep. “You’re amazing.” It was great, and Caius was sure he would muster up more enthusiasm once he’d really woken up. Once they’d hung up, he made himself get up and shuffle to the kitchen to brew some afternoon coffee, to help with that whole being awake thing.
Reagan should have known better than to talk to Caius over the phone when he was tired and probably feeling loopy from the Vicodin. But she wasn't annoyed. She was thrilled that Rost had helped her find Baron's grave. It would probably be a few more days before they could go into the cemetery to dig up her bones, with Caius still healing, but now they had a path to go down, and that was better than having nothing. She drove home, needing to shower and change before heading into work. Reagan was hoping Caius would just take the rest of the day to relax. They couldn't afford him re-injuring himself right now. When she got home, she discarded her wet boots and raincoat and walked into the kitchen where she could smell coffee brewing. Finding Caius there, Reagan walked over to him and slipped her hands up into his hair before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "How are you feeling?"
Being upright had brought Caius around a bit, but he was still waiting for coffee when Reagan came home. He heard her come in and straightened up from where he’d been leaning on the counter, scrolling absently through his phone. It was Sunday and he intended to do absolutely zero work, but he couldn’t stay completely disconnected, so he’d been checking the news. He turned to face his wife as she walked into the kitchen, arms sliding comfortably around her. She felt cool from being outside, and she smelled like rain, and it was kind of refreshing. “Mm, better now,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to her lips. Caius gave her a gentle squeeze, knowing that wasn’t what she meant. “My back hurts, still pretty tired. But getting better. I’ve had worse backlash.” The coffeemaker finished its job, and Caius smooched his wife one more time before he let her go to start preparing himself a cup. “You want some? Tell me how it went.”
Reagan smoothed her hands through his dark hair for another moment, frowning a touch. She found it difficult not to get terribly annoyed at the kids who came to their home Friday night. They had needed help, and Reagan and Caius had given it to them, but Caius was still dealing with the consequences. It could have been much worse, she knew, but that wasn't the point. She took her phone out of her back pocket when Caius pulled away to get his coffee. "Maybe just a small cup," Reagan said absently as she pulled up her photos. "I don't want to be bouncing off the walls at work." Smiling when she came to the photos of the cemetery, she set the phone on the counter by the coffee maker for Caius to see. "It's a bit of a walk to the plot, but Rost seemed to know exactly where to go when I gave him her birth and death dates. I explained to him what we needed, and he won't try to stop us."
Caius got another, smaller mug down and poured Reagan a cup too, mixing it how she liked it while he looked over at her phone. He swiped through the pictures with his pinkie finger, smiling a bit. “Good,” he murmured. “We don’t need to get saddled with some gypsy curse on top of what we already have going on.” That was probably some awful stereotype, but Caius didn’t care. He didn’t really know the cemetery groundskeeper and didn’t really care to. Once he’d looked through all the pics Reagan had taken, he took the first sip from his mug and hummed a bit. “As soon as my back’s healed some, we’ll go out there and dig that bitch up and hope this works.” He leaned in to kiss Reagan’s cheek, his free hand landing briefly on her hip. “Good job, baby,” he murmured.
Reagan chuckled. "I don't think we need to worry about any gypsy curses from Rost," she said. "I'm pretty sure she only dresses like one." She sipped her own coffee and let it warm her. Reagan wasn't a fan of traipsing around in the rain, but it had been worth it today. "I promised him that we would perform the proper spells before and after digging up Baron. He doesn't want some vengeful spirit haunting the grounds, and I can't say I blame him for it. I think we just need to be extra cautious with what we're doing." Arching a brow, Reagan studied Caius. "If you want, I can ask Nate to help us. It might be easier on you if you had another pair of hands doing some of the digging."
He leaned against the counter and sipped at his coffee, too tired to bristle at the idea that they might need help from Nate, of all people. Sure, it was his family curse too, so maybe he ought to help, but Caius didn’t like asking Reagan’s brother for things if he could help it. But did he really want to do all that digging himself? Especially with a backlash injury from some stupid teenagers? He looked up to meet Reagan’s eyes. “Yeah, maybe,” he murmured. “Let’s give it a couple of days, see how I feel. But we will. Be extra cautious, that is. I wouldn’t put it past Baron to put protections on her grave.” If he was a vengeful old witch, that’s what he would’ve done. And might still, just for kicks, if he ever saw his death coming.
She was well aware that Caius might not be on board with Nate helping them. And Nate may not want to help, considering the potential consequences, but Reagan needed to put the option out there, just in case. It was one thing to watch Dom dig up graves for fun, but Caius wasn’t terribly fond of getting his hands dirty. He would do it, but it was a lot of work, and she sure as hell wasn't going to get in the dirt. Reagan considered asking Rost, but it was probably enough that he had given her his blessing for what they needed to do. And she couldn't imagine Rost and Caius digging a grave together without it turning into a Problem. "I was thinking the same. I could feel the magic in the air the closer we got to her headstone," Reagan said. "I'll get what we need together, and then we can head out whenever you're feeling up to it." She sipped her coffee and arched a dark brow. "But don't be afraid to accept help just because it's my brother."
“Fear has nothing to do with it,” Caius muttered, giving her a look. There was no real heat in it though. It wasn’t that he disliked Nate, they were just very different people, and going to a guy he always thought was something of a slacker for help just rubbed Caius’s pride the wrong way. He would suck it up and deal for Reagan’s sake though, if he wasn’t feeling up to digging up a grave in a couple of days. The sooner they got all of this done, the better. He would’ve been ready to go out there the very next day if it hadn’t been for those damn teenagers and their demon problem. Caius moved in close enough to press a kiss against Reagan’s temple. “We’ll have it done before the week is out, one way or another,” he promised. “Then we can work on finding if she has any bloodline left and go from there.” Nate was already helping with that part of it, he might as well pick up a shovel too.
Reagan nodded. She thought asking Nate was a good idea, regardless of Caius's health, but she wouldn't push it. If Caius felt strong enough to dig Abigail Baron up on his own, she wasn't going to argue with him. "Make sure you rest today," she told him, reaching out to take hold of his shirt gently. "I have to leave for work in a few, so I can't be here to force you into bed. Promise me you'll drink the tea I made and resist the urge to work, okay?" It was Sunday, but Reagan wouldn't put it past Anthony to try and send Caius work to attend to while he was home. She smirked softly and pressed a kiss to his jaw. "I need you healthy and virile."
Caius set his mug aside to loop both arms around Reagan’s waist and pull her in closer. “Virile, hm?” he hummed, sounding faintly amused as he nuzzled at her cheek. “I would be virile for you on my deathbed, my love.” Caius kissed the spot right under Reagan’s ear, and then her neck before he hugged her tighter. He breathed in the scent of her hair and tried to let it relax him further. They would make this work. They would be okay because they needed to be. Caius still couldn’t imagine life without this woman as his wife, and he was going to make sure she didn’t have to. After he rested and recovered like a good patient, of course. “I promise, tea and rest and no work,” he murmured. “Miss me while you’re gone.”
Reagan smiled, reaching out to set her coffee cup down on the counter before her arms slipped around his neck. She let the warmth of his body warm hers, tilting her head for his lips. The idea of losing Caius was becoming less worrisome in her mind. Maybe because they had found Baron's grave and she just knew it would lead them somewhere. It might take awhile, but they would get this figured out. She had more faith in that now than ever. "I always miss you when we're not together. It sounds horribly mushy, but it's true," Reagan said, brushing her fingers through his thick hair before she kissed him again. "There is a bottle of dead sea salt under my sink for the bath. It's mixed with some other things, but it'll help ease the ache in your back. Use it today, okay?"
Caius was game to stand there and kiss her all day long if she wanted to, but he knew she still had a business to run and everything. Since they’d come home from Anguilla, they’d been more or less living together at Reagan’s house, so there had been plenty of physical affection, but it never quite felt like enough. “I always miss you too,” he murmured, giving her a tiny smile. Mushiness be damned, it was true. Caius kissed her one more lingering time, then loosened his grip so she could do whatever she needed to do before she went to work. “Tea, rest, no work, and sea salt bath, yes ma’am,” he added, his tone a bit teasing. If Reagan had given a shit about the majority of humanity, she would’ve made a great nurse. “I’ll even send you photographic evidence that I’m resting.”
She wished she didn't have to go into the shop. It would have been a much better Sunday if she could just lounge with Caius all day, reading or watching television, just being wrapped around each other while Caius healed. Her bath was certainly big enough for two. Sighing, Reagan pulled back from him, since she knew if she stayed in his arms much longer she would just call in to shut down the store for the rest of the day, and she couldn't do that. "I want a text every hour or so until I get home," she teased before rubbing his arm and turning away. "I've got to take a quick shower and then head out so Emma can get ready to go home. Call me if you need anything." Hopefully he would rest and sleep and get to feeling better. Reagan always worried that these kind of spells could have lasting negative effects, so she was probably being a bit more cautious than usual.