Moira Coombs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chasingtwisters) wrote2015-07-26 11:10 am
chasingtwisters) wrote2015-07-26 11:10 am
Entry tags:
Lord I know I'm a weathered stone. [Open]
She's supposed to be on bed rest. That's what the midwife told her, when Moira went for a check up. Her child could come at any day, any moment now, and she shouldn't be moving around so much. But staying still has never been Moira's style; ever since she was a child, she'd spent most of her free time running across the sand of the beach or throwing herself in the water, when she wasn't practicing her magic. Moira Coombs is not a still person. She doesn't do calm or relaxing when told; especially when accompanied by the look of pure exasperation on her midwife's face.
So she's on the beach, but with a compromise, as imposed by Fabrice who looks exhausted as Moira feels, but won't specify why, exactly. She'll needle him about it until caves, the way she once did when they were children. He always gives in.
Now, he's arranging the food, mostly various cookies and cupcakes, and drinks, iced tea and lemonade, around on the blanket Moira lounges on, her bare feet buried in the sand with a book on magic in one hand.
"Come on, let me help," she pleads, giving him her best pout in the process. Fabrice shakes his head firmly.
"No. You're supposed to be on bed rest, you know. At home," he looks at her pointedly. Moira is quite exhausting to be around like this, frankly. Not that he'll actually say this to her face. But between nights spent searching for magical creatures as a distraction from his curse, and from researching remedies for the curse itself, Fabrice nearly finds himself at wit's end. "I'm already putting myself at risk from an irate midwife for this. Don't push your luck."
Moira rolls her eyes in response. He manages a grin at the familiarity of the sight.
Once he's finished arranging everything moments later, Fabrice falls back against the blanket himself with a heavy breath. At least the sky overhead is cloudy and the air is especially chilly around them. These are the days that he likes to best spend near the water, both for the lack of people and the contrast of grey against such a typical summer scene. He smiles to himself, keeping his gaze focused on the overcast sky.
"Dude, I'm the pregnant lady. Don't you go falling asleep on me," Moira nudges him in the shoulder.
"I make no promises," he replies with a laugh.
[OOC: Find both Moira and Fabrice at the beach! Indicate whichever one you'd like in your tag. Open to all!]
So she's on the beach, but with a compromise, as imposed by Fabrice who looks exhausted as Moira feels, but won't specify why, exactly. She'll needle him about it until caves, the way she once did when they were children. He always gives in.
Now, he's arranging the food, mostly various cookies and cupcakes, and drinks, iced tea and lemonade, around on the blanket Moira lounges on, her bare feet buried in the sand with a book on magic in one hand.
"Come on, let me help," she pleads, giving him her best pout in the process. Fabrice shakes his head firmly.
"No. You're supposed to be on bed rest, you know. At home," he looks at her pointedly. Moira is quite exhausting to be around like this, frankly. Not that he'll actually say this to her face. But between nights spent searching for magical creatures as a distraction from his curse, and from researching remedies for the curse itself, Fabrice nearly finds himself at wit's end. "I'm already putting myself at risk from an irate midwife for this. Don't push your luck."
Moira rolls her eyes in response. He manages a grin at the familiarity of the sight.
Once he's finished arranging everything moments later, Fabrice falls back against the blanket himself with a heavy breath. At least the sky overhead is cloudy and the air is especially chilly around them. These are the days that he likes to best spend near the water, both for the lack of people and the contrast of grey against such a typical summer scene. He smiles to himself, keeping his gaze focused on the overcast sky.
"Dude, I'm the pregnant lady. Don't you go falling asleep on me," Moira nudges him in the shoulder.
"I make no promises," he replies with a laugh.
[OOC: Find both Moira and Fabrice at the beach! Indicate whichever one you'd like in your tag. Open to all!]
(Moira)
"Dad, look!" Isaac pointed at her, immediately dropped his hand. "Rude, points. Sorry."
"He's just curious", Bach apologized.
Re: (Moira)
Between the feeling of the sand between her toes and the lethargy of laying in the sun, she finds herself rather in the mood to indulge the kid.
"It's fine," she says with a knowing smile. "I'm kind of hard to miss, at this point."
Re: (Moira)
"Is there a baby in there?", Isaac ask-whispers, and there's probably a lesson opportunity here about never asking a woman if she's pregnant but come on, he's five. Surely they will have another chance before he hits puberty and wants to insult everyone alive.
Re: (Moira)
"Yep, there is," she says, turning to the young boy. She does need practice with children, after all. "The baby's growing right inside. She's almost ready to make her way into the world."
Re: (Moira)
There's a question peeking in Isaac's chorus, and Bach gets there just in time, covering the boy's mouth before he can finish his 'how'. "He's a bit late with his question stage", he apologizes. "It's a lot of biology about how the baby got in and is going to come out, you don't want to know that just yet."
"Do", is Isaac's muffled reply. "Do!"
Re: (Moira)
"Yeah, what he said," Moira assures the boy with a smile. "It's really lengthy and boring; it'll put you right to sleep!"
Normally, Moira is hardly the sort to walk on eggshells around kids, but again, she's in a rather good mood today.
Re: (Moira)
"Won't."
"Isaac, eno- hey, isn't that Fabrice? It's the underpants man, Isaac." It's a bit mean to use a sleeping man as distraction, but Bach rather talks about deer and underpants than about how babies are made in front of a woman and his kid. "And he's wearing clothes today!"
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Fabrice has mentioned what happened in the park the other day, of course, but he didn't go into detail as to the fact that he appeared nearly naked in front of a stranger and his kid. She'll have to give him hell for it, later.
"Yeah, he normally does wear clothes," Moira points out.
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Isaac nods. "Deer as well. But underwear man. He's nice."
"Don't worry, it was the first time I saw him like that", Bach winks. "And I don't think he liked it either, public indecency. He must have been happy it's Summer."
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"Yeah, he is nice, especially coming from this family," Moira admits, her gaze shifting to where Fabrice currently snoozes away in the sand.
"Yeah, I'm sure Fabrice wasn't happy about it," she observes.
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"He's the sweetest of them all", he asks, while Isaac at the same time agrees with Moira. "Not happy at all."
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She smiles at Isaac's astute agreement. "Smart kid you've got there," she mentions with another smile.
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Isaac sighs and only comes closer, grabbing on to Bach's leg. "Did my mother look like that?" His song spikes up full of questions and a huge sense of loss, absence, being left behind. It slams into Bach as well, and he blinks in surprise. "Isa- excuse me", he adds to Moira, before turning away and starting a song. It's sloppy, but he winds them together, just him and Isaac, sharing love and hope and comfort, no matter what.
no subject
Her eyebrows arch nearly in sync at his next question. She decides to let Bach handle that, leaning back into the towel as Bach turns to deal with Isaac.
no subject
Now, with a fucking audience to make things worse, he's pushing back. It's a little fish trying to take on the ocean, but he still does so. Bach doesn't want to turn it up, mostly because he doesn't accidentally wants to get Moira to obey his every rule on the side.
"Isaac - not now."