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!]
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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.
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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.
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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."