right. waaaay backdated to Ireland, food something or otherbeansithJanuary 5 2013, 23:31:44 UTC
Eithne couldn't sleep. Well, not so much couldn't as plain old didn't want to. She liked staying up late at the nights, when everyone else was finally asleep and the house could just be hers. She didn't have to fight for the clicker with Fionnuala or Diarmuid-who always won anyway-and didn't have to worry about getting sucked into helping with laundry or running errands. Things felt especially packed this week, with Cian back from break and Berach and his wife in town. The little house was practically busting open at all its seams. But late at night like this, with everyone asleep, it was blissfully quiet and peaceful and Eithne could do absolutely whatever she wanted with no-one about to nag her on it.
And what Eithne wanted, right now, was to eat.
She's standing in pajama flannels and a wooly sweater in front of the fridge, a heap of crackers and biscuits in one arm already, contemplating. The world was her oyster-now did she want coleslaw or that tub of ice cream?
Re: right. waaaay backdated to Ireland, food something or otherhidefromthemoonJanuary 5 2013, 23:44:03 UTC
Used to be, he could sleep through the second coming, now, between the worry over what he'd become, and every least little thing sounding like it was happening right up inside his head, he could hardly sleep at all. He'd been lying abed, counting Diarmuid's quiet snores and staring at the ceiling for lack of anything better to do, when the sound of Eithne creeping out into the hall caught his attention. He laid there a little longer, listening to her soft tread, separating her soft breaths and the beating of her heart from all the others in the house, and finally slipped out of bed once he was sure she'd settled in the kitchen.
He didn't bother with anything warmer than his worn old flannel pyjama pants and threadbare t-shirt before padding silently down the hall. He was always too warm these days, it seemed.
"How you stay such a tiny wee thing when you eat like that must be one of the great mysteries," he told her as he dropped down at the table behind her. He'd not made so much as a whisper of sound until the moment he spoke.
As such, Eithne jumps enough to drop the packet of biscuits in a flash of genuine fright. The small fern on the kitchen windowsill will be dead by morning thanks to that, although there's nothing visible to account for the emotional spike at the moment. Maybe a spark of cold, although only for half a second, or the whiff of old earth.
"Christ, Cian, scared the piss out of me." She grabs the packet of biscuits and throws it at him. She turns back to the fridge and settles for both the coleslaw-to go with the crackers-and the ice cream-to go with the biscuits. Logic at its finest. She arranges her load at the table across from him, with enough mind to grab a second spoon for him for the ice cream. "Can't sleep?"
Have a drunk RavennotsogroovyJanuary 7 2013, 00:32:25 UTC
Raven was tired of being treated like she didn't matter. Charles ignored her, Erik gave her cryptic advice and then disappeared to go flirt with her brother, and Hank had told her in no uncertain terms that he didn't find her natural form attractive. They were it. They were all who were left and Raven was tired of being the second choice or the unwanted one. That was her excuse for breaking out one of Charles' hidden bottles. Charles and Erik were off doing who knew what and Moira was probably with them. Hank was off in his lab. She didn't know where Alex was. Probably off brooding somewhere
( ... )
Alex had been in the gym, working out with Sean. Or trying to, anyway. Sean didn't exactly take working out seriously, and it ended up being more goofing off than anything in the end. Eventually Sean had gotten bored, though, and disappeared to do something else, and Alex had finished off alone.
He was on his way to the stairs, heading for his room, clean clothes, and a shower, when he noticed that Charles' office door was open and poked his head in, just out of curiosity, since he'd thought Charles and Erik were off somewhere on the grounds together. Of course, it turned out to be Raven and what he was guessing was an obscenely expensive bottle of Scotch, bonding in the dimness. He flipped on a light and leaned in the door way to watch her, fascinated by the way she was shifting fluidly between forms.
"You want company, or is it just you and the bottle?"
"Depends on whether you want to keep company with me." The words were mostly bitter. Somewhere in her mind, she knew he wasn't the type to make the offer without being sure he meant it, but the other, larger part was sure that he'd just asked to humor her. Humor the drunk girl. It's what Hank would have done. Erik. Charles... Well, Charles would have shuffled her off to bed unless she threw a fit.
She waved the bottle in his direction. "Want a sip?"
It might be nice to drink with someone else. Charles certainly seemed to like it.
"Well. That did not go as planned," River said as soon as they'd zapped back to somewhere civilized and safe. She glanced down at her own completely wrecked outfit. Soaked to the bone and covered in both an excessive amount of mud, dirt, and a sticky mixture of alien mucous and guts. She glances over at Abigail in thinly-veiled amusement, trying extraordinarily hard not to laugh, and reaches over to thumb away a stripe of sticky blue on Abigail's nose.
Abigail spreads her arms and looks mournfully at her clothing, grimacing. "Don't touch anything, alright? Or I'll be cleaning for days to try and set things aright." She kicks her shoes off and goes to the linen closet to get an old bedsheet to lay across the living room floor. "You can undress on this, and I'll just throw the entire bundle out."
"I'm sorry, dear. I didn't think a safari could go quite so sideways." River doesn't feel like having to cope with Abigail's wrath so she stays where she is and at the very least ties all of her hair firmly back and out of the way so that she doesn't accidentally shake grime around Abigail's flat from her head. As soon as the sheet's laid out River peels her jacket and shirt off to pile together on the ground, and then there's the matter of trying to wiggle out of a tight pair of boots and breeches. She eventually gives up on trying to toe off the boots and sits down. It had been a practical outfit for tromping around in, not so practical when everything was wet and sticky. "Grab that for me?" Boot extended in Abigail's direction.
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Eithne couldn't sleep. Well, not so much couldn't as plain old didn't want to. She liked staying up late at the nights, when everyone else was finally asleep and the house could just be hers. She didn't have to fight for the clicker with Fionnuala or Diarmuid-who always won anyway-and didn't have to worry about getting sucked into helping with laundry or running errands. Things felt especially packed this week, with Cian back from break and Berach and his wife in town. The little house was practically busting open at all its seams. But late at night like this, with everyone asleep, it was blissfully quiet and peaceful and Eithne could do absolutely whatever she wanted with no-one about to nag her on it.
And what Eithne wanted, right now, was to eat.
She's standing in pajama flannels and a wooly sweater in front of the fridge, a heap of crackers and biscuits in one arm already, contemplating. The world was her oyster-now did she want coleslaw or that tub of ice cream?
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He didn't bother with anything warmer than his worn old flannel pyjama pants and threadbare t-shirt before padding silently down the hall. He was always too warm these days, it seemed.
"How you stay such a tiny wee thing when you eat like that must be one of the great mysteries," he told her as he dropped down at the table behind her. He'd not made so much as a whisper of sound until the moment he spoke.
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"Christ, Cian, scared the piss out of me." She grabs the packet of biscuits and throws it at him. She turns back to the fridge and settles for both the coleslaw-to go with the crackers-and the ice cream-to go with the biscuits. Logic at its finest. She arranges her load at the table across from him, with enough mind to grab a second spoon for him for the ice cream. "Can't sleep?"
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He was on his way to the stairs, heading for his room, clean clothes, and a shower, when he noticed that Charles' office door was open and poked his head in, just out of curiosity, since he'd thought Charles and Erik were off somewhere on the grounds together. Of course, it turned out to be Raven and what he was guessing was an obscenely expensive bottle of Scotch, bonding in the dimness. He flipped on a light and leaned in the door way to watch her, fascinated by the way she was shifting fluidly between forms.
"You want company, or is it just you and the bottle?"
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She waved the bottle in his direction. "Want a sip?"
It might be nice to drink with someone else. Charles certainly seemed to like it.
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