Charlie
You know I talk too much
honey, come put your lips on mine & shut me up
honey, come put your lips on mine & shut me up
Charlie blinks at him with exaggerated innocence as he begs, one shoulder lifting in a small, almost apologetic shrug that does absolutely nothing to hide the sparkle in her eyes. "Wellllll," she says lightly, glancing down at the way he’s gone pale and clammy, "your body certainly doesn’t think so." Not if his sympathy morning sickness was anything to go by. Despite the tease, she shifts her footing immediately to better support him, arms tightening around his middle as he starts to slide, her strength far more substantial than her petite frame suggests. She absorbs his weight without complaint, bracing through her heels and lowering with him rather than letting him topple outright, guiding him down in a controlled descent until he ends up slumped against the floor.
She follows him smoothly, sinking to her knees in front of him with practiced ease, the hem of her black dress pooling around her upper thighs as her tail flicks lazily behind her. There’s something adoring in her expression now, though it still dances with mischief, and she reaches forward to press the back of her hand to his forehead as though assessing a fever.
At his flailing interpretive hand motions, she tilts her head thoughtfully, curls sliding over one shoulder, and gives another small shrug. "Yes and no," she answers, as if discussing the weather. "Ancients can get pregnant in all sorts of ways. Sometimes it’s dramatic, sometimes it’s mundane. Half of us barely bother with birth control because if it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen."
Then her hand drifts down from his forehead to rest against his knee, fingertips idly tracing little patterns there as she leans in closer, blue eyes gleaming. "But this," she says, lowering her voice with theatrical significance, "I think this is special." Her smile blooms again, bright and unabashed. "Because the baby is going to be a demigod." She tickles her fingers lightly against his knee, delighted. "That’s probably why Dygra waited for you to be here, Kai!"
She follows him smoothly, sinking to her knees in front of him with practiced ease, the hem of her black dress pooling around her upper thighs as her tail flicks lazily behind her. There’s something adoring in her expression now, though it still dances with mischief, and she reaches forward to press the back of her hand to his forehead as though assessing a fever.
At his flailing interpretive hand motions, she tilts her head thoughtfully, curls sliding over one shoulder, and gives another small shrug. "Yes and no," she answers, as if discussing the weather. "Ancients can get pregnant in all sorts of ways. Sometimes it’s dramatic, sometimes it’s mundane. Half of us barely bother with birth control because if it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen."
Then her hand drifts down from his forehead to rest against his knee, fingertips idly tracing little patterns there as she leans in closer, blue eyes gleaming. "But this," she says, lowering her voice with theatrical significance, "I think this is special." Her smile blooms again, bright and unabashed. "Because the baby is going to be a demigod." She tickles her fingers lightly against his knee, delighted. "That’s probably why Dygra waited for you to be here, Kai!"
