Private Pearl in the Oyster

[Myra Arceneau Dashiell]

Outfit: x x x x x | Equipment: x x x x | Tag: Makai Dashiell Persephone Dashiell

Myra leaned heavily against Makai, her face pale and her skin slick with a thin sheen of sweat that he would wipe up with the damp cloth. Every movement felt like it cost her more energy than she had, and after tossing up what little she'd managed to eat, her body felt completely drained. She could only muster a faint nod at Makai, barely whispering a tired "Mmhm." Her voice was hoarse, her throat raw from the nausea that had been plaguing her. She reached for a clean washcloth, wiping her mouth and trying to get rid of the sour, acrid taste that lingered. Even that small act felt monumental.

As she rinsed her mouth, the sound of Persie's voice drifted into the room, tinged with concern. Of course, it would be now that Persie would show up, just when Myra felt completely undone. She tried to smile, forcing her lips to curve, but the effort was too much. The weariness was written all over her face, and it was clear to anyone who looked that she wasn't herself.

"I'm fine... just not feeling so well," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper, though she tried to sound reassuring. The last thing she wanted was for Persie to worry any more than she already was. But even as she spoke, Myra knew she wasn't convincing anyone -- not Makai, not Persie, and certainly not herself.

When Persie offered to sit with her, Myra gave a slow shake of her head, the motion making her dizzy all over again. "It's fine," she said softly, her eyes half-closed from exhaustion.

"I'm just going to rest." She took a deep breath, summoning what little energy she had left.

"How about you and Makai go out to eat, hmm?" Her voice wavered, trying to sound normal, but it was clear she was struggling to keep up the facade.

She didn't want Persie to see her like this -- so fragile, so weak. It wasn't how she wanted to reassure Persie, especially with her sobbing session earlier.

 

[Makai Dashiell]

Wearing \ Gear : X | X | X | X | X
Interacting With : Myra Arceneau Dashiell

Arm curled around Ellie, holding her upright as she leaned against him. He was highly concerned about his wife, it seemed the nausea was just wearing her down to the bone. It was like looking at a shadow, a former shell of the vibrant woman. Makai had seen her look like this once before, worried the pregnancy was going to take a more massive toll then they first thought. Right now, he was operating under the assumption she was just a little sick, coupled with a rapidly growing baby, was draining her quickly.

Iced blue eyes caught the expression on Persephone's face. He had seen the same look in himself before ; someone clinging to their new caregiver after one had went away. A controlled look of terror, the worry about what may happen next.

Makai reached in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, handing it over to the teenager. He could meet the teenager half-way with her inquiry of help, making her feel useful plus also buying him time to get Ellie upstairs and in bed.

"How about you do me a favor? Order us some food, right? Plus some soup for Ellie for later. Then you're more than welcome to come upstairs after about fifteen minutes to check in."

---

Pajamas on, Makai eased Ellie into bed, placing the folded up washcloth on her head, puling the soft blankets around her. He had already turned on the Crashing Waves and Sunny Beachside playlist, softly echoing throughout their room. The half-Galan kissed her cheek before gently squeezing her hand.

"Never a dull moment with us, right?"