he was very patient about the whole ordeal, letting the poor woman catch a few days of rest in the wake of her children's birth.
(
their children's birth )
gucci shook his head, as if those little corrections could fall out his ears and leave him be to think in peace.
but how
couldn't he be excited at the prospect? it had him straining his hearing to catch the cries of the newborns from his room, and once caught
@Tavina out in the hall to ask after their health.
a girl and a boy.
he swiftly left her to go prance around his chambers like a pup struck by zoomies.
now he'd collected himself enough to show his snout to his wife-to-be.
the toy man cleared his throat in the doorway.
"ahem, maggie? are ya in mood fer a visitor?"
Tavina had been liberal with the poppies, and she lay on her side, dead to the world. Only Gucci's accented tones cut through the din; she lifted her head, looked sideways, ears folding slightly backward.
She'd forgotten about him until now. Forgotten her promises to Ramesses regarding him.
Until now.
Fine,
she replied, her voice dull. She shifted to face him, though remained laying down. Placed her muzzle on her forepaws and regarded him with no feeling in her face whatsoever.
The children were somewhere. Alive. Suckling. Parasites.
She pitied the wet nurse. No one but herself deserved that evil.
his tail wagged. even though she seemed... off, his damned tail wagged.
he strode in.
"how're you?" the nobleman spoke softly, small smile on his muzzle. "miss tavinah wouldn't speak wi' me 'bout your own health."
he seated himself a bit to the side of her head, to not force her to stare at him if she wouldn't.
( was that slit of her mouth always so endearing? )
She answered the question with nothing but a shrug, brief and barely there, an infinitesimal movement of her shoulders. Her eyes remained dispassionate.
There's nothing to tell you,
Maegi replied. I'm alive. I'm here.
And I'd rather not be. But she figured Gucci didn't have to be a mind-reader to understand that unspoken addendum in her deadened visage.
She'd also rather be alone, but she couldn't hardly turn her eager bridegroom-to-be away.
The thought brought her back to some semblance of reality, and panic gripped her throat because—Mou—
What if he returned? What would he think?—
So. When's the wedding?
she asked flippantly, trying to joke away her existential dread.
a tender expression softened his over-mirthful one. he saw the shape of something weighting upon his future spouse's mind, but couldn't identify it.
( a realisation came to him, quickly pushed away for the moment. )
"-s gon' be right 'fter th' mournin''s all done wi'. details yet t' be chiseled out, but ahm fo' lettin' th' younger pair go second. they got time, us old dogs gotta rush." he winked, in attempt to latch onto the needlestring of humour maegi tossed his way.
then the man cleared his throat, adjusting the way he was seated to be more formal.
"now, if we are t' plan this ceremony all properlike, ah need t' take inta account th' wishes o' th' bride." he gestured with his chin at maegi, as if there were other fiancées present in the room. "ahm rather agnostic mahself, but if ah did understand correctly, you've... a faith o' your own?" head tilted slightly to the side, uncertain smile on lips. "would ya like us t' incorporate any part o' it inta th' ceremony?"
He talked too much. It brought on yet another pang of longing for Mou, who'd barely spoken at all. Occasionally it had frustrated her, not being able to draw words from her husband. Now, though, she'd trade all of Gucci's words for even a heartbeat of awkward silence with her beloved.
And at the mention of religion, her ears flattened. No,
she answered sharply, some semblance of life touching her eyes. I'm already damned for doing this; my gods will not be on display for all of Akashingo.
"Good girl. Fight him."
Plan it however you want,
Maegi said. I don't care.
She was being cruel, so, so cruel to this little man who had done nothing but love and support her. But what else was there to do? She was tired, and loathsome, and felt herself undeserving of good things—a feeling that only grew as Sheogorath wound his way around her mind and heart, tightening like a vise.
he silenced himself when her refusal came, sharp and piercing.
his own ears briefly pinned, but he returned pleasantness to his features, albeit the mask had obvious cracks.
"ah- ah shall do mah best." the smile was labile, but persistent. "ah do- ah want real bad t' make it pleasant. really do."
gucci gathered himself and got up on his feet.
"you- you're taard, ah git it. nawt somethang i'd ever experience. so, ahm- ahmma leave ya t', t' git some shut-eye." he looked her over again, finding himself hurt, but unable to blame her. his own fault for disturbing a mother's rest.
"uhm, jus' one more question..." now he was outright submissive. "-s there anyone ya'd like me t' invite?"
Is there anyone you'd like me to invite?
Is there anyone she wanted to see?
Yes. Countless faces.
But not this.
Not ever this.
No,
she said firmly, clenching her jaw as she set it back upon her forepaws. No. I'm tired, Gucci; please leave me.
She absorbed the hurt of the little dog, folded it into her own pain. Too much, and yet, it played a wonderful companion to the opium numbness. Kept her grounded.
Alive. She was. They were.
Married.
Mou. . .