Khemrys (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
homeless_pard) wrote2022-03-21 01:13 am
homeless_pard) wrote2022-03-21 01:13 am
Entry tags:
Oh...okay
Who: Beryl, Lani
When: A few days after the impromptu tech rescue at Eric's house.
What: Some misunderstandings.
Beryl bumped the door with her hip and flailed for the lightswitch, trying not to drop her grocery bag. Normally her night vision was pretty good but that iffy hour of predawn always screwed with her with the blue black lighting. Stupid light.
Stupid store not opening until six.
Stupid falling asleep in the car parking lot waiting on the damn place to open...
She only been woken up because Lani got home and didn't see her work clothing in the laundry so he'd texted and the damn phone had nearly given her a heart attack. It was probably the migraine; she got them sometimes a day or two before cycles and fuck if she didn't hate them every time. Even better this was the first she'd gotten since starting work at the club and the atmosphere was not exactly conducive to preventing a full blown migraine.
At all.
At least it was a warning though; her mother used to say her chosen 'rebellion' as an athlete had broken her in her 'delicate' years and she was worthless now. The doctor she snuck off to at planned parenthood near the highschool said her choices could be hard on the body but it was more likely stress combined with a genetic predisposition to erratic cycles. She hadn't managed to call back about the tests he wanted to run, maybe she should see if they kept results this long...
...scattered thinking, also not fun. The florescent lights in their kitchen felt like knives but at least it wasn't the pain wash false dawn was.
Right, putting away groceries.
She must have kicked something because Lani came out knuckling an eye, looked her up and down, then scooped the bag out of her hands, "you look like shit..."
"Feel that way too."
"Are you getting sick?" he fretted, holding a hand to her forehead.
It felt good for a minute, then she winced, "too hot Lani..."
"Sorry!" he winced, "your pupils are really blown, no one dosed you right?"
"Gee, thanks," she snorted. "No. migraine."
"Shit," he swore, setting the bag on the counter and kind of...flapping his hands are her. "What do you need?"
What did she need? Had anyone asked that before? No, her first migraine had also been when her baby brothers had bronchitis and her dad hadn't wanted to catch it so he' taken himself and mother away to a hotel. She could miss a few days of school if she got sick; they'd lose money and hurt the household if they got sick.
Right.
"I have no idea."
"...huh. Oh." He slowly put things away, wincing at some of the choices, then hitched up on the counter to google stuff on his phone. She was just going to lay down on the floor and pretend she was dead honestly. He knew that look. The 'trying to cope by playing dead' look. She did it sometimes when she needed to process or something.
Or feel numb maybe? Who even knew.
Numb was probably a good way to go.
"Hey, hey cuz...we're going to need to get you off the floor and into bed okay?"
"...kaaaay."
He chuckled, hopping down to scoop her up carefully, "just don't clock me and I'll bring you an icepack once we get you into bed."
Oh, she was going to bed? "Sorry." She sucked.
"You apologize again I'll clock you. When you feel better," he snickered.
"Dick."
"I'm going to see if Nat can come over later okay? He doesn't work today and you...bought chocolate donuts and gummy bears. Which you probably shouldn't eat with a migraine? And I'll see who can cover for you tonight."
"I can work." It was important!
"Going to punch you, yup." Later. For now the mattress on the floor by her punching bag, darkness, and getting an ice pack. It sucked, sometimes, that he had to remember she was just...human. Gods what the fuck was she doing working at a cryptid bar?
Maybe he'd...ask the guys if they they thought she needed to get...therapy.
Sure, that'd go great.
When: A few days after the impromptu tech rescue at Eric's house.
What: Some misunderstandings.
Beryl bumped the door with her hip and flailed for the lightswitch, trying not to drop her grocery bag. Normally her night vision was pretty good but that iffy hour of predawn always screwed with her with the blue black lighting. Stupid light.
Stupid store not opening until six.
Stupid falling asleep in the car parking lot waiting on the damn place to open...
She only been woken up because Lani got home and didn't see her work clothing in the laundry so he'd texted and the damn phone had nearly given her a heart attack. It was probably the migraine; she got them sometimes a day or two before cycles and fuck if she didn't hate them every time. Even better this was the first she'd gotten since starting work at the club and the atmosphere was not exactly conducive to preventing a full blown migraine.
At all.
At least it was a warning though; her mother used to say her chosen 'rebellion' as an athlete had broken her in her 'delicate' years and she was worthless now. The doctor she snuck off to at planned parenthood near the highschool said her choices could be hard on the body but it was more likely stress combined with a genetic predisposition to erratic cycles. She hadn't managed to call back about the tests he wanted to run, maybe she should see if they kept results this long...
...scattered thinking, also not fun. The florescent lights in their kitchen felt like knives but at least it wasn't the pain wash false dawn was.
Right, putting away groceries.
She must have kicked something because Lani came out knuckling an eye, looked her up and down, then scooped the bag out of her hands, "you look like shit..."
"Feel that way too."
"Are you getting sick?" he fretted, holding a hand to her forehead.
It felt good for a minute, then she winced, "too hot Lani..."
"Sorry!" he winced, "your pupils are really blown, no one dosed you right?"
"Gee, thanks," she snorted. "No. migraine."
"Shit," he swore, setting the bag on the counter and kind of...flapping his hands are her. "What do you need?"
What did she need? Had anyone asked that before? No, her first migraine had also been when her baby brothers had bronchitis and her dad hadn't wanted to catch it so he' taken himself and mother away to a hotel. She could miss a few days of school if she got sick; they'd lose money and hurt the household if they got sick.
Right.
"I have no idea."
"...huh. Oh." He slowly put things away, wincing at some of the choices, then hitched up on the counter to google stuff on his phone. She was just going to lay down on the floor and pretend she was dead honestly. He knew that look. The 'trying to cope by playing dead' look. She did it sometimes when she needed to process or something.
Or feel numb maybe? Who even knew.
Numb was probably a good way to go.
"Hey, hey cuz...we're going to need to get you off the floor and into bed okay?"
"...kaaaay."
He chuckled, hopping down to scoop her up carefully, "just don't clock me and I'll bring you an icepack once we get you into bed."
Oh, she was going to bed? "Sorry." She sucked.
"You apologize again I'll clock you. When you feel better," he snickered.
"Dick."
"I'm going to see if Nat can come over later okay? He doesn't work today and you...bought chocolate donuts and gummy bears. Which you probably shouldn't eat with a migraine? And I'll see who can cover for you tonight."
"I can work." It was important!
"Going to punch you, yup." Later. For now the mattress on the floor by her punching bag, darkness, and getting an ice pack. It sucked, sometimes, that he had to remember she was just...human. Gods what the fuck was she doing working at a cryptid bar?
Maybe he'd...ask the guys if they they thought she needed to get...therapy.
Sure, that'd go great.