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+----- Thread: WE SLEEP UNTIL THE SUN GOES DOWN | private (/showthread.php?tid=6249)
WE SLEEP UNTIL THE SUN GOES DOWN | private - Feyre - 09-16-2018
☽ ☽ ☽
[member=1549]moonmade[/member] [member=145]BASTILLEPRISONER[/member]
Very rarely, if ever, did Feyre so unceremoniously abandon her attempt at a seance to appease her growling stomach. It was three in the morning, witching hour, to be more precise. Spirits and ghouls were the most active in this fragile threshold of sixty minutes and, as she knelt on the floor of her room, palms resting on her thighs, she could almost feel them moving, breathing, whispering. She could also feel a hunger that annoyed the living hell out of her, and knowing that she'd never be able to focus with her stomach practically screaming for her to sate it with something edible, she emitted a huff and abandoned her chambers.
The air around her crackled and popped just as a fire would, embers dancing along the fine lines of her palms as she headed to a very special room in particular. Would she be considered an unwelcome guest at this hour? Probably. Did she care? No, not really. Feyre was well aware of the plethora of food at her disposal, all of it relatively good, but there was something that they didn't have. Something that she was going to force Moon and Bast to take her to get. She'd go and fetch the chips and queso herself had it not been so late and she so young, but she was also interested to see how the pair would react- if they bothered to help her at all, that was.
She didn't even bother to knock on Moon's door.
Feyre instead crouched down at the side of his bed, lavender-blue eyes bright as she studied him. [color=#205d7a]"Moon..." She whispered, voice tiptoeing the very thin line between assertive and whiny. [color=#205d7a]"Moon, wake up! I'm hungry. I want chips and queso... Take me to Walmart!" She insisted, tiny hands reaching forward to try and shake him. So much for attempting to wake him with just her voice. [color=#205d7a]"We need Bast too. Come on! I'm hungry!"
Oh, he'd probably hate her for this.
She just hoped that he woke up fast enough- she didn't want to have to use her fire on him.
Very rarely, if ever, did Feyre so unceremoniously abandon her attempt at a seance to appease her growling stomach. It was three in the morning, witching hour, to be more precise. Spirits and ghouls were the most active in this fragile threshold of sixty minutes and, as she knelt on the floor of her room, palms resting on her thighs, she could almost feel them moving, breathing, whispering. She could also feel a hunger that annoyed the living hell out of her, and knowing that she'd never be able to focus with her stomach practically screaming for her to sate it with something edible, she emitted a huff and abandoned her chambers.
The air around her crackled and popped just as a fire would, embers dancing along the fine lines of her palms as she headed to a very special room in particular. Would she be considered an unwelcome guest at this hour? Probably. Did she care? No, not really. Feyre was well aware of the plethora of food at her disposal, all of it relatively good, but there was something that they didn't have. Something that she was going to force Moon and Bast to take her to get. She'd go and fetch the chips and queso herself had it not been so late and she so young, but she was also interested to see how the pair would react- if they bothered to help her at all, that was.
She didn't even bother to knock on Moon's door.
Feyre instead crouched down at the side of his bed, lavender-blue eyes bright as she studied him. [color=#205d7a]"Moon..." She whispered, voice tiptoeing the very thin line between assertive and whiny. [color=#205d7a]"Moon, wake up! I'm hungry. I want chips and queso... Take me to Walmart!" She insisted, tiny hands reaching forward to try and shake him. So much for attempting to wake him with just her voice. [color=#205d7a]"We need Bast too. Come on! I'm hungry!"
Oh, he'd probably hate her for this.
She just hoped that he woke up fast enough- she didn't want to have to use her fire on him.
Re: WE SLEEP UNTIL THE SUN GOES DOWN | private - MOONMADE - 09-17-2018
[size=9pt]He heard the door open and he heard her footsteps and he heard her breath when he crouched down beside the bed.
Eyes shut tight, he stared at the back of his closed eyelids and watched the obscure swirls that always formed there. You know the ones? Blues and reds and purples, vibrating shapes that flickered in and out of view on a red-black-white background. Static.
Moon. She said, and in his head, he answered. What's up, Fey. Fuck off.
I want chips and queso, She said, and he said, And I want Peri to make me her blushing bride but life isn't fuckin' fair like that, Fey.
Take me to Walmart! She said, and, seated in a far part of his brain surrounded by the multicolored swirls, he scrunched up his nose. Can't believe I raised you to think anything other than Trader Joe's is acceptable.
All of this, as the fully awake boy breathed steadily like the sleeping beauty he was pretending to be, was obviously pointing towards his reluctance to accept her request. He had shit to do tomorrow, he had to be up early, and the mere concept of an hour's sleep made his mouth water-- so, no Walmart. As much as it pained him to be the Bad Cop, he wasn't gonna' open his eyes. She could shake him all she wanted there wasn't a ch-- "Bast?"
That asshole was gonna' give in and bring her. As much as he liked to act like a cold fish, Moon knew a soft side for kids when he saw one and that guy was giving him a run for his money as the Cool Older Brother of the Observatory. "You think he's gonna' bring you? He's probably got himself shoulders deep in--" Pumbaa, not in front of the kids. "Latin literature."
So he's hesitant, and slightly cynical, but then his brain starts providing him with the many wonderful ways they can wake the dark haired boy from his slumber -- if he wasn't already, ahem, preoccupied -- and Moon's propelling himself out of the bed at lightning speed. "Fine. But only 'cause I'm cool like that. And I want Sour Patch Kids."
He stumbles through the hallways with Fey, pulling on his socks and obnoxious Rafiki slippers on the way until they're outside the Astral Seraph's door. He jiggles the handle, expecting it to be open, but when it proves anything but, he huffs a dramatic sigh and throws his eyes to the sky. "What kinda' weirdo actually uses these locks?" He says, once he's dropped to his knees with his trusty bobby pin and worked the lock with petty criminal fingers until there's a dramatic click and it slides open. Clearly chuffed with himself, the boy stands back and holds out an arm out towards the door, face stapled with a stupid, painfully sleep-deprived grin. "Witches first."
Eyes shut tight, he stared at the back of his closed eyelids and watched the obscure swirls that always formed there. You know the ones? Blues and reds and purples, vibrating shapes that flickered in and out of view on a red-black-white background. Static.
Moon. She said, and in his head, he answered. What's up, Fey. Fuck off.
I want chips and queso, She said, and he said, And I want Peri to make me her blushing bride but life isn't fuckin' fair like that, Fey.
Take me to Walmart! She said, and, seated in a far part of his brain surrounded by the multicolored swirls, he scrunched up his nose. Can't believe I raised you to think anything other than Trader Joe's is acceptable.
All of this, as the fully awake boy breathed steadily like the sleeping beauty he was pretending to be, was obviously pointing towards his reluctance to accept her request. He had shit to do tomorrow, he had to be up early, and the mere concept of an hour's sleep made his mouth water-- so, no Walmart. As much as it pained him to be the Bad Cop, he wasn't gonna' open his eyes. She could shake him all she wanted there wasn't a ch-- "Bast?"
That asshole was gonna' give in and bring her. As much as he liked to act like a cold fish, Moon knew a soft side for kids when he saw one and that guy was giving him a run for his money as the Cool Older Brother of the Observatory. "You think he's gonna' bring you? He's probably got himself shoulders deep in--" Pumbaa, not in front of the kids. "Latin literature."
So he's hesitant, and slightly cynical, but then his brain starts providing him with the many wonderful ways they can wake the dark haired boy from his slumber -- if he wasn't already, ahem, preoccupied -- and Moon's propelling himself out of the bed at lightning speed. "Fine. But only 'cause I'm cool like that. And I want Sour Patch Kids."
He stumbles through the hallways with Fey, pulling on his socks and obnoxious Rafiki slippers on the way until they're outside the Astral Seraph's door. He jiggles the handle, expecting it to be open, but when it proves anything but, he huffs a dramatic sigh and throws his eyes to the sky. "What kinda' weirdo actually uses these locks?" He says, once he's dropped to his knees with his trusty bobby pin and worked the lock with petty criminal fingers until there's a dramatic click and it slides open. Clearly chuffed with himself, the boy stands back and holds out an arm out towards the door, face stapled with a stupid, painfully sleep-deprived grin. "Witches first."