witchoftheflesh: (Looking - Head Bowed Closeup)
2025-03-29 11:11 am

A Large House In New Jersey, Saturday

Adrian dipped the towel into a basin full of cool water, heavily scented with herbs, wrung it just dry enough that it wouldn't drip, and placed it on her lower abdomen. There was a folded washcloth on her forehead, another tucked under her neck and behind her knees, and draped over her side, held in place by her arms. Normally, he'd wipe her body down with cooling infusions, but he was trying to disturb her body's lamia as little as possible, and so had to settle for placing cool towels against what his mother called 'hot spots' and hope that helped bring her fever down instead. The remains of a mug of nourishing broth rested on the nightstand; he was careful to not to feed her too much at a time, so she wouldn't choke. His own bowl rested beside it, still steaming, a small enchantments on the bowl itself to keep the contents warm while it waited for him to finish up with her.


"You know, Pam, any time you wanted to wake up would be okay by me," he said, voice low and calm and conversational. "I'm trying to give you time to work through this on your own, but if you're still comatose on Monday, I'm going to have to start using actual magic, and I'm not sure I'm ready to pull the scales off these women's eyes and have them declare my Grove should be the next holistic retreat." Dip. Wring. Place. "I know you can do this, Pam. You're one of the strongest people I know. And I know, I know. Everything in its own time. I'm trying to be patient, but you've got me worried." Dip. Wring. Place.

Eventually, he ran out of towels and retreated back to the chair, sinking into it with a soft groan. He reached for his soup by rote; he didn't feel hungry, but he knew he had to replenish the energy he was spending on her, and food was easier than sleep. He held the bowl for a few minutes, letting the warmth of it sink into his hands. "Come on, Pam," he murmured. "Don't make me start with threats. I've got some single-user plastic packaging right here and I'm not afraid to use it."

[For the unconscious one and SP! NFB for distance]
witchoftheflesh: Colin O'Donoghue as Hook from OUaT (Action - Walking Sunglasses Casual)
2024-08-26 03:07 am

BWI Airport, Monday Afternoon

The massive black cat crouched inside his plastic carry crate, fluffy tail lashing with indignity. "I can't believe you stuck me in the middle seat."

"Would you rather I carried you in my lap?" asked the black-dressed man sitting in the window seat beside him. "And keep it down. Normal cats don't talk, remember?"

The cat lowered his voice to an angry hiss, which wasn't much of an improvement. "I'd rather not be on this flying death contraption in the first place. There's no anti-falling ward, no safety charms, no magic of any sort! We're just hurtling through the air in a metal cylinder powered by explosions." He turned his green-eyed glare on the happy family sitting across the aisle. "I'm amazed there are any scalies left if this is how they travel."

Don't be rude, Boston )

"Did she hire a bodyguard out of an abundance of caution or because she...?" Boston asked from his carrier.

"Cute that you think Aunt Muriel has ever given me a straight answer in my entire life," the witch snorted as he slid the phone back into his pocket. "Now be quiet. I can't do a Nevermind while walking, and this place is packed." The cat grumbled but didn't say another recognizable word as the witch began marching down the disembarkation tunnel toward the sunny, crowded airport terminal. Time to find a bodyguard with a sign. "Could have given me a little more of a description, Aunt Muriel," he muttered.

And just like that, his phone chimed with an incoming text. He dug it back out of his pocket and saw the message was just a phone number and a name. Yelena Belova.

[Adapted from Chapter 1 of Hell For Hire by Rachel Aaron. NFB for off-island, and for the grumpy Russian babysitter bodyguard.]