Entry tags:
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]
"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]