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Post by Emma Lawrence on Jun 18, 2010 22:49:50 GMT -5
Time was passing quickly nowadays. Oliver was growing up in the blink of an eye, even Maura was bigger than she'd remembered what seemed to be just yesterday. She wanted to hold that little baby girl in her arms again, but now she was all but spilling over her hold, and the boy was pulling at independence faster than she could chase him. Sooner or later she was going to have to tell him about his father--but God, she couldn't even go there yet with herself. If she couldn't come to terms with the truth in her own mind, it wasn't time for Oliver to know. Later, when he was old enough to understand. When she and Cian had settled down again, when Azrael was finally out of her life, for good this time. Oliver ran ahead, as had come the habit of late, and soon she took up a jog after him, making sure he didn't veer out of sight. Eventually this developed into a game of tag of sorts, and somehow they ended up sprawling in the grass, her kissing his neck feverishly just to hear the sweet sound of his pure, eradic laughter. Emma loved that laugh--innocent, with no hint of strain or falsehood. He laughed because he was happy, not because he had to. And that was what fulfilled her. ((Sorry, shitty.)) |
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Post by Lena on Jun 18, 2010 23:03:36 GMT -5
Lena sat on that bench shaking horribly. She could barely hold the book up in her pale weak hands. Her and Jude had been fighting all week, and it wasn't even over anything important. She tried to blame it on the hormones, but some of the things she yelled at him for didn't even make any sense. Looking down at the images of all the babies and happy mothers made her sick. Pregnancy wasn't happy. It was horrible. There were aches everywhere on her body. She was always sick to her stomach. Her hormones were haywire. And the boy she was in love with is mostly freaked out. What was she going to do? if she can't keep it together just carrying the baby in her womb, how could she take care of it when she was holding it in her arms? Hearing a chorus of laughter she looked up to see a young woman and a small boy laying in the grass. The woman didn't look to be old at all, yet that seemed to be her son. She shook the thought. It could be her little brother? Why did everything have to be about children? Her eyes began to water and she wanted to pull her hair out. Why? Why did everything have to be coming at her so fast. She managed to drop the book as her eyes began over flowing with tears. All of this was just so confusing. She had no help at all. |
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Post by Emma Lawrence on Jul 13, 2010 20:29:19 GMT -5
Finally pitching up to sit right, she kept an alert eye on Oliver as he wandered about, exploring his surroundings like an adventurous pirate, meanwhile she was looking around at her own area. Now that everything had calmed from the Hell escipade, people could enjoy life again--progress forward, move on, keep up, hold fast. With every new glance there was a sudden flush of happiness, of renewed hope. Life was blooming again, flourishing, and developing nicely, just as it should in uphoria.
Something else, however, was marring this view. Her empathy tremored underneath the grave upset. Eyes narrowing in discomfort as she tried to indentify the source of the mourning, she darting her gaze about, trying to detect the possible threat, needing to know if she had to grab Oliver and get out of here. More often than not, she'd begun to realize, that when she sensed something dangerous, it was mutant-related. Meaning that she and Oliver would try to be exterminated. What a strange way of living.
But her sense brought her to a girl somewhat beyond the grass, sobbing once into the pages of a book, but that soon fell to the ground. Immediately leaping to her motherly instincts, she jumped to her feet, making sure to keep a steady sense on Oliver as she approached the distressed woman.
"Are you all right?" she asked tenderly, tilting her head to make eye contact with her, reaching to put a hand on her shoulder.
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