"Or maybe stick the arrow in her head," Carys said, sounding very much like a five-year-old who'd been sentenced to the corner for hitting her sister. Oh, what a fond memory. She frowned over the rim of her butterbeer glass as she took a long drink; it had been one of the few things during that she'd been able to stomach. If she wasn't a picky eater before, she was definitely a notorious one now. It wasn't as if she didn't want to eat, because she always felt hungry, but it felt like if it wasn't steak pizza from the tiny restaurant in Tutshill, she couldn't stomach it. What was this kid on, anyway?
Other than her weird eating behaviours (as her mood swings were pretty normal beforehand) and the no-fly zone she'd been struck with, Carys had done a pretty good job at not letting this pregnancy change her life. She wasn't constantly talking about the baby, and when the baby was due, and what the baby will be named, and who will he look like and all that new mother nonsense that she had no idea about. She and Drake had never been traditional, so why start now?
Except when he did little things like get all husband-like and try to relax her, and touch her gently, it made her head get all dizzy. Not in the bad way that she was used to, but in a new way that she was still getting used to. It was hard to accept that someone cared for her in the way she knew Drake did. Carys smirked up at him and poked the metal chest plate Drake begrudgingly wore.
"When was the last time you went trick or treating?" she mused, tilting her head as her finger traced the fake abs. Funny, she could just take this costume off and have her hands go over the real thing and that was much more entertaining.
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