Tri-Writing Tournament over thingie at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Forum.
Prompt: Candid Day in Summer
Character: Adrian, 6th Year, Thunderbird
Word Count: 794
Warnings: cheesiness and lots of mistakes, unbeta'd.
Adrian
You can't sleep.
You can't sleep because every time you close your eyes your Tigger quivers and rocks and punches and kicks and hiccups. You place your hand on your belly – your big belly – Si kisses it every morning and night since your complaints about its size. His soppy excuse is "The baby likes it."
Si.
Your ring catches moonlight, glinting, as your hand crawls across the covers to poke him in the side. A fearsome sound like a jackhammer and a need to breathe escapes him, he swats your hand away as he turns over.
You roll your eyes.
Quiver. Rock. Punch. Hiccup. Twist. Turn. A constant tickle inside your belly that won't stop anytime soon.
"I'm up, I'm up," you whisper, irritation twists with fondness. Your feet swing to the side, you grimace at the cold wooden floors. You curse Si for not putting down carpet even when it was you that said it would ruin the look.
Tigger slows when you creep downstairs, a burble here and there, while you try to make as little noise as possible. Your first stop is the kitchen. The freezer specifically, you do linger on what's attached to the refrigerator door. You need to make more pamphlets in darker blue and change the font into something classier. You don't bother with a bowl as you take out Blue Bunny's Peanut Butter Panic.
You go into the living room and sag on the couch, a cushion is pushed under your back. The windows are cracked open to let the cool summer breeze in. You turn the TV on, then, you press mute. Your feet prop up high on the pillow lift from earlier. Your ankles thank you, they've gotten so swollen…
You look inside of the Blue Bunny container. A deep frown tugs on your lips; it's already half-empty. Si just got you some. "And he'll get more if he knows what's good for him," you mumble.
You go to scoop out– you've forgotten your spoon! How could you? You don't want to get up but you can't eat ice-cream spoonless, you wish it would just appear. You glare at your ice-cream… oh, there it is!
A spoon has appeared before you. Like magic. You chuckle: like magic. Pfft.
You sink back down, eating your ice cream. You savor the taste of smooth vanilla and the zest of peanut butter. It has been your saving grace throughout this pregnancy, but maybe – you place a single hand on your belly as if to calm the rambunctious movement – it wasn't such a good late night snack.
"You have my great taste and energy, Tigger," you laugh. "Already so unlike Si; I betcha you'll be pretty like him though. My pretty boy."
Yes. You can see him now, so sweet and perfect in your arms instead of playing soccer in your innards. You set the ice cream on the floor, licking your lips.
"I've thought of a few baby names since we're in the clear. A little more than two months and we'll both be free.
"Si wants to name you after a book character: Dorian, Gatsby, Robinson Crusoe, Ishmael. He has a whole list of these ridiculous names and he's certain I'll bend with one." You snort. Tigger has gone quiet and you think it's because of these horrible names that he's stunned, he senses his social suicide if he were given such monikers.
"Don't worry. I get final say and he gets your middle name. Everyone wins." You rub little circles against your belly. "I like Sebastian, Alistair, Damian, or… Elias, if he gives us his blessing."
Tigger doesn't move. It's possible he's sleeping or maybe he has developed his father's trait of being irritatingly quiet when things don't go his way. You reach down and pull your ice cream back up, it's starting to get runny, but ice cream is ice cream. You take a small bite, thinking.
"If you had been a girl I think I woulda liked Emma or Alexandria."
You take a bigger bite, humming as you attempt to stuff another scoop in your mouth. "Those two or Adrian…ghuahh!"
You nearly choke on the spoon as Tigger is reinvigorated. He kicks. He punches. He burbles. He hiccups. He twists. He turns. It feels like thousands of electric sparks zap inside you with each movement and it makes you smile. You wait a full minute before he calms down and still there's a tingle in your fingers.
If that isn't a sign, you don't know what is.
You snicker. "You really are like me– your Momma. Always gotta have your own way. I won't fold to you as easily when you come out, you hear me, but I can make an exception. Okay? Adrian."