Dilena: Rrrghh. Arrrr. Yrrr.
Dilena tries to get her eyes unstuck, fails.
Portia groans as Dilena's efforts rock the bed.
Dilena rolls off the bed, goes in search of water to apply internally and externally.
Portia turns her head, then gasps and holds very, very still.
Dilena pauses in her ablutions.
Portia carefully raises a hand to her head.
Dilena fumbles for the willow-bark extract, takes some, returns to the bed, and hands it to Portia.
Portia opens her eyes, sees the promised aid, and carefully levers herself to a more-or-less sitting position.
Dilena climbs back in the bed and tries to go back to sleep, or unconsciousness, or whatever it is.
Portia swallows the tea. Her eyes widen in ~~ alarm ~~ as her stomach objects.
Portia clutches her belly, swallowing as she tries to keep the tea where it can do some good.
Portia: Whurs t' basin?
Dilena is apparently made of sterner stuff. She grabs the chamber pot from next to the bed and hands it over too.
Portia is catastrophically sick into it.
Dilena holds her nose and waits it out.
Portia groans, then winces again as Luanna starts howling her objections to being awakened in such an unceremonious manner.
Dilena snatches her infant out of the cradle and presses her to the breast, but since Luanna is also hung over it doesn't help that much.
Portia covers the chamber pot and sets it under the bed. She's feeling less nauseous, which means she can concentrate on the pain in her head.
Portia: Oh, my. I have an entirely new sympathy for my beast of a husband.
Dilena: Don' be st'pid. He brings it on h'mself. So'd we.
Portia: Oh, I'm not pretending any different. It's just -- I can see how feeling like this would make one very short-tempered indeed.
Dilena strokes Portia's cheek.
Dilena: M'too outa it to be sh'rt-tempered.
Portia: You're a better woman than me, then, but we knew that.
Dilena laughs, clutches her head.
Portia: Was it the dark beer or the light, do you think?
Dilena: It was the beer. All the beer. The too much beer. Did we dance?
Portia tries to remember.
Portia: I think so. My feet have a blister.
Dilena: Huh. Okay. Musta been good, then.
Portia: We were celebrating. Your donation, I think.
Dilena: Def'nitely. Hope we didn' blow it all in one day.
Portia looks a little alarmed.
Portia: Did we? We needed the money.
Dilena: Don' think so. Thassa lotta beer.
Portia sags in ~~ relief ~~.
Portia: Good. Luanna's growing, and she'll need new clothes soon. Want to save the necklaces for a rainy day.
Portia cudgels her brain, trying to remember whether she showed them to Dilena.
Portia: I brought m' jewels. Figured I'd earned 'em.
Dilena: Rght. Jwls.
Dilena is keeping her eyes shut so she doesn't have to see anything moving.
Portia: For 'mergencies.
Dilena decides to bite the bullet, get up again, and put the teakettle on to make trin. She checks her bag on the way there, and is reassured by the fat wad of colorful bills still in it.
Dilena: Money's okay.
Portia groans as her stomach gives another heave.
Portia: Good. Should've had more sense. Was fun, though. Never allowed t' do something like that before.
Dilena: Me neither. Good to have one big blowout. And more money should be coming in every month now.
Dilena starts the trin steeping.
Portia: We'll need it, with t' other baby coming. We'll have to be responsible and all that.
Portia tries a smile.
Portia: Better take advantage of our carefree weeks while we can.
Dilena: Oh yeah. Carefree being a r'lative term.
Dilena smiles, hoping to trigger a real smile from her wife.
Portia: There's a lot to be said for relatives. Has to be said because they won't let you print it...
Portia: The relatives you choose are the ones for me. You and Luanna are more my family than my parents ever were.
Dilena: I choose you, mostly. An' Luanna and Newbay, I mean New Baby.
Portia: Newbay. I like that. Or maybe Hope, if it's another girl?
Dilena: Hope is good. Got plenty of that.
Dilena gingerly offers Portia a hug.
Portia squeezes gently.
Portia: Does your head hurt as much as mine?
Dilena tries to focus on this question, which is subtle.
Dilena: Don't think so. Think you got hit harder, period.
Portia: Remind me of that, next time we celebrate. A little less beer would probably be smart. Or maybe a lot less beer.
Dilena: Okay, will do.
Dilena goes to rescue the forgotten trin and pours two cups.
Portia: Yes, please. My stomach's settled a bit.
Dilena hands over one and sips on the other.
Dilena: Good stuff.
Dilena raises the cup like last night's steins.
Dilena: To freedom!
Portia raises her own cup to tap Dilena's.
Portia: To freedom!
Portia sips gingerly.
Dilena: Y'know what?
Dilena: I don't think we're going to work today. Either of us.
Portia thinks about that for a moment.
Portia: Prob'ly not. We'd make the Simes sick. We could wash dishes, I guess.
Dilena: Nnnnnnnn. I don' think so. Too many loud sounds.
Portia winces at the thought.
Portia: Yr' right. Better tell the boss.
Dilena: How? Not sure I can make it down the stairs.
Portia: Me neither. Not yet. Gotta do it soon. Chamber pot needs emptying.
Dilena: There is that. Anyhow, do we need these jobs?
Dilena tries to count in her head, then resorts to her fingers.
Portia: Think so. Gotta think of the kids.
Dilena: Ri'. But if ... Naah.
Dilena gives up arithmetic by any means as just too hard today.
Dilena: Well, we might get fired. So gotta have plan.
Portia: Grovel? Promise not to do it again?
Dilena makes a thumbs-up gesture.
Dilena: Grovel! Good. Grovel is good.
Portia: We gotta plan, then. That's enough work for today.
Dilena: Okay today.
Dilena finishes the trin and goes back to bed, ignoring the smell from the chamber pot.
Portia settles down next to her wife.