WHEN: August 14, 2022; Sunday morning
WHERE: Beneath a bridge
WHO: @orlaithrose
“Φάε σκατά,” she cursed loudly. Eat shit. With a crunch and a groan she rolled over in the silt and pebbles that lined the riverside splitting fae from vampire territory. She felt every part a troll, sleeping beneath the bridge like this and being awoken in such a mood. “Some of us are trying to sleep here.” And the others, on their mats or in their weatherworn tents, seemed to be succeeding despite the racket.
It wasn’t as if the sleep had been any good, or restful. Fable had already accepted that tonight she’d need to find alternative accommodation by any means necessary. Still, she wasn’t exactly eager to wake up today and get on with it. Not when there was still some cool morning left to sleep in some comfort to, some cool morning that was being interrupted by one rude woman and her incessant—
“Oh no.” Fable knew that sound. The panting, the shallow breaths in and long exhales out, the grinding out of grunts and groans through grit teeth. “Alectryon above,” she whispered, “this bitch is having a baby.”
And it looked like Fable was going to have to do something about it. Great. She took a moment to close her eyes, still pretending she might not help. Fable prayed, or sort of complained at her god, can’t you send someone else to do this? But the question was hardly out before she was going to the woman’s side. She had faith, but more often than not she knew faith really meant doing it yourself anyway.
“Keep breathing.” It wasn’t exactly comforting. “I have done this before.”
The pregnant woman—werewolf, Fable suspected—yelled out, “Well I haven’t!”
“Good,” it wasn’t a very good time for joking, but, “then you will not know if I mess up.” This was met with a growl, but Fable wasn’t deterred. Actually, she’d delivered a surprising amount of babies. But she didn’t care to talk about that.