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Post by Jenny on Jul 27, 2007 12:51:52 GMT -5
'I'm dying,' she threw a hand up to her forehead over-dramatically. Jerome, of course, was instantly worried that she might be, literally, dying.
'How many fingers am I holding up?' he demanded quickly. She just shoved his hand away from her face.
'Stop it, the movement is mkaing me feel awful again,' she complained.
'I'll get you a glass of water.'
'I don't think that's advisable.'
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Post by Hanna Squalor on Jul 30, 2007 8:44:57 GMT -5
"I'm freezing."
"Right blankets..." Jerome sped off and returned with a bed spread that was pink. He wrapped the thick blanket around her, and sat on the edge of the bath tub.
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Post by Jenny on Jul 30, 2007 15:09:43 GMT -5
'How do you feel now?' he asked softly. She was pale, paler than he'd ever seen her, her black hair an even deeper contrast against the white of her face and neck.
She smiled, pulling the blankets closer around herself.
'Dreadful.'
'Ah. Right.'
Jerome twiddled his thumbs, reaching across to touch her cheek softly.
'Maybe some of the salmon was a bit weird,' he said quietly. 'Maybe that's what's made you ill.'
'Maybe I drank too much champagne too quickly.'
Jerome shrugged. 'No. What did you have, a glass? Two?'
She shrugged. He made her stand up after a while, and took her arm to lead her back to bed and tucking her in when they got there, grabbing a few extra blankets to make her warmer and stop her shivering so weirdly.
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Post by Hanna Squalor on Jul 30, 2007 18:14:00 GMT -5
Esme was still ill by the time the first light of morning shone through the large glass penthouse windows. They had poured over every snack food that was available at the ball last night and they had narrowed it down to salmon, champagne or something that the caterer had invented.
She had stopped getting sick but she was still shivering. Jerome was making a fuss. He had boiled three pots of tea and given her many different water bottles, making sure his wife wasn't about to die on him.
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Post by Jenny on Jul 31, 2007 13:55:26 GMT -5
Jerome looked gradually more exhausted as the morning went on. He made a light breakfast for the two of them, which his wife sniffed and took a polite bite of before leaving the rest.
He'd forced her to take her temperature various times throughout the night and morning, and every time it had been too high. It was the same this time, the electric thermometer beeping madly to indicate illness.
Jerome rubbed his eyes tiredly, and came back into the room with a phone, searching through the phonebook with exhausted eyes.
'What are you looking for?' she asked softly, wrapped in thick layers of wool as defence against the imaginary cold.
'Your work phone number. So I can tell tham you aren't coming in.' he explained.
She took the phone off him. 'I'm not six years old.'
He touched her cheek briefly, affectionately. 'But you're sick.'
She just smiled, dialing the number into the phone and dreading hearing one of her work colleagues on the other end.
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Post by Hanna Squalor on Jul 31, 2007 17:35:29 GMT -5
She was greeted with a cough. "Hello, Poe's direct line, how may I help you?"
"Esme Squalor calling. I'm ill. I won't be in."
"Mrs Squalor! I wish you *cough* *cough* *cough* well. Good bye now, you rest."
He hung up.
"Apparently he was busy. But I'm free now. Jerome darling...."
"Yes?"
"Would you mind getting me some toast with a cup of tea? I'm hungry now." She said quietly, resting her head on the pillow and allowing her eyelids to shut.
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Post by Jenny on Aug 1, 2007 15:43:26 GMT -5
Jerome shuffled away obediently to make her some toast and fell asleep instantly at the kitchen table. Only when his wife smelled burning from their room from the toaster did she wander in to find Jerome slumped over the table, fast asleep.
She tried to de-flame the toaster and take out the piles of ash that were the toast he'd made her before she went to sit opposite Jerome, who was snoring lightly. She made herself an orange juice and drank it slowly, shaking his shoulder until he started to wake up.
'Mmmm?' he mumbled.
'You're in the kitchen,' she told him softly.
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Post by Hanna Squalor on Aug 2, 2007 12:32:59 GMT -5
"Toast....." he mumbled. "Oh right! the Toast! Damn. I'm sorry darling." He said after seeing the piles of ash on the counter.
"It's okay. I'm okay. You didn't burn down the building or anything."
"I hope I would have woeken up, had the kitchen been on fire."
"I doubt it. I've been trying to wake you up for three minutes." She laughed.
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Post by Jenny on Aug 2, 2007 12:47:33 GMT -5
Jerome rubbed his eyes tiredly before sitting up. 'I'll make you some more.'
'Don't worry. I've lost my appetite somewhat.' she said, watching as Jerome sat down again. She checked a clock and gasped. 'It's midday! How can it be midday?'
'We never slept,' Jerome mumbled. 'It could be any time for all I knew.'
Esmé finally took pity on her husband who was falling asleep at the drop of a hat. 'You can go sleep for a while if you want,' she said sweetly. 'I'm alright now. Cold, but fine.'
Before Jerome could even drag himself off to bed, the phone rang. He fetched it quickly and answered it somewhat unenthusiastically.
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Post by Hanna Squalor on Aug 2, 2007 15:10:37 GMT -5
"Hey." Jerome said.
"Why hello is this Mr. Squalor speaking?" Asked a cheery voice from the other end. Jerome could practically see the grin on the person's face.
"Yes. Who is this?" He asked.
Esme was walking in the direction of a bathroom and he was worried until he heard the water running a bath.
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Post by Jenny on Aug 2, 2007 15:49:50 GMT -5
(*considers* umm...this is so boring of me...)
'Oh, it's Roger,' the voice confirmed, still sounding almost oddly cheerful for the personality of the man Jerome knew.
'Oh. Hello.' It was obvious Jerome was either exhausted or not having a good day. At all.
'Yes. I don't suppose I could talk to Esmé at all, could I?'
Jerome's first thought was rather related to whether, really, his tailor ought to refer to his wife by her first name, but he quickly forgot it.
'I'll see.'
He tried to find which bathroom she was in, eventually catching her sitting at the side of a bath and shoved the phone at her.
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Post by Hanna Squalor on Aug 3, 2007 19:55:27 GMT -5
Esme was filling the tub when he came in. "Hello?" she asked into the phone. And she smiled when she heard the voice. "Yes make it in pink. Turquiose would trash it. "
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Post by Jenny on Aug 4, 2007 5:24:28 GMT -5
'Dusky pink? Light pink?' Roger quizzed over the phone.
Esmé sighed. 'I'm ill. Can't you make these decisions on your own?' she laughed.
'No,' he chuckled. 'And it's for you, so it saves me a lot of time if you like it the first time round.'
She grinned. 'Why are you making me more dresses? You can't make them before we agree to pay for them.'
Roger coughed, and thought on his feet. 'When's your birthday?'
'April,' she said. Vaguely, she heard 'damn it'. 'It's October.'
'I know that.'
She smiled. 'You're very welcome to make me free dresses.'
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Post by Hanna Squalor on Aug 4, 2007 11:40:05 GMT -5
"Your husband will pay for them. I can't pass up the chance to make the most perfect dresses ever."
"Why are they perfect on me?"
"You have perfect proportions. Ideal model. I love you. Please mve into my store." He begged over dramatically.
"What are you going to do? dip me in wax?"
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Post by Jenny on Aug 4, 2007 11:45:04 GMT -5
There was a brief moment of silence.
'...That could be fun.'
'Roger!'
'Well, we'd have to make sure the wax wasn't too hot, of course, and--'
She just laughed, interrupting and glancing at Jerome.'I'm sure Jerome will pay for the new dress,' she said, and Jerome rolled his eyes and nodded. 'But I'm not so sure he'll leave his apartment and move into your store.'
'...I can deal with it if he stays where he is. You two can see each other at weekends,' Roger joked.
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