Picturing Rumi in her the guest bedroom of Celine's apartment (guest bedroom because she's an adult now and Celine has no need to keep a bed made and ready for her ward), hair still damp from her shower and wearing one of Celine's tank tops, absolutely miserable.
"This would be so much easier if I could tell them," she sighs under the drone of the fan whirring away next to the bed, feeling the patterns burn on her arm.
Picturing Celine seated on the edge of the guest Rumi's bed (Rumi's bed because a space for Rumi in her dwellings is as essential as walls or a roof), passing her daughter ward a bottle of water, absolutely miserable.
"I know, but you can't," she murmurs as she tries not to think of starlight weapons and the Hunters she trained too well, the patterns smoldering in her periphery. "Just...turn up the AC. And take more water breaks, whether or not you think you need one. Set a timer."
And it's what they do; what else can they do?
Picturing Mira and Zoey curled on the couch in their penthouse, not watching the program chattering away on the television, letting the pints of ice cream they're poking at melt in their hands, absolutely miserable.
"She's going to land her stubborn ass in the hospital one day," Mira mutters darkly, the ice cream pint sweating bullets as she clenches it.
"We can't keep pushing her," Zoey muses- pleads, really, looking at Mira with big watery eyes. "She's...you know how she is about her turtlenecks."
"Yeah. She wants to be buried in one. Which will happen sooner rather than later if she keeps this up." Mira snorts, then instantly regrets the comment when Zoey's eyes fill almost to the point of tears.
"Maybe we just...turn up the AC?" Zoey suggests hopefully, desperately. "Schedule more water breaks? Say they're for us? She- she can't run choreo without us, right?"
And it's what they do; what else can they do?
They're all grateful when the heat wave breaks.
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