Does Aymeric, too, ever stop and wonder about the life choices that led to them keeping kupo nuts on hand by the bushel for the purpose of appeasing moogles? Not that Ariane is complaining; for all that the little fuzzballs can be a nuisance at times, they're just irresistibly cute, and:

"They've become quite the artisans," she remarks, examining another one of the baskets. How did they manage such a strong, close weave with those stubby little paws? "I'm rather proud of the little fellows, aren't you?"

She holds the basket up in line with the far windowsill, humming thoughtfully. Perhaps if she lines a few up over there... and those wildflowers growing up by Four Arms would go beautifully with the color of the ribbons... yes, perfect. Ariane gives a satisfied nod.

For now, though, she gathers them up to pile on the dining table. Decorating can wait. Her beloved needs a good long rest, and she has a mind to join him.

(Morning...)

Ariane knows she was dreaming a moment ago, but the details are already faded into cobweb tatters, leaving only a brief and disorienting feeling that she ought to have wings. She blinks blearily, vaguely bemused to find herself with her arms wrapped about his legs, using his belly as an awkward pillow. That wasn't at all where she was when she fell asleep...

Subtle movement beneath her cheek. The eggs shifting again? Ariane's lips curve into a small smile. Her eggs. She turns her head slightly to plant a kiss upon his warm scales.

"Morning, 'm'ric," she mumbles, then something that might be "my love" but blends into a yawn. "You awake?"