Well there was a prospect she didn't relish. Would it be as painful and unpleasant as actually giving birth? She thought it unlikely but that didn't mean she particularly wanted to find out for herself. If only she could demand he test it first, not that she couldn't but it would hardly prove its efficacy on a man.

Tig toyed with the stopper of the vial between her fingertips. What if it didn't work? What if it worked too well? It wouldn't be the first time she'd faced death but it would certainly be the first time it was entirely voluntary. She clenched her jaw as she weighed up her options again.

In a matter of seconds she made up her mind. Tig uncorked the vial and downed the whole thing in one hasty gulp. She threw the empty vial forcefully at the ground so that it smashed for dramatic effect. "You'd better be prepared in case I bleed out, or it doesn't work!" He'd clearly been hoping she'd take it over breakfast so if he wasn't already prepared then he was an idiot. "How long do I have?"

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The way she'd said you'd better be prepared, it sounded as though she was planning on just staying here in his study while the entire process occurred, which was certainly not something he'd anticipated. He wasn't involved in the labor process when there were actual viable children being produced, and he certainly didn't have any desire to be privy to something so unappealing just to... what? Provide some sort of comfort? He was not a particularly comforting person. He couldn't imagine why she would want to stay here with him, unless it was just because she knew he'd prefer if she left.

As far as how long it would take, though, he didn't have any very good answer. "It... depends," he said with an uncertain shrug. "On a lot of things, from what I gather. A lot of things that can't be predicted." Much like real labor, in that sense. What he'd read had talked about all sorts of intricacies of female anatomy that he had no particular desire to become an expert in, but that was the gist of it: it depends.

"And how long it takes depends, too," he added. "If I were you, I'd retire to the bedroom for the rest of the day, or until it's over. Or a hot bath, or something."

  

Shockingly she wasn't satisfied with the answer she received. It depends was hardly useful, not that he could truthfully say anything else if that really was the case. "Thank you ever so much for your insightful suggestions," the sarcasm was palpable, "it's a shame you couldn't be so helpful with the actual answer to my question." Waiting required patience and that was not something Tig had in abundance. If she'd waited to drink the potion until she'd asked such a question she might well have waited until bed time and slept through the waiting part instead. "I had thought I might have it out of the way before dinner and whatever else I might've wanted to do this afternoon but I guess not!" She folded her arms across her chest and glowered at him. If he was going to ruin her day, how might she ruin his in return? "I hope you've at least been slightly less useless preparing for the worst and know what you'll do if it does go wrong or does your incompetence have no limit?" It suddenly dawned on her that the words coming out of her mouth were far more abusive than they ordinarily would be considering how little provocation she'd received.

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She was being incendiary now, and he didn't have to put up with this sort of drivel from her. The words Antigone was choosing were intentionally inflammatory, he knew; she wanted to get him angry, but was shooting blindly in the dark instead of choosing her target with care. There was no truth to her accusations, because he had put a good deal of time and effort into this, whether she decided to appreciate it or not. She was in no danger — or at least, no more danger than she was in at any previous point, simply by virtue of carrying a pregnancy which was only potentially viable.

"I'm not clearing my schedule for the afternoon," he said coldly. "So if something goes wrong, I suppose you'll just die."

  

Tig clenched her hands into tight fists. It was only as she fought against her worsening temper and the urge to make a spectacle of herself that she realized that she was in pain. It wasn't anything serious yet but it was enough to make her highly irritable. Tig was only further annoyed by her own self-perceived weakness. Naturally the best balm for this was directing her fury at her husband. "You first," she spat viciously. "To hell with your schedule!" She hoped somehow that he'd be able to tell from the way she was looking at him that she wanted nothing more than to bludgeon him with a heavy object but that she was opting instead to furiously retreat from his study before the cramping she felt progressed and reduced her to a pathetic mess.

After a brief pause, she retreated backwards towards the door and only at the last second turned her back on him to actually walk through it and leave.

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