shelley_winters | (no subject)

(no subject)

The dress had taken ages to get off. Loira was asleep by the time they arrived - or probably was - and Shelley would have felt guilty calling for her. The makeup had taken a good while to remove, too - even now she's not certain that faint smudges just under her eyes do not still remain - her lips are definitely still darker than normal.

Sitting crosslegged on her bed, she drags the brush through her hair again, slowly, enjoying the feel of having it loose after keeping it up so long. The thin white linen of her nightdress feels nice, too, loose and cool after the slightly restricting dress.

That's over with, then. Terrifying and humiliating and uncomfortable, but done with.

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From the shadows of the room, Ishamael emerged carrying a small metal tray. He had changed as well into a loose-fitting white dressing gown. An array of sandwiches of several varieties were carefully laid out on the tray. Slowly, he walked towards Shelley.

"I thought that you might be hungry."

Shelley almost falls off the bed with the speed she turns around. She glares at him warily, clutching the hairbrush almost like a weapon.

"Is there something wrong with the door?" she asks haughtily.

Ishamael shrugged indifferently as he set the tray of sandwiches down on the endtable before glancing over at the door. That seemed a very odd thing to ask. So he commented quietly, and truthfully.

"I do not know. I did not use it."

Shelley throws the hairbrush at him.

The hairbrush stopped and hung in mid-air halfway between Ishamael and Shelley. A short derisive chuckle as Ishamael glanced over at Shelley. What a puerile gesture.

"Sandwich?"

"No."

It's second nature by now, just to refuse. Her glare transfers briefly to the brush hanging in midair, almost accusing it of not hitting him when he deserves it on so very many levels. Then it is back on him full force.

"Go away."

Ignoring both her glare and her comment, Ishamael walked over to the cabinet on the right side. A sharp, cool glance over his shoulder as he inquired quietly of her.

"Hot chocolate, perhaps?"

"No."

She folds her arms angrily. How dare he just-?

It's better than being afraid, which she can't help, but she can help showing it.

"I said go away."

A glance over to her. Calmly, he walked over to her, holding his face just a few inches from hers. A piercing blue-eyed stare as he whispered softly to her.

"Do you really want me to go? After all, I am someone to talk with, to converse with."

Shelley twitches back, shifting unconsciously into an easier position to run from him if he moves suddenly.

"Yes. I hate you, and I want to go to sleep."

A small smile from Ishamael as he leaned forward a bit more. His hands placing themselves firmly on the bed. One of his hands found hers and gently laid over it.

"Tell me honestly. Will you be able to sleep or will you spend the early morning hours wandering about or crying?"

She pulls her hand out from under his a little more violently than strictly necessary, and shifts back again, seeking to keep a decent distance between them.

"It doesn't matter, so long as you're not here."

His fingers gently stroked across her cheek. A small, if confident smile on her face. His voice was low and soft.

"I think you like the fear... It is an excuse, a wall."

A shorter, darker chuckle.

"That way it is easy to keep from hearing that little voice that says 'Yes'."

Her eyes widen slightly before her face twists and she slaps him, hard. He's mad, and she's shaking a little too much as she pulls back, throat tight with anger or fear, or both.

"Get out!"

His face tightened slightly before a small smile blossomed on his face. If that is how she wished to play...

"As you wish, my lady."

With a light laugh, he kissed her on the cheek and then vanished. The room was still and silent.

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