shelley_winters | (no subject)

(no subject)

Heat from the water soaks through her skin - real heat, not the strange almost burning of being healed. Shelley lies back reluctantly as he puts her gently down in the water, white foam thankfully covering the surface. One small hand grips the side tensely as the other splashes a moment, before bringing out the ridiculous scrap of gold-shimmering gauze, now sodden with water, and throwing it as hard as she can onto the floor.

It takes a shaky sigh as she turns her head away again before she glances back at Ishamael, noticing him more clearly than before. And more to the point, the fact that he is still here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ishamael sat nearby cross-legged as if nothing were the matter. She was far more decently attired clad in warm water and bubbles, than in Graendal's gauze and oil. Not that there was not something alluring about either. The scent of lavender contrasted the jasmine scent that hung in the air. It would take quite awhile for that to disappear given how much and how concentrated the oil had been.

Saying nothing, Ishamael sat there calmly not watching anything in particular.

Shelley swallows against a dry throat, lowering herself further into the water. Now the rest of her aches have dwindled, and her tears have stopped, she can feel how much it hurts. Does he mean to just... stay in here?

"Go away."

Ishamael shook his head and commented nonchalantly. The bathroom was particularly bright and white and Ishamael's voice was calm as he lied effortlessly. It made no difference really, and was rather inconvenient.

"Your history with baths is not particularly pristine. Besides, who else will scrub that oil and make-up off your back? Lanfear killed Loira."

Shelley goes white, sick with a sudden stabbing feeling of loss and guilt. Loira dead, just like that? Lanfear hadn't even thought to say a word, and...

Her face quietly crumples again, and she turns away, wishing she could leave the room.

Seeing her pain, Ishamael glanced off and commented quietly. It was going to be difficult replacing Loira. Trustworthy maids were in short supply and getting moreso by the day. Such was the way of things.

"I am sorry."

Shelley doesn't reply, instead slowly reaching up to splash warm water over her face. She mustn't forget. They kill people like it's nothing, and he's just like them. Worse. Her small voice is harsh, almost cracking.

"Please, go away."

Ishamael nodded as he rose to his feet. He had no intention of leaving, but he could at least provide the illusion of privacy. Brushing his black robe, stained with oil and make-up, with his hand, Ishamael turned to her.

"Use the panel when you are ready to get out or if you happen to need me."

Walking forward towards the door, he vanished from sight. The door slid open and then closed. Silently, he sat. Watching, waiting.

It takes a while to wash away the greasy feel from her skin, and the bath is tinged a cloudy flesh colour by the end. With a final sigh, Shelley sits up, wringing out her hair before she tries to pull herself out.

Its pathetic, she thinks bitterly, watching her arms shake, how much effort it takes to haul herself up and step over the edge. She almost falls before she grabs a towel and manages to wrap herself in it, and finally sits down to shake quietly, and try and regain some form of strength.

Amongst the shadows on the ceiling, above the glowbulbs, and above the painting of fish that hung on the wall, Ishamael sat hidden. With his back against the ceiling, he sat on the wall as if it were the floor. She was beautiful, though looking haggard. She had suffered much and it showed on her face and body.

Hidden in the darkness, he smiled as the bubbles dripped from her naked body. There was something alluring about the way the white foam dripped and slid across her small breasts. Dimly, he was aware the he licked his lips.

Slowly, she tucks the towel more firmly around her as she stands up, small face grimly determined. Leaning against the wall for support, she slowly makes her way to the door. She will not call him, she doesn't need him, she doesn't.

Her feet leave wet prints on the floor as she reaches for the keypad and tries to hold onto the towel at the same time, wobbling.

His face twisted slightly as she wobbled. If she fell, then he could hardly help her without exposing himself, at least from his current vantage point.

Frowning for a moment, Ishamael melted back into the shadows. The ceiling was now empty. The shadows flickered and distorted in the light. The slightest movement from a hanging glowbulb.

The door slides back, and she slips cautiously out, damp skin making her shiver in the rush of cool air. The room is lit, but she can see nobody nearby, so she heads for the next door out into the hall, using the wall and a table to catch herself from falling.

He could get in if he wanted, but she can lock the door in her room for a while, and hide there.

He has always been there to catch her when she falls.

From nowhere, as she slipped, his arms are around her. One of his hands resting behind her head. She retained her deathgrip on the towel, a shame. A soft smile barely visible through the curtain of dark hair that completely hid his bright blue eyes.

"...Careful."

Shelley hisses as her wet feet slip on the smooth stone, but louder when he catches her, out of nowhere. So much for hoping he might not see her leave. Clutching the towel, she can't push herself up, but she turns her face down and away, shoulders hunching automatically.

"L-let me up."

Gently, Ishamael placed her on her feet but left his hands on her bare shoulders to steady her. His voice is calm and matter-of-fact.

"Your room is still being cleaned after some of the horrors that were committed there, but some of your clothing articles are stored in here."

Shelley swallows, trying not to think of Loira dead, Abdiel crushed against the wall like it was nothing. She doesn't move any further away, but tries to shrug out from under his hands, eyes darting to the side as if hunted, and slowly shakes her head.

Releasing her, but standing nearby as if guarding against her falling again. His voice is soft and slightly sorrowful.

"Abdiel is buried out in the rose garden."

Her mouth tightens,small hands curling into trembling fists, but she says nothing. After a moment she nods, still not looking up. He was only a cat. Only a cat, but he needed her and he was all she had here that she loved, and it hurts.

A small quiet suggestion as he glanced off to the side. With a fluid movement of his hand, Ishamael brushed some of the black hair back from his face.

"We could go out and see it if it would help."

A silent pause, and she slowly shakes her head. It will only be ground. Seeing that can't change what happened. Any of it. The hand not clutching the towel close lifts to her head briefly, then nervously in front of her mouth, before curling uselessly above the other below her throat.

Ishamael nodded calmly as he walked away from her towards a panel. Pressing a few buttons on the lit console that brightened the room.

"As you like. I will have some tea sent in. You must be thirsty."

Shelley breathes out slowly as he walks away, reaching out to lean carefully against the wall. She feels so... exhausted, like any strength had summarily left her, but she doubts she will sleep well. Tea might be nice, she thinks vaguely. Her throat is dry, and her head feels almost taut, just stopping short of an ache.

After a few moments, a black and red clad servant stepped in and quickly set down a tray with a teapot and two cups down. Ishamael watched Shelley carefully as he poured two cups of tea, applying honey from a jar liberally to both cups.

"Here."

Taking the cup carefully in both hands, the girl slides awkwardly down the wall, curling her feet up under her, and leaning back for stability. She inhales the steam quietly, aware how empty she feels as she takes a sip of sweet tea, only the heat preventing her from gulping the liquid. She should have had some water in the batroom, perhaps, but getting to her room had seemed more important just then.

Rather delicately, Ishamael sat with his own cup a few feet across from her. His blue eyes glanced down into the tea before turning to brush off his black robe.

"Does it meet with your satisfaction?"