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.

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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?"

She nods in silence, sipping slowly. The ends of her wet hair slowly drip down her face and over bare shoulders, slowly soaking the top of her towel.

Sitting in silence and sipping his tea, Ishamael watched her quietly. There was little that needed to be said, just wait for the change. There would be moments that he could press to his advantage, and he would wait patiently.

She drains the cup quickly, setting it with slightly exaggerated care beside her, so as not to make a noise against the stone, then leans her head back slowly against the wall. It's cold, but she can't make herself get up.

Holding his head tilted at an odd angle, Ishamael inquired quietly of her. A delicate, small gesture with his left hand as his right held the cup.

"Another cup?"

Shelley nods slightly, keeping her eyes closed. She's so thirsty, all of a sudden, and hungry too, under the nausea. It seems like years since she last ate or drank, and it has easily been a day or two.

The tray of tea floated over to them, and Ishamael with slow, careful movements poured her another cup of tea. The china rattled slightly as he stirred in the honey. His hand closed around hers as he placed the cup in her hand.

"There."

She pulls her hand quickly away, almost jumping at the touch, before lifting the cup slowly to her lips and blowing gently to cool it, carefully controlling herself to make sure she doesn't simply gulp it down while scalding hot.

Ishamael simply sat and watched her for a moment. He inquired quietly, politely.

"Are you doing better?

Shelley doesn't reply, only tightens thin fingers around the heat of her mug.

Better than what, after all? She hasn't been doing well since he came for her, months back. Now she just... lives, day to day. And she can do nothing to change it, she can't get away, or... God. Nothing.

Glancing away from her, Ishamael commented quietly, but not without a note of satisfaction. They had paid dearly for their transgression, and they would pay dearer still.

"You needn't worry. Those who menaced you will not do so again."

Still Shelley doesn't answer, only shivers slightly in the silence after finishing her second cup of tea.

If she was feeling anything like herself, she might have laughed at that. Bitterly.

After a moment, Ishamael slid over to sit next to her. His voice sounded genuine as he spoke after a long sip of his tea.

"I am sorry that this had to happen."

Maybe, she thinks vaguely, she would have glared, or snapped or sneered at that. Instead she places the cup back on the floor, just as carefully, but with hands made clumsy by exhaustion, and shies from the rattle of porcelain on stone.

She's sorry, too. For lots and lots of things.

His hand gently laid over hers in a supportive gesture. Turning as if to say something, but he had nothing to say, instead he just sat there in silent support.

This was the best way. After her experience in Graendal's hands, accentuating their differences would be far more beneficial.

Shifting to nervously adjust her towel, Shelley sighs shakily. Her skin has mostly dried off in the cool air of the corridor, but her hair still drips cold water down her back. She doesn't move for a long time.

"...I want to go home."