shelley_winters | The Violet Hour

The Violet Hour

Shelley tugs the neck of the shirt up again, irritated. His clothes are all far too big, the shirt she is wearing as a pyjama top almost as long as a tunic, falling down to her thighs. A pair of his socks - an attempt to keep her freezing feet warmer - flop pathetically against the floor as she walks out of the bathroom, hair soft and clinging with static to her cheeks from overbrushing.

She had stayed there as long as possible, but you can't ever hide forever. As she closes the door behind her, she grits her teeth, determined. There are couches in the other room, and that's where she's headed.

The girl doesn't look at Ishamael as she makes silently for the other door.

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In the room's soft light, Ishamael sat and brushed his hair. His ankles crossed beneath his seat, his toes tapped idly to the tune he was humming softly. His eyes remained firmly on his reflection in the mirror, not looking at Shelley at all.

"I would highly advise against that. It will be exceptionally cold."

Shelley pauses. It really, really will.

"I'll take a blanket."

She snags the corner of one from atop the bed, and drags it after her, over one shoulder. The other hand taps at the door unit to unlock and open.

A sigh from Ishamael as he continued brushing his hair. This was hardly a surprise, really. This bed would be unpleasantly cool even with the both of them in it, much less the couch by oneself.

"We both know full and well that this house will only get colder as the night progresses and that a blanket will hardly suffice."

"I don't care."

She will not sleep with him. She will not, even though she's already freezing, and not looking forward to trying to sleep on the couch in just his oversized pyjamas and a blanket. And a pair of socks.

The door slides open.

A small sigh from Ishamael as he set down his brush and pressed a button on the console shutting the door with the soft characteristic beep of a lock. A touch of irritation in his voice.

"Do not be ridiculous, Lady Shelley. You will get hypothermia sleeping out there."

Shelley jumps back - she had been just about to go through, and for a minute had thought she'd get caught.

"W-won't," she says, pointlessly defiant.

Ishamael shook his head and returned to brushing his hair, humming softly to himself. The snow was falling outside still. It was a beautiful night, but late. She had little choice but to sleep with him.

Shelley stands still, glaring at the door, small body tense even as she tries to stop herself hunching in against the cold and fear. She won't. She won't, somehow, although she knows she has no real choice whether he forces her or not.

She'll... sleep on the floor.

Ishamael commented to the mirror. After all this time, he was keenly aware of what she was thinking.

"We both know that cold air sinks and so sleeping on the floor is perhaps worse than the couch."

A small frown as he pulled through a tangle in his black hair.

Shelley shoots a cold look back over her shoulder. It fits with the temperature.

"I'll manage."

In the bath, maybe. Hmph.

Again putting down his brush, Ishamael rose from his seat and strode over to Shelley, sweeping her off her feet. Shelley shrieked as he held her in his arms before depositing her firmly into the bed. That would be that.

"There."

With a small sigh, he returned to his seat to finish brushing his hair.

She turns as he gets up, dropping the blanket in alarm, but it's over fast, even as she starts to scream, and then she's just pushing herself up to a sitting position on the bed, angry and heart thudding hard with the aftermath of that momentary terror.

A furious exhalation, but she doesn't quite dare move, not yet.

Ishamael did little aside from brush his hair and sing softly to himself. He could see her in the mirror even as he brushed his hair. Soft music without words crept about the room on the snowy evening.

Weialala leia
Wallala leialala

The snow fell softly as he stood from his seat and straightened his dressing gown. The soft song, like one a parent would sing to a child still on his lips.

Weialala leia
Wallala leialala

Shelley stares intently at the back of his head - at his reflection in the mirror - watching his eyes before they flick to hers, and she freezes.

No need to look away, none.

After a moment of his bright blue eyes meeting her intent gaze in the mirror, he smiled softly and closed his eyes, turning his head.

Pacing slowly over to the other side of the bed, Ishamael pulled back the blankets and glanced over at the bedside table to turn off the lights before sliding between the icy cold sheets.

Wait.

Shelley feels the tiniest hint of satisfaction as he looks away - can't he meet her eyes? - but it gives way in the face of anxiety as the lights go off. She turns around, and it's all she can do. Turn her back, and curl under the cold sheets, and shut her eyes tight.

It's not long, cold, frightened and staying as still as she can, before she starts shivering.

At the sound of her shivering, there was movement, a stirring in the shimmering darkness lit only by the moon-glow off the white snow outside the window, the room's darkness cast in a violet twilight.

"You are cold."

Gently an arm wrapped about her waist as that voice whispered gently through her hair.

Shelley freezes, as far as she is able, and she can't quite stop the trembling even with the warmth of him pressed against her back. She curls in on herself more, pushing down at his arm.

"I- I'm... not..."

Unmoving, Ishamael kept the embrace locked about her. Not too firmly. His voice soft and soothing as he whispered into her hair. The red strands wavering in the violet light.

"It is all right. Do not worry."

"Always worry."

Her voice is small and quavering, but with a tightness to it. She always will, because if it isn't then she's forgotten, and she'll never forget. She can't shift out of his grasp, but she doesn't relax, and turns her face more into the pillow.

His thumb began to trace small circles against the voluminous silk robe, ever so slightly pressing into her skin. His voice still soft.

"No need."

She twists slightly, the touch just too slow to tickle, and all the more worrying for it, insidious.

"Y-you would say that."

But there was no cessation to the slow stroking of his thumb, his voice was slightly more assertive.

"Because it is true."

There is need to worry.

There is, even if he doesn't actually intend to hurt her right now - which she doesn't believe - because she worries about everything. There's something about a lack of freedom that gives you that feeling.

Shelley curls in tighter, forehead almost touching her knees.

In addition to the slow circles traced by his thumb on her stomach, slender fingers began to slide up and down her back, dragging the silk of her robe with them. Again, the voice whispered in her hair, talking soothingly at length. Make her lower her guard.

"Earlier in the evening, I was discussing with Vashti the new precautions to make the house more secure. The addition of more stringent screening procedures especially in the cargo area. We have also discussed a simpler seal room code, and we are both in agreement as to its necessity."

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