shelley_winters | (no subject)

(no subject)

Shelley stares at her own front door, key half-raised towards the lock.

She doesn't want to go in.

She's scared to go into her own house. Because he's in there, he can make a space frightning, and she should really just either go in or go somewhere else. Where?

No, no, she has to go in. To her house. Right, right.

She fumbles with the key and turns it in the lock before she can panic again. Step forward, onto the mat, bang the door.

To hard. The windows rattle, a little.

God. She stands still.

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Another click, and the kettle's boiled. Carefully she pours, hardly paying attention. A teaspoon to scoop out the teabag - ouch, hot - in the bin. A splash of milk.

Shelley looks at the door, steaming tea in hand.

And then she sits back down, staring at the surface of the table, blowing softly on the tea to cool it.

The soft sounds of turning pages measured the time as easily as the minutes. Ishamael moved little as he read to himself, occasionally smiling, occasionally tilting his head in curiosity.

And he let time pass for the moment. No use pushing her when he had little chance of doing anything but damaging his chances.

Shelley drinks her tea.

Then she sits for a moment, tilting the mug and watching the escaped leaves spread slowly over the bottom. But she can't put it off forever, and eventually rises to wash it up and leave the room again.

She opens the door as quietly as possible, before heading to pick up her bag again.

A quiet inquiry as he turned the page in his book. Shifting slightly to prevent his left leg from falling asleep, he glanced up at her.

"How was your day at work, Lady Shelley?"

Shelley grits her teeth.

"Fine."

She'd almost been sent home ill, but had managed to imply that ladies troubles were to blame, and the solicitous Mayor had backed off rapidly.

She shoulders the bag, and inwardly wonders where to go. Upstairs?

A calm note, nothing threatening or impolite as he returned his eyes to his book. Conversation was necessary.

"Your tone of voice implies otherwise."

"Do you really think anything is going to be all right for me with you here?"

She doesn't move yet. She can leave whenever she wants, but she has to- Well. They have to communicate sometimes.

His mouth twisted slightly as he commented slightly more sharply.

"Do you believe that I am in a more enviable position? Whether we like it or not, we are stuck together here, and it would be in both of our best interests if we were to cooperate as much as possible."

"That doesn't mean I have to pretend it's okay."

She never will, ever, even if he takes her back some time, or stays here forever. It isn't okay, and she will not let him think she accepts it. That's it.

He snapped irritably. Why would she never cooperate? It was stupid.

"And do you think I believe this is all right? I was simply wanting some peace between us."

"Well, you're never going to get that, so I suggest you get used to it," she snaps back, and it actually feels good to vent just a little of the pent-up bitterness.

A sour remark almost to himself more than to her. He was running rather shy on garments as it was.

"What about some garments then?"

Her eyes narrow over the top of her glasses.

"I don't know. If you can't learn to say please, maybe I'll just leave you like that."

In... is he wearing a skirt?

He would be enthused for a proper robe. This was a bed sheet, and not a particularly soft one at that. Sulking slightly, he commented petulantly.

"Would you prefer your act of obeisance with or without adulation?"

Shelley resists the urge to throw a pen at him.

"I'll settle for you shutting up. Failing that, human sacrifice would be acceptable."

A quip in return. The latter would be preferable as he had someone in particular in mind...

"Would you like a virgin or will one of the tramps down at the park work?"

Shelley rolls her eyes. She'd thought he was quicker than that.

"No, see, that was me wishing you dead."

Such a ploy had worked for Richard III in the book he had read earlier.

"Then why do you not simply kill me? I do not exist on this world and nobody would miss me."

Shelley's hands tighten.

"I'd know. F-for some people, killing isn't an option, I know it's hard for you to comprehend."

An indifferent shrug.

"It is hard for most people to comprehend my situation."

Pausing for a moment, he commented calmly.

"Returning to the clothing issue, how might we best resolve this? It is a touch chilly for puttering about without clothing."

"You don't deserve understanding," she hisses, furious and shaking, before turning away with a hand to her forehead.

"I'm not working tomorrow. We can go and get some things, get the bus."

Elan on a bus. Such a weird thought, it clashes with reality, it...

Ishamael nodded calmly as he set his long neglected book aside.

"That will suffice."

A pause, and a softer tone of voice

"Thank you."

She will not say, you're welcome.

He isn't.

So there's just a beat of silence where a reply should have been, and she turns around and heads for the door to the hall.

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