shelley_winters | (no subject)

(no subject)

Shelley opens the door quietly when she gets home. She's tired. Not sleeping well - it's catching up with her, slowly - and then a busy day running around at work takes it out of you rather. And now a stretch of evening watching her back, trying to avoid Elan in her own house. Not much to look forward to.

He's there again, sitting on the coach and reading.

The living room smells like cleaning fluid.

She rolls her eyes to herself and shuts the door behind her.

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Elan glanced up from his book at the sound of her entrance. The day had been dull. The rose was beginning to change ever so slightly. The petals unfolding. Time was passing.

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

"Busy," she says shortly, brushing her hair out of her eyes where the wind had tangled it.

She could have a bath. That would be nice... so long as she didn't fall asleep in it. Oh, dear. Cup of coffee first, maybe.

Nodding calmly, Elan tilted her head and watched her calmly, before commenting calmly.

"Well, you look nice today, and my condolences if your day was not to your liking."

Shelley shoots him a sharp look, before glancing hastily away on meeting his eyes.

"Coffee?"

It's automatic - if you're boiling the kettle, you offer to do so for others. But she still bites her tongue immediately after doing so.

Elan was not precisely sure what coffee was, but he would not decline what she offered. He smiled a reply.

"Yes, please."

She vanishes into the kitchen without another word. Hopefully it will wake her up enough to keep her wits about her...

The little ritual helps, a little, spooning coffee into cups and pouring over water before stirring and adding a splash of milk. She emerges slowly, trying to stop her hands shaking with the slight weight, so as not to spill any on the carpet.

Elan sets down his book as she approached with the hot beverage. Straightening up from his reclined position as she set the cup on the table, he reached forward and took the mug.

"Thank you, Shelley."

An experimental sip. Very bitter.

"Hmmm."

She sips her own studiously as she sits down - not on the couch, but in an armchair a little way away.

Oh, coffee. For when tea just isn't quite kicky enough.

Elan took another sip, and glanced over at her. His voice was mild and ever so slightly curious.

"Do you know that you never meet my gaze?"

Shelley pauses, cup half to her lips.

She does. She has done.

"...Maybe I don't want to," she says after that brief hesitation, voice cold.

Elan thought for a moment, and then challenged her softly. This ought to be interesting, at least.

"Can you though?"

"I have before," she says quickly, before taking another sip of coffee, head still down.

"And I said. Maybe I don't want to."

Stop looking at me.

Elan nodded calmly, and replied softly. A compliment never hurt.

"I was simply curious, because I think your eyes are beautiful and I so seldom see them directly."

Shelley grits her teeth, and reaches up compulsively to adjust her glasses.

Shut up shut up shut up-

"Tough."

She was tense. This was a difficult subject for her, and one he could play to his advantage.

"Why can you not now, though? You could before."

"I-" she glances up automatically, and finds her gaze sliding away nervously at the clutch of panic she feels when their eyes meet.

She closes hers instead.

"I don't like it."

Tilting his head, he inquired softly. His power over her was very great indeed. Not bent enough, yet, but soon, and soon.

(Eyes I dare not meet in dreams)

"That may be why you do not, but why can you not?"

Shelley shakes her head and puts her cup down on the table clumsily, for something to do, swallowing hard.

(Stand. I want to get a good look at you.)

"No. I don't know, and I don't want-"

She crosses her arms over her chest in subconscious defence. She doesn't like it.

Ah. There was a powerful tool. This behavior was rooted in trauma, a significant insight lay in her covering her chest with her arms.

Excellent.

"...My apologies for bringing the matter up."

A sip of his coffee.

Angrily, but still looking firmly down, Shelley removes her glasses, and rubs at the lenses with her sleeve before replacing them in silence.

Not fair.

As if anything ever is anymore.

Saying nothing, Elan sipped his coffee and adjusted to sit cross-legged on the couch. There was little to say. This conversation had produced more than he could have hoped for--Almost anything he could have hoped for.

A few minutes pass slowly, Shelley staring sightlessly in front of her as her coffee cools forgotten on the table.

Then she gets to her feet, in one quick motion, and makes for the stairs. A bath won't solve a thing... but maybe she'll feel a little better.

Maybe.

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