shelley_winters | (no subject)

(no subject)

Oh, the joy of triplicated forms.

Shelley kicks her heels against the legs of her chair as she finishes off the reports through a haze of boredom. Has to be done. The smell of cooking soup fills the room. Should be ready just as soon as she finishes. Very good timing there.

Her tea is almost cold, but she sips at the rest absently as she finishes the last filling-in of boxes. A quiet, relieved sigh, and she gets up, calling to the figure sprawled on the couch nearby as she goes.

"Dinner's ready, come on."

She busies herself with bowls and cutlery, not looking to see if he follows. It's easier not to look right at him, and at the moment, Shelley takes anything to get her through each day.

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Shelley having lent him her library card, Elan was sitting on the couch surrounded by a mound of new books to read; however, little delight was he taking in them at the moment.

His head hurt, and his throat ached slightly.

How very unpleasant. In a tone rather more surly than he strictly intended, he retorted back at her.

"I am not feeling particularly hungry at the moment."

Shelley grits her teeth. Well, if he thinks she's serving him up something when he finally is, he can think again. She fills herself a bowl and sits down on her own to eat.

"Fine with me. But this is all I'm making today."

Rather sullenly, Elan commented to her still huddled about his book. Why was his head swimming so? Hopefully, this would pass and he would feel better soon.

"As you wish."

Shelley eats her soup in silence apart from the hissing of the kettle as she makes yet another pot of tea. He's acting funny again, and she never likes any change in his behaviour. Even without the Power - she shivers distractedly. And maybe even especially without it, after what he told her. What will she do?

She washes up, and pours her tea meditatively before heading back out, eyes flickering to the back of his head.

Rubbing his head, he glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the door, snapping irritably. His headache had not subsided, and neither had the ache in his throat.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything," she replies levelly, though her hands tighten around the mug and she takes a half-step back. It's automatic, still.

Sensing her fear, he had tried not to let the pain in his head be unleashed upon her. That would be unfortunate. He responded rather gruffly.

"Apologies. I did not intend to snap."

She doesn't reply, making her way to the armchair instead, and eyeing him over the rim of her mug. She would have thought the books from the library would have shut him up contentedly for at least that evening.

As the evening stretched on, it became apparent that all was not particularly well with Elan. His usual enthusiasm for the books was hardly present, and sighs punctuated the endings of chapters. Occasional breaks to rub his temples stopped him in the middle of paragraphs.

He looked tired. Unusual for a man who got as much sleep as he did.

Shelley drinks her tea, and tries to read a book opposite him.

His ever-present sighing assures that it remains 'trying' as when she is continually aware of his presence, it is incredibly difficult to concentrate. But she will not let him chase her upstairs in her own house.

"Go to bed if you're so tired," she says, after what feels like the fiftieth restless sound from the couch.

That was a sound plan, it seemed, and he did not particularly feel up to arguing with her. With another sigh, Elan marked his place in his book.

"I may do just that."

With little ceremony, he rose from the couch and shuffled upstairs with a murmured comment about having a good evening. He ought to feel better in the morning.

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