shelley_winters | (no subject)

(no subject)

Shelley could almost be put out, that V'Saine is so beautiful. No prison should be so lovely, she feels.

The perfection of the afternoon heightens it, the sights and scent of the rose garden. The only noise the delicate splashing of the fountain. The girl sits on the edge and gazes into gently rippling water, down past her reflection into the cool blue depths as the sun warms her shoulders.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I don't try. I consider it pretentious to try and justify childish behaviour with false depth."

Shelley is looking back at the water now as she dries off her glasses on her sleeve.

A long sigh. His arms crossed in front of him. His voice slightly weary.

"And I consider it silly to spend every waking moment attempting to antagonize someone else."

"It carries a certain satisfaction, let's say," she says softly, staring into the water.

Trailing his hand in the water, he flicked a finger. Droplets of water flew towards Shelley.

"And splashing you with water carries a certain satisfaction after spending hours upon hours perusing internal memos of the Hall of Servants."

Shelley looks up at him coldly.

"Of course," she says after a while.

Then sits, just looking at him.

A slightly annoyed smile. His voice cool. His blue eyes watching her closely.

"I appreciate your attempt to usher in the cooler weather with your gaze, but I find it pleasant as it is."

"If it works, I'm trying for a tornado next," she says, blinking calmly back.

Elan's brow furrowed. A touch of curiosity in his voice.

"I am not familiar with the term..."

She rolls her eyes.

"Destructive intensified cyclone of wind. Capable of smashing strong buildings like they are made of sticks."

A raised eyebrow. A note of interest in his voice.

"Really now... We have not had interesting weather like that for millennia here. The weather has been tamed."

Shelley looks for a moment as she might like to say something, but stops herself.

"Well. If we get one, you know who to blame, then."

A dark chuckle and a smirk. His voice level with no hint of mockery and sarcasm.

"I am living in fear."

"You'd survive one, anyhow," she says, voice distant, eyes straying back to the fountain surface.

A small smile. An almost frightening light in his eyes as his lips twisted.

"I always survive."

(For your sacrifice, survival.)

"Always."

Shelley continues to stare down into the water.

(By the time he dies, he is more than half-mad and less than half human)

"All things are a part of the pattern. Right?"

(Eventually his pride gets the best of him, and he is killed by Rand Al'Thor the Dragon Reborn)

Her voice is very quiet and calm.

A simple nod in reply. His voice as quiet as hers. Blue eyes watching very carefully. A strange tone, as if he were hiding something, in his voice.

(To read the Pattern)

"Yes, Lady Shelley."

Shelley glances at him, a kind of worry in her eyes before the girl frowns and looks away again.

A tilt of the head. A note of curiosity in his voice.

"Is something the matter, Lady Shelley?"

"...No."

No more than usual. But he can likely gather that for himself.

Rising from the fountain, Elan walked over to one of the rose bushes. His white robed billowed in the light breeze. Blue eyes darted across the crimson blooms.

The bloom lifted easily into his hand. Slowly, with the rose's stem in hand, he walked back over and stood in front of Shelley.

The rose outstretched in his hand, a calm, almost innocent look on his face. A small drop of blood hung on the clean-cut end of the flower like a crimson dew.

(The greatest gift is oneself)

The girl glances around almost cautiously.

Shelley looks at the rose, confusion flitting across her face before she looks up at him, wary and unhappy.

A small, slightly sad smile on his face. The rose still in his outstretched hand. His voice soft, and pretty.

(I know my dreams are made of you)

"For you."

(Of you, and only for you)

The drop of blood fell to the white stone below. The thin crimson stream flowed down the stem. Blood as red as the blossom.

Shelley doesn't reach for it. Green eyes remain steadily on his. Her voice noncommittal.

"You're bleeding."

A glance downward. His eyes study it calmly as if it weren't his blood at all. His voice calm, but with the slightest touch of surprise.

"So I am..."

She frowns slightly, curious in spite of herself.

"Do you not feel it at all?"