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Sep. 13th, 2007 03:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
correctiveshoes621He let himself into the main house quietly; but came directly, purposefully up the stairs, meaning to find her.
He came upon her in her small, private 'office-slash-boudoir', eating a cold Poptart and listening to, 'Mascara' by Interpol. She'd finally hooked up those speakers her friend had given her - at last! - and the difference in sound quality gave him utter pause for a second. He cleared his throat and simply said, 'You've..been busy.'
She spun around in her black computer chair and their eyes touched briefly, before she looked away; then, put her snack down on its small blue plate and folded her hands in her lap. She didn't answer him, but felt the obvious undercurrent in his statement. Her fingers tangled and twisted in her lap, and he knew that she was literally unable to speak to him just yet.
He tilted his head a bit sideways, resting it against the doorframe. He allowed his fingertips to glide down the dark polished wood, and let out a sigh.
He was not angry, no..but she imagined she could feel his disappointment flooding over her, and that was somehow worse.
'Well..Carry on, then..', he said, 'Sounds good.'
He'd be damned if he was going to feed this utter nonsense. She could have her bit of angsty psychodrama - just ridiculous, it was; really - and she'd get over it, in time..in her own way - if he'd leave her to it.
She always did.
But, for now, he had better things to do. For one, he was starving. He turned and left the room and bounded down the stairs and to the kitchen, whistling cheerily to himself the whole way, just to mess with her head.
For the rest of the evening, they kept each to their own spaces, to their own areas of the huge, empty house.
*~*~*
peter brian looked at his watch - That late, already? - and decided it was time for bed. He glanced towards the ceiling in her direction as he folded his laptop and pushed his glasses up onto his nose.
So. What? Was he to take a guest bedroom, tonight, or what? He frowned.
Fine.
Ready or not, here he came..
As he arrived at the top of the stairs, he heard the music..it was a bit loud for this hour, but, so what? There was no one left around to complain, he thought to himself, bemused.
Play it as loud as you need to, Woman, he smiled, and that smile widened as he approached and recognized the song..and heard his own voice..
Well. It was, 'Fallen Angel', by Robbie Robertson and himself. He'd not heard nor thought of it in years, and it surprised him that she even had it on her hard drive. His step was lighter as he walked towards the room, but, as he made to cross the threshold, he stopped short.
She was sitting at the computer desk, listening intently to the music as she hugged tight her pillow. The music washed over her as she sat there, shaking.
If you're out there, can you touch me?
Can you see me?
I don't know..
If you're out there, can you reach me?
Lay a flower in the snow..'
He walked to the chair and spun it slowly 'round to face him. She gasped and lifted her face from the pillow - bewildered and exposed - and tried to get up and away from him. He caught her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet. The pillow fell silently to the carpet.
'Oh, no. Just stop. Stop.', he said firmly, quietly, as the song reached its end, 'ENOUGH, Woman. That's IT. It's time for sleep.'
She started babbling and protesting, then, as he marched her down the hall to the Master Chamber.
As they reached the door, he turned to her and put sudden fingers to her lips. Her eyes shone round and too, too bright, as he growled, 'Just. Shut. UP.'
She began to interrupt him, 'NO-no-no-no-no-no-no..NO. WHAT did I just say? What? Shut your mouth, Lauren.' He pushed her unceremoniously into the room.
'Get into bed.'
His tone was clear. There was to be no argument.
She did as she was told, then allowed him entrance under the covers. Once inside, his manner softened as he wrapped himself cozily, comfortably, around her, then sighed.
'Now, close your eyes. Go. To. Sleep.', he murmured, and kissed her eyelids tenderly; his actions askew from his tone, 'The world will still be here, tomorrow..so you'd best be....' His voice stopped mid-sentence as he dropped off to sleep, exhausted.
He came upon her in her small, private 'office-slash-boudoir', eating a cold Poptart and listening to, 'Mascara' by Interpol. She'd finally hooked up those speakers her friend had given her - at last! - and the difference in sound quality gave him utter pause for a second. He cleared his throat and simply said, 'You've..been busy.'
She spun around in her black computer chair and their eyes touched briefly, before she looked away; then, put her snack down on its small blue plate and folded her hands in her lap. She didn't answer him, but felt the obvious undercurrent in his statement. Her fingers tangled and twisted in her lap, and he knew that she was literally unable to speak to him just yet.
He tilted his head a bit sideways, resting it against the doorframe. He allowed his fingertips to glide down the dark polished wood, and let out a sigh.
He was not angry, no..but she imagined she could feel his disappointment flooding over her, and that was somehow worse.
'Well..Carry on, then..', he said, 'Sounds good.'
He'd be damned if he was going to feed this utter nonsense. She could have her bit of angsty psychodrama - just ridiculous, it was; really - and she'd get over it, in time..in her own way - if he'd leave her to it.
She always did.
But, for now, he had better things to do. For one, he was starving. He turned and left the room and bounded down the stairs and to the kitchen, whistling cheerily to himself the whole way, just to mess with her head.
For the rest of the evening, they kept each to their own spaces, to their own areas of the huge, empty house.
*~*~*
peter brian looked at his watch - That late, already? - and decided it was time for bed. He glanced towards the ceiling in her direction as he folded his laptop and pushed his glasses up onto his nose.
So. What? Was he to take a guest bedroom, tonight, or what? He frowned.
Fine.
Ready or not, here he came..
As he arrived at the top of the stairs, he heard the music..it was a bit loud for this hour, but, so what? There was no one left around to complain, he thought to himself, bemused.
Play it as loud as you need to, Woman, he smiled, and that smile widened as he approached and recognized the song..and heard his own voice..
Well. It was, 'Fallen Angel', by Robbie Robertson and himself. He'd not heard nor thought of it in years, and it surprised him that she even had it on her hard drive. His step was lighter as he walked towards the room, but, as he made to cross the threshold, he stopped short.
She was sitting at the computer desk, listening intently to the music as she hugged tight her pillow. The music washed over her as she sat there, shaking.
If you're out there, can you touch me?
Can you see me?
I don't know..
If you're out there, can you reach me?
Lay a flower in the snow..'
He walked to the chair and spun it slowly 'round to face him. She gasped and lifted her face from the pillow - bewildered and exposed - and tried to get up and away from him. He caught her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet. The pillow fell silently to the carpet.
'Oh, no. Just stop. Stop.', he said firmly, quietly, as the song reached its end, 'ENOUGH, Woman. That's IT. It's time for sleep.'
She started babbling and protesting, then, as he marched her down the hall to the Master Chamber.
As they reached the door, he turned to her and put sudden fingers to her lips. Her eyes shone round and too, too bright, as he growled, 'Just. Shut. UP.'
She began to interrupt him, 'NO-no-no-no-no-no-no..NO. WHAT did I just say? What? Shut your mouth, Lauren.' He pushed her unceremoniously into the room.
'Get into bed.'
His tone was clear. There was to be no argument.
She did as she was told, then allowed him entrance under the covers. Once inside, his manner softened as he wrapped himself cozily, comfortably, around her, then sighed.
'Now, close your eyes. Go. To. Sleep.', he murmured, and kissed her eyelids tenderly; his actions askew from his tone, 'The world will still be here, tomorrow..so you'd best be....' His voice stopped mid-sentence as he dropped off to sleep, exhausted.
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