Dec 01 20:12:03 106 PA - The fruits of Maya's labour

From Chronicles

A stainless steel kitchen sits to the right of the doorway, shiny and clean. To the left, a fireplace is seated back in the wall, a white surround making it a central feature of the rooms. The floor is carpeted, a thick white carpet from wall to wall, except for the kitchen and the little areas in front of the door, where black slate is used. In front of the fire, a large purple couch and two comfy looking chairs are placed, positioned to enjoy the warmth from the fire. Two bedrooms link from the living-room, as does a luxurious bathroom, with both shower and a deep bath.

The bedroom to the right holds a large bed, with high wooden sides and shaped slightly oddly, the shoulders wider than the top or bottom of the bed. A dark purple throw covers it, made from silk patches. The walls have a couple of black and white photographs in them, artistically framed with black wooden surrounds.

The left bedroom is a study, with a large desk and several bookshelves full of medical tomes. A computer is on that desk, with an office chair in front of it.

The current game time is: Thu Dec 01 20:12:03 106 PA.

The door is unfamiliar, as is the lock, so it takes some fumbling to get it open. That done, Mikjel steps into the apartment, holding Maya's key in one hand and holding Maya upright with the other arm. A few steps in, and he looks for somewhere to pour her, asking, "You gonna toss again, Maya? You still look kinda green."

Maya is not very steady, and her face is pale beneath the makeup but she shakes her head, a determined movement rather than based on truth. She turns, heading directly to the bathroom and the location of her desired object: the toothbrush. "Gross." The word is spoken with emphasis as she reappears. "Why do people drink again?" Coffee is next on the list...

Mikjel walks toward the kitchen, surveying it quickly, then finding a glass and filling it with cool water. He steps toward her, offering the glass. "Likely want to start in with water. Nothing else, means you ain't trying to empty an empty gut." Leaning against the kitchen counter, he grins at her, saying, "Most people, when they drink, they go about it a little better than you were."

Maya takes the glass, resting it against her throat for a moment, closing her eyes. "Water is fine. I've got some meds I can take to settle it." She sips the water for now though, returning his grin with a rueful one of her own. "Sorry." One side of her mouth quirks upwards and she lifts a shoulder. For a moment, she closes her eyes, a wash of dizzy moving over her. "God." Heartfelt.

Mikjel steps forward as she falters, one hand moving to the glass, ready to catch it and the other preparing to catch her if she's dizzier than she looks. "Just, folk pass you a drink, might want to take a sip or two first, make sure it ain't half booze. What you were drinking, were half vodka. In a pint glass. So, it were like downing six shots all in one go." He grins at her, adding, "If you ain't used to drinking, sipping's the way to go. That way, you get lots of warning before you start getting all floppy."

She does let him balance her, leaning into his body. "Oh god, the room is spinning." The words have an edge of self-deprecating humour to them, despite the faint tinge of green to her skin. "Yeah, I'll stick with not drinking at all I think..." She straightens then, reaching to take her glass back and taking another sip. "I think sitting down might be good." That said, Maya turns, heading to the couch.

Mikjel walks with her, an arm around her waist providing support as she walks to the couch. "Yup. Rooms do that sometimes." Gently pouring her into the seat, he stands again, adding, "Ain't nothing wrong with drinking. Just, you can't let it get the best of you. Like anything else, you figure it out sooner or later, or you give up." He laughs, gesturing at the ceiling. "Reckon I were about to start in with a speech about how, if the horse throws up, you gotta get right back on it and give it another try." The gesture shifts to include her as he continues, "Up to you. Ain't gonna say what you should be putting in yourself, but all I'm saying is if you're gonna, at least do it proper."

Maya gives him a narrow eyed glare, her mouth scrunching up for a moment, mock glowering. "I think I won't test it out again. It isn't worth it." She leans her head back against the couch cushions, closing her eyes. "Thanks for coming back with me, Mik." The corner of her mouth makes it up into a near smile, "Bet it isn't any way you'd planned to see the inside of a girl's flat."

Mikjel shrugs, grinning at her. "Ain't like I started the night planning to make sure you were gonna make it home fine, no." He slowly lowers himself onto the other end of the couch, making sure to not jostle the greenish girl too much. "Least we're in the city, though. Less fun when you're checking that something ain't thinking about eating you all while you're holding someone's hair back."

"True..." Maya's comment is softly spoken, uttered after a groan, as she covers her face. "I feel an idiot." The words are spoken in an undertone. "I feel less sick now at least." She lowers her hands, the green tinge lessened, as she curls up, facing him. "I think... I'm almost certain, I said something stupid too." A heavy sigh and she closes her eyes for a moment.

Mikjel sits still, one arm on the back of the couch, his body turned to face her. "Yup. Folk do that when they're drunk. Part of the attraction, really." He reaches out to take her hand, softly. "Ain't like folk get too hard on you for things you said when staggering, leastwise. And seeing as I ain't sure what you said that you'd call stupid, I ain't gonna worry too much. Reckon it's gonna be more sensible to get some water in you, see if you can keep a bit of bread down, then let you sleep it off."

Maya looks down at his hand, letting him take hers, her thumb rubbing lightly across his skin. "I think I called that new man Mr Tight Pants." The words are soft, and when she looks up, the corners of her mouth are tugging with a grin, her eyes filled with rueful amusement. "I think, more water, then sleep. I'm not ever so hungry." She nips at her bottom lip, the corners pulling up into her grin. "I can't believe I called him that. At least it was only to his head."

Mikjel squeezes her hand gently. "You ain't that bad off, at least. Ain't like I've been thinking you needed to be shoved into a cold shower. Should try the bread, though, just to get something back in your belly." A look of pure innocence. "Well, it weren't like his pants weren't trying to show the world what he's keeping in there. Like as not, he took it as a good thing that you were looking."

The innocent look breaks the control she has over the growing giggles and she lets them flow, dissolving into helpless giggling. "Oh god..." Maya turns her face, hiding it into the cushions, for a moment muffling the laughter and when she lifts her face, there are smudges around her eyes from the tears of laughter. "I could see everything! If I weren't trying to be so good..." She sips the last of the water, considering this as the giggles die away. "I wonder what the protocol is for sex with other people when you have a date booked."

Mikjel twines his fingers in hers, stroking her hand with his thumb. "Reckon that depends a little. Don't want the other person getting all jealous of your date, so not telling them about it ain't exactly right. Besides that, the usual. Protection, checking that they like girls..." He grins at her as he offers to take the empty glass. "And yep, I reckon that guy got exactly the attention he was looking for." He looks her in the eyes, face full of serious innocence, "Or maybe not. Did it move when you talked about his pants?"

The laughter rises again, Maya choking at the last comment and shaking her head. "I didn't look that closely! We were leaving!" She moves her hand slightly, catching his thumb between her fingers, giving him a look full of mischief. "Am I meant to take it that you don't like girls?" The question is blunt, idly curious, with a lack of teasing intent there. "I don't mean to pry but...I am." She shrugs lightly.

Mikjel shrugs, continuing to maintain a look of innocence. "Ain't sure what would give you that impression. Reckon I like girls as well as the next guy." He starts laughing suddenly, hand tightening and squeezing hers. "I were just about to invite you to come over here and see whether I like girls or not, but I managed to stop myself. Reckoned it would be a mite impertinent."

Maya laughs, shaking her head at the innocence on his face. "Really?" The reply holds a hint of someone dared, and a spark of mischief in her eyes are perhaps the only clue to the next move. She uses their intertwined hands to pull herself forward, half landing, half falling into his lap with a muffled giggle as her face lands against his chest. "Whoops." Then she dissolves into giggles again.

Mikjel tries, slightly vainly, to maintain an innocent demeanour as he catches her. His arms wrap around her, one hand holding her head to his chest a moment as he shifts beneath her to give her a place to rest. Smiling warmly at her, he cups her cheeks in his hands, lifting her a little to look her in the eyes, his nose nearly brushing hers. "So, without peeking into my head, do you reckon you can tell if I like girls or not?"

Maya settles comfortably, returning the look with hazel eyes narrowed in a stare that suggests mild focussing issues. "I think so..." The words are almost a whisper, as she leans forward slightly to brush her nose against his, and then she laughs. The emotion inside her matches her expression precisely, the honesty of her response showing in that. Relaxed, with a trace of anxiety about the drinking, and utterly comfortable about being in his lap.

Mikjel raises a hand to gently stroke through her hair, fingers combing it. He grins and brushes his nose to hers, saying, "I certainly ain't objecting to having a girl squirming around in my lap, cherie." He raises his lips a little, giving her a kiss on the tip of the nose. "And I reckon you're an awfully pleasant girl to hold." His hand on her cheek gives her a gentle caress, his thumb moving over skin.

Maya's smile changes, a faint edge of that look a woman gets when she is sure of the man with her, and she leans her head into his touch. Then, a faintly puzzled expression crosses her face, and her eyes widen. Then she is gone, scrambling out of his lap, making the one hundred meter bathroom dash in record time. The sound of the result is graphic and followed by a miserable moan.

Mikjel rolls off the couch, chasing after her and arriving next to her in the bathroom. Gently, tenderly, he brushes her long hair away from her face and the toilet, holding it loosely at her back. He looks at her closely then and says, softly, "You might want that shower after all. And maybe some laundry as well."

"Oh god." The heartfelt groan from in the toilet could be agreement, or a prayer for redemption. "This is so not cool." The emotion is in her voice, and she reaches out for a tissue, lifting a face flushed with watering eyes to peer at him. "This is not sexy, Mikkie. Not at all." She leans her forehead against her forearm, closing her eyes. "I want to go and sleep til this goes away.... or die. Death sounds good."

Mikjel reaches out, squeezing her shoulder. His other hand continues to hold her hair back as he says, "Better to let you toss a few more times. You'll feel better, get some of the booze out of your stomach. Then water, a cold shower and bed." He strokes her shoulder lightly, saying, "Least, that way, you won't feel like you died and came back when you get up in the morning."

"If I live that long." She mutters, leaving her head against her arm, her eyes closed. "This is not cool." A repeat of the previous assertion a little more fervently than before. "Shower is beginning to sound good, I feel..." She lifts her head, giving him a rueful look, her face pale, eyes tinted pink. "Like death. Ick." She lifts a hand to push strands of hair from her face, shuddering lightly.

Mikjel strokes her back, gently. "You ain't gonna die. And it ain't like we can't make sure you hurt less. Just not inclined to let you pass out without trying to keep you comfortable." His palm rubs her shoulders and upper back gently. "If you reckon you can stand and you ain't likely to toss again, get yourself into the shower."

"I wish I would." Maya's attempts to stand take a few moments but she makes it, leaning against him for a moment. Then she turns slowly, lowering the toilet seat to sit on, tugging off her heavy boots. They thud to the floor and she winces a little with the noise, hands moving to her skirt to unclip it and when she stands, it slithers to the floor, pooling around her feet. Utterly unconscious of stripping in front of a man, she tugs t-shirt over her head, and bends to remove underwear and socks.

Mikjel gets an eyeful, giving her an appreciative look, as he steps back, not intending to try to hold her as she strips. "Reckon I'll go fix you another glass of water and take a look for toast. I'll come fish you out if I hear you fall or shout, OK?" He steps toward the bathroom door, turning as he does.

"Alright." The word is a miserable mumble, and she turns on the water, stepping into the shower without discomfort at being watched. A long stand in the hot water, and she feels able to move around, reaching for soap and watching herself. The bunches actually come out and her hair is loose down her back, her eyes closed as the water runs over her face and body.

Mikjel walks back into the kitchen, re-filling Maya's glass and finding himself another one. There, he stops to sip the water, looking around for a likely bread location. Eventually, he finds it, placing two slices onto a plate and adding a thin layer of raspberry jam to both. The plate and glass get placed on the kitchen counter and he stands, leaning against it and sipping his glass of water.

Maya emerges from the bathroom dressed in a pink bathrobe, toweling her hair dry, her make up gone, leaving her face younger than before. "Hey." The single word is soft, offered with a rueful smile, as she leans against the kitchen door frame. "I'm not sure I can eat that." A soft note of apology is in her voice as she takes her glass, taking a sip. "I'm sorry for this."

Mikjel waves his hand dismissively. "You can't eat it, you can't eat it. Reckoned I'd give it a try anyway. Having something in your stomach is liable to make you feel a mite better, if you can keep it down." He raises his glass of water to her, saying, "Ain't nothing to be sorry about. Just trying to make sure you get to bed and wake up as comfortable as possible."

Maya offers him a smile, lifting her glass at him, "I think sleep is the order of the day." The toast gets an unenthused glance but she takes a piece, taking a tiny nibble from it. "It if helps..." The mumble is a forced outburst of logic, as the faint tinge of green fades, leaving her face pale. "Um, are you..." She makes a complex hand gesture suggestive of a question of sleeping arrangements.

Mikjel grins and starts laughing, setting his glass down on the counter quickly enough to splash a little water. "I ain't intending to," he makes a more complicated hand gesture, with both hands, both hands being rather suggestive, "unless you want me to. Likewise, I'm happy to," one hand curls against the other, thumb brushing gently, "if it'll keep you comfortable. Or, for that matter, I can bunk on the sofa or head back to my truck, if you prefer." His hands separate and he gestures toward her. "Just wanna know you're OK. Ain't asking for benefits out of it."

Maya is giggling helplessly by the end of his gesturing and she shakes her head, dropping the towel over her shoulder. "I'll be alright I think. I don't think many people die from alcohol poisoning." A hesitation as she corrects herself. "Well, they generally have to drink a little more than I did." She nibbles on the toast, making progress slowly, making herself eat something.

Mikjel laughs, stepping beside her and wrapping his arm around her waist. "Oh, you'll be fine, cherie. Just a mite uncomfortable, is all." He gives her a gentle squeeze, smiling softly at her. "I'll head back to my truck, then. Were just offering in case you felt you might want someone to tell you that it's gonna be all right if you wake up feeling ill in the middle of the night."

"I'll try and preserve what little dignity I have left." She puts her glass down, returning his hug with a tight one around his waist, looking up at him. "I'll see you tomorrow probably. I've got a day off so I might go down to the club." Another squeeze, and she releases him. "Thanks, Mikkie."

Mikjel leans in and presses a kiss to her forehead, turning and heading for the door. He pauses, his hand on the knob. "Your keys are next to the couch, by the way. Sure I'll see you around, and I hope that your date with your preacher goes great, if I don't see you before then." He winks and says, "I reckon he'll have a hard time resisting your charms," as he opens the door.

There is a moment when he might be allowed to leave and then Maya's glass hits the floor, smashing as the woman catches it with a sleeve as she hurtles back to the bathroom, hitting the bathroom floor as she just makes it. The miserable noises are not indicative of someone happy in any way, and the soft little moan that follows them is matched by the position, curled next to the toilet, her forehead on her arm bent over it.

Mikjel closes the door quietly, not sprinting this time. His head peeks around the doorframe as he asks, "Got a broom? Reckon I'd be best cleaning this, seeing as I've got boots on. Don't want you slicing your foot open." As he asks, he takes a good look at her, making sure that, other than the illness, she's all right.

There are a few more ...er... organic sounds before she replies, her face pale again, her skin clammy. "Cupboard in kitchen. Oh god..." Then more, and the groan this time is pitiful, as she lowers her head to rest it against the cold porcelain. "Kill me now." The request is spoken from the heart, the woman looking as if someone already did.

Mikjel walks over to the cupboard, his boots thumping softly on the floor. The broom found, he sweeps up the glass, then checks with one calloused hand to make sure that he didn't miss any little shards. That done, the broken fragments find their way to the trash and the broom makes it to the cabinet again. He steps to the bathroom door, saying quietly, "No more toast for you, then, cherie."

The voice that comes up from the toilet bowl is weak, pathetic, "Told you it wasn't a good idea..." Following that is more evidence that the toast perhaps was a little early in the process and she groans again, closing her eyes. "Oh god." A hand gropes for the toilet roll, before she reaches to flush the evidence away, lifting a pale, clammy face. "I think I am going to end up on my own table."

Mikjel steps into the bathroom, kneeling beside her as he strokes damp hair softly. "Any consolation, you ain't managed to get any on yourself." He sighs softly, squeezing both shoulders with firm and gentle fingers. "OK, gonna let you keep going until your stomach's empty, then we'll get you to bed and put a bucket next to you just in case."

A soft groan doesn't suggest that she is convinced of surviving the night. "I don't think I can hold any..." Proven wrong before the words leave her mouth, she bends her head, finally giving him a look of pathetic sympathy seeking. "I think that is it." She sits back onto the floor, reaching for her toothbrush, a shudder shaking her body. "Why would people do this more than once?"

Mikjel shifts to sit behind her, hands gently stroking her hair and her back. "Because, if you don't overdo it, it gets rid of the little fears and doubts that bother you. Makes you feel braver, more confident, gets you the courage to pull someone out of the bar and into your bed." He is gentle and quiet, trying not to encourage another bout of illness.

She closes her eyes, taking a steadying breath after her teeth are cleaned so thoroughly that there could be no trace of the events of tonight. "Never needed that." Her voice is a little one, an inside voice, almost pathetic. "Bed I think." She reaches out, using the sink to haul herself to her feet, unsteadily. "God." Heartfelt and sincere, as she straightens. "Bed."

Mikjel stands with her, an arm around her waist as he ducks his shoulders under her arm. "Yep. Bed for you, plastic cup of water next to you for when you wake up with a dry mouth and a headache." He gives her a gentle cuddle as he helps her across the flat, saying, "You'll feel better sometime tomorrow, honest."

Maya gives him a look so full of doubt that she might as well of spoken aloud. She leans into the cuddle, using him to steady herself, her cheeks pale. "I am never drinking again." The murmured promise is fervent as she finds her bed, shedding her robe as she crawls into bed, ignoring nakedness, dignity or thought in favour for comfort and sleep. "Oh god, the room is spinning." The words are uttered on a groan.

Mikjel sits next to her on the bed, gently stroking her hair. "Yup. It does that. Best suggestion I've got, find something to look at, don't close your eyes till the room stops spinning." His thumbs softly massage her brow and temples as he continues, "It'll go away in a few minutes, but I find closing my eyes is gonna make the spinning worse."

Maya takes him at his word, focusing her gaze on his face as she curls up in the oddly shaped bed, hugging the covers to herself. "Why would you do this to yourself?" The spinning takes a time to settle, and in the meantime, her telepathy takes over, a mumble of "Oh god, oh god, oh god..." Repeating itself into his mind. "God." Aloud this time, and her fingers tighten on the covers.

Mikjel tucks the blankets around her, making her a little nest. =I wonder if this thing closes= "Because it's fun, or it's relaxing, or because you want to sleep deep and dreamlessly." He doffs his boots so that he can sit next to her without putting them on the covers, then begins stroking her hair and brow again, fingers rough but the touch gentle. =Might actually be fun with the lid shut. Safe=

Maya snuggles deeper, her eyes beginning to look heavy, absently replying to his comments, her own heavy with sleepy emotions, =Lid is underneath.= Her eyes close, her body relaxing a little into sleep, or at least unconsciousness, except the hand that keeps a hold of on a piece of fabric, his clothing. =You can get in, if you want.=

Mikjel pats her hand, gently disentangling it from his clothes. He begins to undress, then stops, half-clothed, remembering his earlier promise. He walks into the kitchen, finding a plastic container and filling it with water, which he brings back and sets by the odd bed. That done, he finishes undressing and climbs in, wrapping the covers around both of them and wrapping his arm loosely around her waist. =I'm not going to close the lid on us unless that's how you normally sleep=

Her thought reply is soft, =I leave it, but I don't mind. Slept both ways.= Maya's mental voice sounds sleepy as she snuggles back into him, her cheeks resting on her bent arm, her eyes closed. Her hair, loose over the pillow, is soft, scented of shampoos with a variety of herbs, and her skin is soft to the touch. And then, she is clearly asleep, or passed out, her body limp next to his.

Mikjel cradles her to his chest, snuggling close. His ilps brush the nape of her neck and his arms wrap around her body. His eyes drift shut slowly, and his warm breath slows on her skin. His skin smells of salt and smoke, and his body is warm against her back, covers tucked over their shoulders.