Dec 30 16:55:33 105 PA
From Chronicles
The current game time is: Wed Dec 30 16:55:33 105 PA.
A spacious two bedroom apartment which is kept in a constant state of cleanliness. The walls and floor are a uniform mix of white and finished floorboards. There is a brief entryway with a small coat closet before opening out into the main living space. In the entryway, a colourful rug contasts with the simple colour scheme. At the center of the living space is a good sized couch with a circular rag rug laid out before it. The wall just ahead holds a smallish, inset fireplace sans mantel and on each wall, pictures of a single flower, close up, are hung. To the left of the couch, where the entryway lies, a several bookcases sit, filled with films, books on many topics and, amidst the eclectic mix, a scattering cookbooks. a lower shelf on one bookcase has a neatly laid out collection of art supplies, including several sketchpads and a variety of colored pencils. In one corner, some floor cushions are arrayed about a television and a film player that is nestled into it.
To the right of the couch is the kitchen space, cordoned off from the rest of the room by a long counter and hanging cupboards that leave a space through which to view the livingroom. The fridge is a large, two door model and the standard fixtures are kept spotless, complimented by a dishwasher, trash compactor and a pair of diversely laden, red and gold spice racks. The wall behind he couch opens up into a hallway. A trio of framed pictures showing sunny landscapes are scattered along the length of it. A small spare bedroom and simple bathroom flank the hall, with the master bedroom at the very end.
The spare room has been left largely undecorated. A small bed, with simple sheets and an empty dresser. The closet has linens and is being used to store weapons and armor. The master bedroom is only slightly more populace, with a larger, strongly built king sized bed and a largish dresser dominating opposite sides. Above the dresser is a framed picture of beach with a clear, blue sky contrasting the deep blue of the sea. Above the bed is a framed image of a mixed field of wild flowers. A few rugs mingle together on the floor, a solid blue one laid out before the door itself while a pair of red rugs to either side of the bed. Set at the foot of the bed is a largish, locked storage chest.
The evening has gone well for Aimee and Desmond, a fine meal done and gone with Desmond doing his turn at the sink, quietly going about the dish washing. Something he never seems to mind. Indeed, it's a chance for him to practice his light touch further, having broken a dish or two on occasion while handling them. As he's taken to, he wears only his dark sweatpants. It will be at this point when the knock at the door comes. Des glances up from his task at the sound of it, instinctively reaching for the nearby towel set aside for after washing hand clean up.
Aimee is curled up on the couch, watching her lover move around the kitchen, her glass of wine propped on her knee as they talk. The knock on the door is unexpected, and she hesitates before uncurling, putting the glass on the table as she moves towards the door. "Are you expecting anyone, mon chat?" She asks as she tiptoes to peer through the peephole. "It is not a friend of ours." She steps back, considering the closed door.
"No," Desmond replies simply, his brow furrowed. Hands dried some, he comes out of the kitchen, striding towards the door steadily. His arm comes up as he nears, gently wrapping about Aimee's waist as he peers through the hole. Considering the man outside briefly before he decides it's safe to open up. Not that there is a lack of tension in his stance. The door opens to the courier who glances towards Aimee for a moment. "Speak what you will," Des rumbles. The man, however, doesn't speak and instead proffers a paper to Desmond. Which he takes and lowers his eyes to.
Aimee watches this, her relaxed mood fleeing in front of the seriousness of the courier, and her lover's expression. She doesn't move closer, doesn't peer, but a flash of expression before she turns away, schooling her face shows she wants to. She waits in silence, curling her arm around her waist, the other reaching for her glass of wine. She holds it lightly by the stem, gently against her cheek, waiting.
If anything, Desmond's expression comes to mirror that sense of seriousness, moving into the area that it touches upon the dead cold focus that comes when he faces dangerous situations. It takes him some time to wade through the meaty message, but the courier stands silent and patient as the big cat reads it. Finally he looks up at the courier, who extends his hand for the message. Desmond returns it to him and he turns to go. Frowning, Des closes the door and pauses for a moment before turning to Aimee. "The time is come," he states, moving towards her. The prior cool of his expression softened somewhat, but still present.
Aimee's face, watching his become more serious, colder and more focussed, closes down. Her lashes sweep down, concealing her emotions entirely from view. Perhaps the only hint is the large swallow of wine she takes as he closes the door behind the courier. His words draw only a flicker of emotion, swiftly crushed, and she replies with an abrupt nod. "Oui." She turns, moving away to look out of the window, her back utterly straight. "What happens now?" Her accent is stronger, but the lack of the affectionate name for him speaks volumes.
Desmond pursues her, breathing out deeply as he comes to lay his hands on her shoulders. "I will need to prepare. It seems I will not be going very far. A complex within the city is where it will be. I will go and fight.. and I will return. That is what will be," he states simply. "I Have fought before, My Flame and I have returned. Now will be no different."
Beneath his hands, the woman's body is stiff, tension holding her utterly upright. "Oui." The word seems more an acknowledgement to his words than agreement, and the wine is finished in one swallow. She places the glass down on the ledge in front of her with a click. "When? Now?" Her voice is a little muffled as if the words are hard to force out. "When do you leave for it?" She curls both arms around her waist, hugging herself tightly.
"Three in the afternoon tomorrow," Desmond rumbles lowly. "Preparations can wait until morning, Aimee. There will be time enough then." Despite her stiffness, he gently rubs his palms along her shoulders, thumbs slipping downward to gently roll against her upper back. "This does not change that we have this night together, as we did minutes before. One of many that will be."
"Non? It makes it all different, I think." Her words are almost a whisper, and there is the slightest movement back into his touch, a tiny crumble in the walls. "Three tomorrow. I should be at work." The tone suggests she will not be, may be here, waiting. Slowly, she turns around, tilting her head back to study his face, her own concealing her emotions in the manner he has seen before. "What do you want to do, mon chat?"
Desmond lifts his hands as Aimee turns, both lowered to gently wrap about her as she looks up towards him. "I want to quiet your concerns, but I know you'll not be consoled in the now." One hand shifts, lifting to stroke her back gently. "If not that, I would spend this time tonight delighting in your presence and, perhaps, delighting you with my own. That you might forget for a time what comes with the sun."
She finally moves into him, leaning her cheek against his chest, her eyes closed. "You felt so much when I was in the bar with the man, you cannot expect me not to, mon chat." The words are a soft whisper, as she snuggles against him. "But oui..." The second request is, apparently, possible. She rises on her tiptoes, offering him a kiss, her green eyes warming for him, the careful mask melting away.
"I understand your feelings. More and more I come to understand." Rumbled lowly before he leans downward just enough to meet her kiss. The grip of his arms tightening. Letting her feel his strength again. One arm slipping beneath her backside to facilitate lifting her as his back straightens, without breaking the intimate touch. His other hand migrating upward then to pass his fingers through her hair slowly.
Aimee's shirt goes the way of her underwear, and soon, her skirt follows, leaving her clad only in stockings. Desmond's marks on her body stand out against the pale skin and more are added during the next night, and the morning, before he is allowed to leave, to get ready. The apartment looks as if a hurricane hit it, with split flowers on the table, shoved aside, the couch dismantled as cushions flew onto the floor, and the bedding in disarray.
Desmond never takes off the stockings, having come to enjoy them quite a bit. The events of the evening gone far beyond his prior expectations, but the big male goes along easily with the flow, adding his own passion to Aimee's own. Finding the strength to keep it up right to the morning. Though after he prepared for the coming battle, he takes some time to relax and rest up, to regain some of that expended strength. Tags: aimee, desmond
