Jun 01 14:19:16 105 PA

From Chronicles

The current game time is: Mon Jun 01 14:19:16 105 PA.

Desmond sleeps very deeply this morning. The fatigue of the night before, physical and mental, have taken their toll and he is in a sort of deep torpor. But even in this state, the subconscious has its way. Though she started more against his side than atop him, Aimee will find that, during the night, he's pulled her over him, his arms loosely wrapped about the small of her back, with just their weight to keep her in place. There is a simple, relaxed peace in his features, his broad chest regular and smooth in its rise and fall beneath her.

Aimee slept like someone exhausted, sprawling where he moves her, dark curls covering her face. The girl's eyes are closed, small shadows beneath them, the fatigue that has him in a torpor showing on her face. Slowly, the light penetrating the room disturbs her and she shifts in her sleep, trying to burrow into the covers, into him, to hide from the day.

Desmond responds slowly to the feel of her movement. Something well known to him, his arms slowly tightening about her in welcome. Gentle, one shifting upward to draw fur along her back slowly until both arms wrap about her closely. Hugging her warmly against him before his muscles relax again. Rare are the lazy mornings they have gotten, with unusual work schedules and the like. The urge to laze lingers, along with his lingering fatigue, drawing him back down into the depths of sleep from that near brush to the surface.

The shifting beneath her had her opening sleepy eyes, soft green as she blinks slowly. She rolls then, aiming to move off him, onto the bed, to reach for her glass. Automatic actions, morning routines, as she aims to focus on the clock, squinting her eyes to do so, rubbing her face with one hand.

Desmond stirs again, then. Her roll from him, while not uncommon, is always enough to wake him when she's not being more subtle about it. How could he remain under when his warm, adored one has moved away from him? His eyes snap open and he takes a slow, deep breath. Muzzy after the long, deep sleep he lies still for a few moments before his head turns. Aimee sitting near him, with her glass. His near hand lifts, rubbing his palm across her clothed back gently. "Aimee.." For the moment the past troubles have yet to set back into his mind. Thus his deep rumbled use of her name is warm and fond. His touch loving as he gently presses the heel of his palm into her back.

She leans into the touch, yesterday's troubles still cleared from her mind by the fog of sleep. The glass is put down, and she turns into him, offering her face for a morning kiss. "Mon chat." Her eyelids are heavy, the sleep still with her. Hair falls around her face, chaotic curls falling over her forehead.

Desmond slips the caressing hand down and props himself up on that elbow, meeting her for the softly shared kiss. Though rare, moments of routine are a comfortable thing to him. Secure, casual expectation. Something to take for granted that it will be there always. His other hand lifts, slipping fingertips along her cheek along the way to slipping his fingers into her messy curls. Gripping softly to encourage an extended, lingering kiss.

She does give him the kiss he wants, a soft tender one, her eyes closing as he buries his fingers into her curls. When she pulls away, her eyes open slowly, a soft smile on her lips. "Morning, mon chat." Soft, husky, her voice holds all the sleep that shows in her face.

"Always with you, My Flame," Desmond rumbles in response, fingers relaxing after the kiss to slip free. Shifting on that arm to lift himself into a sit. A low, annoyed grunt sounding as his back gives a twinge. Unfamiliar.. where is that from? Oh.. The path of thought along there opens up the floodgates. There is a slight frown that manifests due to that. But after a moment he shoves it aside. Unwilling to let it rise up before it must. He looks to her, letting the brief frown drift away and asks, "Did you sleep well?"

She returns the look, unaware of the twinge, the memories of yesterday still buried in the sleepiness written on her face. She reaches up fingers to brush at the frown as it leaves his face. "Like a child." She replies, softly, "You, mon chat?" She uses her hand to cup against his cheek, gently.

"Very well. I always sleep well when you are near," Desmond tells her with that simple, open honesty to his tone. "It is one reason I come to you so often. For this.. peace." He turns his head into her touch, gently nuzzling into her palm. "You are so good to me, Aimee." His hand lifting to stroke the back of hers gently before softly taking it, turning it to give a kiss to the back. Something he gives from time to time as she seems to like it, often out of the blue as he does now, as a simple gesture of appreciation.

Her face softens as he talks, "I think that is the first time I have been called peaceful, me." Amusement mingles with the sleep in her eyes, a small pucker between her eyes as the memories of yesterday brush against the edge of her mind but, like him, she pushes it away, preferring to be in this moment.

Desmond nods his head once and rumbles lowly. "You are an energetic, challenging woman, Aimee." Those sounding like positive qualities by his tone, even loved qualities. "But.. when you are near, it calms me. When we take rest together, I know you are here.. you are safe. And.. I feel your love when I sleep. I could not explain that better, I just feel it.. I know it and it gives me rest." Her hand retained as he speaks, thumb brushing against the back idly as he rumbles lowly to her. "There are no worries when we rest together. My mind is quiet. Still."

She wrinkles her nose, brushing off the compliments quickly, speaking in a teasing tone. "We have to move soon, otherwise we might starve to death." A flicker of a memory, and a small frown, but pushed away. "Do you work today, Desmond?" She doesn't pull her hand away, leaving it in his, her eyes on his face.

Desmond can see her shift in expression, a small part of him concerned for what might come of it. But he continues on steadily without giving a further tell to his own remembrances. The hope that it might 'blow over' lingering. Futile, perhaps, but he holds to it. "I do not work this day, thus I am yours if you shall have me. What would you have, My Flame? Allow me to make for you what you most desire." While not strictly common, it isn't a big event when he wants to do something for her. Though in the now, there is stronger than average motivation to make her happy.

"I think I have work tonight, but not until later." She rolls away then, stretching, the edge of memories nudging her sleepy mind gently. She lifts her arms above her head, arching her back to remove all sleep from the muscles. "Shall we make a massive breakfast? Pancakes?" She questions, slanting him a sidelong look with a little puzzlement in it, "Perhaps Kess..." Then the memory does return and the softness of sleep vanishes from her face.

Desmond feels a little drop within when she mentions Kesslan and stops. A deep breath and drawn and released slowly as he shifts himself as well, slowly moving his feet to the floor to settle himself on the edge of the bed. Looking toward her then, he rumbles, "Pancakes.. yes. With eggs?" Skipping the ham in the now. There is a soft tension in his expression as he gazes at her. Hoping they might move forward still. Unsure what might come if not.

There is a closed off feel to her expression, her eyes holding the carefulness of last night as she climbs out of the bed too, tugging down the t-shirt. "I guess." She reaches for a robe, tying it around her waist tightly before she pads, bare footed, towards the kitchen.

Desmond looks away when he sees that closed off expression. As she gets up, he remains for a few moments, eyes closed. He doesn't understand.. so easy it all was just moments before. How could it not stay like that? But he doesn't linger overlong. If no more than that, there is the breakfast to make. An activity with her. A small, but welcome point of solace amid the gloom that seems apt to cloud over his day. Despite that, as he goes to the kitchen to help quietly with the preparations, his mind works, seeking some means to repair this, something he can do to return them to what came before. Ideas don't flow in for him.

She is there, reaching for the eggs, the flour and the milk. Her movements are automatic, her mind elsewhere. The reflection of her thoughts shows a little on her face as her concentration slips. She mixes the foods, bending her head, curls falling forward. She speaks without looking at him. "Do you think Kesslan is alright?" The whisking of the combination is perhaps a little harder than needful.

Desmond gets the few ingredients she hadn't yet before his arrival, moving them to where she can attend to them. Taking a few moments to bring plates and silverware out to the table whilst she's mixing and thinking. His own mind more quiet, his eyes often slipping towards her, as if discreetly seeking some clue to the mystery of a return to normalcy in her expression and posture. He's bringing out a large pan to start up the eggs himself when she asks after Kesslan. He pauses, looking towards her as she considers her question briefly. It doesn't take long for him to respond. "Kesslan has lived when those who came with him to this world did not. He is strong, skilled and intelligent. He will return." There is no doubt in that. He lays the pan on the stove, standing with enough room to let her cook as well, starting to carefully crack eggs into the pan. Something he's become good at, having had some issues with simply shattering half of the delicate objects weeks before. Though it takes some concentration for him, still a test of his control.

She cooks in the next pan, heating oil and watching the drop of batter carefully to judge the temperature. "Yes." She doesn't sound reassured, or certain, as she bends her head to watch her pan carefully. "But perhaps not to me...or perhaps not you." The pan begins to bubble then and she carefully ladles batter into the oil, twisting the pan to spread it thinly. "I think it would be some time before we three could be comfortable and relax with each other." There is a sadness in her voice that would match the green eyes if he could see them.

There is some reassurance that she thinks of that.. that there is sadness for what is lost. Suggesting a desire for it back. A quiet reassurance that makes it easier for Desmond to speak, some of those fears banished or weakened. "I will go to him," Desmond rumbles simply. "I anticipate that he might wish to draw back. Just as I would if I thought I could hurt you. To protect. But I will not let him. He is alone enough without drawing back from we two." He stirs the eggs carefully to keep them from sticking as they cook. Giving her a sidelong glance as he states, "This can be passed. Just as I have leaned to be gentle.. to push back the dark instinct, so too can he. And just as any misstep, we learn from this. I will be more aware of times that could be delicate, that they not be escalated."

"Desmond..." Hesitant, uncertain, "I am not sure I can trust him either. Perhaps it wasn't me he wanted to harm but...it could have been, if I had chosen to shoot at him." She slowly, automatically, runs a skillet around the edge of the pancake, lifting the edges gently and encouraging it to move in the pan. "If he touches me, and I flinch? What then?" Soft worry in her voice.

"To be honest, Aimee.. I do not think he would have harmed you, were it you who did shoot him," Desmond replies, indeed thinking this. "He does care deeply for you.. Roulin, while a friend to both of us, is more casually so." He looks to Aimee then, stating, "I believe he would have left to rage rather than harm you. Perhaps I might be wrong, but I don't believe I am." A pause, then he adds, "Time will be needed, I think. I will speak with him first. To gauge his feelings. To soothe him, for I have no doubt he feels remorse for what has happened. And great shame." His de ep voice betraying an understanding of just what Kesslan might be feeling.

Aimee steps back, turning the pancake with a flip of her wrist, shaking down the pan to centre it carefully. "Perhaps." The memories of the struggle of the felines too fresh in her memory to allow that to feel true to her. She slants a look at Desmond, caution in her eyes. "Time, perhaps." The unspoken thoughts of how it has affected them shows in her face before she turns back to her task.

Desmond fixes on the eggs for now, not needing the reminder. His eyes thoughtful as he watches the liquid cook into solid, smoothly sweeping the spatula through to scrape solid up from burning on the pan bottom. "It is strange, Aimee.. so often I have told you of the dangers in my full strength.. admitting that there is a careful balance in giving what you desire and not hurting you. That you appreciate this in a more serious sense." He looks towards her, an odd sort of calm in his eyes, the stirring continuing automatically. "Now I have that.. and I wish it were not so again. It seems a true thing that is said, to take care with one's wishes." Still calm, though a sad note rises towards the end.

His words draw a small shudder from her, the memories too fresh to link them comfortably with the pleasure before hand. She tips the pancake out onto a plate, adding more oil to the pan. "Desmond, mon chat, I don't know how to separate the two in my mind." A soft admission, her eyes averted from him, focussed on the pan before her. "I think of before and the image of it all, it moves over us."

Desmond considers that quandary quietly for a few moments. How to remove the bad image.. "I think, perhaps, the best way I have heard is to drown it in pleasant memories. Positive experience and joys." A pause in that, considering just what that might be for this before admitting, "Though I doubt that passion will help.. if you would imagine the dark things were I to touch you intimately. In that, it would not work." If only it were so simple. And so enjoyable.

Aimee turns the pancake, her movements careful, practiced, as her mind is elsewhere. "I think, perhaps when it is older, less fresh in my mind." She slants a look at him, the look in her eyes haunted by the images in her mind's eyes. "Do you want butter or sugar on yours?" She tips the pancake onto another plate, turning the heat off. Her voice is subdued.Tags:aimee, desmond