Jun 03 14:28:32 105 PA

From Chronicles

The current game time is: Wed Jun 03 14:28:32 105 PA.

Early afternoon and the gardens are emptied of people as the rain rolls across it. Under the hanging garden, one figure is sat, perched there, chin on knees, gazing across the garden as the rain pours down. Aimee, her face lacking the smiles she shows easily at work, is clearly thinking things over. Wearing worn jeans and one of Desmond's Moes shirts, with trainers, her hair is loose in damp curls around her face.

Early afternoon and the gardens are emptied of people as the rain rolls across then skylight. Under the hanging garden, one figure is sat, perched there, chin on knees, gazing up through the plants as the rain pours down. Aimee, her face lacking the smiles she shows easily at work, is clearly thinking things over. Wearing worn jeans and one of Desmond's Moes shirts, with trainers, her hair is loose in damp curls around her face.

Again, Desmond finds himself surprised to find the person he was seeking where he did not expect. Having not found her in her home.. or working, Desmond comes to the library gardens, likely in part for the same reasons that Aimee is there. And lo, there she is, spied a few moments in, as he looks about for a proper place to settle. Holding a small book, he steps towards where she has settled quietly, his deep voice lifted a few moments before he nears. "Aimee." As ever the warmth, the fondness is there and his firm expression is softened as he gazes at her. Curious at her use of one of his shirts, though he doesn't question it openly.

For a moment, she doesn't move, lost in thought. Then his voice reaches her and she blinks slowly, turning her head to look for him. "Mon chat." Her voice is equally as fond, as warm and her eyes show him her feelings. "I pinched one of your shirts, hope you don't mind." She pulls a face, uncurling, dropping her feet to the floor and resting her hands on the seat.

Desmond comes closer to settle down beside Aimee, an arm lifted to stroke his fingers gently along her back. And, though watchful for any upset, he answers her in a lowered rumble. "I don't. I have said before, what is mine is yours. I would share all things with you, positive and negative." A pause as he considers and then states, "I found Kesslan. We have spoken some, but he was chilled from the rain.. I took him back to his abode to rest. He was.. in a bad way when I came upon him. But I managed to soften it somewhat, I think."

Aimee leans into the touch at first, her smile warming a little for him. At the next set of words, she goes still, listening, her face settling into the carefully schooled expression. "Is he alright? Was the knife his? Mon chat, it had a card, money on it." Her chin is lifting slightly, "I don't want his money..."

Desmond nods his head once. "I knew you would feel that way, Aimee. It was his.. all his. It was a means of atonement for wrongs. The letter an oath of recompense. He was set to isolate himself until he could be sure of his control, but I think I have convinced him that this is not the way. At the very least, he's accepted my help. He might be reluctant to come around you, to protect you. But I'm not sure of his resolve on that. I told him that to turn from those who would help him find his control is foolish."

"I don't want his money, mon chat, I want him..." A soft whisper, her gaze dipping down, the lashes sweeping to cover emotions. "It wasn't me he wanted to hurt, I know that, and I'll get over the deer." She shrugs, leaning her weight into her hands, staring down at her feet. "If I go to his, do you think he would refuse to see me?" Abrupt, sounding more like her than the whispered wish.

"Keep the card for now," Desmond suggests lowly. "He thinks it to be an insult on his honor if you return it.. perhaps that too will soften in time and you can return it to him. As to going to visit.." He frowns a little and considers. "I think that you should give some time. I had to be very firm with him to move past his resolve on how things should be." His hand shifts, slipping up to her shoulder to gently draw Aimee against his side. A soft grip, inviting a gentle closeness. "That is, of course, your choice. I do not bar you from going to him, but I advise giving him some time. I will he speaking with him again soon. We both have similar issues. Perhaps we might be able to help each other master what is within. What he did.. it effected him deeply. I can understand how it feels to lose control like that.. to lose yourself. It is.. disturbing. Frightening."

She accepts the invitation to closeness, leaning into him, her head against his chest. "I'll not toss it but I'm not spending it." Soft but firm, she has clearly been doing some heavy thinking. "I won't go to him then, not yet but when you see him, tell him..." She hesitates for a moment, "Je t'aime and I miss him." There is a pause before she twists slightly, to look up at him, her face serious. "And, I talked to Kid. She is right. I love the way we are in bed, the claws and fierceness... I'm not prey."

Her initial words get a nod, Desmond musing lightly, about to speak in return when Aimee speaks of Kid and what they do.. and not being prey. That strikes him speechless for a moment, seeming to him to come right out of left field. But he recovers without too much difficulty and assures her, "So too I enjoy our passion. I have never seen you as prey." Though the concept does seem.. mildly interesting to him on some vague level. But it doesn't seem something he's apt to discuss now. "You are too fierce to be so. Which is why I take so well to you. That fire inside."

Her mouth curves slightly at the speechless moment, a wry humour in her eyes. "Then I don't have to fear your claws and teeth, since you don't plan to hunt me like that." She leans back into him, close enough, glancing around the gardens. "Kid told me not to be so soft, and she isn't wrong. I never was before." Before what, who knows.

"You can be soft," Desmond replies to her gently, lifting a hand to touch to her cheek in a soft caress. "Gentle and warm. That is not bad, for it is part of you that I enjoy as much as the fierceness. I would never bring true harm to you.. never hunt you. If you ever feel something from me that you do not wish.. you would tell me, yes? I never want you to feel that you cannot do so."

Aimee turns her mouth into the hand, lifting her face slightly to nip at the soft flesh at the base of his thumb. "I don't want to be gentle and warm tonight, mon chat." She warns softly, slanting a look at him that he should recognise. "If I... we are to get past it, then how we are is how we should be."

Desmond's brows lift at the nip. Responding almost before he gets a good look at her eyes. "Gladly would I be as I have always been with you, My Flame," he rumbles, his hand lifting after that nip. Threading his fingers through her hair slowly, gripping within those soft curls. Often she gives him kisses. Not too often does he simply 'take' them. He takes now, a soft tug of her hair to see that her lips are at the proper angle before he dips to meet them in a slow, lingering touch. A little grip on her shoulder as well, squeezing her close against his side and chest.

Aimee gives up the kiss easily, tilting her head with the tug of his hands in her hair. She doesn't fight the grip either, leaning into him, her hands raised to his chest to balance. "Home?" A soft question, breathless, whispered almost against his lips.

Perhaps he should be a bit more focused on the more serious things that there are to attend to in the now. But really, how could Des resist? Especially in the face of what things are to come? "Home," he rumbles in the affirmative. And he's feeling, perhaps, a bit more frisky than the norm as, rather than simply standing, he lowers his fingers from her hair and smoothly slides that arm beneath her knees, lifting Aimee when he does rise, bearing her weight with uncanny ease. Turning, taking a few steps before he slows and gently lets her down. Though he would carry her all the way there it would seem.. odd, wouldn't it. Still, there is the thought.Tags:aimee, desmond