Jun 10 23:06:28 106 PA Sebastien breaks the news to Maya
From Chronicles
The 2-bedroom apartment is spacious, if spartan. Every surface, no matter how cheaply made or ancient, has been cleaned and polished within an inch of its life, restored as well as household cleansers and elbow grease can manage. It altogether lacks the human touch, as if the owner plans to evacuate post haste. The living room holds a couch and a small, inexpensive television. In front of the window are a pair of dragon trees; potted leafy things that cast a warm green glow through the living room when the sun shines through. Otherwise a pair of armor trees bearing a set of cobalt plate and riding armor stand near the door, with a weapon rack standing beside them holding a large pistol, sword, and unstrung bow. The kitchen is a small utilitarian affair, some pots and pans stored haphazardly in cabinets and a large supply of canned goods stored in others. Three sets of plates and silverware live in the cupboards, only one seeing regular use. The fridge holds a small supply of foods, leftovers from two meals back only, with few fresh ingredients for more. The first and smaller bedroom is largely bare, with a bamboo mat covering the floor and a set of shelves set into the studs on the walls. A jar of metal fragments sits on one of those shelves, and a set of cleaned animal teeth on another. It's still mostly empty. The larger bedroom is like stepping into another person's home entirely. Perhaps originally intended to be the living room, it offers the most space in the apartment. A queen-sized bed with railed headboard and footboard rests against one wall, with a giant white fur pelt making a soft rug before the heater. A neat little dresser stands behind the bed, large mirror atop it making the room seem doubly-large. Ornate rugs hang to cover the walls, some abstract and others depicting figures and stories. A pair of candles rest on the night stand, and a securely bound chest at the foot of the bed.
The morning's brought kids playing in the hallways, toys and laughter strewn all about like so much joyous confetti, though as Maya approaches Sebastien's door all's quiet. The post card still hangs on the outside of the portal, declaring 'That's some cephelopod, son!' Sebastien has a worn postcard on his door. A picture of a father and his son on a train, with the boy opening a present with a dozen tentacles clawing their way out of it. Both have joyous looks on their faces, with the father exclaiming, 'That's some cephelopod, son!'
Maya glances at the post card, a hesitation in her movement before she knocks. Rat-tat-tat-tat. She leans against the door wall next to it, waiting for him to answer. She is dressed from work, having done the night shift herself, the skirt and kneesocks standard wear.
There's another silent moment, and Sebastien opens the door. A plastic practice sword leans against a nearby wall, and he's clad in a snug-fitting charcoal tee and a pair of loose blue trunks, both touched by sweat. He's obviously been practicing his forms. The young man's eyes take in Maya, an immediate grin splitting his uneven features, and he cries, "Bonjour mademoiselle! You should have come to me at work, I would have walked you home. Come in." He steps aside, waving her into the room.
Maya steps inside, tilting her head as she passes. "I had a call to make on my way through." She puts a deliberate sway in her hips as she walks away, lifting her hands to peel her t-shirt off and drop it on his floor. "I thought you wouldn't mind..." She moves her hands to the zip at the back of her skirt, watching him over her shoulder as she unzips it, wiggling her hips slightly to make it slither to the floor.
Sebastien firmly presses the door shut behind her, staring a long moment as that shirt's unceremoniously peeled away. "Maya!" Sebastien calls, blue eyes widening as he takes a step forward. He looks like a rabbit before a snake. Terrified, yet fascinated. Those blues drop with the skirt, and a swallow bobs his adam's apple, freezing the young knight another impossibly long moment while his eyes rise, slowly, up the length of her body. Taking it all in at the rate it's meant to be appreciated. Savoring it, before he stumbles across the floor to wrap arms about her from behind. His strong hands clasp before the scientist, elbows snugging at her sides, pinning her there frm doing anything too untoward. "Stop," he breathes in her ear. "Just..." he falters, and laughs, "Give me a moment to recover myself."
Maya's underwear doesn't cover much, brilliant red and silk, with a few hints of lace at the edges. "Stop?" She murmurs, deliberately leaning back into him, a tilt back of the head letting her grin up at him. "Why do you need to recover? Are you getting old, Sebastien?" A tease, matching with a movement of her hips back into him, and her hands move lightly across his arms, a fingertip touch.
"Yes," comes the soft reply, and the young knight laughs in her ear. "Monique has given up her long drought, mademoiselle." His head ducks to kiss her, softly, on the shoulder, and Sebastien releases Maya to hold her vaguely at arm's length, walking about in front of her to smile at the woman with fond eyes. "I want to make this work with her. So. Back to friends, mademoiselle." he pauses there, looking down, a faint hint of worry touching his eyes as he seeks her expression for a reply.
Maya goes still, the tease finishing instantly. "I see." She steps back, the flush in her cheeks more revealing than she'd like. She bends, grabbing first the t-shirt and then the skirt, moving away from him, her back to him to dress. "Wow, I feel like an idiot." She comments softly, shaking her head and giving him a quick grin. "I guess I'll head home and get some sleep then." Her expression is better schooled, her grin cheerful, the hazel eyes saying nothing.
"Don't," Sebastien replies softly, and he strides across to plant a hand on either one of her shoulders, giving the woman a squeeze. "Do not feel like an idiot, mademoiselle. I like you. A lot. And right now, there is not a thing I would rather do than tear these clothes from you and plant you against a wall, slacking the tension you have so ably planted in me." He grins down at her, eyes holding some heat, and he quirks a grin. "But sex is just ... sex. It is wonderful, but even we cannot make it forever. Love is something else. I still treasure you. Come ah ..." he waves at the kitchen, releasing her with a hand, "Would you like something to eat?"
Maya keeps the grin in place, her hands lifting to push his hands off her shoulders slowly. "Oui, I know these things, Sebastien, and I agree. Love wou... is a lovely thing." She shrugs, stepping past him towards the door. "I'm not hungry." She talks, walking backwards towards the door. "Don't worry, I'm hardly going to be upset over it, Sebastien, it is just sex. Friends it is." At the door, she turns, reaching for the handle.
The lock turns as if by its own accord, and Sebastien plants his hands on his hips to stare at the woman. "I tell you what," he speaks, peering across the room. He's made no move towards her, and yet somehow the room seems small. "You give me one genuine smile and the door opens. I am not letting you fly out into the world with this ... this frightening mask you carry plastered on your lips. You will give the children nightmares!" He shrugs his shoulders, the line of his grey shirt rising at his belly to flash a slash of tanned stomach. "What can I do to get a smile from you?"
Maya turns, resting her hands behind her back as she leans against the door. The grin is gone, and her gaze is steady. "I don't owe you a smile." She replies slowly, her forehead wrinkling, her gaze dipping to the line of stomach. "I get to keep my pride, Sebastien. Open the door." Her voice dips, soft and low, "Friends, oui, but I have a little pride still, and I want to go home."
The lock flicks behind her again, and Sebastien crosses his arms over his chest. A nervous gesture, from him? He lets out a slow breath, frowning sadly. "You are making me feel horrible, Maya. I don't want to see you hurt like this. You have done nothing to be ashamed of."
"I'm not ashamed." She replies, the words quick, "And I'm not hurt. I'm embarrassed at throwing myself at someone and looking like an idiot. You should always check someone wants you first, non?" A flicker of a smile, ironic rather than real and she is gone in a whirl of that skirt, a flash of sock top, and a bang of the door.
