May 09, 2006 15:46
Lawrence is currently sitting at a chair somewhat near the fire, thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.
There is a worn copy of Arabia Deserta by C.M. Doughty in his hands. Still his favorite of Doughty's books, he'd told him that over and over.
Do bother him - he won't mind too terribly.
te lawrence,
tom jones
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At least, before she started sketching the hand and arm attached to the scimitar, complete with robes. Occasionally, she'll glance up, trying to get the texture right.
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How odd.
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Her hand slips, and she swears quietly, erasing a line.
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"Artistic difficulties?" He lofts a brow.
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"You," biting her lip as she carefully shades a patch, "are hard to draw."
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Begins his face, trying to get the look of concentration.
"Very handsome."
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"Yes, you see. You are a very smart girl." Beat.
"You should really help your friend get more sleep. The one with the child."
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A laugh, and then quieting slightly.
"Shufti. Yes. I suppose so. I've taken Jack before, for her."
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Takes a breath, exhales, gripping the pencil.
"We've talked."
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"Yes, I know. And I did tell her that I think it's unreasonable for you to give up bloodplay completely."
He did, you know.
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A half-smile.
"Thank you."
Fiddling with the paper, as usual when she heals, forgetting to breathe for a moment.
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"It is my opinion, you see."
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A quirked eyebrow.
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