like a mother's mourning dress

[domina_mira]

At roughly seven am on Wednesday, working on (as is usual lately) very little sleep and a lot of coffee, Elizabeth futzes with her pinpoint a little until she finds a quiet place to sit with her thermos of that mandarin orange tea she's become very fond of

Comments

[acoldgreensky]

In a short while, there's an older gentleman with a box of pastries and a thermos of tea. It never hurts to come prepared.

[domina_mira]

"Hello." He will be kissed hello, if he is so inclined, and Elizabeth will sit thigh-to-thigh. ...And admire the box of pastries. "I think my stomach has settled enough for those," she says, with a faint sort of smile. "My head's another story. Mn. How are you?"

[acoldgreensky]

There will be kissing, sitting and pastry distribution -- in that order, no less. "I'm quite well. Is there anything I can do?"

See, if her head hurts, he can tuck that silly, fly-away bit of hair behind her ear. He's a helper.

[domina_mira]

"Keep me company? I didn't want to be alone in the apartment." Her head does hurt, because Threnody's idea of helping involved a bottle of wine. At the time, this was a brilliant idea. The morning after, less so. "Threnody gave me my marching orders about eating and sleeping -- I've lost track of when my employee became my bossy little sister -- so I think the pastries are plenty of help." Winsome! A little.