Westminster Estates, Dover, Tuesday Evening
Susan's apartment is very small - three rooms if you count them generously, though the open plan arrangement makes the little kitchenette visable from the living room/bed room, separated only by the counter and a tiny table with two chairs. She does have somewhere comfortable to sit other than her bed, however - a chaise lounge, reminiscent of
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When the downstairs lock of the security door disengaged after he buzzed, he headed inside and up to Susan's apartment. A large knuckle rapped quietly on the door.
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It wouldn't have occured to her to label Dover the 'posher section of town'. It's not like she lives in the Palisades. Dover is predominantly peopled by working professionals, not those bastions of old money whose lives are entirely devoted to pleasure and society.
She'd like to live in the Palisades. She simply lacks the main requirement for that zip code: money enough to burn.
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If he hadn't Sonia to think about, or at the time, the thought she might one day visit him, Aaron would've settled himself somewhere in The Shades. He found Tortuga tolerable, it was respectable but not quite so brightly lit as other parts of the city. The white collar and blue blood sections of town made him edgy. People wore ties in those areas. The bad things that happened in those areas were quickly hidden from sight, covered up so the citizens could go on leading ordinary lives and pretending that sort of thing didn't happen here. Aaron liked his badness out where he could see it.
The wardrobe drew his attention, and Aaron slowly picked his way toward it with exaggerated care, trying to keep his large frame from knocking anything over.
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The way he moves is almost comical, and it takes her a moment to school her face to hide what is certain to be a most inappropriate smile of amusement.
This close to the wardrobe, he should be able to smell the woody, apple scent it gives off, freshening the air in the small apartment and making it smell of farm and forest, rather than the more elegant images that the visuals call to mind.
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And how badly do I want Aaron to fall into Narnia when he's painting the wardrobe.. *snickers*
"You're a puzzle, Son of Adam," rumbled the voice from the lion, "By rights, you shouldn't be here. It has been long and long since any have come through the door from your world."
Still stunned by a talking lion, Aaron absently corrected, "Son of Aaron. I'm a junior." His voice was faint.
The line in the fur between Aslan's eyes darkened, the feline equivalent to a drawn brow. "As you say."
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*is such an enabler*
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...Especially if he drops into the Golden Age, when she was still ruling there...
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