(Untitled)

[swealwe]

Day: 51
Characters: Simca (swealwe) and Kiric (saintiscariot)
Summary: twintiem.
DAY/NIGHT & Time: night / around evening.
Status: closed / complete.

Comments

[saintiscariot]

It wasn't, but it had seemed like it was non-stop. Maybe this was an after-effect of spending so long (not that he regretted a moment of it) in the Tower, doing nothing but watching and waiting and watching as the clock tick-tocked away. Far away, time passing just the same as the sun and moon had to change in the sky, and he was realizing, slightly, just how far away he'd gotten. But only in the off-handed sense. None of those inner thoughts were ones he should think on long, and so he concentrated instead on their 'contract,' on the intercoms. Best to do his job as well as possible. And what a job it was. This wasn't an Air Treck shop in Hokkaido. It was better.

He took his time-- went as soon as possible- footsteps just as steady and timed as everything else. And row upon row of rooms (cells), he left Barufon back in the man's own, hesitating just a moment before turning to the direction of Simca's. It took a while, to walk without running, pausing outside of the doorway

[swealwe]

The minute that small light caught his glasses, reflected his face just barely, she sat up in her bed. Legs curled under that thin body and expression brightened -- the cross-marked eyes widening in excitement. It was odd to see those eyes unhidden by green contacts and if she stood side by side with her brother, one could see how exactly like twins they were. Are twins. Will be twins

[saintiscariot]

He looked at her, and he recorded in his mind what he would have in his book-- the very same book that was grasped (far more tightly than normal) to his right side- and he looked but he didn't move any further in. Once more. The threshold seemed to be his favorite place to be. Stayed silent through her initial appraisal, stayed silent through her false cheer. Paused, thought, and spoke, as deadbeat as ever in contrast to her overly zealous happiness.

"Of course. You set the bait."

Let it hang, hands and arms locked and still as a statue, eyes on her, only on her, because after that last time, there hadn't been much else to think about. Sad fact, but true. All a guard could do was patrol or wait by the intercom - and so that was all he had been doing.

The pause wasn't long, because he was nothing but effective.

"What was it?"

[swealwe]

He wouldn't move closer.

She would've frowned and sulked or something childish but that really wasn't part of her personality so she just smiled at him, waving a hand at him to coax him closer, even if he wouldn't take it, but she'd get him near her eventually. She always did.

"You say it like there's a problem." She commented, raking that same hand through tousled pink locks -- she had to be presentable after all. Appearances were everything and anything. Importance.

Simca disliked how far away from her he was, his refusal to move over (she'd make him come over here if she had to) and how uncomfortable and unhappy he seemed in her presence -- though she knew he was. "Come over here and I'll tell you." She insisted with a flash of a smile and a flutter of a hand. Ever the hostess. But that was how they wanted her, how they needed her to be, and she would not let them win, sink into misery, become depressed and useless and awful and she hated that. No, that was not her. She was the wind -- the wind never knelt before the mountain.