Comments | stop_panicking: ⊕ between the noise you hear and the sound you like

11ady in stop_panicking

⊕ between the noise you hear and the sound you like | closed

Sep 02, 2011 22:28

Who: 11ady and themothdies
What: A matter of accounting. Debts to be paid. Favors to be claimed.
When: Evening, September 1st
Where: Probably somewhere they serve alcohol
Warnings: None

( are we just sinking in the ocean of faces? )

lady une, takasugi shinsuke

Comments 137

themothdies September 2 2011, 18:08:29 UTC

[he arrives as promptly as he'd never promised, too long ago that he couldn't even remember the time arranged, could barely manage to hang on to the data of where she lived, unnecessary things he'd released back into the wilds]

[the knock on her door is simple, sharp; he isn't expecting anything and he isn't, perhaps, what one would view as appropriately dressed, as he's wearing nothing out of the ordinary]

11ady September 2 2011, 18:26:05 UTC

[abandoning her seat, she makes a quick stop at the dining table to scoop up her purse with the failure of a tin crane nestled within along with her credits, her Guide and a few other personal effects]

[last time she checked, Zechs sent her no message of mishap in HQ; she wills herself not to check again]

[and so she opens the door, traipsing in her heels, standing at eye level with her visitor]

Good evening.

themothdies September 3 2011, 10:44:47 UTC

[it's an incredibly muted surprise that flashes on his face as his eye goes down, and back up, taking in wardrobe and choices in sole]

[heels again; she'd constantly complained about them last time, hadn't she? where other men would see vulnerability and attraction, he only sees an inconvenience]

Purple. Well, you don't look plain any more.

[is all he comments to it; no compliments, no assurances in hollow adjective form]

[he turns a shoulder and walks to guide her forward]

11ady September 3 2011, 10:49:30 UTC

[steadier on her feet now than she was that night; this was a far more comfortable pair]

[besides, she never did like being towered over]

[not that he could; he was shorter than most of the men in her company]

[not shorter than her, at least]

Your color of choice.

[without another word, she follows]

themothdies September 3 2011, 11:41:34 UTC

[he chuckles as he makes a veer into an elevator, presses a button without hardly waiting for her -- if those things would slow her down, he'd sooner sever her ankles and leave her there (of which, he's sure, she's aware of)]

[but in the closeness of the box, he will smell her vanilla and lemon over his own tangs of spice and lemon over his weakened sense of smell; smoke, blood, war, death, gunpowder -- these things have taken up permanent residence and the introduction of something new and unusual will merely make him glance over]