eldorne_girl | (no subject)

(no subject)

[Delia is outside, jeans and a turtleneck and pretending not to be a lady. She's twenty-three now, if counting the years made sense now that she is dead. well, it does in a way - count down the years until the door appears]

[but she isn't thinking about that, oh no. She's not thinking at all, just aiming and firing and reloading Indy's beloved gun]

[it makes her feel a bit better, if nothing else.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Roger leans against the door and watches. He is waiting for her to notice.

[feeling someone's gaze, she glances over her shoulder]

[and stills]

Your Grace.

He inclines his head:

"Lady Delia."

Have...have you been waiting long?

He inclines his head. A smile spreads over his lips. "Not terribly."

Pity.

[the word comes out before she can help it, low and bitter]

Roger raises a brow. "It has been a time, though, hasn't it?"

Months, your Grace. Months.

"Long months? Productive ones?" He folds his arms, leaning back against the wall.

Productive? I was supposed to be doing something other then try not to go mad from sheer boredom?

[she turns to face him properly, gun hanging loosely by herside]

Went back to Tortall, you know.

Roger shrugs. "As did I, with arms extended toward the future."

Oh, you did? Was it productive, your Grace? Mine was, even if Jonathan couldn't read the script well enough to execute me.

"You might say. Extremely."

Roger catches her eyes; it's an old trick. "I hear you are in love." His voice is dispassionate.

[she can't help it, she laughs at that. Low and full of glass]

It's the current theory - I don't know anymore.

He grins. He can't help it, quite, it slips through his teeth.

"His gun?" he asks, indicating it.

Indeed.

[an odd smile, and she has it aimed at the centre of his forehead]

He swiftly lays two fingers on her wrist. Half a second, and he relaxes, his face turning up, pleased:

"What do you expect to do? We're both dead, my lady."

Can still shoot you [she whispers, her skin burning where he touched]

"Can still kiss you," Roger mutters, planting his hands on either side of her, and does.

[before she can say 'no', before she can say 'go away', or 'fuck you, you bastard', before she can do anything, she's melting into the kiss and clinging to him]

He kisses her softly and with intent, stroking the back of her neck roundly, fluttering his hands up and down her arms.

[she whimpers, his lips and hands setting her on fire and making her feel alive again]

hate you

He seizes her about the waist and crushes her to him: his eyes are all shut. He begins to fill her hair with flower petals, orange, orange, orange, pansies and hyacinths.

[she struggles for a moment, nono Indy... but it's all the name of the game, for her arms go around his neck and she kisses him back]

[like she's drowning]

Roger is making it rain orange, now. Hyacinths. Their petals. They slip and cut the greying air, they drop about her hair. He takes her hand in his and presses it.

You...ignored me. Six months. Over six months and

[her eyes are open and wide and dark with lustdesire]

[then, helplessly,]

please don't stop...

Roger strokes her hair, gently, dislodging the petals that have fallen around her shoulders.

"I've been gone from everyone," he murmurs, touching her jaw, "everyone, mortal and immortal..." And kisses her softly with his other hand on the cup of her hip.

Yes, but I-

[another kiss stops her words, and though after this she'll hate herself, for the moment she's just standing there, helplessly; a junkie finally getting her fix]

He touches her hips, pulls her towards him.

"You're beautiful," he mutters, with absolute truth.

helpless, helplessly addicted; she's set on fire by nothing but his touch and taste and voice]

Roger, please... [her throaty voice is a husky, broken moan]

[please go away. please kiss me, take me please...

please go away

please take me with you]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only