capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

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(no subject)

WHO:

sdrawkcabcigam
WHERE: Zee's place
WHEN: Tuesday~
SUMMARY: Bond goes to Zee for company and possibly food
WARNINGS: James Bond
FORMAT: Words

[Bond's over within the hour, mostly because of the promise of being fed sweettreats like pie. Oh and plus he's totally wanting company and making up with Zee. Sadly not making out.

So here he is, showing up and providing a soft little knock.]

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[She's in the kitchen and, rather than shout throughout the house to come in, the door opens by itself. She's wearing an apron (with clothing beneath, sorry) and tidying up the old fashioned way. The smell of apple pie wafts through the house. It shouldn't be too hard to find her.]

That smells delightful, darling.

[She cheats, now, a hand sweeping through the air and a finger pointing as the mess cleans itself up. Her arms fall to her side and she turns around, her heels clicking on the stone flooring. With her back to the counter top, she's almost demure in the way she grips the marble behind her.]

Hi.

Hello.

[She keeps rocking back and forth, from toe to heel. Almost like she means to hop up onto the counter top and sit there.] It's still hot.

[And, she does just that, crossing her legs. It's just her now (well, and Buffy). She can sit wherever she wants, now.] Give it a few minutes. [The conversation is a little strained, as if she's more than aware that she needs to say more to him than just this. And maybe even include an apology.]

I'm not sure I can wait that long.

How was Vegas?

You'll burn yourself, if you don't.

[She should have taken the bottle from him and retrieved the glasses herself, like a proper hostess.] To be honest with you, I feel worse now than before I left.

Why is that?

Because I was an irresponsible idiot? Amongst other things. [She takes it with a small nod of thanks, tips of her fingers brushing against his as she retracts the glass toward herself. At least the small talk is good for avoiding talking about other things.]

Nothing wrong with irresponsibility every now and then.

I deal with loss very poorly. [She keeps the glass close to her mouth, not drinking it quite yet.] I either do stupid things, or I shut down emotionally.

[Finally, she takes a sip.] Are you well?

Hm.

Not bad. But it's not me I'm concerned about.

Who are you concerned about? [It doesn't seem to cross her mind that it could be her. Or them.]

You, my dear.

[She looks up at him, searching for some sort of sign that he's teasing her.] I'll be fine. He got what he wanted. I should be happy for him.

Are you happy?

[She takes a thoughtful sip, mulling it over. She decides to be honest.] No, not really. I feel alone, even when I'm surrounded by others.

Edited 2011-09-20 23:00 (UTC)

Why is that?

[She shifts uncomfortably and considers hopping down and moving to the kitchen table to sit in a proper chair, but doesn't.]

Does it matter? [She doesn't want to talk about this. She doesn't want to talk about John or Carlton. She doesn't want to talk about being alone.]

Yes. Because it's bothering you.

It's always bothered me. I can't do anything to change it. [She sets the glass down, but remains where she is.] He's the only one who has ever chosen me. For everyone else, I'm second or third or fourth best. I'm someone to pass the time or a shoulder to cry on or offer a job until friends or family or lovers from their world show up.

I'm sure that's not true.

I'm convenient. [She's trying to avoid making a complete idiot out of herself, so she avoids drinking more. For now. Her cheeks are already a little rosy.] I'm so petty and jealous. And then I act like a jerk.

[She's not trying to avoid it enough, however, downing half a glass in record time.] He's my friend because I'm convenient. Because he's my manager. Because he throws himself into his work. But now people he knows from his world are here. I'm so selfish. [She expects him to always come to her, but allow her to spend her time with whomever she chooses. She's more than aware how dickish that is. Her eyes dart to the floor. Finishing off that little tirade of hers, she finally makes it clear who she's referring to.] I should apologize to Arthur, you know?

Arthur? This is about Arthur?

[She uncrosses her legs and frowns.]