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Post by Bogwoppit on May 7, 2009 17:40:59 GMT
As soon as she spoke, and saw the confused look in his blue eyes, Miriel regretted speaking thus, but she could see no way to retract her formal tones. Now he would think her unfeeling, or worse - that she did not think of him as a friend at all but merely as a patient. But what was she to do? There could be no more than friendship between them for so many reasons, and their respective positions forbid even a simple friendship. M'lady... that sounded so strange coming from one such as he and addressed to one such as she. Miriel began to automatically protest at the title he had given her, but the pained expression on his handsome face stilled her lips. Instead she reached to help him into the torn tunic, at a loss for what to say to repair the damage she had done. Perhaps he would think her cold now... or perhaps she had hurt his feelings just as his wife had, although of course she had not said such hurtful things, nor could she ever think that the words of Miriel the healer would affect Faramir in any way close to the words of the beautiful Eowyn. She did not want him to go - she wanted to say something, anything, to make him stay, but her mind was a blank, and so she merely smiled and allowed him to take his leave, standing back away from the bed to allow him to rise. "I... I am glad you are well my lord," she spoke softly, and cringed at the inadequacy of her words. |
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Post by Bogwoppit on May 7, 2009 17:59:00 GMT
Eledhwen blanched at the assessing, level look the Elf gave her, but held his gaze with a determined gleam in her dark eyes. She would not give him the satisfaction of having her look away. Her heart trembled despite her obstinate gaze as he turned the full light of his beautiful smile towards her. But it was made all the more otherwordly by the steel in his eyes, and she found at last that she could no longer hold his line of sight. She blinked and looked down as he spoke, but not before seeing the lifting of one perfect dark brow. Oh, why was he such an arrogant pig? And how did he know with such conviction that she would do anything, say anything, to make sure of her place amongst them when they left for Valinor? Was she so easy to read? His order for her to change her mind stirred the anger in her breast once again, not because of the fact that the order came from him, but because she had always resented being told what to do, and an Elf doing the telling just made it worse. She lifted her chin and eyed him with a narrow gaze, small nostrils flaring slightly as she spoke through gritted teeth. "Goodnight Elf," she snapped, and before he could respond she sailed past him and out into the hallway, brushing his arm as she went and experiencing once again that sharp tingle of electricity. Marching towards her own room she was determined not to look round and give him the satisfaction of knowing he was still on her mind. But as she turned the corner she could not resist, and glanced back over her shoulder. Tossing long dark hair back from her face, she tried to look as though she were looking at something else, and then practically ran to her quarters, slamming the door behind her and breathing hard. What was happening to her? What were these feelings that surged whenever she was in the company of the Elf? A mixture of hate, resentment, and something she could not name, but she knew it had her heart beating quicker than during any Orc skirmish, and every inch of her skin prickled from his closeness. Pushing aside any thoughts, improper or otherwise, of the Elf - she refused to think of him by name - she stripped off her dusty clothes and sank thankfully into the hot bath that someone has thoughtfully left for her before a roaring fire. |
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Post by Bogwoppit on May 7, 2009 18:18:21 GMT
Joe West was himself striding down the corridor towards his room, having just left Kawalsky standing undecided in the hallway. He was bone weary, dirty, bloody, and very hungry. Fighting always made him hungry. As he turned the corner he came up short, the sight before his eyes surprising him more than any of the sights he had witnessed that day. DJ was leading a bedraggled female along, his jacket draped around her shoulders, Lake trailing along behind like some little kid denied some candy. It took West a moment to realise that the female was Elendur, the steward's darling daughter. She looked very different from the confident woman he had danced with the previous evening. "Hey!" he grinned. "Where'd you get to DJ? I heard you were a hero. Saved some young thing from a monster they're saying." DJ looked up and blushed, returning his CO's grin with a lopsided shy one of his own. "Not really," he replied, shrugging self-consciously. "Well... actually, yes I suppose I did." He glanced sideways at Elendur to see if she was impressed. Who was he to deny it when it was true? "Hey Lake, you ok?" West called towards the grizzled looking captain. Lake squinted, and reached into his top pocket for his cigerettes. He shook one out and lit it, the cheap lighter taking four goes to catch. He nodded wordlessly, and leaned a shoulder against the wall to wait while this little party reached its conclusion. He folded his arms, propping one elbow on the other hand so that he could smoke, blue eyes narrowed against the fumes. West nodded in return, once and briefly, then looked back at the blonde woman. He inspected her from head to foot. "Elendur?" he prompted, unsure whether she was injured, in shock, or what. "Oh," DJ jumped in, "we were just coming to find you sir. Sh... the lady wanted us to bring her to you." |
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Post by Bogwoppit on May 7, 2009 19:11:39 GMT
Mark let out a relieved breath that he didn't know he had been holding, releasing it slowly and silently between slightly parted lips as Thrace's face brightened. It wasn't a ploy, not really. Molly really had asked about her mother, drawn her a picture - a brightly colored crayon picture of the the three of them together in front of a wonky house, smoke curling out of the chimney into an impossibly blue sky. The little girl was always talking about her mommy, not realising that her life was in any way strange or not normal, with grandma mostly taking care of her, daddy coming home at night, and mommy... well... mommy was very busy working at a very important job and had to be away a lot, so it was better if Molly lived with daddy and grandma. That was all. Why was it only at the mention of their daughter that she became all sweetness and light again - almost back to being the girl he had first met and fallen in love with. Why couldn't Mark himself make her smile that way, her whole face lighting up? Surely he used to be able to? He felt a stab of resentment, not for Molly, of course not... towards himself maybe, and the fact that he couldn't do it right. He couldn't, no matter what he tried, no matter how reasonable he remained in the face of her anger, he couldn't make her better, he couldn't help her overcome her demons. And he wanted to, he had always wanted to, so so much. All he had ever wanted, from the moment he saw the troubled look that sometimnes came into her dark eyes, was to make her happy, carefree... at peace with herself. Because that was the one thing she wasn't, Mark knew. She wasn't at peace with herself, and it tore him apart to have to watch her, step by step, day by day, become seemingly more determined to destroy herself. He hated being so helpless. He smiled now though, a sweet, gentle smile, full of love for the beautiful child they had created between them. Molly would know no fear, no trauma, no sadness, no darkness, Mark would see to that. He could not bear to see the same self-destructive look in his daughter's eyes as he used to see in her mother's. We don't have to be terrible for each other... But he didn't say it; he didn't want to start the argument again, or say anything which might stir her to anger once more. He wanted to keep this moment of peace between them for a while longer, just a while. "She always asks after you," he replied instead, his tone gentle to match his wistful expression. "She loves you so much Katee..." ... and so do I...The words remained hanging in the air, unspoken, between them, like smoke on a still fall day, but the sentiment was as plain in his troubled blue eyes as if he had spoken, and his heart began to thud loudly in his chest as she drew nearer. He was reluctant to let her go, and twisted his own hand to grasp hers lightly against his jacket, bending his head to brush his lips lightly against her dusty hair. His other hand came unthinking to settle on her waist as they stood inches apart, a movement as natural as breathing to him, and he rested his stubbled cheek against her fair head. For a moment he alowed himself to relax. |
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Post by Pinkie on May 9, 2009 11:24:14 GMT
 Nah - Gypsy wasn't the girl who got the guys, not even the attention of the guys. It wasn't that she wasn't pretty - she just never put herself forward as an object of attraction and so was never really perceived as such. When men did take notice of her she usually managed to turn it into camaraderie within the space of their first conversation, that any time after that these men saw her as 'one of hte lads'. Perhaps it was her way of protecting herself. She trusted people, she liked people, but she didn't want to get too close to them because of what she hid at home. Her husband would certainly have something to say about it if he could ever get her alone. Yet another situation Gypsy avoided. That's what happened with Mark. She thought. Despite him being of eligible bachelor status, being really rather cute looking and also being a really nice guy, things had not gotten awkward because they'd hit it off as mates, buddies.... comrades. The fact that she hadn't noticed just how cute he was until they got to the city might have also been a small factor. When the girl looked up at Boromir it didn't occur to her to think that he was looking at her with anything other than fondness for her pixie like, cheery attitude in the face of horrors never seen before. Horrors were one thing, the glorious city and ethereal Elf were another entirely. It enlivened Gypsy to be fronted with such fairytale sights and it showed in her bright eyes, the loose adn languid set of her shoulders and the general bubbly, forthright, honest smile that she beamed around at anyone willing to look. Boromir's words were met with a little laugh and a wrinkling of her nose, Gypsy momentarily wondering if that was meant to be suggestive and then dismissing it as silly. Boromir pulled away from her sharply and for a moment Gypsy thought she had maybe mentioned something that was totally taboo. Her cheeks, normally so pale, started to give a slight reddening, her smile became tentative and her body became very still. She listened carefully, fascinated but cautious because she realised that she might say something that was taboo. The ear thing seemed to have not been as bad as she had originally thought and even Boromir echoed the movements of her hands in gesturing towards the pointed ears. Gypsy gave a wry grin and glanced over her shoulder as if they were conspiring, grinning happily up at Boromir when she turned back. When he mentioend She-Elves her face dropped in amazement. It really was like some bloody fantasy novel or something! She-Elves. "Whoa! I didn't think about there being She-Elves though there'd have to be for the He-Elves to ... ya know ... to ... create baby-Elves. Oh ! Are there little Elves? Like baby-Elves? I can't imagine mini-versions of Ha... " she halted, lowered her voice and leaned her head in a little closer to the fair-haired male, "I can't imagine mini-versions of Haldir running around the place in diapers and drooling!" she giggled, picturing it in her mind. "It's so amazing. This is the kind of stuff that people back on my planet only write about, ya know? They create these amazing universes where there are Elves and demons and dragons and all sorts of strange, other-worldly things. And then we come through the Gate and they're right there! It's amazing, don't ya think?" she piped quietly, genuinely fascinated - thinking, perhaps incorrectly, that this kind of conversation was as interseting to a man who had lived with Elves and demons on his doorstep all his life would find this equally fascinating. Perhaps it was Dj she aught to have been talking to about it. Or Mark. Gypsy felt a twinge when she thought of Mark. Stupidly she missed his company. They would have chatted about this all day and into the night if they had been out walking like they had been the three days previous. |
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Post by Pinkie on May 9, 2009 13:10:37 GMT
 How could he not think so little of himself? Of the four people in his life that should have loved him unconditionally, he could count on the love and respect of only one. His mother had died whilst giving him life and he would never know how she felt for him. His wife mocked, ridiculed and scorned him for not being the great man that Aragorn was. His father despised him and everything that he did for it would never be as good as that which Boromir could do. And Boromir - the only one of the four, well, he loved him as a brother should. It was a love that Faramir could count on. At least he had that. Miriel's influence in his life, though small, was becoming increasingly important. Faramir liked to know the people who he served, he liked to know that there was some kind of benefit for those living in Minis Tirith, some comfort that was not all to do with war and victory. Miriel was a gentle spirit, a sweet soul, she was all that Faramir wanted to protect and keep safe in the world. Her sorrow was worn plain upon her sleeve but she was not always so. She could be happy again. If she were kept safe. When Faramir stood, intent on leaving, it was not with a heart full of resentment and self-pity. It was with a resolute heart to keep her safe. If that meant keeping his distance well then... so be it. He would ensure her safety from afar and do what he could for her happiness. As a married man that was all he could do. The tunic slid down over his sore upper body and Faramir sighed. He looked over at the fair woman discreetly, feeling his muscles tense when he saw how conflicted she looked being so close to him. Inviting her to the dance was the wrong thing to do perhaps. Perhaps she had not appreciated him showing up at her small home either... He had not known that the whole community would turn out to watch his visit. The man flinched at his own silliness of actions and ducked his head, his fair hair shifting forward to shadow his face as he pulled on a long leather doublet over his torn tunic. It hung past his knees and wide open on either side. He had the belt in his hand but was too tired, too weary to don it so he merely lifted it with an obligatory sweet smile, not meeting the woman's eyes. He gave a small inclination of his head in farewell before turning to walk away, attempting to be as upright and smooth as he could given his injury. But his footsteps were staggered slightly, a little jarred, and his face paled considerably by the time he had reached an arch leading out of the houses of healing. A bare whisper but he heard her and turned, a little too suddenly. His blue eyes were guarded and his eyebrows lifted a little as he wondered if he heard correctly. Looking over at her meek expression he presumed that he had. He could trust her at her word and felt good for knowing that she was glad for his well being. Faramir smiled, a little more sunnier than before, and tilted his head to one side, his reddish hair curling at his shoulder. "Hmm.. I know you are. And I thank you." he told her, his words were not as formal as before but they still held a distance - the distance that she had so created. He would respect her wishes for that distance though it was not explicitly spoken it was implicitly felt. "Keep yourself well, Mi.." her name threatened and he took a breath in, placing a hand across his stomach before continuing, "Mi'lady." Again Faramir paused. He wanted to tell her not to feel like she had to keep her distance, or to tell her that she could call upon him whenever she wished, or ... something, anything to ensure she knew that if she ever wished to share the friendship they had known last night ever again, that he would be more than willing - but no words sounded right. And Faramir would not speak it unless it were right - so he said nothing. Another stiff bow and he turned on his heel once more, lowering his head as he went. |
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Post by Pinkie on May 16, 2009 21:18:26 GMT
 Elendur saw Joe West down the corridor and self-consciously she straightened her back. Her elegant features smoothed out into pretty terror and she brushed hair back from her cheek. Her cheek which was dusty. A hand that was grimey. The dress that she wore was simple, it hung beautifully on her, but it was stained and Elendur did not wish to tihnk what the stains were. She had been carted around by the foul-mouthed one and was wearing a jacket that had ... stuff on it but she was still immaculately beautiful. The woman found herself giving a dry sob and clutched at DJ's side to hold herself upright, the emotion of the night hitting her hard now that her definition of safety was close to hand. They just spoke as if she was not there! Elendur looked up with wide, sad eyes at Joe, blinking owlishly and finding her terror slipped away for a brief moment as he addressed DJ first, then Lake. Elendur had never felt so unimportant! She bowed her head, feeling her temper working up a storm and only when he had ascertained that his men were well did he address her. The blonde parted her lips, feeling tears!, tears! coursing down her cheeks. Her shoulders gave a miserable shiver as another sob rattled from her chest. It was reality that bit at her now. Reality of what her city had faced - the retaliation that was sure to follow. The woman turned out and away from Dj's arm and turned her back on them all, lifting a hand to her mouth. But turning her back on them left her facing Lake. The movement was slow. Elendur lifted her face and looked at Lake directly, all her defenses down, and she tensed her jaw, daring him to say a word at all. The blonde swallowed hard and dropped her eyes, wrapping an arm across her stomach and crossing the other one up over her chest, a hand on her shoulder, fingers curling into the jacket that was far too big on her. "Where is my father? Boromir... ? Faramir?" she asked quietly, not facing the men but dipping her cheek to her shoulder and looking down at the ground, a sorrowful image. |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Jun 22, 2009 15:17:23 GMT
Lake watched the little act the blonde girl put on for the benefit of their CO, and smirked. They were all the same, women - so bloody independent when it suited them, but as soon as the chips were down they turned to bloody mush! Dropping his cigerette butt and pushing himself upright off the wall, he ground the glowing remnants out with the dusty toe of his boot and squinted up at West. "I'm gonna go find a hot bath, if that's alright... Sir," he spoke quietly, with respect. Whatever else Nathan Lake was, he was not insubordinate... often. West glanced away from his minute inspection of the beautiful if bedraggled woman before him, and nodded his reply briefly, dismissing the older man without a word. As Lake passed him by however he touched his sagging shoulder. "Good work today," he murmured, and Lake continued on his way silently, exhausted now. Rounding a corner on his way back to his quarters, Lake spotted the gruff, bearded one, Boromir, talking to the kid that had brought Llewellyn through the gate. Lake frowned and picked up the pace slghtly as he approached. He didn't trust this bastard. "Everything alright airman?" he enquired, fixing the bearded man with a withering glare as he drew level. He couldn't even remember the kid's name, but she looked far too young to be out here on another planet all by herself. The thought crossed his mind that he must remember to tell Thrace that her bit of rough was chatting up another bird, just to see her face... but the thought of Thrace and a bit of rough in the same sentence made him think of the rough treatment he had given her himself, and he dismissed the thought quickly. No more. Once should have been enough... once was enough... |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Jun 22, 2009 15:47:32 GMT
Of course he wanted to know if she was ok, of course he wanted to go to her first, but he had to know his men were all present and correct, all intact... they were his first concern, always. Anyone who ever chose to share Joe West's life had to learn that. Some had thought they could change his priorities... they were sadly disappointed. West had long since realised that a good soldier could not also be a good partner. You had to choose - your family, or your family. This was Joe's family... these men here. DJ, with his fascination for all things old and dirty... whose quiet demeanor often fooled people into thinking he was not a good soldier... those same people often wound up on the wrong end of DJ's P90. Lake... who was a law unto himself... a washed-up pilot, a psychotic manic depressive, a drunk... but West would choose him over 99% of the SGC to have beside him in a fight. Kawalsky... the werewolf - West almost smiled, although it wasn't funny in the slightest - steady, dependable Kawalsky, American Air Force born and bred, soldiering in his blood... and now something else in his blood too... something that made him a formidable fighting machine, but unstable, an unknown quantity. And Thrace... Thrace had always been an unknown quantity, unless you knew how to handle her the way West did. Thrace needed freedom, she needed to be able to bend the rules, and if you allowed her that she would be loyal for life. West had a damn good team, and he wasn't about to let anyone come between them. All that didn't mean he wasn't concerned for Elendur though. He took all of his responsibilities very seriously, and since he first agreed to aid these people, they had all become his responsibility. All of them, but perhaps most especially this particular one. She seemed so self-assured, so arrogant... maybe this war would make her see things a little clearer. West nodded, and took a step towards the blonde, noting the slight shaking of her shoulders, the grime on what used to be an elegant gown, DJ's jacket around her slight form drowning her, making her look like a child. West came closer to her as she gazed at the floor, and hesitated to reach out to her. Even in this vulnerable state she seemed distant, aloof, untouchable. A movement caught his eye and he looked up as Lake brushed past. He nodded, anxious to help Elendur, but as the older man continued past him he reached out and touched him briefly on the shoulder. "Good work today," he said quietly, and turned back to Elendur. "Are you ok? Are you hurt anywhere?" He spoke calmly and confidently, keeping his voice low in a way he knew usually instilled trust. He thought she must be in shock, but wasn't quite sure how to handle her. Glancing up at DJ he noticed the lieutenant shiver slightly. "You go get cleaned up too," he ordered. "I'll take it from here." DJ looked relieved. He wasn't good with women at the best of times, and especially not stuck up aristocratic ones who might burst into tears or scream at any moment. He slipped away, leaving West and Elendur alone in the cold dim corridor. |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Jun 28, 2009 9:23:30 GMT
Sauron was fuming! Stupid stupid Mouth! Couldn't even attack a city successfully! He swung round to blaze at the offending creature in disgust, and realised not for the first time that he could now actually move too. He almost tripped down the steps of the dais as he swung round, forgetting for a moment that he was no longer just a blazing eye, but quickly regained his composure and raised his bearded chin in a sneer. "Well? What is your excuse this time?" he roared, and coughed, still unused to being able to talk. "And where is my cat? I haven't seen her since you left..." He squinted suspiciously at the tall figure before him, noting that this body was actually quite a lot shorter than Mouth's. Had the hideous creature done that on purpose? "You haven't eaten her have you?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a imperious grumble. With the demise of his pet wizard Saruman, Sauron no longer had the benefit of the palantirs, and so could not see so far. Especially since that snivelling mortal... the last of the Dunedain... was he really? Especially since he had destroyed the one in the city. Sauron felt impotent... But at least now he had a body of his own, even if he hadn't tried it outside yet... In truth he had gotten to be a little aggrophobic, having spent the last five hundred years stuck in this tower... |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Jun 28, 2009 9:54:40 GMT
Mouth looked down and shuffled his feet nervously, trying not to laugh when his master almost tripped down the steps. He had to admit though, now that Sauron had had a few days to get it in shape, the new body looked good... very good in fact... Mouth licked his lips, and winced. They were all cracked and chapped again after days on the road... All that wind and sun and only rotten Orc meat to eat... it was a wonder he had made it back at all! Sauron just didn't seem to appreciate the sacrifices Mouth made... Mouth froze, and backed away a little as the dark lord approached. Mind you, Mouth towered over him - the Southron body could not have been more than 6ft tall... still intimidating though, knowing that the most evil of evil things resided inside. "I erm..." he began, and if he had eyes they would have been darting from side to side trying to avoid Sauron's dark smouldering gaze. "No..." Mouth replied, pouting and without conviction. He decided it might be a good time to draw Sauron's attention away from such trivial matters, and back to the important stuff. "Masssster," he sleazed, grinning, "don't you think now would be the time to show yourself to these sniveling Men? The Dunedain is not in the city, they are weak from our initial attack. The only reason we were not... quite as successful as we would like was..." ... because I ate most of the army before we got there..."... because they had a strange new weapon... one which could blow up whole regiments in one go... similar to the magic Saruman used in the War, but far more powerful..." He inched closer, and reached out one clawed hand to stroke his master softly on his smooth muscular arm. Mouth had to admit, Sauron did have an immaculate taste in clothing... all silk and sleeveless tunics... very nice... He licked his dried and bloodied lips again, and swallowed roughly. No... can't eat Sauron... that would be bad. |
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Post by Pinkie on Jun 28, 2009 23:24:07 GMT
God but it was painfully natural to be this close, this intimate with him! Thrace melted in against his warmth, her head bowed and her eyes heavily lidded. She could think of a hundred reasons why she should be running a hundred miles an hour the opposite direction but none of them formed together in her mind coherently and all she could focus on was the strength of his hand holding hers, the solidity of his chest beneath her fingers, the warm and familiar scent of his skin, the brush of his lips against her forehead. The blonde groaned as he kissed her forehead and shut her eyes completely, tipping her face up a little more, the bridge of her nose brushing lightly against the curve of his chin. The unspoken words hung in the air between them as soon as they were past his lips. They charged the air with an atmosphere that was heavy, awkward and dizzying. Thrace tensed her jaw, running through all the outcomes, thinking of the consequences for once. If she fell into bed with Mark now it would not undo their history and it would not make them any more compatible now than they had been when they were a couple. If she fell into his bed now they would just have to go through the whole break-up thing again and Molly was old enough now to notice 'stuff'. Thrace licked her bottom lip and leaned back from Mark, looking at him with sultry, hazel eyes. He was far too good for her. Far, far too good. "Lucky she knows someone who can tell her first-hand just how badly I hurt the ones who love me, huh Mark?" the blonde asked, her voice quiet, husky with an underlying passion for him. Undeniably she wanted to fuck him - she wanted to feel his familiar hands stroke her thighs, to feel the warmth of his lips on her stomach, the feel of his considerate fingers tracing the contours of her body. He worshipped her body, he treated her so well and ensured her pleasure and satisfaction but undeniably it would be only sex. It would be sex and it would be good but it would not be able to stay like that. Mark... Mark would want more then. He'd want more committment. He'd want to know where she was going and who she was going with and what time she would be home at and warn her not to drink too much and to give up smoking because it was bad for her and it was bad for Molly to see her mommy smoke and .... Thrace smiled ruefully, a smirk that was cocky and arrogant as she took a step back from Mark, clicking her tongue and swallowing her desires for the night. "See this?" she asked, taking another step back, breaking contact with him altogether as she jutted a thumb backwards towards herself. Her short blonde hair was mussed up from the battle, a smudge of dirt along her cheek and her clothes were filthy- but it was the action, not the person, that she was indicating. "This is me being a grown up and not just taking what I want but thinking of the consequences. Me being sensible. Learned that from you." she pistol-pointed towards Mark now, giving him a wry grin since he was the one who had, years ago, lectured her on taking what she wanted and not thinking of the consequences. Well right now she was feeding that lesson back to him. It didn't feel as good as she thought it might though... "You just ... you just look after our little girl Mark. Let me be the one to make the mistakes for both of us, huh?" she asked, her wry smile looking more sincere now, considerate and hopeful. |
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Post by Pinkie on Jun 28, 2009 23:40:55 GMT
Gypsy was a whimsical creature better suited to one of the fairytale fantasies she spoke so passionately about to Boromir. Her small frame, short hair and cat-like eyes were ethereal. The boisterous good humours she flounced around in were surely of a similar category of 'fantasy' too. It wasn't that nothing got the kid down - it was more to do with her interest... her genuine interest in people. People fascinated her - their circumstances, their upbringing, the things that made them into the people they are today - it was all fascinating the young woman. Boromir towered above her aloof and yet smiling still, interesting and interested with a ready smile for her whimsical ways. Of course her good humours were tempered with equally bad ones but those Gypsy kept to herself. No-one else need suffer the misery of her home life except her. Her husband had not always been a bad guy, he had been good before - maybe he could be good again...? The woman doubted that very much but she still held tight to her very clear ideas of what was acceptable information to share and what was not. About herself at least. Other people's lives were wide open for speculation! The lithe woman was unaware of company until Lake came up to stand beside her. She turned her head and smiled at him. The stern way that he addressed her recalled the girl to her rank and she gawped a moment before snapping her heels together and issuing the Captain a salute, stiff and formal but softened with the sweetest, brightest of smiles directed at him. His attention seemed to be on Boromir though and Gypsy glanced from man to man curiously before answering. "Ahm - yeah, yeah everything's alright." she said and then gave a faint blush and lopsided grin, "Sorry, Sir, yes everything is alright, Sir. I was just going back to my room and bumped into Bor... uhm, Lord? Boromir?" she said hesitantly, glancing at Boromir with a bright and eager smile, hoping she had titled him correctly. Maybe this alien race had a more correct way of addressing their nobles? Running her teeth against her lower lip, Gypsy turned back to Lake and rocked back on her heels, tucking her thumbs into jacket pockets loosely. "D'you know what we'll be doing tomorrow, Captain Lake? We can't go home but we gotta try, right?" she asked cautiously, scanning the man's face for the answers. And whilst she did she realised that underneath the surly expression the Captain wasn't all that old! He had vibrant blue eyes once surely? And a ready smile judging by the crinkles about his eyes and mouth. Gypsy privately wondered what had happened to make him so... dour. |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Jun 29, 2009 9:29:07 GMT
((Ooc:  @ Mark and Thrace!)) It felt so good to hold her, to forget for a brief moment all the crap that had passed between them, all the hurt she had caused everyone involved, all the times he had said something to her only to see her face close up and wish he could have bitten his tongue. They were so wrong together, and yet still so right... How could that be? He held her close, gently as was his way, he couldn't be rough, not with her, not with anyone. Bending his head he breathed in the scent of her hair, the smoke, the dust, the death... but still underlying that the scent of her that he loved so well. Oh no... not yet... just a while longer before reality kicked in please... just a few minutes before she spoiled it all again with her self-loathing and defensive anger... although it was not anger, just resignation that he heard in her voice as she spoke. He sighed softly and closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face as she pulled away. He watched her wordlessly as she backed away from him, gritting his teeth against the inevitable 'grownup' comment he would usually make when she was in one of her self-depreciating moods. It would do no good, merely serve to make her mad, and at least at the moment they were communicating... sort of. His blue eyes spoke volumes though, hurt, confusion, love, despair, helplessness all blatantly visible in their cerulean depths. It was laughable really... even as she said it Mark knew what she was doing... even now she was hurting him, even while she was trying to do the right thing. She always managed to turn everything around to be his fault ... his fault that she was leaving now, because he had taught her to think of the consequences. He did in fact huff out a breath of resigned laughter, shaking his head and offering a tight-lipped smile which came nowhere near reaching his eyes. Funny how she only used those things he'd tried to teach her when it benefited her... Sure she was being sensible, sure he would have regretted letting her get to him again in the morning, but he couldn't help thinking this was just another way for her to punish him. He had never been able, over all these long months, to work out just what it was she was punishing him for."Yeah... yeah sure, ok..." he sighed, stepping forward and raking a hand through his thick, dusty hair. "You're right... what would be the point?" He was talking quietly, almost to himself, as he walked past her, pausing for a moment to touch her hand. "I just..." He smiled sadly, studying her face for a minute before taking away the light contact of his fingers on hers. "Never mind... maybe one day..." Maybe one day what? She'll realise she still loves you and that you were right together all along? She'll realise that she can be a good mom and come and take Molly away? What?He knew he was an idiot, giving her the chance to come back to him and Molly, to see sense, to do what she had to do before settling down. But he couldn't help loving her, and every time she allowed him to catch a glimpse of the feelings she still had beneath that hard shell just gave him hope once again. He opened the thick oak door and paused, looking back over his shoulder, one hand on the door frame. "G'night Katie," he said softly. "I'm... glad you're ok." |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Jun 29, 2009 9:52:27 GMT
Lake rolled his eyes, both at the salute, and at the pretentious title the kid gave the pompous git. Scowling, he tutted and reached out to drag her little hand away from her forehead, shaking his head slightly. He threw Boromir another filthy glare. Yeah sure he just happened to bump into the kid. More likely lying in wait for Thrace and when she didn't show up pounced on the first skirt passing. Not that the kid was wearing a skirt... Lake glanced down at her slim legs encased in the baggy fatigues. Seriously, these bloody uniforms did nothing for a woman's figure... Why the fuck did decent looking birds join up? He could understand the lesbos wanting to look like blokes... but this kid was... pretty. And where the fuck was Thrace anyway? Not that he gave a toss where the cold bitch was... His tired blue eyes slid back up to her elf-like animated face as Gypsy spoke again. "Fucked if I know," he shrugged uncaringly, reaching into his breast pocket for his smokes. His cockney accent became more pronounced the more tired he was, and right now it was pure Bow Bells. Shaking a cigerette out he offered the packet to the girl, then tucked them back into his pocket. He pointedly ignored Boromir as he lit up, and the bearded man merely watched the exchange curiously, stiffening visibly as the cigerette smoke curled up from the glowing tip. Another strange alien magic... pipeweed encased in small white tubes... Lake took a deep breath, drawing the nicotine straight down into his lungs, and gave Gypsy a shrewd, narrow-eyed look. "C'mon," he said decisively, "I'll buy y'a drink. I dunno 'bout you but I'm fuckin' parched!" It wasn't with any thoughts of an ulterior motive that Lake spoke, merely his deep-seated and generally well hidden sense of honour. Quite simply, he didn't fancy the kid's chances much if that hairy fucking animal decided to pounce on her. That and the fact that he really did need a drink... badly. ((Ooc: He is SO going to grab some passing wench and make her bring them some ale to his room so that Gypsy is there when Thrace turns up!   )) |
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