Allison Cameron (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
as_damaged) wrote2009-11-13 05:50 pm
as_damaged) wrote2009-11-13 05:50 pm
☤ twenty-seven
[Accidental Audio]
[CRASH.
CRASH.
CRASH. CRASH.
splinter splinter crash. There is heavy breathing in the background.
...crash.]
[ooc; action for Chase and mebbe Angela, and um, anyone who happens to live in their apartments/surrounding apts who might notice the breaking and entering. sob. i don't even.]
[CRASH.
CRASH.
CRASH. CRASH.
splinter splinter crash. There is heavy breathing in the background.
...crash.]
[ooc; action for Chase and mebbe Angela, and um, anyone who happens to live in their apartments/surrounding apts who might notice the breaking and entering. sob. i don't even.]
[break on through to the other side]
[She'll have the grace-- or maybe just the single-mindedness-- not to notice her adversary's departure. In her current state Cameron is convinced that she's the girl he's "meant" to be with, and no one's going to tell her otherwise. Especially not Chase.
Come midnight she'll hate herself for this, though really it's the City she should hate, for giving her all these glimpses of things she can't have. For now she just takes a step closer to him, a coy look on her face as she reaches and leans in to put her arms around him.]
She forefeit.
[break on through to the other side]
[Chase explains to deaf ears, straining to hear what's going on down that corridor for himself. Though Cameron and her delicate smiles and the alignment of her arms are distracting as hell, and it makes him wonder if he likes being tortured this way. It's a bloody longwinded means of working through a carrot-on-a-stick complex. Sure, right now she's too close. Tomorrow it's back to too far, and there's no middle ground that keeps everyone happy. Still, his hands settle over hers around his waist.
Just until Angela gets back.]
Are you taking my name? House'll want to give us numbers.
[break on through to the other side]
[They fit together comfortably, and she isn't shy about cuddling up against him now, head on his chest, eyes half-shut with pleasure that's only half motivated by acquisition. He'll have housework to do if she gets him out of here, make no mistake-- but she's always happy to be with him. It's just less of a secret now.
Tomorrow she'll go back to thinking it's best if she disappears.]
I don't know. I thought it would be easier if I didn't. [She pulls back enough to beam up at him, guileless.] Do you want me to? I love you.
[It's not the first time she's said it, though it's the first he's heard it. Chronologically. Complicatedly. She wouldn't, if she weren't cursed, or he weren't; that doesn't entirely make it coercion. But you can't trust someone on a curse day, either.]
[break on through to the other side]
If only he wasn't oddly compelled to comply.
If only she hadn't just cut off all possibility of smalltalk along with the rest of his powers of sentient verbal communication. It's the first time he's heard that. From anyone. In years. At least the marriage proposal seemed ridiculous enough to laugh off. This.
It's just impossible. She's voided whatever game he was trying to play to get through this, the look he gives her in return for a moment too open and unguarded to hide the vulnerability behind the shock.]
No, you don't. You're cursed and you don't know what the hell you're talking about.
[His tone, still belied by his stare, grows almost petulant.]
If you were in your right mind, you'd kill me for taking you at your word.
[break on through to the other side]
[Her fingers drum along the back of his neck once, softly. Only teasingly reproachful, she smiles again.]
But I'll forgive you. Come home with me?
[break on through to the other side]
[He's questioning himself, the agreement having slipped out through what feels like instinct, or habit. Her arms were round him, staking their claim, and there's some kind of rule to this. Some rule from some fake holiday in country he's not even native to, with dubious reasons for cross-pollenating into this place. He was the slowest runner, or she was the quickest in pursuit. Reason wars with responsibility, and compromises through delaying tactics.]
Okay. Just, let me call someone to come check on Eden. And I'll have to tell Peter where I'm going.
[He'll have to tell Peter a few things, when he realises his room mate is headed for the next apartment over. Peter might be blind, but colourful language is an art appreciable by all.]
[break on through to the other side]
[Her words carry a tone of unwitting command, though she's completely casual about it, stepping back to free his hands while remaining too close for comfort.]