exsiliumlogs | And all our troubles in the dark

Date & Time: Jan 21st
Location: Chloe and Charlie's cushy little flat
Characters: Charlie Cutter, Chloe Frazer
Summary: It's her birthday; she's not right
Warnings: MAGIC??? (and an initial lack of pants)

She feels better now. No questioning the how or why, no wondering about where she belongs: it's all as simple as common sense these days, right down to the tailored sweater she's taken to wearing round the flat or the expensive, unscuffed boots on her feet. She smells of sandalwood and magnolia, and the scent's a comfort she can't imagine living without - if there was ever anything wrong with her life before, Chloe has to suspect it had something to do with that. With the fact that she never went through all the routines or that they--

The thoughts clip there. Needle skipping across a record and she hardly notices. The sweater's on, jewelry off (save for the simpler one made of metal and leather, tucked away under a high collar) sheets tangled high around her thighs-- and her thighs round the broad bulk of his own-- and she's quick to nudge Charlie, voice low in his ear:

"Oi. Wake up, darling."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Aside from the pub crew?" Exsilium additions aside, these days she even considers the old contacts bad influences. Probably why they weren't phoned up to attend her little 'party'. "No, I've been keeping my nose clean, thank you very much."

After all, that's what he's concerned about, isn't it? Reputation while establishing ties with new, necessary allies.

It takes him a moment of earnest examination, studying the lines of her face - the too-expensive clothes and the turn of her hair about her ears. He sets his shoulders, setting his elbows against his knees--

"You're serious about this?"

It's a blank question, doesn't sound anything like the dig it actually could be.

"I should hope that's obvious." Dig it isn't, but she looks wounded all the same: brow furrowed and low over kohl lined eyes.

Which means there's just one more question he can really even think to ask at the moment:

"Why?"

Her mouth opens instinctually. She knows this, knows why the shift was necessary-- why wouldn't she? But the words don't come, fall flat on her tongue or against the back of her throat while her mind goes to static for a few brief beats. Before she decides to change the subject and see if he won't break it down into manageable details.

"--why what?"

"Why now? Why the clothes and the attitude adjustment, why any of it?" He doesn't even know if those are the right questions to ask and there's an impatient cut to the shape of the questions. This isn't her, he's certain of that much. She's fickle, but not like this - changes her mind because she's set on things instead of ideas.

He thinks. Maybe? Shit, maybe he hasn't any idea what he's talking about.

"I--" Static again. White noise in her ears where logic ought to be, too loud to ignore. It doesn't feel off to her senses, to her mind, despite the look of frustration that edges in on her expression. And then it all catches again on something sensible and she's fine.

It's fine.

"Darling I just want us to be happy."

"So you're curling your hair and playing at being a--" he makes a sharp hand gesture, clearly meant to indicate... whatever it is she's playing at. Housewife? Suburban mother? Christ's sake. "--the make us happy?"

A beat, then sharply: "You realize that's completely daft, don't you?"

"I'm not playing at anything." It's not defensiveness in her voice, it's certainty. "It's like this for a reason, you know. Couples."

There's something irritating about it - the way she won't rise to his goading now that he's picking at her directly. That's not supposed to happen; she's supposed to stab back at him. The carefully put together demeanor sets him off, prickling and sharp: "Like what? Total bullshit?

He casts his fork and knife down, cutlery loud against the glass plate. "Quit messing about."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand-- if I've done something to upset you I'll gladly set it right, but I am not 'messing about' right now." Chloe sets her own set down-- less noise, same positioning-- and rises to her feet to gather up her plate in addition to his, (making the assumption that if they're down he's done) jewelry jingling softly as all the fine bits of metal and flawlessly cut stones clatter against one another.

And all our troubles in the dark

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