Sciel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cache_coeur) wrote2026-06-04 10:10 am
cache_coeur) wrote2026-06-04 10:10 am
(no subject)
Truthfully, Sciel prefers not to be walked right to her door. She’s certainly never allowed it in Etraya, to the point that coming home alone is about the only thing she’s done diligently and without fail. She doesn’t want to start now.
But tonight is an exception, both because of Beto and despite him. They’re not close enough for her to consider taking him home, but he can fly. She’d picked a date on the far edge of the dome, she wasn’t in any particular mood to spend two hours on the train to get back home. Certainly not at that hour, not in a dress that slinky, not in those impractical shoes, not wet. And truthfully: she’s tired. An exception could be made, given exceptional circumstances. Why not take him up on the offer?
Still, when they approach the balcony of the Thirty-Three’s apartment, Sciel has no intention of letting him in. One exception is enough for one night, and she definitely isn’t going to make another when she spies the light still on at Gustave’s desk. For a second she hopes it’s a fluke, a switch he’s forgotten to flip before headed off to bed himself, but no, there’s his dark curls, the hunch of his shoulders. She imagines she has mere seconds before he notices bodies moving outside the window, and she’s immediately sure that being witnessed will be awkward enough without letting some man try to make suave conversation at the balcony door. Time for a swift goodbye, then.
Her feet touch the ground and she shifts out of Beto’s arms in a heartbeat. She moves away but one hand stays on his arm, at least, grateful. She plucks up an easy smile.
“Thank you for tonight,” she says, meeting his eyes as she steps away, backwards, to the door, still looking at him. Oh, he really is handsome. And patient. She’s been so flighty. She adds: “And for the lift! Goodnight.”
Whether he plays along easy is another matter entirely.
But tonight is an exception, both because of Beto and despite him. They’re not close enough for her to consider taking him home, but he can fly. She’d picked a date on the far edge of the dome, she wasn’t in any particular mood to spend two hours on the train to get back home. Certainly not at that hour, not in a dress that slinky, not in those impractical shoes, not wet. And truthfully: she’s tired. An exception could be made, given exceptional circumstances. Why not take him up on the offer?
Still, when they approach the balcony of the Thirty-Three’s apartment, Sciel has no intention of letting him in. One exception is enough for one night, and she definitely isn’t going to make another when she spies the light still on at Gustave’s desk. For a second she hopes it’s a fluke, a switch he’s forgotten to flip before headed off to bed himself, but no, there’s his dark curls, the hunch of his shoulders. She imagines she has mere seconds before he notices bodies moving outside the window, and she’s immediately sure that being witnessed will be awkward enough without letting some man try to make suave conversation at the balcony door. Time for a swift goodbye, then.
Her feet touch the ground and she shifts out of Beto’s arms in a heartbeat. She moves away but one hand stays on his arm, at least, grateful. She plucks up an easy smile.
“Thank you for tonight,” she says, meeting his eyes as she steps away, backwards, to the door, still looking at him. Oh, he really is handsome. And patient. She’s been so flighty. She adds: “And for the lift! Goodnight.”
Whether he plays along easy is another matter entirely.