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augustines2013-08-15 08:53 pm
smithereens) wrote in augustines2013-08-15 08:53 pm
Entry tags:
raise your flag upon me.
She’s drunk. Jas doesn’t remember ever seeing Khalia more than slightly tipsy at her own parties, claiming that a good hostess always put her guests before her liquor.
Then again, he could’ve missed quite a bit in the couple weeks it had been since he’d left Victoria. And the few hours it took him to report in before he could go find her.
“That’s it, I’m taking you upstairs.”
Khalia pouts childishly at him as he pulls her off the settee by the arm; she stumbles forward, just slightly, and abruptly erupts in a fit of giggles, drawing the glances of the other partygoers. Jas shifts anxiously, but doesn’t let go of her arm.
“Taking me to have your way with me, hm?” she teases, words slurring around the edges.
Jas feels his frown deepen. Even though she’s perfectly presented, as usual, up close he can see that the kohl under her eyes is smudged just a little, and there are a few too many russet curls escaping from her updo than he thinks she would consider artful.
Brown. He doesn’t remember seeing brown before.
“You’re drunk. I’m taking you up to your room,” he says, ignoring the way she scoffs loudly in favor of dragging her by the arm. He also ignores the stares of everyone else in the room, at least until she starts to struggle; she doesn’t have the strength, especially now, to wrench her wrist out of his grip, but he drops it anyway as the stares begin to turn judgmental.
“Hey, hey!”
“Khalia, please.” It’s not in his nature, subtlety, but maybe she’s rubbed off on him; he takes her wrist again, more gently this time, and places a splayed hand on her back to steer her a little more gracefully out of the room. This seems to placate her.
“You’re such a big brute,” she says, and he’s not sure if he’s imagining the fondness in her voice or not. “A gentleman really shouldn’t take advantage of a vulnerable lady like this, but I suppose—”
“I’m not taking advantage of you, Khalia,” he interrupts with some exasperation. She starts struggling with his grasp on her arm again.
“Are you saying I’m not worth taking advantage of, is that it?!” she says petulantly, and, unable to reclaim her wrist, switches tactics to flopping around like dead weight, nearly yanking his shoulder from its socket as she sinks to the floor. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”
“Do you want me to take advantage of you or not?” he asks dryly, not really directing the question to Khalia in particular.
She doesn’t pay any attention to him.
“I’m very pretty, I’ll have you know! Truly irresistibable!” she’s saying instead. Jas doesn’t even attempt to stop her tirade. “In fact, Jericho Bowden was very interested in taking advantage of me tonight, and I know he isn’t the only one! But what do I say to him? What do I say to him?” she repeats, looking stricken.
Jas waits. Her brow crinkles, as if she’s deep in thought, in a way he finds inexplicably cute. It’s not a word he associates much with Khalia.
“Well, I don’t really remember,” she mumbles at length, and then with newfound vigor: “But he’s not the man escorting me to my room tonight, is he?!”
“No,” Jas supplies, suddenly irritated beyond reason. He makes a moderate attempt at simply dragging her across the floor to her room, but she shrieks like a wounded animal and kicks wildly at him.
“Victoria’s teeth, you really are a brute! A big, stupid brute!”
“Will you stop it?” he says, dodging her flailing legs.
This is what he gets for trying to help. With an annoyed grunt, he scoops her up off the floor and throws her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, easy to do when she’s as skinny as an eight year old boy. She screeches and kicks her legs and hurls variations of big, dumb bird at his back and wriggles wildly in his hold—but he stays fast, until the fight leaves her and she finally elbows the back of his head half-heartedly.
“I hate you,” she mumbles. Defeat sounds foreign on her tongue.
“Of course,” he says sarcastically. His annoyance still digs at him, and he wants to say more: how childish she is, how ridiculous she’s acting, and why isn’t Jericho Blowden taking her to her room, if she hates him so much?
“You were gone for so long,” she says instead, and sighs deeply, miserably, against the back of his shoulder. All his self-righteous frustration seems to leave him at once, and he stops his steady march down the hallway as if his legs have suddenly lost their function.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” she continues, muttering softly. “You’re an idiot. Not that Jericho Bowden is much better, but it wouldn’t matter even if he was. I’m dizzy.”
It takes Jas a moment to realize she means dizzy in the more immediate sense, and he slacks on his hold just enough that she slides back over his shoulder, righted. Something warm settles itself in the pit of his stomach as she wraps her legs around his chest as if it was the most natural thing in the world, his arm sliding underneath her thighs to keep her flush against him.
He doesn’t even mind the uncomfortable press of her ruffled skirt against his throat, and that’s the alarming part. Her arm snakes around his neck, and her breath is warm against his collarbone even through the fabric of his shirt.
He’s starting to get dizzy too.
“You were drunk at your own party, Khalia,” he chides gently, hardly recognizing the words as his own. “You told me that was very poor form.”
“I know, how pathetic is that?” she says, burying her face in his neck. Whatever she says next is mumbled unintelligibly against his skin.
“Khalia?”
“You have to warn me next time,” she says with sudden conviction. “Stupid bird.”
Her hair is tickling the hollow of his throat, but it feels very right. Jas smiles. “I will.”
She nods gravely against his neck, before lifting her head and swaying back in his arms to peer at him. Her expression is aghast as she slurs out, “Victoria’s garters, is this your disgusting leather coat?”
Circumventing the upcoming tantrum about dirtying her dress on the filth that was his traveling jacket, he says, “Your hair is brown.”
She sniffs. “Yes, Jericho Bowden likes brunettes.”
He barks out a laugh, feeling a lightness of spirit that’s almost akin to flying, and almost better. She sticks out her tongue as he carries her the rest of the way to her room, and then again the next morning as he opens all the curtains and slams all the doors just to aggravate her hangover.
Then again, he could’ve missed quite a bit in the couple weeks it had been since he’d left Victoria. And the few hours it took him to report in before he could go find her.
“That’s it, I’m taking you upstairs.”
Khalia pouts childishly at him as he pulls her off the settee by the arm; she stumbles forward, just slightly, and abruptly erupts in a fit of giggles, drawing the glances of the other partygoers. Jas shifts anxiously, but doesn’t let go of her arm.
“Taking me to have your way with me, hm?” she teases, words slurring around the edges.
Jas feels his frown deepen. Even though she’s perfectly presented, as usual, up close he can see that the kohl under her eyes is smudged just a little, and there are a few too many russet curls escaping from her updo than he thinks she would consider artful.
Brown. He doesn’t remember seeing brown before.
“You’re drunk. I’m taking you up to your room,” he says, ignoring the way she scoffs loudly in favor of dragging her by the arm. He also ignores the stares of everyone else in the room, at least until she starts to struggle; she doesn’t have the strength, especially now, to wrench her wrist out of his grip, but he drops it anyway as the stares begin to turn judgmental.
“Hey, hey!”
“Khalia, please.” It’s not in his nature, subtlety, but maybe she’s rubbed off on him; he takes her wrist again, more gently this time, and places a splayed hand on her back to steer her a little more gracefully out of the room. This seems to placate her.
“You’re such a big brute,” she says, and he’s not sure if he’s imagining the fondness in her voice or not. “A gentleman really shouldn’t take advantage of a vulnerable lady like this, but I suppose—”
“I’m not taking advantage of you, Khalia,” he interrupts with some exasperation. She starts struggling with his grasp on her arm again.
“Are you saying I’m not worth taking advantage of, is that it?!” she says petulantly, and, unable to reclaim her wrist, switches tactics to flopping around like dead weight, nearly yanking his shoulder from its socket as she sinks to the floor. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”
“Do you want me to take advantage of you or not?” he asks dryly, not really directing the question to Khalia in particular.
She doesn’t pay any attention to him.
“I’m very pretty, I’ll have you know! Truly irresistibable!” she’s saying instead. Jas doesn’t even attempt to stop her tirade. “In fact, Jericho Bowden was very interested in taking advantage of me tonight, and I know he isn’t the only one! But what do I say to him? What do I say to him?” she repeats, looking stricken.
Jas waits. Her brow crinkles, as if she’s deep in thought, in a way he finds inexplicably cute. It’s not a word he associates much with Khalia.
“Well, I don’t really remember,” she mumbles at length, and then with newfound vigor: “But he’s not the man escorting me to my room tonight, is he?!”
“No,” Jas supplies, suddenly irritated beyond reason. He makes a moderate attempt at simply dragging her across the floor to her room, but she shrieks like a wounded animal and kicks wildly at him.
“Victoria’s teeth, you really are a brute! A big, stupid brute!”
“Will you stop it?” he says, dodging her flailing legs.
This is what he gets for trying to help. With an annoyed grunt, he scoops her up off the floor and throws her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, easy to do when she’s as skinny as an eight year old boy. She screeches and kicks her legs and hurls variations of big, dumb bird at his back and wriggles wildly in his hold—but he stays fast, until the fight leaves her and she finally elbows the back of his head half-heartedly.
“I hate you,” she mumbles. Defeat sounds foreign on her tongue.
“Of course,” he says sarcastically. His annoyance still digs at him, and he wants to say more: how childish she is, how ridiculous she’s acting, and why isn’t Jericho Blowden taking her to her room, if she hates him so much?
“You were gone for so long,” she says instead, and sighs deeply, miserably, against the back of his shoulder. All his self-righteous frustration seems to leave him at once, and he stops his steady march down the hallway as if his legs have suddenly lost their function.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” she continues, muttering softly. “You’re an idiot. Not that Jericho Bowden is much better, but it wouldn’t matter even if he was. I’m dizzy.”
It takes Jas a moment to realize she means dizzy in the more immediate sense, and he slacks on his hold just enough that she slides back over his shoulder, righted. Something warm settles itself in the pit of his stomach as she wraps her legs around his chest as if it was the most natural thing in the world, his arm sliding underneath her thighs to keep her flush against him.
He doesn’t even mind the uncomfortable press of her ruffled skirt against his throat, and that’s the alarming part. Her arm snakes around his neck, and her breath is warm against his collarbone even through the fabric of his shirt.
He’s starting to get dizzy too.
“You were drunk at your own party, Khalia,” he chides gently, hardly recognizing the words as his own. “You told me that was very poor form.”
“I know, how pathetic is that?” she says, burying her face in his neck. Whatever she says next is mumbled unintelligibly against his skin.
“Khalia?”
“You have to warn me next time,” she says with sudden conviction. “Stupid bird.”
Her hair is tickling the hollow of his throat, but it feels very right. Jas smiles. “I will.”
She nods gravely against his neck, before lifting her head and swaying back in his arms to peer at him. Her expression is aghast as she slurs out, “Victoria’s garters, is this your disgusting leather coat?”
Circumventing the upcoming tantrum about dirtying her dress on the filth that was his traveling jacket, he says, “Your hair is brown.”
She sniffs. “Yes, Jericho Bowden likes brunettes.”
He barks out a laugh, feeling a lightness of spirit that’s almost akin to flying, and almost better. She sticks out her tongue as he carries her the rest of the way to her room, and then again the next morning as he opens all the curtains and slams all the doors just to aggravate her hangover.