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Loggity-log. (Wherin I borrow Sascha's style for formatting.) [Feb. 8th, 2005|10:06 am]


Date: 02/07/05
Players:  Sophie, Sascha
Rating: PG13 for Bad Language.

The downside of Sascha in the guest bedroom as opposed to Sascha on the couch was that the guest bedroom was right beside Sophie's own.  And the walls, while in good shape, were hardly thick enough for a restful night's sleep with a noisy neighbour next door.  Accordingly, with the LCD on her clock reading an obscene hour of the morning and with her job expecting her on a site outside of Toronto by seven AM, Sophie had had enough.  Respect for privacy and personal space of houseguests?  Not at the moment, no.  Having thus mentally disguised her concern as enlightened self-interest, Sophie wrapped a light shawl around her shoulders and slipped out of her room, and into Sascha's, crouching by the bed to rest a steadying hand on his shoulder.  ''For fuck's sake, it's a dream.  Wake up."

For all of his quiet moans, Sascha had been unable to wake until the touch of Sophia’s hand. He broke out of unconsciousness with a sharp inhalation. His pulse battered the thin wall of his skin as he tried to calm his breathing. “I—uh.” He brushed the side of his head, hand coming away trembling with a trace of moisture – sweat, rather than tears – clinging to the tips of his fingers.

“Shit. Sorry.” Sascha winced, shrugging uneasily under Sophia’s touch. “Just, well, you know. Sorry. Didn’t wa—Oh, fuck, I guess I did wake you up, obviously.”

"Yeah.  You did."  Sophia informed him flatly, taking in the desperately strung out appearance in the moonlight through the windows, and rising heavily to go pour a tumbler of water from the bathroom tap without saying anything more.  She returned shortly and handed it to him.   "But relax, if you can.  I'm pissed at whatever the fuck it is your subconscious is throwing at you, not you yourself."

Sophia returned to see Sascha apply a fresh patch behind his ear, pale and flesh toned, hard to see when in place. Brushing his hair down over it, he took the glass from her with a sigh and a soft, “Thanks.” It gave his hands something to do, at least, as he ducked his head under her gaze. “Trade you,” he said with a sharp, dry laugh. He took a sip of the water and exhaled in a long, drawn-out sigh.

Soft Selkie features and dark-widened eyes gave no hint about what Sophie thought regarding that glimpse of new drugs.  She merely settled back down in a crouch by the head of the bed, smoothing the fabric of the loose gown she was wearing over her knees.  "No deal,"  she replied with a hint of a smirk.  "But you get these often?  No wonder you look so twitchy."

The hard shudder of Sascha’s torso fell off almost immediately; the almost imperceptible tremor in his hands lingered before fading as well. He tipped his head, considering her question. Finally, he smiled: a hard flash of teeth with little humor in the expression. “More often of late. Apparently, I don’t take well attempted assassination and deaths in the family following one after the other.”

Sophia, working so closely with water in many forms, caught the sloshing of the water in the glass before Sascha's hands steadied, and lightly covered his with her own, the gesture one of simple human contact.  Drug dealers were much harder to hate when sitting miserably awake in the middle of the night, in the guest room of one's own home.  "That would be a real mindfuck,"  she agreed.  "She your only family?"

“Eh, I probably have cousins and whatever, but never knew ‘em.” In short, then, yes. Uneasy at the contact, still feeling the need to look tough and macho even though he was caught in the middle of a nightmare, Sascha eased his hand from under Sophia’s under the pretense of taking a sip of water. "Y'know."

"Not really," Sophie replied, hand being lifted away to clutch lightly at her shawl, unoffended.  "I could tell you the names of all my third cousins, and two of them are staying down the hall for a couple months.  I don't think I've ever been really alone.  Sucks to be you, man."  So, sympathy still not a huge strong point.  But as Sophie shifted to retrieve a pillow that had been flung  unconsciously across the room, it was a start, at least.

“Heh.” Sascha smirked, shaking his head over the vast differences in background and outlook. “I dunno. Could suck to be you. Crowded all over by people you barely now.” He gestured towards himself with a slight wave. “Although in other cases, at least you are related.”

"Eh."  Sophia shrugged. "Not like I had to let you in.  Or feed you.  Or give you a place to bunk.  If you're feeling like you're imposing, by all means..."  she drawled and waved a hand towards the door, and by extension the outside world. "Still, fuck me front and back if I can figure out why I'm doing it.  Maybe you remind me of an epileptic puppy or something."

“Well, if you insist,” Sascha said with a flash of leering laughter. “Some way to pay for a bed. Should’ve warned me first.” He snorted, wetting his lips again as he sipped. “And I’m no damn epileptic. No rolling, drooling fits. Just this.”

"Haven't figured it out yet,"  Sophie smirked in return, although she pulled the shawl a little more conservatively across the neckline of her gown.  "So your virtue is safe for tonight.  And whatever,"  she shrugged at the snorting and explanations.  "I don't really care, I just couldn't think of another disease causing strung out puppies."

“Damn.” Sascha leaned back, hands interlacing behind his head as he made a picture-perfect smile of regret. He even managed not to take a last look at her chest. “Strung out puppies.” He made a rude noise. “One strung out puppy, one sharp-tongued seal, eh? Odd. I don’t have any compulsion to go chasing sticks.”

"Arp. Arp."  Sophia replied with a wry tone, not protesting the title granted to her.  "And just don't piss on the carpet."  The non-existant carpet, with the house inhabited by a lot of people who preferred to be in and out of the water all day featuring soft synthetic rubber polymer matting instead. "You be OK for now?"

“You gonna ‘break me?” Sascha asked, skipping the ‘house’ in order to make the question that much more perverted. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He nodded, momentarily serious. “Yah. Thanks.” His eyes narrowed with a quick hint of laughter. “I’ll try to keep it quiet next time.”

"Naw, you might like it too much." Sophie snorted, before rising and mussing Sascha's hair, just to piss him off, as she headed for the door.  "Sleep well, if you can.  And there'll probably be food in the fridge when you wake up.  I'll be gone all day.  Do what grandmere tells you."

“Fucker.” Sascha ran his hand through his hair, messing it the way -he- liked it. “Wouldn’t dare otherwise,” he said, only half kidding. Woman was freakin’ intimidating. “Thanks, Sophie.”

"Whatever."   As if there could have been any other reply.   With a muffled click, her bedroom door closed itself, there was the creak of the bed against the wall, and then there was silence bar the noises of the house.