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Closed to Allison || i tried going against my own soul's warning
WHO: Cyrano and Allison
WHERE: Allison's place
WHEN: October 2nd on--basically, the duration of Elora
WHAT: Cyrano just came by to drop off a jacket. Now he's stuck inside with Allison...and it does not suck.
WARNINGS: Discussions of death and violence, possibly something sexy--mild stuff, anything graphic will be taken somewhere private. XD
She'd left her jacket at work--he'd spied it on a bench in the employee locker room, recognized it, and couldn't in good conscience let her go without when the weather was taking such a nasty turn.
So, he did the only gentlemanly thing: he picked up some food (tacos--he had a taste for them, and the mention of them always made her smile since their little 'outing') and stopped by at her place to drop her jacket off, with dinner.
They ate. She offered him a drink--they talked for a little while.
A little while became hours, and by the time he was ready to leave the sky was opening up.
"I swear, I'll be fine--it's just a little rain!"
A peal of thunder rang out, making the glass panes of her windows rattle--and Allison was forcibly dragging him away from her front door.
Thus, Cyrano was in t-shirt and boxer briefs, laid out on her couch to sleep--but it was difficult through the storm. As the night progressed, the rain got worse, but instead of soothing him Cyrano felt electrified. Too many beers, too many laughs, too strange a place...
Flipping back his borrowed blanket, Cyrano rose from the couch and crept around as quietly as he could, searching for paper and pen.
Perhaps he wasn't quiet enough. Perhaps he wasn't the only one haunted by the storm--but if Allison is awake or about, the warm glow of a side table lamp will draw her into the furthest corner of her living room, where Cyrano is using a borrowed book as a writing desk from his place seated on the floor, furiously writing with quiet, impassioned curses under his breath--and several pages of poetry already stacked neatly on the floor beside him.
WHERE: Allison's place
WHEN: October 2nd on--basically, the duration of Elora
WHAT: Cyrano just came by to drop off a jacket. Now he's stuck inside with Allison...and it does not suck.
WARNINGS: Discussions of death and violence, possibly something sexy--mild stuff, anything graphic will be taken somewhere private. XD
She'd left her jacket at work--he'd spied it on a bench in the employee locker room, recognized it, and couldn't in good conscience let her go without when the weather was taking such a nasty turn.
So, he did the only gentlemanly thing: he picked up some food (tacos--he had a taste for them, and the mention of them always made her smile since their little 'outing') and stopped by at her place to drop her jacket off, with dinner.
They ate. She offered him a drink--they talked for a little while.
A little while became hours, and by the time he was ready to leave the sky was opening up.
"I swear, I'll be fine--it's just a little rain!"
A peal of thunder rang out, making the glass panes of her windows rattle--and Allison was forcibly dragging him away from her front door.
Thus, Cyrano was in t-shirt and boxer briefs, laid out on her couch to sleep--but it was difficult through the storm. As the night progressed, the rain got worse, but instead of soothing him Cyrano felt electrified. Too many beers, too many laughs, too strange a place...
Flipping back his borrowed blanket, Cyrano rose from the couch and crept around as quietly as he could, searching for paper and pen.
Perhaps he wasn't quiet enough. Perhaps he wasn't the only one haunted by the storm--but if Allison is awake or about, the warm glow of a side table lamp will draw her into the furthest corner of her living room, where Cyrano is using a borrowed book as a writing desk from his place seated on the floor, furiously writing with quiet, impassioned curses under his breath--and several pages of poetry already stacked neatly on the floor beside him.