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Outside of Passion [Closed]

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Edda Edda Find all posts by this user being edda is suffering Posts:568 Joined:Aug 2013 Character:Edda Eglantine Server:Balmung Reputation: 303 RE: Outside of Passion [Closed] | #8 10-10-2015, 08:59 PM It was a numbing feeling, to watch him follow her out. A determined look. The slightest limp. It had gone no further than what she expected, and far less than what she had hoped. Breakfast remained largely uneaten, the silverware untouched. Now alone in the small parlor, Edda made her way over to the hearth and stared into the fire. There was still some measure of hope she still held on to, but it was faint. Coatleque’s expression of despair burned into her eyes with the heat of the flames. Would it turn to rage? Possibly, but not towards him. Would they reconcile? It seemed unlikely at this point. No matter the outcome, she was still to blame. Already she felt a pulling at her seams. Jameson returned far sooner than she had expected. He did not look thrilled, and sighed. “She was ill pleased, to say the least.” “I… see.” “Still, it was a kindness. What you did.” He flicked a look at her. She turned to look over her shoulder at him. “Was it?” “Yes. Best there be no confusion.” “And what confusion would that be?” “That she is not claiming me that any of the world can see.” He smiled, and went over to Edda to take her hand. His face was hard to read. He was much like her father, in that respect. She looked back into the fire. “A surprising answer.” “Did your father speak to you about our talk last night?” He asked quietly. “It went quite late.” “He did.” She paused. The memory of her father withdrawing his hand from her shoulder and leaving her in the cooling water was a fresh one. “Do not change the subject.” Quite suddenly, the man was reaching for her, pulling her close to him. Her heart jumped and she forced it down. It was an alien feeling, this closeness. He spoke softly, his voice nearly teasing. “Are you angry with me?” Edda looked up at him. Her heart beat steadily against her chest. The training she had received was true, however, and she could feel her features set in a placid expression. She did not look angry. “What did you say to her?” “I told her she was being silly. That I had planned this even before the attack.” That was true. It did not make it any less cruel. “She herself had long admitted she had nothing of any real substance to offer in the way of a union. Surely you’re not jealous of a lover.” He said it as if it were that small a thing. Edda raised her eyebrows. There was no jealousy in her heart, over a man she scarcely knew – yet she knew enough to realize he was no fool. He knew the answer to his own prodding as much as she. It was a test. “I could care less,” she replied shortly. “Shortly after your disappearance, the nature of your relationship with Ser Crofte became known to me, albeit indirectly.” It felt like an answer. He smirked. The distance between them still seemed to displease him, and he forcibly pulled her closer. It did not seem to matter to him. Edda could feel the heat of her own breath reflected from his collarbone. “I still find you slightly cross,” he murmured. “Are you angry with yourself?” “No,” she said. “Your lack of care for the woman is surprising. She seems to love you a great deal.” She watched him closely, as much as she was able at such proximity, gauging his reaction. He smiled. “Your lack of care for her feelings, as a friend, is equally surprising.” With one hand still holding hers, Jameson placed his other hand at her waist. He pulled her closer, and held her as if they were at a ball. Edda continued to stare a hole through the man’s neck, and stayed silent for a long moment. She is not my friend, she wanted to say. I’ve no time for such frivolities. It would not be a lie. She knew what friends looked like – smiling and laughing together, no truths and secrets withheld – a faraway dream that seemed always bathed in sunlight. There was an ache in her heart, to possess such a thing. Images of faces filtered through her mind. Perhaps she did, and was only too blind to see it. Jameson’s grip on her hand tightened. Perhaps she did, but she thought of Roen’s disappearance and Leanne’s cold anger – and if she did before, now with this man so close, so very close – then surely they were friends no longer. Though there was no music, Jameson led her as if there was. A silent dance. Step. Turn. Step. He leaned forward and placed his cheek at her temple. “I wanted to see what would happen.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “And so you did,” he murmured. He turned her and laughed softly. “You’re not as simple as you pretend, I think.” Edda had no response to such a statement. A compliment and insult all in one. “A callous choice.” “It was.” “You do not love her?” “No.” She could not see his face but she could hear his smile. He turned her again. “I do not believe you,” she whispered. Her body was ever pliant. She allowed him to push and pull at her as he saw fit. It was a dance she knew well. “That is your choice,” he whispered back. “I think we have… a lot to learn. You and I.” Another turn. Edda stared at nothing. “Perhaps.” A pause. “I think you will change your mind.” “About what, my dear?” He asked, almost archly. He turned her halfway, her back now flush against him, and stopped. He glanced to the side, as though to a mirror, though there was none. He adjusted his posture, then hers. The dance continued. “About Ser Crofte,” she replied smoothly. “Or are both your passions so weak?” She watched him carefully, as best she could. Jameson smirked again, his voice teasing. “Now you are just trying to provoke a response. Is that what you want?” Yes. He turned her again, and she sighed. “I want for nothing in particular.” “Perhaps that is what you need then,” he murmured against her hair. So very close. “Perhaps.” He smiled, and the dance stopped. He set her arms back down by her sides and pat her hip, as though to dust it. “Now then. I am famished.” Jameson turned from her and made his way back to the table. “Will you be ready to travel to Ishgard in two days, dear?” Edda watched him and did not move from how she was left. “Yes.” “Excellent. I detest delay.” He nodded. “Miss Rossenheims, ensure –all- my bags are packed. Including the shopping list I gave you.” The assistant nodded, jotting down a note in her book. “It shall be done immediately.” She was very quiet. Edda had nearly forgotten she had been in the room, but the presence of servants was not alien to her. This one chilled her, however. “Edda,” Jameson began. “Will you be sending Mr. North out for supplies?” “I did not plan on doing so. My belongings have already been arranged.” “Ah, a pity. I had hoped he might show Miss Rossenheims the ropes, so to speak. The ins-and-outs of a proper valet.” Though she held no love for his mousy assistant, Jameson’s brazen disregard for her made the corner of her mouth twitch. “There will be time for that in Ishgard.” She kept her voice steady. “For now, his time is being spent at his own leisure.” “Well, he is yours to command. So if his leisure is your wish…” He trailed off, and shrugged. He took a bite of a fruit tart. The implications of his words were not lost on her. A fire burned at the back of her throat and her eyes narrowed, quickly. “It is.” There would be no argument. He continued eating his fruit tart, and did not remark any further about Gideon. A wise choice. He swallowed. “Delightful,” he murmured to no one in particular. A small bout of silence fell upon the room, interrupted when Rossenheims suddenly closed her notebook. “I shall see to your bags, Lord Taeros.” Jameson did not spare her a single glance – in fact, it was almost as if she did not exist. “I will take my leave. I have my own preparations to make. If you desire conversation, I will be in my quarters.” He smiled. “Very well.” He gave her a small bow and left the room, with Rossenheims not far behind. Edda turned back to stare into the fire. There would be no need to seek him out later. Her plan had been thwarted handily, both through her own doing, and by the Spinner herself. She felt no favor in the eyes of the Twelve any longer, and the dread of returning to Ishgard loomed over her like a shadow. It would not do to return there. It would be better to never be seen again. It would be better to remain within these halls forever, with only her father and that man to look upon her. Edda clasped her hands to her arms. Her skin still burned where he had touched her.

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Outside of Passion [Closed] - by Coatleque - 09-24-2015, 04:52 PM RE: Outside of Passion [Closed] - by Coatleque - 09-27-2015, 05:25 PM RE: Outside of Passion [Closed] - by Coatleque - 09-29-2015, 10:51 PM RE: Outside of Passion [Closed] - by Edda - 10-02-2015, 04:44 AM RE: Outside of Passion [Closed] - by Coatleque - 10-02-2015, 04:15 PM RE: Outside of Passion [Closed] - by Coatleque - 10-02-2015, 08:48 PM RE: Outside of Passion [Closed] - by Coatleque - 10-02-2015, 10:25 PM RE: Outside of Passion [Closed] - by Edda - 10-10-2015, 08:59 PM RE: Outside of Passion [Closed] - by Coatleque - 11-20-2015, 03:45 PM

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