[size=9]((Written with, and with much thanks to, Elijah
The lock slid out of place. Elijah pushed the door open with his shoulder and stepped aside for Kingsley to enter ahead of him. His room would have been quite small and plain were it not for the myriad of sigils, runes, symbols and various other markings scattered over his walls and ceiling. Even the floor directly in front of the door depicted an enormous symbol that seemed to be charred into the wood. "It's a bit messy," shrugging dismissively. "Ain't exactly nice, either. But it's safe enough."
Her eyes were fickle as they opened wide to observe the room, the sigil at her feet caught in sight just before they touched it, earning itself a moment of hesitation before she stepped clear over it. "It's incredible," she said, almost to herself, making way a few steps further into the quaint room before turning herself around, gazing at the littering of markings and runes. "You did these all yourself?"
"Just a bunch of drawin's," he said, tucking his key into his pocket as he waved dismissively. He stepped in behind her and closed the door, the lock clicked into place. "Ain't nothin' no one else couldn' do."
"I doubt that." Finding one spot on the wall in particular that struck her fancy, she stepped closer to it, fingers tucked safely into the shells of her pockets. Just in case. "They're all for protection?" she questioned, leaning forward and squinting to study the work and detail of the intricate scrawl. She didn't say anything but her shoulder was tingling. An after-effect of the shadows, no doubt.
"In some form or another," he replied absently, studying her with a thoughtful tilt of his head. "Some are alarms," his hand lifted, gesturing toward the bathroom. "Bathroom's there if you want to wash up or somethin'," he trudged across the room, his arm still hanging uselessly by his side. The blow he'd deflected took a toll, it seemed, and it would be some time before he regained any use of that arm.
"Thanks," she said, glancing over at him and throwing a half-smile in for good measure. Moving away from the decorative sigil, she moved for the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. Once inside, the hoodie she was wear was finally unzipped and tossed onto the closed toilet cover. She ran some water to rinse her face, only risking looking at herself in the mirror once she was patting it dry. The tingling along her shoulder was persistent, like an annoying itch you were trying not to scratch. Tentatively, she rolled up the sleeve of her white t-shirt. She didn't like what she saw. "How's your hand doing?" she asked through the bathroom door.
"Hand's fine," he fell back onto his bed, catching his hat before it was crushed beneath him to rest over his eyes. His fingers came up to prod his shoulder in hopes that he might have a small amount of feeling there, but from the shoulder down that arm was mostly just a vague tingling. It made him frown. "Shouldn' last much longer."
"You think?" On the other side of the door, she was wincing. Where once had been plain pale skin it was now the color of a dark bruise, the only thing telling her that it wasn't being the tentacle-like spread at the edges, stretching like fingers down the rest of her arm and up toward her neck. "Have you ever seen things like that before? The shadows?"
"Similar," he said. "But not exactly that, no. Never got hit by 'em, either," he sat up and reached to tug at the collar of his shirt so he could peer at his shoulder and see a similar dark bruise with webbing lines that seemed to be spreading through his veins. "Might be somethin' to see a doctor about."
She gave a soft laugh, her nervousness making it too light, before she tugged down the sleeve and snatched up her hoodie to push her way out of the bathroom. "You've got it too, don't you?" she asked quietly before biting her lip. Her one hand was on the other shoulder, as if that alone could make the mark go away.
He was still peering at his shoulder when she walked out. "Guess so," he said before letting his shirt go so it could fall back into place. He glanced down at his hand and stared hard at the tips of his unmoving fingers, willing them to twitch just slightly for the reassurance that he hadn't completely lost control of his arm. "Ain't seen somethin' like it before."
"That's not reassuring. You can't move it?" she asked, suddenly more concerned than she had just been and moving over to him, perching herself on the edge of the bed. Her own arm rested in her lap, the tips of dark fingers starting to peek out from beneath her short sleeve.
"I can move my fingers," he said. "Ain't got much yet, sorta punched one of those things earlier. Guess that wasn't my best idea," he smirked and waved with his working hand. "It'll be fine. Feelin' will come back eventually."
She winced even with his dismissal. "Don't you need those?" Without thought, she reached out and took his injured hand, turning it over in her own and bringing it close up to get a good look at his battered knuckles. "God, I feel awful. I shouldn't have taken you up there."
"Yeah," he shrugged and turned to watch her. "But it'll come back," her guilt made him frown. "Don' be that way. I asked you to take me there, remember? Ain't like you knew what would happen."
"Still," she said, glancing up at him for only a moment before going back to her study, tilting her head. "I should know better from past experiences. Not that anything quite like that has ever happened, but..." She gave a small shrug, touching a dark red mound on one of his knuckles and wincing when it didn't move. "Regardless, I'm sorry."
"Ain't nothin' to be sorry for," he flashed her a smile, then stared down at his hand again to will his fingers to life. They closed and opened again. "See? I can move. Just takes some time. Gonna get better."
"That's pretty quick," she said with the flash of a grin. "I was told that I used to be able to heal people once." Gently, she stroked her thumb over swollen knuckles then laid his hand down. "I don't remember how though, or even really doing it." With a small grin and a matching shrug, her hand went back to rubbing at the other shoulder. "What about you? Can you write any of those sigils on yourself and make injuries vanish?" She was half joking, since nothing should really surprise her. If only.
He laughed. "That's my writin' hand," he said as it fell. "An' those just keep things away, ain't good for much else," he pushed to stand and tried to roll his shoulder to no avail. "Anyone say what happened that made you lose your memory?"
Her cheeks were going pink from his comment about his hand, more because she felt bad than he gave her any flattering reason to blush. But his last remark made her blink. "Lose my memory?" She had never heard of such a thing. Not in regards to herself. Her brow began to furrow. "I... never thought of it that way. I always just thought I didn't recall it, or that everyone else was wrong."
"Everyone can't all be wrong," he said. "An' if somethin' happened an' you don't remember it, means you lost your memory," he replied simply, shrugging one shoulder as he turned to face her again. "Guess that answers my question though. Huh. You're a strange one, you know that?"
Now that had her almost flustered, and not in the usual good way. It was one thing to go through a church with living statues, even ones of angels that you thought were supposed to be good toward you but end up attacking you instead. Even the shadows following and chasing them she could handle. The bruises? Well, maybe not that. But this? Losing her memory? How could that be possible? And why wouldn't anyone tell her in the first place? Her family would... wouldn't they? And what about Sai? The Gunslinger wouldn't leave her in the dark. ...Right? Her hand had left her shoulder to instead run lithe fingers back through her wealthy mane of hair. He caught her with his look when it wasn't even halfway through so it simply paused, falling away without finishing the job and leaving a tumble of waves hanging over just one shoulder. Surprisingly, she gave a small huff of laughter. "I don't think I've ever been called that before."
"Strange?" that made him laugh. "Ain't you the lucky little bird then, huh? Been called that and worse, more often than not," he turned toward his dresser upon which sat two things: a bottle of whiskey and an empty glass. He decided this was the medicine he needed. It was a trick, getting the bottle open with just one hand, but it worked out in the end and he poured a glass, glancing over his numbed shoulder at her. "You want a drink?"
He made her grin, which was a feat unto itself at a time like this. Any other time she would have been nervous and confused and wondering if what he said was true, and all the while still being terrified of the church and its angry angels. But instead here she was, laughing and smiling (albeit both lightly), shaking her head and accepting a drink. "Sure," she replied, scooting herself further up onto the bed until her back touched the wall. "Why not? Everyone always says it's good for calming nerves, right?"
"Helps you sleep at night, too," he added with a smirk. He turned, first bringing over the filled glass to hand to her before he went back for the whole bottle, just because he didn't have a second handy. Then he perched on the bed next to her, back against the wall. "An' gets rid of that voice in your head that tells you you're takin' an awful risk or bein' awful dumb."
"Thanks," she said, taking the glass and drawing it close, close enough so that when she laughed it caused ripples to appear on the surface of the whiskey. "Be careful what you tell me. I might just become a regular drinker."
"I doubt that," he replied. "Too much of a good girl in you," he replied with a teasing wink before bringing the bottle to his lips for a taste. He swallowed the drink and savored the fire that burned in his chest and spread, he liked to think it even restored a bit of feeling to his shoulder.
"Just 'cause you're a good girl doesn't mean you never think you're taking a risk or acting dumb," she replied. "But I forgot," she looked at him and grinned, "you're a bad, bad man." Touching the glass to her lips for a first taste. Her initial reaction was a scrunching of her nose followed by her eyes wincing shut. But she swallowed and released the tension from her features. Squishing one side of her mouth, she eyed the glass of whiskey like it was a new-found companion she still wasn't so sure was her friend.
He chuckled at the face she made and arched a brow at her. "Ain't sweet enough for you, huh? Like that fruity drink Minoko made for you that one time," with a smirk he took another swig from the bottle as if to spite her and swallowed it down without any sign of complaint, even going as far as to smack his lips afterwards. "Oh yeah, I'm a bad man. Terrible, if you believe the rumors. King of liars and thieves."
"That things had tasted more like a fruit pop than anything alcoholic," which was neither a confirmation or denial of his guess on her take of Minoko's concoction. This, however, was a completely different story. It was brash and bold and stung as it went down, but the after-feeling of warmth that had spread throughout her entire chest and into her limbs was nearly intoxicating. If it weren't for the sheer impossibility of it, she might have assumed it had already gone to her head. "It's not so bad, really. Though it is strong. Liars and thieves, hm?" Her brows went up in questioning, eyeing him over the rim of her glass as she dared a second sip, this time more bold and trying more than just a drop. "What sorts of terrible things have you done to earn yourself such a mighty title?"
"Stole the Pope's golden crucifix," he replied through a grin, amused by the way she seemed to soldier through the drink. "After convincin' him I was a Cardinal or somethin' like that," he waved the bottle dismissively through the air. "'Course, when I stole the crucifix the jig was up but I was long gone by then, tellin' some officer that that big golden cross I was carryin' around was just a prop from a gift shop an' then I convinced the airline attendant that I couldn' put it away for religious reasons. Truth was I just needed it to stab a demon."
When her mouth opened in earnest shock, the air that touched her tongue felt like pure fire. Or was that the drink? "You did not," she said, green eyes wide as they stared at him. "You seriously did that," it was more statement than question. Despite his claim to fame via being a champion of liars, Kingsley really didn't think that he would lie to her. Funny how things like that work. "Did you give it back? What did your order say?" All rambled out before another sip was taken. Forcing herself or not, she was determined to show him that she could handle the drink, one way or another.
"I lost it," he replied, smirking. "We were in a big rainforest when we fought an' it got lost in the muck. Maybe someone's stumbled on it now an' keeps it as a glorified centerpiece. But my keeper wasn' happy with that at all," he snickered quietly. "So there. King of liars and thieves."
"That doesn't quite make you the king," she said, turning her face away and daring a longer sip. Her head went back, resting nicely against the wall. "Maybe the prince. Would have been better if you had kept it without telling anyone. Unless that's exactly what you did and now I'm a part of the big ploy and you're lying about losing it." Only her eyes went to him, a lazy grin evident on her lips.
"Oh, it makes me the king alright," Elijah countered with a grin as he watched her carefully. He reached over to take her glass, tipping the bottle just enough so more of the liquid would splash into the vessel, then offered it back over. "Wanna know how?"
Her eyes were glittering, a sure sign that the booze was already enthralled with her bloodstream. "How?," she took the glass with a certain look, eyeing him with suspicion that was only partly feigned.
He leaned over to speak with a feigned whisper, as though he were telling her some deep, dark secret. "'Cause I made the whole thing up," he said with a grin. "Never stole nothin' from the Pope. Security's too tight."
Her eyes went wide, as did her mouth, staring at him for a solid few seconds before giving him a shove on the shoulder (hopefully the good one!). "You're awful! That's terrible!" but she was laughing all the same. "So have you lied to me about everything, or only when you're trying to get me drunk?" She eyed him again sipping away at that drink.
"You say that like I try an' get you drunk often," he snickered, leaning away as she shoved him. "I ain't lyin' to you about much. Just the Pope thing," he winked at her and shook the bottle of whiskey in lieu of wiggling his fingers before turning to take a drink.
"Just the Pope thing?" She obviously didn't fully believe him. He was, after all, the king of liars, was he not? Licking her licks after a hefty swallow, she toed off her boots and curled her legs up under herself.
"Yeah, just the Pope thing," he confirmed with a grin and a nod of his head. "Trust me."
"How can I trust you when you're telling me that you're the king of liars and thieves, and you already lied about something else?!" If she weren't smiling so wide, she might have been a hint more convincing. Kingsley obviously wouldn't make a good addition to the liars club.
"Doesn't matter how you can. You already do," he smirked, taking another sip from his bottle before he leaned over to set it down on the nearby nightstand. His fingers twitched again and he looked down, his previously numb arm starting to get a small tingling sensation. "Feelin's comin' back."
Having little to no argument, she simply scrunched her nose in response and sipped her drink. Her brows arched at his confession and she eyed his hand. "Does it still hurt?" she asked, reaching for the appendage to draw it up for a proper inspection.
"Never did hurt," he lied. His hand had indeed hurt like hell when he punched the first angel, but the numbness that spread after that darkness struck had taken care of the pain. "Told you it'd be fine. All's comin' back now."
"You know, now I don't know when to trust you and when to not," she mused, turning his hand one way and then another. Taking a quick sip that drained her cup, she nestled it within her folded legs so that she could gently prod at a welt. "You might want to get this looked at, you know. I don't see how you couldn't have broken something, punching stone like that."
"Yes, doctor Kingsley," he replied with a smirk. "Is there anything else I should do?"
She slid him a look that wasn't supposed to look amused but failed, smirking and shaking her head before tipping it, nudging her thumb against an abrasion. "Can you feel this at all?" she asked, her tone suddenly quieter and softer, as if they were indeed in a hospital or clinic.
"Just barely. Whole arm's all tingly now. Like it's been asleep, you know?" he shrugged a shoulder. "I'm fine."
"You keep saying that but I don't believe you." She made his hand spread by placing hers, digits splayed, beneath it. His dwarfed hers, which wasn't all that surprising. It even made her grin. "Everything seems to be moving okay, but I don't know." She gave a small shrug. "I'd still let someone look at it." Subconsciously, she attempted to roll her own numbed shoulder without much success.
"I will, I will," he waved her concerns away, chuckling. "You're worse than my keeper, you know that? Always tellin' me to get this scrape or that one looked at."
"Well you should!" she argued, dropping his hand down so that it laid on the round of her knee. She had much more important things to look at right now, like his face. "It's only because I care about you, you know." It was the booze talking, or at least letting her talk. "And this," she said, motioning to his shoulder and craning her neck as if she could see what laid beneath his shirt. Give her a second, she'll blush.
"Well ain't you sweet," he grinned, leaning back when she tilted his head. "Tryin' to get a look or somethin', Kingsley? All you gotta do is ask. I ain't shy like some folk 'round here," oh, he could practically see the blush already.
Oh, he could. He certainly could, because by now, all thanks to him, that blush was in full force. She was trying hard to ignore it though! And was failing, miserably. "Well then, let me see it." The glass was moved without looking, placed on the bed stand. That same movement had her shifting positions, bringing her legs up underneath her so that she was kneeling rather than sitting. For a better vantage point of inspecting his shoulder, of course. She paused though, looking at him. The blush deepened. "Please." Even in whatever state she was in, she just couldn't seem to be impolite.
Smirking at her, he sat up to push away from the wall so he could tug his shirt off and overhead. Beneath it was lightly toned muscle sheathed in skin that was just a little too pale, riddled with marks and scars of more than a few scraps. Chief among all that, however, was the dark splotch on his shoulder that started in a bruise and spread out like a spider web through his veins.
And we thought the poor girl had been blushing before. She was froze for a few seconds, one hand reaching out and everything. The only thing moving was her eyes, darting all over him, subconsciously superimposing the image into her fuzzy brain. Then she snapped to, with a literal shake of her head, and continued her hand's travel to touch, lightly, upon his shoulder. "Is it still tingling?" She guessed the answer was 'yes', since hers was.
"Yeah," he said with a shrug of said tingling shoulder, he was managing to get more movement out of it than he had expected. "But that'll pass, too," he couldn't help but grin at her for the way she froze up momentarily.
"You think so?" she asked. The hand that had touched him recoiled out of natural instinct but did eventually return, delicate fingers soft and feathery as they dusted across his skin. It was amazing how gentle she could be when her head felt like it was swimming. "You don't think it's anything bad, do you?"
"Oh, it's somethin' bad. But I don' think it'll last. Maybe if they got us good, we'd be worse off. But just sorta grazed, y'know? So I think we'll be safe," he flashed her a confident smile. "Don't worry. Prolly be gone come morning."
She nodded, the hair past her shoulders swaying with the motion, sitting on her heels and biting her lower lip. Her hand was still on him. It was still moving. Trailing down the mound of his shoulder, it touched to a particularly vibrant scar marring that upper part of his chest. "What's this from?" Somewhere inside she felt like a starry-eyed child.
"Uh..." he looked down thoughtfully and shrugged. "Somethin' stabbed or cut me. Dunno, don't really keep track of most of 'em. Only got a few stories for them," he admitted, arching a brow at her. "Like scars, do you?"
"I haven't really seen many," which was true. Her head tilted, her hand continued on. If he didn't stop her, it wasn't liable to do it on its own any time soon. Again, blame the booze. "I haven't seen that many people without their shirt on, you know." It was a quiet admission, accompanied with yet another blush.
"Yeah, you don't seem the type of girl to frequent places where guys are walkin' 'round shirtless much," he snickered. "Must be fun to watch you on a beach durin' summer, then."
He honestly didn't mind her curiosity, it was both endearing and oddly satisfying, as innocent as she appeared to be in that moment, so he made no move to stop her. "How's your shoulder?"
That just made the coloring on her cheeks worse. Evidently drinking didn't solve that problem. Hopefully it was better at solving others. "I haven't gone to a beach in the summer in years. Since I was a kid." She gave him a faint smile, all too enthralled by him and his littering of scars. "It's alright. Still numb." Blinking, as if that was what severed her intrigue, she glanced to her own shoulder. Seeing the spidery fingers of black peeking out of the sleeve, she frowned.
"Lemme see," his arm came up and his hand curled around her wrist, rising while the other followed suit, albeit much more slowly. He was able to push at her sleeve to reveal more of those dark webs spreading through her skin. "How much has it spread, do you know?" he asked, brushing a fingertip to trace one of the many lines that seemed inked into her veins.
She watched him like she had never had anyone move toward her ever before. And, in her mind, she hadn't. Her cheeks were a permanent shade of rose, making her eyes all the more brilliant to observe. She didn't refuse though or impend his intent, instead just letting him mold her however he saw fit. "I don't know," she said quietly, looking at her own shoulder rather than him. "When I saw it earlier in the bathroom, it looked a lot like yours but I didn't look all that hard."
"Well, it doesn' look all that bad. Don' know what we can do tonight but hope that it's gone tomorrow," he shrugged, his tingling hand falling away while the other remained. "Doesn' hurt, does it?"
She swallowed, harder than she would have liked. Her cheeks felt like they were in flames. "Do you need to see any more of it?" Dear god, if she hadn't of had those two glasses of whiskey, she certainly would have been shocked at herself and probably bolted right from the room. She smiled, half sheepishly, half lazily, her eyes full of haze as she looked up at him beneath a wealth of lashes. "No, it's fine. Can't feel a thing, really, other than the tingling."
That question made him arch a brow at her. "See any more of it?" he asked, his mind going to a very, very different place for a moment. Luckily for her, he was ultimately a much better man than he pretended to be. "Well, maybe when ye ain't all numb I wouldn' mind seein' a bit more," he teased, smirking at her. "But I think I know enough as is."
She blushed even harder, feeling altogether foolish for even thinking that she could attempt to be anything but innocent. Nodding, she tucked her chin in a manner that bespoke too much of that trait. "You're sure it will go away?" She looked to her shoulder again, more afraid to touch it than she had been to touch his. Speaking of, he was still shirtless, wasn't he? Oh dear...
His fingers rose to curl beneath her jaw and gently, he guided her to look up at him. "Yeah, m'sure it will, Kings," he leaned close to touch his lips to hers, his fingers spreading out to cradle her jaw. "Ain't nothin' you need to be worried about," he assured her with quiet confidence, seeming perfectly certain that whatever it was that stained their skin was ultimately harmless.
The sudden onslaught of quiet kindness was soothing, making the fire beneath her face not so much of a cruel thing. Her lashes dipped low when he kissed her, her lips soft and pliable and faintly tasting of that whiskey. "I trust you." Her mouth was smiling when his left it, nodding only slightly as to not encourage his hand to move away. She was more than content to believe in his words, whether or not they, in the end, turned out to be true.
"Good," he smiled warmly, pleased to be able to remain so close to her. "Now, lie down," he said. "You need to rest, only way you're gonna get better. Come mornin' I can take you home if that's what you like, but it's safest to stay here for the night."
Her eyes were filled with more than their share of dizziness. It was a good think that she was already sitting, and that he suggested that she stay. Otherwise it wouldn't have been a pretty picture, watching little miss Kingsley stumbling her way home. Smiling lazily, she reached out a hand, touching at another scar that caught her fancy, this one along the hollow curve just below his ribcage. "You sure you won't mind?"
"Got me a pretty girl sleepin' in my bed," he replied with a smirk. "Ain't a man in the world who'd complain about that."
"Well, come on then," she said, her head falling back to let that grin shine. Reaching to grab his non-bruised shoulder while tugging down the blankets, she got herself nestled underneath them and urged him to do the same. "Are you actually going to sleep, or are you going to do what I think you're going to do and stay awake all night to make sure we're safe?" She was facing him, preferring to be able to bury her head against him rather than simply face a wall.
"I'm gonna take pictures of you an' post'em around town," he replied with a grin as she urged him to lie down with her. He did as she wanted, shifting to slip beneath the covers by her side. "Then you'll see how bad of a man I really am."
"You wouldn't dare," she challenged him, peering up with slitted eyes. She looked all too content, nestled there against his chest, tiny in comparison.
"Might be I would," he replied, smirking at her. "If I had me a camera."
"Never got around to gettin' one, though. Think you're safe for the night."
"I'll have to remember to not give you one for your birthday," she answered, shaking her head as she smirked.
"When is your birthday anyway?" she asked just before covering up a yawn. Her lids were threatening at half-mast, her head nudging itself into a hollow in the pillow.
"August," he replied with a quiet laugh. "When's yours?" he asked, arching a brow at her with curious amusement as sleep started to creep up on her.
"August what?" she prodded, giving his stomach, which was where one of her hands had ended up, a gentle nudge. "September," she answered without a fight. "The eighth."
"Seventh," he added, flicking at her hand with a finger. "What are you gonna get me if not a camera? Still owe me some gloves."
"I'm working on them," she said. "It's been hard 'cause I've been having to guess your hand size." It would have been clever of her to have done the finger-sprawling thing while she was still sober. Oh well. "I don't know," she admitted, tired eyes finding another scar along his chest which brought fingers along to touch it. "What do you want?"
"I dunno," he replied with a small shrug. "I ain't ever had a birthday present far as I can remember, not since I was a boy before the order took me in. Not really a place that celebrates much of anythin', even a job well done is just rewarded with a pat on the head an' instructions for the next one."
"So you've never really gotten a gift for your birthday?" Stick with her, Eli, and that would be sure to change. "That's awful." She frowned, obviously not fond of the idea of somebody's birthday going without celebration or, worse, without notice. A moment passed in quiet then, "My brother-in-law died on my birthday. My sweet sixteen."
"That's worse," he replied, turning to frown curiously at her. "What happened?"
"Car accident," she replied, busying herself with watching her fingers trail along that scar rather than look up at him since she was sure that there would be tears rimming her eyes. "Some crazy driver ran him off the road. I saw everything." She frowned harder. "Quill has never gotten over it."
"That's your sister, right?" his frown deepened, his tingling arm slipped under her to wrap around her middle. "M'sorry."
"Mhm," she hummed, nodding a bit. She managed a brief smile. "Thanks. It's been four years but it still hurts, especially for her. I feel bad, you know? It was my birthday, we were out to celebrate." She gave a small shrug. "Ever since it's just been weird."
"Maybe this next year will be different, yeah?" he suggested hopefully. "Might be I can whip somethin' up to keep your mind off of it."
"You're still going to be around by then?" she asked, grinning up at him. Their faces were close, she could feel his breath. It instantly made her cheeks go red and she fought hard to not try and hide it. The change in topic was welcomed, even if it had the potential to be just as bad in the end. "If you are, maybe we can both make these years different for one another."
"I plan to be around as long as I can, Kings," he replied with a shrug, tossing a small grin back down at her when she looked up. "Year's already startin' off different for me, an' this one ain't even over yet."
"I'll take that as a compliment," even if it wasn't directly aimed at her. She gave another soft yawn, just barely managing to put it behind a tiny fist. Her shoulder was tingling and, somewhere beneath it, she thought she could feel some sort of humming sensation, but she tossed that off as a part of the drink. "You know, maybe your order will have some business you can do here and you could stay." It was the musing of a semi-drunken girl who was being courted by comfort and sleep, eyes having already drifted closed and her body nestled nice and snug against his. ...And he was still without a shirt, wasn't he? Realizing this yet again, she blushed.
"Maybe," he doubted he'd be that lucky, but it didn't hurt to entertain a bit of wishful thing. "Get some sleep, Kings. Imagine you'll be sore come mornin'," he would be too, especially that bruised hand of his.
"I'll hope on it," she replied, wearing a warm smile as she inched herself even closer, pressing herself flush against him without any second thought or embarrassment. "If you need me for anything," she murmured, sleep evidently already wrapping its fingers around her mind, "don't be afraid to wake me, okay?"
"I won't," he replied, watching her closely as she started to drift off. "G'night, Kingsley."
"Good night, Elijah," came the soft reply. Ironic as it was, she could appear the perfect angel at times like these, burrowed safely against his chest with her cheek pressed to his naked skin and her hair framing her feminine features all too well despite being candid. She was content and happy, two things that didn't often find our little Kingsley much when she was drifting off to sleep. But tonight was different. For a change, she actually felt safe.