April settled beside him, entangling their fingers slowly, so as not to startle him. "We're on my sofa. Can you picture it? Where we're facing, where we are?"
"Facing…" Cruz whispered back, "Facing west, the.. Window, there.." He explained in small breaths. He sounded like there were bricks crushing his lungs.
LMAOO
oh well, its the sacrifice i make for the plot )"I'm boarding here," he replied simply, "I imagine you have a room prepared for me, would you be so kind as to carry my luggage in?" His words themselves were kind, but she could practically taste the tension in the air.
She sunk into a deep curtsy so she wouldn't have to meet his eyes. "Of course, sir."
The man said nothing, and slid past Jane into the home.
She shivered slightly as he walked past, then rose to collect his baggage.
"Such a lovely home." Simcoe spoke blandly, with envy spoiling his tone, "Such a shame the man of the house can't be here to welcome me."
"Mr. André is working," she stated, closing the door behind her.
"I'm aware." He replied curtly. "I answer to him now. As Major." Clearly Si,cos wasn't a fan of being inferior to John.
She nodded. "Shall I show you to your room, sir?" The words tasted awful in her throat.
"Yes." He replied shortly.
She lead him to the guest bedroom, carrying his things for him. Can't you help?! she wanted to scream. "Here you are, sir," she said, motioning towards the room.
"Hm. Thank you," he spoke, meandered towards the dresser. "It's quite dusty, isn't it?"
She turned pink. It's not * that *dusty… "Would you like me to take care of it, sir?" Surprisingly, she managed to keep the venom out of her voice.
"Preferably," Simcoe spoke, leaving his hat on the dresser for her to deal with. It felt like.. he was purposefully trying to get to her.
She pressed her lips together. "Anything else? sir?"
April settled beside him, entangling their fingers slowly, so as not to startle him. "We're on my sofa. Can you picture it? Where we're facing, where we are?"
"Facing…" Cruz whispered back, "Facing west, the.. Window, there.." He explained in small breaths. He sounded like there were bricks crushing his lungs.
She squeezed his hands. “That’s right, good job, Cruz. Can you picture my face?”
She pressed her lips together. "Anything else? sir?"
"Are you afraid of me?" Simcoe looked her dead in the eyes.
April settled beside him, entangling their fingers slowly, so as not to startle him. "We're on my sofa. Can you picture it? Where we're facing, where we are?"
"Facing…" Cruz whispered back, "Facing west, the.. Window, there.." He explained in small breaths. He sounded like there were bricks crushing his lungs.
She squeezed his hands. “That’s right, good job, Cruz. Can you picture my face?”
"No." He replied. His voice sounded empty.
She pressed her lips together. "Anything else? sir?"
"Are you afraid of me?" Simcoe looked her dead in the eyes.
A shiver shot down her spine, but she stiffened and stood as tall as she could. "No," she replied evenly, not giving him the satisfaction of her fear.
"Then you are suspicious of me." He observed.
"Quite," she responded boldly.
"Why?" A smirk teased his mouth.
"You seem like the type," she retorted.
"Do I really seem like a violent man?" He unclipped the sword sheath off his hip, and set it on the dresser, hand resting on it for a while.
"I never said violent, sir," she clarified, standing up straight and looking at him evenly.
"Ah." He echoed flatly, and looked at her. "I'll be left alone, then," he dismissed her.