For days now she'd been watching the lovers, the ethereal wisp of a long lost dream lingering just barely out of sight and with the predilection towards remaining the unobtrusive voyeur. The distinct lack of malice marked her as so vastly different than the other spiritual being that had plagued the pair's life in recent months, anathematized by the more insane poltergeist-like interloper, and content to gain understanding with as little interaction with her charge(s) as possible.
To one, she was just a fond and painful memory, a reminder of loss that was likely immortalized in what few stories in which her name was given Power, and of which the Pact had forbidden her contact.
The other? Well, the tall and willowy woman with the long braid and subtler ways was a curiosity which might needs soon be sated. Indulged when the was alone and could not alert the blonde man or the mad wraith to her presence.
Soon.
* * * * * * * *
"I won't be long," Steve assured Fionna, affirming the statement with the nuzzle of a kiss to her ear and then disengaging himself from their tangle of limbs on the bench. "I'll take Raza and make an adventure of it, that way Mariyah can finally go home and not sweat over cooking tonight."
They'd been snuggled up on the rooftop of The Eye for the better part of an hour, the smalltalk of the mundanity of their day dying away quickly beneath the stronger desire to just be together in those rare and treasured moments that no one had managed to steal from them. He didn't get away without another kiss, prompted by the lithe artist-cellist and with enough coy demand to ensure that he'd show as much alacrity (if not more) than he'd promised.
"Egg rolls," she placed a heavy emphasis on the cloying tease of her French accent. "There must be egg rolls. You can surprise me with the type."
"Eggs rolls it is, Your Miss Ladyship." The playful banter was worth a laugh, easing some of the tension he'd been so valiantly trying to release in recent days and proving that it was working. "Along with everything else the lady wants."
She was left with a lingering touch of their fingertips, one last look ventured over his shoulder when she showed no signs of moving from their previous spot, before the machinist finally disappeared to descend for Raza collection. Minutes later, both his and the toddler's voices could be heard echoing up the alley, as her boys made growly-noise banter at one another on their way to the old work truck.
Overhead, the sun was making it's way lazily towards the horizon, spilling a cascade of amber and red light amongst the buildings to paint West End in a more beautiful light than most times.
But as beautiful as it was, it was hard to ignore the feeling of not being alone.
She was a striking woman, even in death, semi-transparent or solid as any previously seen and casually demure in the way she sat on the bench at Fionna's side. Blonde-haired and blue-eyed, her features strong despite the subtle curvature in her face that might have been called delicate. Where Erica was shorter and scandalously curvacious, this spirit was tall and athletic, if not a little more modest in the bust and hips. She could have been in her mid-20's or mid-30's at best guess.
For some time, all she did was fix the artist-cellist with a penetrating, considering stare.
http://thefilmstage.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/Naomi-Watts-004.jpg
To one, she was just a fond and painful memory, a reminder of loss that was likely immortalized in what few stories in which her name was given Power, and of which the Pact had forbidden her contact.
The other? Well, the tall and willowy woman with the long braid and subtler ways was a curiosity which might needs soon be sated. Indulged when the was alone and could not alert the blonde man or the mad wraith to her presence.
Soon.
* * * * * * * *
"I won't be long," Steve assured Fionna, affirming the statement with the nuzzle of a kiss to her ear and then disengaging himself from their tangle of limbs on the bench. "I'll take Raza and make an adventure of it, that way Mariyah can finally go home and not sweat over cooking tonight."
They'd been snuggled up on the rooftop of The Eye for the better part of an hour, the smalltalk of the mundanity of their day dying away quickly beneath the stronger desire to just be together in those rare and treasured moments that no one had managed to steal from them. He didn't get away without another kiss, prompted by the lithe artist-cellist and with enough coy demand to ensure that he'd show as much alacrity (if not more) than he'd promised.
"Egg rolls," she placed a heavy emphasis on the cloying tease of her French accent. "There must be egg rolls. You can surprise me with the type."
"Eggs rolls it is, Your Miss Ladyship." The playful banter was worth a laugh, easing some of the tension he'd been so valiantly trying to release in recent days and proving that it was working. "Along with everything else the lady wants."
She was left with a lingering touch of their fingertips, one last look ventured over his shoulder when she showed no signs of moving from their previous spot, before the machinist finally disappeared to descend for Raza collection. Minutes later, both his and the toddler's voices could be heard echoing up the alley, as her boys made growly-noise banter at one another on their way to the old work truck.
Overhead, the sun was making it's way lazily towards the horizon, spilling a cascade of amber and red light amongst the buildings to paint West End in a more beautiful light than most times.
But as beautiful as it was, it was hard to ignore the feeling of not being alone.
She was a striking woman, even in death, semi-transparent or solid as any previously seen and casually demure in the way she sat on the bench at Fionna's side. Blonde-haired and blue-eyed, her features strong despite the subtle curvature in her face that might have been called delicate. Where Erica was shorter and scandalously curvacious, this spirit was tall and athletic, if not a little more modest in the bust and hips. She could have been in her mid-20's or mid-30's at best guess.
For some time, all she did was fix the artist-cellist with a penetrating, considering stare.
http://thefilmstage.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/Naomi-Watts-004.jpg