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s f м ([info]mullets) wrote in [info]valesco,
@ 2014-03-07 19:38:00


Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
Entry tags:howell williams, saoirse mullet

NIGHT BEFORE FRIDAY
She had been standing motionless on the lift for a vague five minutes now, fingers hovering over two buttons on the switch board. One would bring her back to her and Holly’s room, for it was very late and she should already be asleep by now, and the other….

Saoirse felt her hand spring to life, and quickly her thumb jammed down a decision. Tomorrow was a very important day; tomorrow would be her first World Cup match, tomorrow needed all her focus, tomorrow (today?) could not be filled with the doubt, misery, and guilt that had been plaguing her for the past three weeks. She had to--- no, she must---

The lift door pinged open, and with quiet feet Saoirse ambled onto the Welsh wing of the tournament’s housing facility.

She felt tired of feeling tired, tired of feeling miserable, and most importantly, tired of feeling cold, empty, and unhappy with herself. What had happened between her and Howell…. that hadn’t been what she wanted, it certainly wasn’t what she continued to want, so why it had occurred, with the strike of her hand no less was not…

Knowing that he was here, with a few floors always separating them, had been maddening at first. She had wanted to see him constantly, talk to Howell everyday, stupidly hoped that fate would intervene and allow them a fleeting moment in which they could share their lost days with one another. But then, as the week had progressed, that frenzy within her began to fade, and it quickly occurred to her there was a feeling nothing as terrifying as that. Losing her ridiculous, encompassing thoughts meant an outcome she did not wish to see realized, and it was because of this fear that had lead her to brashly uncover where Howell specifically was staying in a previous late-night stroll entirely unrelated to this one. There wasn’t much time left, was there?

Pulling her hair back, Saoirse easily stopped before her intended destination. It was not difficult to locate the door she wanted, the rooms were numbered the same in Irish quarters. Not waiting any longer, she knocked gently at first, and after a few silent moments, pressed close to the door.

“Howell?” Her voice sounded small, as she felt thus, and uncertain. A couple of more silent moments passed, and her lips formed into a frown. Perhaps it was too late, in both senses. Resting her forehead against the wood, Saoirse closed her eyes. “Howell?”



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[info]howl
2014-03-07 11:24 pm UTC (link)
Howell was not certain if he was going to open the door or not.

He didn't even know who was knocking on the door when his name was first called. His thoughts did flit to Saoirse, but it was difficult to say if he was imagining it, being that she had crossed his mind more than once in the last hour or so. When his name was called again, he had no doubt.

Though their abrupt break up, if indeed that's what it had been, saddened him, there was more anger underlying his grief. After she'd told him about her family, after she'd revealed, uncoerced, her old wand sinisterly sent through the post… Howell had thought, finally, he had gotten through to her. He had finally convinced Saoirse that he could be trusted, could be leaned upon. There had been moments, certainly, where tensions had arisen between the two of them, but he'd thought with almost delight that it was a normal problem to have, something they could always work through.

What had played out that night he and Jago effectively moved out was everything to the contrary of that.

He had kept to himself in the days leading up to shipping out, and had remained quiet and surly since arriving in New York. Had he been forced to share a suite with someone like Michal, that attitude would have presented a problem, but Oliver Comstock was as quiet and surly as Howell was, so their room had actually become something of a haven in the noisy, unsettling city.

When the knock sounded, Oliver had been asleep, probably, on his bed. Howell, still in his gear from earlier in the day, had been sitting in a chair, startled out of a reverie. He looked at the wooden surface for what felt like an eternity before making a decision. Standing slowly, he made his way to the door and laid his hand on the knob, resting there for a moment before he grasped it and turned.

As the door opened, he saw Saoirse's face for the first time in three weeks.

He leaned against the frame and watched her expressionlessly.

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[info]mullets
2014-03-08 12:40 am UTC (link)
She knew that face; this was the face of disappointment and disapproval. And Saoirse couldn't say she liked it directed at her coming from a person that she had, many times over and over again, looked to for support and approval concerning all matters that left her feeling inadequately prepared. Which was surprisingly a lot, making everything, all of this just...

Saoirse unclenched her hands, and pressed her palms into her thighs. A part of her felt undeserving of his attention, unworthy of any effort at all, and therefore like she should divert her gaze to the floor in guilt, but a hungrier, stronger force within her kept her gaze glued on him. The curves of his face made her heart ache, the manner of his stature made any vigor within her weak, and how she longed for his comforting touch again, comforting presence that despite her recent actions, she had always held dear.

Was his hair longer? It looked longer. It had been long enough of difference for her to notice? At this thought, her frozen face broke, and Saoirse's brow furrowed with distraught. Lips curving further into a deeper frown, her eyes unfocused in disappointment as well. Breathing deeply, she attempted to collect herself before speaking.

This wasn't right. None of this was right.

"Will you go on a walk with me?" Saoirse asked quietly. Feeling unlike herself, and uncomfortable, but knowing fully well of how the alternative to this would feel, she kept her eyes unflinchingly on him before her.

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