Shamesless Amanda is Shameless on Nov 3rd/4th specifically

[numberthree]

"You speak of destiny as though it is fixed."
-- Phillip Pullman

~*~





The sound of saddle shoes down the hallway could be two different people, but one of them is usually as silent as a church mouse and the other with more confidence than grown in most lions. Which is the same as the way the girl in those shoes lays her hand on the doorknob of the door that isn't her door but happens to be right next to her door and opens it as though it were just as summarily hers.

"I am bored," is the declaration that comes nearly synonymously with the door being thrown open to let herself in. There is only the barest touch of public-patient-training in that she doesn't entirely rush the entranceway, peering in, a little hyperbolically on the toes of those shoes, even though it's long since she was doing it habitually as a child.

In case her quarry doesn't happen to be here, and she has to keep searching.

But he is -- back to her, in that ever favored chair, at his desk, all tall, solid shoulders and wavy golden hair -- and that changes it lightning fast to a smile. "What are you doing?"

A blur of white and feathers rustled it's way past between her feet and halfway across the room already, giving a soft high pitched little trumpet of absolute triumph, even as Allison was closing the door and leaning back on it. Her smile an overly pleased and mockingly impatient tilt as the door clicked under her fingers and shoulders, and she waited to be answered.

Comments

[obediences]

His shoulders jerk in surprise as she bursts into the room like a whirlwind, blazing into his life like she always does — there's a slip of the hand, Luther's tiny paintbrush twitching and leaving a daub of blue on the airplane model where it shouldn't be blue. Where she's been lying obediently curled up at his feet, Kallistrate whines, but her tail thumps in excitement at the sight of Allison and her dæmon.

Luther twists in his seat to look back at them. Not irritated, because he can never be irritated at Allison breezing in, even when she's in one of her moods and shattering the hard-won peace and tranquility of his room. But he holds the model plane up for inspection, saying mildly: "Painting. What d'you think of it?"

He doesn't move to greet her, to touch her, but Kalli's already gotten to her feet and padded forward to bump heads with the swan, nosing affectionately at him.

[numberthree]

Allison remained where she was at first, watching as Luther turned around. Her gaze only slipping to one side after a second. Something like politely. Except somehow that's not it either. When she's warm with having found him, restless from her boredom, and still not quite balanced, even as Kolme's trumpets became softer and he ruffled his feathers, waddling in the circles following Kallistrate's affectionate exuberance.

She pushed off the door frame when Luther offered up the new piece that had his attention, and Allison came a bit closer. Crossing the room with all the aplomb of it being normal, even if it was supposed to be mostly forbidden. It definitely was not Saturday, no matter how many times they managed to sneak minutes here and there. She stopped short of his chair by a foot or so, looking at the little plane. She didn't have the slightest interest in the those things really, but Luther did, and for that they did garner hers for a short time.

(Though not enough for her to look close enough to notice any mistakes,

only to once again be a little frustratedly-awed at Luther's patient ability to do these things.)

Even if there was twist in her stomach that matched the urge to reach out and lay a hand on the back of his chair, to she could peer over his shoulder and he could return to what he was doing, she didn't move the last foot or so. Instead, Allison kept her hands together, rubbing the back of one thumb over the smooth nail polish of the other, and looked from it, to him, and back again. "What is this one? Was it in one of the big wars?"