{ stonefield } and the sun's been slowly setting on your golden age
Worn out and more interested in the bath and bed waiting for him at the house than the further opportunity to be alone with his thoughts (Inga should be asleep when he gets home, but he only half-heartedly considers that she might not hear the car), Martel doesn't particularly relish the drive from Bradley International. His mind doesn't wander too ( Read more... )
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Candice couldn't really get a glimpse at the stranger in the car who nearly hit her, so she isn't entirely certain who that was, but she comes quietly back into the house all the same. She puts her cardigan away on the coatrack, intending to bring it upstairs later, and catches her breath - jumping out of the road did give her a bit of a jolt, but at least she had flats on.
It doesn't take long until she's told to go into the sitting room.
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Most obviously, Inga is up; that child can probably make herself heard on other continents if she really likes, through a doorway is no trouble at all. Once actually in the sitting room, reasons for both the littlest member of the household's excitability and Candice's abrupt summons become clear in the form of the months-absent Mr Dessoir.
He's still somewhat rumpled, straight off a plane and out of the car; unfairly, he wears it well. Inga gets set down on off his lap, feet on the floor- "Bed," he tells her, not yet bothering to acknowledge Candice, "and quickly, it's past time. Or I might misplace your presents."
"You would not."
"I might. Go to bed."
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She doesn't quite smile at Inga's antics, here, where otherwise she might have; instead she's internally going ohhh God I ran in front of my boss's car, didn't I. Instead of saying anything, though, she stands, quietly, hands clasped, and waits to be addressed first. (The fact that he's unfairly good-looking hasn't escaped her, but she's primarily concerned with whether or not she is in trouble, frankly.)
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When Inga - reluctantly, melodramatically - makes her exit and the door shuts behind her, Martel uncrosses his ankles and sits forward, straightening so he can look at Candice.
"Ms Chavez, I presume."
Sharp-eyed and a little too intent, but nobody's perfect, him least of all. (Skew it the right way and it could be about as unfair as his profile, but more often than not it's really just unnerving.)
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