02; what's your poison?
What's Your Poison?
yellow light. (stoplight system.)
concerning: Victoria Winters, Roger Collins.
997 words; complete. original post date: 03-02-09.
It wasn't often that Victoria Winters found herself suffering from insomnia, but when she did, she would swear that the current bout was worse than the last. Unfortunately, since coming to Collinwood, Vicki could sense that the lack of sleep might become more and more commonplace for her.
Usually, the gentle taping of the rain on her window would lull Vicki to sleep, but on this particular night, no such luck. She laid awake in bed, watching the clouds float past the moon through her window or following the line of stitches on her blankets with her finger. Counting sheep had not done its job. Vicki squinted through the darkness to see the clock on her wall. It read sometime past one A.M.; she couldn't read the minute hand. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes before opening them almost immediately afterward. How many hours had she been laying there? Four? Three? Two at the very least, and one-hundred twenty minutes was a ridiculous amount of time to essentially be doing nothing, she thought. So, with another sigh, she sat up, got out of bed, and quietly opened her door to step into the hallway.
Collinwood, clearly not the least unsettling place in broad daylight, was sure to give anyone shivers in the middle of the night. Vicki didn't enjoy wandering the corridors in the dark, barefoot, and she hurried down them, careful not to trip on the stairs. It was a relief when she reached the bottom landing. But her brow furrowed as she noticed something rather odd: the door to teh drawing room was slightly ajar, and a light shone through the crack. Vicki though nothing of it besides that it was unusual; Missus Stoddard or someone must have left it on by mistake. After all, it was nearly two in the morning. Who could possibly be awake?
Vicki opened the door and got her answer: there stood Roger Collins, pouring himself a glass of brandy.
She gasped, startled, and took a step back. "Oh - I'm sorry, I didn't -"
Roger turned around, a somewhat-inquiring expression on his face. "Ah, Vicki, come in. I was just having a bit of a nightcap. Care to join me?" He motioned to his glass before taking a sip of the amber liquid.
Vicki smiled. "No, thank you." But she entered the room anyway, crossing the drawing room to the piano.
Roger watched her as she sat down on the bench. "You aren't one for drinking much, are you, Vicki?"
"Sorry?"
"Oh, come now, there must be something you like. Tell me, what's your poison?"
She couldn't help the slight giggle that escaped her lips at the smirk on his face, and she shook her head. "Sherry, if you must know."
"Aha." Roger's smirk never left his lips as he set his glass on the table and knelt down, opening the cabinet to look for a bottle for Vicki.
"But - Roger - you don't think it's a bit late for that?" Vicki asked, brown hair sweeping across her shoulder as she inclined her head slightly to the side.
"Hah!" Roger stood up, his hand clutching the neck of a sherry bottle. He fetched her a glass before uncorking the bottle and pouring the drink into the glass. "It's pointless to attempt to convince me that it's too late for a bit of indulgence." And there was that charming smirk again. "Besides. Isn't it a bit late to be wandering the halls of this old place?"
"I couldn't sleep," she confessed, her fingers brushing over the ivory keys of the piano and her expression almost apologetic.
Roger nodded and picked up her glass as well as his and crossed over to her. "Ah, well. This might just help with that, you know."
Vicki smiled her thanks and accepted the glass from him. "Was that your problem, too?" she asked before taking a sip.
"Mm." Roger nodded, and by the way he was still decked out in his suit and tie, Vicki didn't believe him for a second. Still, she didn't contest it, simply taking another sip.
"Do you approve, Miss Winters?"
"Hm?" Vicki looked at him wide-eyed before noticing how he gestured to her glass. She laughed. "Yes, thank you."
A laugh escaped Roger as well. "Good." He took a sip of his brandy and - oh. Vicki tensed slightly as Roger brushed a dark lock of hair behind her ear. She swore she could smell alcohol on him, and she wondered how long he'd been down here like this. But maybe she was wrong. Maybe it was her own drink combined with the general atmosphere of the drawing room. But one thing was certain: she couldn't stop the blush creeping onto her face as his fingertips brushed down her neck and onto her shoulder, tracing the pattern of her nightgown. He didn't say anything, and she was too busy concentrating on the floor to notice his expression, but she suddenly became painfully aware of her lack of a robe. The one she'd left hanging on the back of her bedroom door would have done quite nicely.
And then Roger stopped. Vicki felt a twinge of regret as his hand left her; she had to admit, she wasn't adverse to the attention. But she took another sip of sherry and cleared her throat, letting her eyes come up a bit.
And then Roger did something unexpected. Vicki didn't even see him movie, but the next thing she knew, his lips were pressed against hers. It was gentle, not forceful, the complete opposite of what Vicki would have expected from him in such a situation - almost as though he was gauging her reaction.
And for a split second, Roger Collins would have found Victoria Winters quite receptive.
But, as quick as it happened, Vicki came to her senses and pulled away, placing her sherry glass atop the piano. "It's late," she said, flustered, as she rose and slipped past Roger and moved to the doors a bit quicker than necessary. "I - I should try and get some sleep."
"Good night, Miss Winters."
yellow light. (stoplight system.)
concerning: Victoria Winters, Roger Collins.
997 words; complete. original post date: 03-02-09.
It wasn't often that Victoria Winters found herself suffering from insomnia, but when she did, she would swear that the current bout was worse than the last. Unfortunately, since coming to Collinwood, Vicki could sense that the lack of sleep might become more and more commonplace for her.
Usually, the gentle taping of the rain on her window would lull Vicki to sleep, but on this particular night, no such luck. She laid awake in bed, watching the clouds float past the moon through her window or following the line of stitches on her blankets with her finger. Counting sheep had not done its job. Vicki squinted through the darkness to see the clock on her wall. It read sometime past one A.M.; she couldn't read the minute hand. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes before opening them almost immediately afterward. How many hours had she been laying there? Four? Three? Two at the very least, and one-hundred twenty minutes was a ridiculous amount of time to essentially be doing nothing, she thought. So, with another sigh, she sat up, got out of bed, and quietly opened her door to step into the hallway.
Collinwood, clearly not the least unsettling place in broad daylight, was sure to give anyone shivers in the middle of the night. Vicki didn't enjoy wandering the corridors in the dark, barefoot, and she hurried down them, careful not to trip on the stairs. It was a relief when she reached the bottom landing. But her brow furrowed as she noticed something rather odd: the door to teh drawing room was slightly ajar, and a light shone through the crack. Vicki though nothing of it besides that it was unusual; Missus Stoddard or someone must have left it on by mistake. After all, it was nearly two in the morning. Who could possibly be awake?
Vicki opened the door and got her answer: there stood Roger Collins, pouring himself a glass of brandy.
She gasped, startled, and took a step back. "Oh - I'm sorry, I didn't -"
Roger turned around, a somewhat-inquiring expression on his face. "Ah, Vicki, come in. I was just having a bit of a nightcap. Care to join me?" He motioned to his glass before taking a sip of the amber liquid.
Vicki smiled. "No, thank you." But she entered the room anyway, crossing the drawing room to the piano.
Roger watched her as she sat down on the bench. "You aren't one for drinking much, are you, Vicki?"
"Sorry?"
"Oh, come now, there must be something you like. Tell me, what's your poison?"
She couldn't help the slight giggle that escaped her lips at the smirk on his face, and she shook her head. "Sherry, if you must know."
"Aha." Roger's smirk never left his lips as he set his glass on the table and knelt down, opening the cabinet to look for a bottle for Vicki.
"But - Roger - you don't think it's a bit late for that?" Vicki asked, brown hair sweeping across her shoulder as she inclined her head slightly to the side.
"Hah!" Roger stood up, his hand clutching the neck of a sherry bottle. He fetched her a glass before uncorking the bottle and pouring the drink into the glass. "It's pointless to attempt to convince me that it's too late for a bit of indulgence." And there was that charming smirk again. "Besides. Isn't it a bit late to be wandering the halls of this old place?"
"I couldn't sleep," she confessed, her fingers brushing over the ivory keys of the piano and her expression almost apologetic.
Roger nodded and picked up her glass as well as his and crossed over to her. "Ah, well. This might just help with that, you know."
Vicki smiled her thanks and accepted the glass from him. "Was that your problem, too?" she asked before taking a sip.
"Mm." Roger nodded, and by the way he was still decked out in his suit and tie, Vicki didn't believe him for a second. Still, she didn't contest it, simply taking another sip.
"Do you approve, Miss Winters?"
"Hm?" Vicki looked at him wide-eyed before noticing how he gestured to her glass. She laughed. "Yes, thank you."
A laugh escaped Roger as well. "Good." He took a sip of his brandy and - oh. Vicki tensed slightly as Roger brushed a dark lock of hair behind her ear. She swore she could smell alcohol on him, and she wondered how long he'd been down here like this. But maybe she was wrong. Maybe it was her own drink combined with the general atmosphere of the drawing room. But one thing was certain: she couldn't stop the blush creeping onto her face as his fingertips brushed down her neck and onto her shoulder, tracing the pattern of her nightgown. He didn't say anything, and she was too busy concentrating on the floor to notice his expression, but she suddenly became painfully aware of her lack of a robe. The one she'd left hanging on the back of her bedroom door would have done quite nicely.
And then Roger stopped. Vicki felt a twinge of regret as his hand left her; she had to admit, she wasn't adverse to the attention. But she took another sip of sherry and cleared her throat, letting her eyes come up a bit.
And then Roger did something unexpected. Vicki didn't even see him movie, but the next thing she knew, his lips were pressed against hers. It was gentle, not forceful, the complete opposite of what Vicki would have expected from him in such a situation - almost as though he was gauging her reaction.
And for a split second, Roger Collins would have found Victoria Winters quite receptive.
But, as quick as it happened, Vicki came to her senses and pulled away, placing her sherry glass atop the piano. "It's late," she said, flustered, as she rose and slipped past Roger and moved to the doors a bit quicker than necessary. "I - I should try and get some sleep."
"Good night, Miss Winters."