CLOSED | prompt eight | RUIN

[dondarrion]

prompt eight | R U I N dressing-room style. closed to rog.

 

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[forsook]

[ Though in many cases Saul is essentially a brick wall, the glaring exception is in the matter of his sister. As if in example, instead of striking back, he rolls over onto his side, arms still raised over his head, now as though in surrender. ]

What kind of fun is there in that?

[ Half bleary, he sits up, casting about for her again. ]

And what're you still cleaning, anyway?

[complicit]

[ Her voice comes from down a sidehall, muffled by the linen closet door. There's a lace runner in her hands when she shuts it again — a pointless confection in terms of decor but Ruth can afford good things for herself. (What Saul lacks, she has, and where Saul has compulsion, she has temperance.) ]

Oh? Asking me about fun, are you? [ She gives the runner a flap, trying to air out the dust and creases. ] I'm just cleaning to pass the time. Really, Sally.

[ Her heels click in sharp, even rhthym as she returns to lift a nearby lamp and spread the doily out beneath it. ] And, since you're never going to bring it up yourself, no, you don't like you're having fun at all.

[forsook]

[ There's a dull thud as he lies back on the couch again. ]

Don't be cross.

[ A pointless statement, for the large part — not that she's cross, but because it's true: he isn't exactly having fun. (There's something calming about tracking the click of her heels across the floor, but that is neither here nor there.) At length, he speaks again. ]

'Sides, not everything gets given to you.

[complicit]

[ That even pace of her shoes stop and even if Saul isn't looking, he knows her sister well enough to see the slow turn that she does on her heel. She isn't cross (anger isn't a sentiment she indulges) but there is something that speaks of neverending exasperation on her face. ]

And what is that s'posed to mean, exactly? [ An obvious question, begging and all too obvious answer — though, truth be told, most things are obvious for the two of them. That's what happens when you grow up as close and as fiercely loyal as Ruth and Saul. ]

[forsook]

You know, [ comes the petulant answer, punctuated by a wave of his hands. (She knows, he knows. Blood runs thicker than water and there is nowhere the principle holds more strongly than with the two siblings.) ]

Don't get anywhere without breaking a few rules.

[complicit]

Is that what this is about? [ Her heels resume, now in a determined stalk that brings her right to the edge of the couch. Her neatly-coifed hair makes for a sculpted silhouette against the light overhead. ] Getting somewhere? Breaking a few rules?

[ Anyone else and she wouldn't bother — neither with her judgment or her concern. But for Saul, she would move mountains, even when the mountain is him. (As stubborn as she is, as precious as air. Stupid, stupid beloved Saul. ]

She's young enough to be your daughter, nevermind the whole— [ She wiggles her fingers and drops down onto her knees beside him, a hand coming up not to slap him but curl into his hair and give him a stubborn tug. ] —heebie jeebie business.

If you're looking for some taboo thrill— [ She levels him with a rueful smile. ] —fuck me, for Christ's sake.

[forsook]

[ It's a smile that he mirrors, his hand coming up to her wrist, not to pull her hand away but simply to be assured of her presence. (Anyone else and she wouldn't bother — he knows that. It's a point of both comfort and guilt; the former because he knows that even when he can't rely on himself, he'll be able to rely on her, and the latter because he's had something of a habit of letting her down, the current case in point being a perfect example.) ]

Don't think I'd ever be able t' handle you, [ he notes, in much the same kind of tone (as if this were something of a black comedy, as if things weren't dire in the least). ]

I'd be no good for you, anyway.