St. John Allerdyce (worst_one) wrote in academy_x, @ 2010-03-19 03:00:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | pyro, scarlet witch |
Who: John and Wanda
When: backdated to Wednesday, March 17, morning
Where: Niagara Falls, hotel to start, then sightseeing!
What: Wake up call and touristy stuff.
John hadn't written much lately. Sure, he'd been a little busy with Wanda and that bullshit with his waste of skin of a father showing up unexpectedly, but normally he at least managed to get in a little writing time every couple days or so. He hadn't written anything in well over a week now, and he was beginning to wonder if this was going to be one of those terrible dry spells where he went weeks, even months just staring at a blank page in frustration.
For the past hour and a half, though, he'd sat in the chair near the balcony, the sunlight drifting behind the thick curtains illuminating his notebook well enough for him to see without disturbing Wanda. He'd gone through a couple cigarettes already, but had mostly just let them burn to ash, forgotten in their tray while he scribbled whatever came to mind. Most of it, in a very abstract kind of way, was about Wanda. She was still asleep, hair splayed out everywhere across the pillows, just barely snoring, and John knew he was a goner because he didn't think he'd seen her look more beautiful. She just looked. . .pure. Innocent. Perfect. He just didn't realize he was transferring all these thoughts into a fictional character on a page, or maybe he did and he just refused to acknowledge it. Whatever. All this emotional stuff made him nervous, left him feeling vulnerable and like he was dangling over a precipice and just the slightest touch would send him barreling to the ground.
He watched Wanda's nose twitch slightly as a strand of hair fell down and tickled her face, and he let out a quiet breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding; yeah, he'd totally risk that whole falling to his doom thing if it meant he got to wake up like this every morning.
John wouldn't admit it even on pain of death, maybe because he only barely realized it himself most of the time, but he had a deeply romantic streak in him. He didn't know where it came from or how it somehow managed to survive amid so much bitterness and sarcasm and outright misanthropy that he usually felt, but it was still there, still ready to make appearances at random times. Like now, when he heard a knock at the door. Quickly, before Wanda could be woken by the noise, he got up and put his notebook in his chair, then hurried over to the door, thanking the room service employee and tipping him well for even having found a sunflower like John had asked. Granted, it was huge, fake, and had a giant smiley face on it, but it would have to do in a pinch.
He wheeled the cart inside the room and eased the door shut, arranging one of the trays and then carrying it slowly over to the bed; despite his visions of spilling it all over the place, he actually managed without making a total mess. Not knowing what else to get, he'd opted for the giant breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage links, bacon, biscuits, and French toast, along with a cup of mixed fruit and two glasses of orange juice. The tray was completely loaded down, more than enough for the both of them, and hopefully Wanda could find something there that piqued her interest.
After he unwrapped the silverware from the napkins to arrange everything, he reached over and tickled under Wanda's nose with the sunflower, hoping against hope that she would wake peacefully and not jerk awake and knock the tray into the floor.