multiversallogs | Those very rare occasions don't let up, they keep on coming

Who: Apollo and Cassandra
What: The inevitable awkward conversation following a drunken encounter
Where: The Valhalla Inn
When: The night after this
Notes: None
Warnings: Sexual tension and snippy, blunt honesty

The Valhalla Inn was starting to get claustrophobic. Cassandra felt trapped. It was ridiculous, of course. She wasn't a prisoner as she had been on the caravan, as she had been in Willaknapp. Nor was she, as far as she knew, under the sway of the natives of Baedal, as she had been in Rowan. Still, she was anxious to get out. The thought of having a place of her own was appealing, but Cassandra knew herself well enough to know that if she couldn't find someone to share a flat with, she would likely go off the deep end again. When she was alone all the time, she withdrew. She lived up to certain expectations. No, it was definitely better for her to find an anchor, someone she could trust to keep her sane.

For now, however, the only way to relieve the claustrophobia was to keep the door to her room propped open.

Cassandra lay on her stomach, across the foot of her bed, lazily scanning her CiD, examining various network posts. She was finally beginning to get a sense of some of these people, but so far, Ianto--and by default, Jack--were the only ones she felt comfortable telling about her visions. With the monster attacks so fresh in her mind, she felt no end to the frustration about the fact that her dire warnings had not yielded any kind of results. Then again, what could she do? Certainly, she couldn't tell the militia or these Hellsing people. Neither party had demonstrated much to give her any kind of faith. Of course, it would be easier to just try to live a normal life and pretend the visions didn't happen.

But that would be a lie.

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Cassandra opened her eyes. The question, to her, at least, seemed to come out of nowhere. There was clearly a second part to it, but the odds seemed high that she wouldn't like the second part. It probably wasn't fair to make that kind of assumption, but Cassandra's self-defense instincts were strong. Powerful. Unshakeable.

"That depends," she said diplomatically. "It depends on what you're about to ask of me."

She reached out, touching his cheek. "You were going to follow that up with something, weren't you?" she asked.

He laughed, placing his hand over hers. "I'm sorry, no, I wasn't following it with anything. Although, if I'm asking favors of you, I would like a curl to take with me when I go."

He pressed his lips against her hair for a moment, and pulled away. "No, I was only thinking--well, I'm surprised you trust me to stay the night with you. That was all."

She gave him a funny look. "Don't make me second guess myself," she warned lightly, with a hint of playfulness. "Now I'm starting to suspect that you're plotting something." Of course, she couldn't think of much for him to plot, in light of what had just happened. What was the worst thing he could possibly do to her?

Then again, she knew the lows to which some so-called human beings could stoop.

"As for my hair, we had that conversation already," she scolded him. "I've already dedicated my hair to you once. That didn't work out so well."

"I'm not asking for you to dedicate your hair to me," he insisted, squeezing her around the shoulders. "Just a memento, nothing dark."

He glanced back down at her. "Don't second guess yourself. I just...wondered."

The irony was delightful. So delightful that Cassandra laughed. Now who was the curious one? She liked that. She liked that a lot.

Leaning over, she opened up the drawer of the nightstand again, pulling out a knife. It was the one she had brought to the temple, when Apollo managed to offend everyone with a fairly reasonable observation. Another interesting reversal, she supposed.

Swiftly, she cut off one of her curls, pinching the hairs together and offering them to Apollo. Frankly, she had no idea why he would want such a thing. It couldn't be more than a romantic gesture and she actually, rather appreciated that.

Replacing the knife, she settled down against the pillows, closing her eyes. "Do with that as you please."

He took the curl and leaned over to set it on the dresser. "Thank you. I'll take it with me when I leave tomorrow."

He propped himself on his elbow, turning to look at Cassandra. "What about you? Is there any boon you'd like to request of me?" Fair was fair, after all.

She laughed softly again, without opening her eyes. Some people probably found the idea of exchanging hair hopelessly romantic, but Cassandra thought it a little bit silly. "No," she said gently. "Nothing that I can think of. For the moment, anyway. There may come a day in the future, though. It'll hit me suddenly."

Cassandra pulled the blankets of her bed up to her chest, shivering slightly. "Maybe in the morning," she murmured sleepily. "That's exciting to think about, isn't it? The morning..."

For her, anyway.

"Sleep," he said, softly, brushing her hair away from her forehead. "It's very, very late and you need your energy for the morning. We can go out for breakfast before I go to work."

That was normal, wasn't it? He'd seen people around here, couples and friends and co-workers, having breakfast together in the little cafes around the city.

Yes. That seemed like a good plan.

Those very rare occasions don't let up, they keep on coming

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