and just like that it could’ve all gone disastrously. perhaps she knew that somehow, guiding her forethought into what was still a disastrous afterthought, but instead of the phantom pain of scars not yet healed ( and they never would ) as a result of something he never asked for in the first place ( dad loved a good documentary and mum would go fuck herself and sometimes i would watch, he would mock in his head, a voice shrill and exaggerated to soothe his own ego. all in all, it was a small wound– the size of a needle, perhaps. and without any ill-intent on her end; mere recollection. still, he felt it. a pinch, a poke, a prod: nothing more than that really. surely. but when you’ve trained a thing to hate, when cruelty is as fluent a tongue as english, as pinpoint and refined as latin or shakespeare, it’s never just a needle. ), simply a frown. a small sigh.
he shut his eyes and pondered consequence, the space between them filtered by silence until he finally re-opened them and offered a small not-quite-smile-not-quite-anything-else-either. ’ perhaps you should start with asking the name of the little green man who talks funny, hmm? just a thought.
’ mind you; i actually quite like master yoda. ’ he continued, standing up rather ceremoniously, and there was more of a smile on his face this time around– a grin, even. ’ after all, he’s the one who sits luke down and tells him what’s what. no more of that sniveling, whining, spineless bitch routine he’s so keen on throughout the first two movies, original first two movies anyways– we, however, are actually gonna start with the prequel trilogy, since you’re a virgin in the matter and it’ll make watching the original trilogy that much more– ’
poor girl. she has to process all of this while he makes his way to one of the back rooms, emerging a few seconds later with a blu-ray box set tucked neatly under his arm, which he then sets on the coffee table; star wars: the complete saga.
when he seemingly has time to breath again, kilgrave checks his watch ( omega seamaster; he’d much rather be obi-wan kenobi than james bond anyday– he was practically there already; the gentleman part of the gentleman spy equation, and a sense in style and sensuality to rival that of 007– surpass, really– but the agent’s taste in craftsmanship with the addition of omega to the franchise circa pierce brosnan and goldeneye had kept his interest for a short period of time, and it was one of the few articles of clothing or anything that he’d kept on any sort of a long term basis ).
’ well i was thinking popcorn, but that’d probably be best for later, actually. what say we order some italian and we’ll start the phantom menace around 5:00, or whenever they can be bothered to get here. ’ he mutters under his breath. ’ a problem easily solved– best let me call it in, ellie. i’ll make sure we’re not kept waiting. anything in mind? i’m afraid my heart’s rather set on italian, but if there’s something you’re particularly prone to…well, i suppose i could make an exception. it is a special occasion after all. ’
how exactly he does that, that back and forth between the less desirable of his personalities, and then so utterly forthcoming in pleasantry and charisma… must be one of those mysteries of life monty python sang about. it has to be.
she doesn’t notice just how close she’d gotten to the explosive fire of his tongue, nor the little struggle he’d placed upon himself to avoid it in the end. if she did, would it have made a difference ? perhaps. perhaps she’d finally understand that reminiscing of a good childhood would be a concept unrecognisable to him, and perhaps she’d be thankful that he’d prevented his impulsive desire to lash out for it. empathetic as she is, his insults would have stung, righteousness flaring to try and protect the somewhat fading memory of those that raised her up from infancy.
ellie listens to him all but ramble, instead, her too-near brush with his temper gone unnoticed. it’s nice, she thinks, to see him so focused on something she deems so innocent –– a welcome change from the usual. when he shows her the box set, all-ready for watching, she can’t help the smile that adorns her lips, small, dainty hands reaching for it to look at the cover art. it must be important to him, for him to have this in his possession.
“ i doubt they’ll manage to cook food and get it to us on time, love. fifteen minutes seems awfully short if you want really good food. i don’t mind italian, just –– perhaps it’s better to start at 5:30, at least ? we’ll have the food here by then, i think. ”
it’s a balancing act, she knows, to keep the lion tame with honey-sweet words and calm, dulcet tones. some requests are just impossible, and she is here to provide the compromise he might not necessarily think of, nevermind see as an option. the trick is to never outright tell him no, but to provide a different perspective. a reasonable one, to combat the impatience of a spoiled child he sometimes acts as.
“ rather, i spotted a bottle of wine –– or two –– and there’s some cheese and crackers stashed away somewhere, if you’re really hungry. it’s just to tide us over, of course. do you think that’s a good idea, since we’re waiting anyway ? ”
the illusion of control is a powerful thing, and it is one that she acquiesces to him without hesitation, because it is just that –– an illusion. or so she tries to fool herself into thinking, in any case. it is a dangerous game to play, using roundabout means to change his impulses for the better, always knowing he could turn around and hurt someone for her impertinence, but she does it anyway. if not her, then who would?
it is a foolish thought, but she thinks that she can be in control. that she is.
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