[starter for @bharisinclair -- post event; morning after]
She’s sure she’s a sight to see in the light of the rising sun; walking down the street with the greatest temptation to take her shoes off, hair undone and one sleeve of her wispy fairy dress hanging from her shoulder. In a strange bed at the Lord’s estate, she’d hardly slept at all -- if only a little due to the amount of alcohol she’d ingested throughout the festivities making her drowsy.
She’d collected her payment from the nightstand and left in a tip-toed hush, leaving the townhouse before many of the inhabitants who had stayed there the night before had awoken. It was too early to call a taxi -- not that she would have wasted her hard-earned money on it, but her feet ached so much that it would have been a consideration.
The red windmill of the Moulin is in her sights and she can almost hear bed calling, rubbing at the corner her eye when she looks in the direction of Bhari’s building across the boulevard...
His form is unmistakable, slumped over one of the cafe tables that line the sidewalk outside. Heart jolting and stomach sinking, Annette’s steps speed to the table with immediate alarm before she notices he’s breathing...Sleeping, judging by the slowness of it.
The wave of affection and guilt intermingled threaten to make her sick.
Her fingers reach out gently as she kneels next to the table, stroking softly over the back of his neck to beckon him to wake as her voice stays hushed.
“Have you been out here all night?”