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For Aspen: Part 1
May. 1st, 2006 11:00 amThe room is richly furnished - dark polished wood is carved in beautiful patterns to form bookcases along the walls, framing the rough-hewn stone fireplace. Tall windows with intricate iron lacing form a wall, a formal rose garden just visible through the drizzling rain. A leather couch and two overstuffed leather armchairs crowd around the fire. A massive fortress of a desk sits stolidly across the room from the fireplace, with the requisite piles of paperwork and scattered books, a paper dragon perched atop one of the stacks.
The domestic air of the scene is completed by the doberman sprawled on the hearth, soaking up the heat of the fire, and a lithe dark-haired woman ensconced comfortably in one of the armchairs, a cup of tea steaming gently on the side-table at her elbow. The only indication that this scene doesn't come straight from some Victorian mansion is the faint hum that is almost lost below the crackle of the fire and the soft snores of the dog.
The interior-side door swings open on silent hinges, and another dark-haired woman in dark slacks and a deep red button-down shirt slips into the room, cradling her own mug. This woman is shorter, lacking the air of calm that the first embodies, but she seems more at home. The quirky smile she shoots at the little dragon is almost an unconscious reaction, the way she saunters through the room speaks of long practice navigating the room. The dog looks up at her approach, then settles back down to chase more dream-bunnies.
"We'll be there in an hour or so. There should be plenty of time t'wander about sightseein' before the show, even with evening traffic. The Underground is usually reliable in this time-frame." She assures her companion as she curls up in the unoccupied armchair. The first woman, resplendent in a blue dress, looks up from her book and smiles serenely.
(cont.)
The domestic air of the scene is completed by the doberman sprawled on the hearth, soaking up the heat of the fire, and a lithe dark-haired woman ensconced comfortably in one of the armchairs, a cup of tea steaming gently on the side-table at her elbow. The only indication that this scene doesn't come straight from some Victorian mansion is the faint hum that is almost lost below the crackle of the fire and the soft snores of the dog.
The interior-side door swings open on silent hinges, and another dark-haired woman in dark slacks and a deep red button-down shirt slips into the room, cradling her own mug. This woman is shorter, lacking the air of calm that the first embodies, but she seems more at home. The quirky smile she shoots at the little dragon is almost an unconscious reaction, the way she saunters through the room speaks of long practice navigating the room. The dog looks up at her approach, then settles back down to chase more dream-bunnies.
"We'll be there in an hour or so. There should be plenty of time t'wander about sightseein' before the show, even with evening traffic. The Underground is usually reliable in this time-frame." She assures her companion as she curls up in the unoccupied armchair. The first woman, resplendent in a blue dress, looks up from her book and smiles serenely.
(cont.)
