Post by ekhall on Nov 9, 2007 15:37:34 GMT -5
Watching the plate before him as if regarding a tasteless pile of ash, Christian Kannon stabbed his fork into the succulent lobster meat and shoved it into his mouth mechanically. He chewed absently, inspired by duty and memory rather than enjoyment. By most standards, it was the best meal he had had the opportunity to enjoy in close to a year, a meal designed to excite his taste buds instead of merely nourishing his body and mind. Knowing where it came from, Kannon couldn't bring it to achieve either.
Feigning ignorance to his mood . . . reigning in the scathing words he wanted to unleash on his wife, Eleanor, seated across from him, Christian swallowed and forced himself through the motions of continuing the meal. This was her decision, ultimately, and they had already engaged in many vehement arguments over it, arguments that hadn't seemed to sway her a hair. He cringed every time she murmured her pleasure at the foreign meal, grunted noncommittally when she gushed over how it was the greatest thing she had ever tasted. Instead of letting his fury get the better of him, he let it billow out in a heavy sigh. "Eleanor," he began tiredly, then paused as their eyes locked. He could already see the stubborn walls sliding in behind hers, as deeply blue and immoveable as an ocean. They narrowed slightly when he floundered, shaking his head as he scoured his mind for the right words, for a way to make her truly look and see. Finding nothing he hadn't already said a dozen times, he sighed again, then muttered, "you don't have to go through with this."
"We won't be talking about this anymore . . . my mind is made up," she replied curtly, without hesitation. She had known it was coming, had been waiting for it since they arrived at the hotel. They had talked of nothing else on the plane, and likely would have argued the entire way had she not cut her husband off by donning headphones and faking an interest in the on-flight movie. Barely a word had been exchanged since, and in truth, she was surprised at how well he had moderated his tone. There was a mountain of tension between them, more than there had been in a very long time. She felt sorry for him, but she couldn't abandon what was needed just for his misguided sense of comfort.
"For God's sake, Eleanor," he repeated, closer to a growl. "I don't think you've thought this through clearly." She ignored him this time, filling her mouth with food to choke down the admonishing torrent on the tip of her tongue. She moaned with put-on pleasure. Smiling sardonically, Christian let his fork clatter to the plate and crossed his arms over his chest in childish defiance. "Or maybe I should call you Ellie~!"
Indignation consumed the petite Eleanor as she lunged up from her seat, the legs scratching angrily and loudly against the hardwood floor. She swallowed the mouthful of food and thrust a finger across the table, letting it hover between the faint flames of the candles. The tension had boiled over. Cold fury had replaced all feelings of sympathy. "If you think for one second that I'm going to sit here while you mock me . . ." Instead of finishing the statement, she threw up her arms and spun around, resolving to leave early so both of them could cool off.
"Stop," her husband implored before she could take a step. The derision was gone from his voice, but anger still flared there like an inferno, hotter than a million candles. "You know I didn't mean that." He glided smoothly around the table, the constant agony in his back momentarily forgotten. She tried to push him away, but he enfolded her in his arms and pulled her close. Her warm, rapid breath against his chest, right over his heart, soothed him a little, enabling him to go on much more calmly than he felt. "But try to understand my frustration. You don't need to do this, at least not with him. Manage someone else, anyone else, and you'll have my blessing."
"No." The single-worded protest set him afire. "No, Christian, I can't." She pushed back far enough that she could stare up into his eyes. "This is the only offer we've had in I don't know how long, and it hinges on him. He specifically requested me, and they made it quite plain that without him, there is no me." She reached up to caress his face, sympathy once more getting the best of her. "I know how he hurt you in the past, Chris, but--"
"Obviously you don't!" he roared, making her flinch, pulling her hand back as if burned. Turning away from her, he slammed the palm of his fist against the wall, then rested his head against it. His entire body swelled and receded like the tide. "If you did, you wouldn't do this."
That cut her. Deep. Not the yelling, but the implication that she hadn't been there with him every step of the way, experiencing everything he experienced, hurting every time he was hurt. She wanted to slap him, to scream at him until he realized how blind and pigheaded he was being. "That's not fair," she murmured instead, angry with herself for having to fight down tears instead of fury.
"Really, Eleanor?" he demanded, whirling on her. "Really? I'm the one that's being unfair? You're running off to manage one of my mortal enemies, calling him your man on national television -- making people believe he's me! -- and I'm the one that's being unfair!? Are you aware that it's my name on the WFWF program, on the websites, on the smark sheets? No one can imagine you in anyone else's corner! Least of all me! The only one that's comfortable with it is you!"
Eleanor looked down, lower lip trembling, eyes wet with unshed tears. "We need the money."
Angry, scornful laughter devoid of humour erupted from deep in Christian's throat. "He's the reason we need the money! Have you forgotten RPW? It shut down because of him!"
"Damn it, Christian!" Eleanor shrieked. "Stop acting like I wasn't there! Stop acting like I'm an idiot!" She was crying now, glaring up at him through her eyelashes. The urge to slam her fists against his chest -- just to hit him, period -- was overwhelming. "I know what he did to you! To us!"
"You don't act like it!"
Falling into him, thumping her fists against his chest in a pale imitation of what she had envisioned in her mind, she was surprised when he hugged her tightly and nuzzled her head with his own. "What do you want me to do?" she sobbed, bringing a fist down hard. "Damn you, what do you want?"
Overcome by her vulnerability, Christian took a deep breath and a long moment before answering, relishing the warmth of her body, the floral scent of her hair. Savouring her safety, here in his arms. "I just want you to be safe," he whispered. The quiet ferocity of his words boomed through the room like no shouting could have. "That's all I want, Ellie." He tenderly kissed the top of her head. "You safe. With me."
Reeling from the sudden turn, she wanted to pound him like she never had before. How dare he turn the tables like that! Choking back more tears, she kissed his chest. "I know you do." She forced herself to look up, to meet his beautiful eyes. "But I can take care of myself."
Those beautiful eyes swirled dangerously, painfully. "Not with him. Oh dear god, Eleanor, not with him."
Holding the gaze, she pursed her lips and said nothing, letting her defiance speak for itself.
"End it, now, please. Before it's too late to turn back; before something happens." He leaned down and brushed her forehead with his lips, clenching his eyes shut. "He's up to something, Ellie, I just know it. He doesn't care about you, or your skills as a manager; this is about his vendetta against me, plain and simple. He's using you to get to me, and we're both going to get hurt in the long run. Don't let him do it. Please. Don't be a pawn."
Drawing herself to her full height, Eleanor wriggled free of her husband's arms and shoved him back into the wall. The tears stopped abruptly, but she was trembling. With renewed rage. "Of course," she bit off facetiously. "It must be about the great Christian Xavier Kannon! Everyone knows his idiotic little wife was just a tagalong for the success! What could she possibly bring to the table?!"
"Eleanor," Christian said slowly, carefully, reaching toward her.
Violence erupted in another shove, banging Christian into the wall again. She was backing away from him now, briskly shaking her head. "Maybe," she began, heaping the word with so much disdain there was plainly no maybe about it. "Maybe he actually saw something in me, Christian. Maybe he thinks I can help his career, like I thought we both knew I helped yours. Maybe, just maybe, just this once, Christian Xavier Kannon isn't the centre of the universe!"
"I never-- Eleanor-- He's--"
Leaving him to stammer, Eleanor spun towards the door, turning her back on him. She was near hysterical, and she knew it, but she didn't care. He always turned it into something about him! Always minimizing her importance. Always unintentionally degrading her. "Maybe I'll be back later!" she shouted as she lunged through the door, slamming it shut behind her.
Letting himself slump back against the wall, then sliding down it, burying his face in his hands, Christian hoped against hope that his wife was right. Deep down he knew she wasn't. She wasn't safe, either. She was in grave danger. And he was powerless to help her.
"Evil," he whispered to the empty room, finishing what he had tried to say while she was storming out. "He's evil."
That was all he could mouth.
Only she would be able to learn from her mistakes.
Christian knew the truth, however, and knew his wife might be in grave danger.
Once again, though, only she would be able to learn.
"My God you're stubborn, woman," he thought to himself.
Eleanor was off, but to where she didn't know. She just knew she needed to be away from her husband. She knew he was going to take it this way, but thought that he would at least be open to the idea. The money.
Being selfish was never a part of it at all. This was for him more than her. His career is over . . . it doesn't mean their life had to start ending, too.
At least that was her side of the argument. As the night grew darker she realized more and more why, perhaps, he didn't want her to have anything to do with him. She decided to go back home.
"Chris I'm so-" were the first words out of her mouth when she came through the door. She stopped in her tracks as she noticed that he was passed out with a bottle of Jamison next to him. And then she knew she had to leave.
Knew it was time for things to change.
-=-=-=-
Wonka tours for anyone that finds the secret message.
Feigning ignorance to his mood . . . reigning in the scathing words he wanted to unleash on his wife, Eleanor, seated across from him, Christian swallowed and forced himself through the motions of continuing the meal. This was her decision, ultimately, and they had already engaged in many vehement arguments over it, arguments that hadn't seemed to sway her a hair. He cringed every time she murmured her pleasure at the foreign meal, grunted noncommittally when she gushed over how it was the greatest thing she had ever tasted. Instead of letting his fury get the better of him, he let it billow out in a heavy sigh. "Eleanor," he began tiredly, then paused as their eyes locked. He could already see the stubborn walls sliding in behind hers, as deeply blue and immoveable as an ocean. They narrowed slightly when he floundered, shaking his head as he scoured his mind for the right words, for a way to make her truly look and see. Finding nothing he hadn't already said a dozen times, he sighed again, then muttered, "you don't have to go through with this."
"We won't be talking about this anymore . . . my mind is made up," she replied curtly, without hesitation. She had known it was coming, had been waiting for it since they arrived at the hotel. They had talked of nothing else on the plane, and likely would have argued the entire way had she not cut her husband off by donning headphones and faking an interest in the on-flight movie. Barely a word had been exchanged since, and in truth, she was surprised at how well he had moderated his tone. There was a mountain of tension between them, more than there had been in a very long time. She felt sorry for him, but she couldn't abandon what was needed just for his misguided sense of comfort.
"For God's sake, Eleanor," he repeated, closer to a growl. "I don't think you've thought this through clearly." She ignored him this time, filling her mouth with food to choke down the admonishing torrent on the tip of her tongue. She moaned with put-on pleasure. Smiling sardonically, Christian let his fork clatter to the plate and crossed his arms over his chest in childish defiance. "Or maybe I should call you Ellie~!"
Indignation consumed the petite Eleanor as she lunged up from her seat, the legs scratching angrily and loudly against the hardwood floor. She swallowed the mouthful of food and thrust a finger across the table, letting it hover between the faint flames of the candles. The tension had boiled over. Cold fury had replaced all feelings of sympathy. "If you think for one second that I'm going to sit here while you mock me . . ." Instead of finishing the statement, she threw up her arms and spun around, resolving to leave early so both of them could cool off.
"Stop," her husband implored before she could take a step. The derision was gone from his voice, but anger still flared there like an inferno, hotter than a million candles. "You know I didn't mean that." He glided smoothly around the table, the constant agony in his back momentarily forgotten. She tried to push him away, but he enfolded her in his arms and pulled her close. Her warm, rapid breath against his chest, right over his heart, soothed him a little, enabling him to go on much more calmly than he felt. "But try to understand my frustration. You don't need to do this, at least not with him. Manage someone else, anyone else, and you'll have my blessing."
"No." The single-worded protest set him afire. "No, Christian, I can't." She pushed back far enough that she could stare up into his eyes. "This is the only offer we've had in I don't know how long, and it hinges on him. He specifically requested me, and they made it quite plain that without him, there is no me." She reached up to caress his face, sympathy once more getting the best of her. "I know how he hurt you in the past, Chris, but--"
"Obviously you don't!" he roared, making her flinch, pulling her hand back as if burned. Turning away from her, he slammed the palm of his fist against the wall, then rested his head against it. His entire body swelled and receded like the tide. "If you did, you wouldn't do this."
That cut her. Deep. Not the yelling, but the implication that she hadn't been there with him every step of the way, experiencing everything he experienced, hurting every time he was hurt. She wanted to slap him, to scream at him until he realized how blind and pigheaded he was being. "That's not fair," she murmured instead, angry with herself for having to fight down tears instead of fury.
"Really, Eleanor?" he demanded, whirling on her. "Really? I'm the one that's being unfair? You're running off to manage one of my mortal enemies, calling him your man on national television -- making people believe he's me! -- and I'm the one that's being unfair!? Are you aware that it's my name on the WFWF program, on the websites, on the smark sheets? No one can imagine you in anyone else's corner! Least of all me! The only one that's comfortable with it is you!"
Eleanor looked down, lower lip trembling, eyes wet with unshed tears. "We need the money."
Angry, scornful laughter devoid of humour erupted from deep in Christian's throat. "He's the reason we need the money! Have you forgotten RPW? It shut down because of him!"
"Damn it, Christian!" Eleanor shrieked. "Stop acting like I wasn't there! Stop acting like I'm an idiot!" She was crying now, glaring up at him through her eyelashes. The urge to slam her fists against his chest -- just to hit him, period -- was overwhelming. "I know what he did to you! To us!"
"You don't act like it!"
Falling into him, thumping her fists against his chest in a pale imitation of what she had envisioned in her mind, she was surprised when he hugged her tightly and nuzzled her head with his own. "What do you want me to do?" she sobbed, bringing a fist down hard. "Damn you, what do you want?"
Overcome by her vulnerability, Christian took a deep breath and a long moment before answering, relishing the warmth of her body, the floral scent of her hair. Savouring her safety, here in his arms. "I just want you to be safe," he whispered. The quiet ferocity of his words boomed through the room like no shouting could have. "That's all I want, Ellie." He tenderly kissed the top of her head. "You safe. With me."
Reeling from the sudden turn, she wanted to pound him like she never had before. How dare he turn the tables like that! Choking back more tears, she kissed his chest. "I know you do." She forced herself to look up, to meet his beautiful eyes. "But I can take care of myself."
Those beautiful eyes swirled dangerously, painfully. "Not with him. Oh dear god, Eleanor, not with him."
Holding the gaze, she pursed her lips and said nothing, letting her defiance speak for itself.
"End it, now, please. Before it's too late to turn back; before something happens." He leaned down and brushed her forehead with his lips, clenching his eyes shut. "He's up to something, Ellie, I just know it. He doesn't care about you, or your skills as a manager; this is about his vendetta against me, plain and simple. He's using you to get to me, and we're both going to get hurt in the long run. Don't let him do it. Please. Don't be a pawn."
Drawing herself to her full height, Eleanor wriggled free of her husband's arms and shoved him back into the wall. The tears stopped abruptly, but she was trembling. With renewed rage. "Of course," she bit off facetiously. "It must be about the great Christian Xavier Kannon! Everyone knows his idiotic little wife was just a tagalong for the success! What could she possibly bring to the table?!"
"Eleanor," Christian said slowly, carefully, reaching toward her.
Violence erupted in another shove, banging Christian into the wall again. She was backing away from him now, briskly shaking her head. "Maybe," she began, heaping the word with so much disdain there was plainly no maybe about it. "Maybe he actually saw something in me, Christian. Maybe he thinks I can help his career, like I thought we both knew I helped yours. Maybe, just maybe, just this once, Christian Xavier Kannon isn't the centre of the universe!"
"I never-- Eleanor-- He's--"
Leaving him to stammer, Eleanor spun towards the door, turning her back on him. She was near hysterical, and she knew it, but she didn't care. He always turned it into something about him! Always minimizing her importance. Always unintentionally degrading her. "Maybe I'll be back later!" she shouted as she lunged through the door, slamming it shut behind her.
Letting himself slump back against the wall, then sliding down it, burying his face in his hands, Christian hoped against hope that his wife was right. Deep down he knew she wasn't. She wasn't safe, either. She was in grave danger. And he was powerless to help her.
"Evil," he whispered to the empty room, finishing what he had tried to say while she was storming out. "He's evil."
That was all he could mouth.
Only she would be able to learn from her mistakes.
Christian knew the truth, however, and knew his wife might be in grave danger.
Once again, though, only she would be able to learn.
"My God you're stubborn, woman," he thought to himself.
Eleanor was off, but to where she didn't know. She just knew she needed to be away from her husband. She knew he was going to take it this way, but thought that he would at least be open to the idea. The money.
Being selfish was never a part of it at all. This was for him more than her. His career is over . . . it doesn't mean their life had to start ending, too.
At least that was her side of the argument. As the night grew darker she realized more and more why, perhaps, he didn't want her to have anything to do with him. She decided to go back home.
"Chris I'm so-" were the first words out of her mouth when she came through the door. She stopped in her tracks as she noticed that he was passed out with a bottle of Jamison next to him. And then she knew she had to leave.
Knew it was time for things to change.
-=-=-=-
Wonka tours for anyone that finds the secret message.