nowhere to shoot, nowhere to aim -- (cecelia)

[damien]

The carpet in this room was an odd shade of brown, dancing the thin line between an almost rusty red and a burnt orange. Why Damien had never noticed it before - he was unsure. It had been there when he moved in and for months he had been pacing this same floor, throwing clothes on it in heated passion, making the maid clean it up, but until now he had never noticed the disgusting color. Perhaps because he had never faced it for so long before. Or possibly it was because he hadn’t gone without an interesting moment until now.

Listening to his father drabble on about his business plans had never bothered Damien prior to this moment. He was usually attentive, looking for any moment to force an opinion on the old man. Today, however, Damien realized he didn’t care because he was being purposely edged out. His father was in Manhattan, next week he would be in London, and he was telling Damien only to keep an eye on his Capeside endeavors. And, well, fuck that.

“Yes sir,” he mumbled into the phone, eyes fixed on the hideous floor. He needed a decorator and he needed one badly. His father’s words entered one ear and exited the other and all Damien could focus on were the instructions he would give. Paint the walls dark, the furniture needs a cherry finish, sophistication - no corner goes unnoticed - and for the love of all that is holy please remove the carpet. “No, sir, I’m listening,” Damien lied as his fathered noticed his attention slipping. How very unprofessional. He needed his father to believe he was interested in his Capeside endeavors despite being everything but. With a heavy sigh, Damien found himself facing away from the floor, an emotionless goodbye ending the call with his dad.

With the phone free from his hands, Damien took a moment to instead run them over his face completely exasperated. Honestly, up until now he didn’t think this could get any worse. He was making absolutely no headway with getting his father to hand over bits and pieces of his company or at least allow him to do something. Anything! To top it all off, of course, he was now aware just how hideous his living quarters were. He couldn’t remember if he had agreed to them or if this was where his father had planted him but part of him felt like he was responsible for this ridiculous problem. A normal person wouldn’t care. A normal person would pick out paint samples and shop for carpet. But Damien Prescott was no normal person. He was used to lapping out of the fountain of wealth, for everything being catered to his every thought before he’d even bothered to think it. He’d spent his teen years vomiting in waste baskets that cost more than the clothes on half the people that walked up and down the street he was now living on. And, obviously, he’d taken it for granted.

Things weren’t supposed to be like this. Usually Damien had a calm but firm grip on everything around him. Controlling everything around him was one of his most favorite past times but today it seemed like the world was raining on him. Dealing with bad days was not something that he had grown accustom to. Those off days when he would wake up with a foul mood, face screwed up like there was a stench in the world he couldn’t wash away, back when he lived in New York were most often dealt with lying in bed listening to the sounds of the help click-clacking around on the marble floor his father’s interior decorator insisted was necessary for any room that was for show. But the same didn’t seem to be welcome in Capeside. There was always a phone call to be made, a car honking outside filled with kids just aiming to have fun and in those moments Damien hated them. He just wanted things to be easy.

With a loud groan, the young man grabbed for the phone again and crossed through the room with the ugly carpet so he could fall face first into his pillows despite being completely dressed. Without even needing to look at the screen he dialed an ever so familiar number and pressed the device to his ear. It would ring a few times, he was sure, as she insisted on playing with him every moment of the day. But eventually, like always, she would pick up. As soon as the ringing stopped and Damien’s head cleared of the noise he spoke, not even giving the person on the other end a chance to answer.

“Cec, do you know an interior designer?” He stopped, squeezed his eyes shut, and groaned. “One who will agree with me that the color of the carpet in my lounge is that of bloody vomit?”

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[cec]

Cecelia did not care for people that looked at her strangely for still living at home. It wasn’t as though she had never lived out of home. Through four years of the small private college she had attended in Boston, Cecelia had lived in her own apartment. However, when she had graduated, Cecelia’s parents had decided they wanted a holiday from their lives doing nothing, and planned vacations in several places including Paris, Prague and London to say the least. Which was a year ago at least. They were on a cruise to.. God knew where at the moment. Cecelia hadn’t really paid attention to the itinerary her mother had sent her. All the brunette knew was that her lovely house was empty bar the maid and the chef, so of course Cecelia had to do the right thing and stay there to keep things in order. It had nothing to do with the fact she enjoyed having her parents staff at her beck and call, and the house to herself to run any way she liked. Every other weekend she was hosting some sort of party or society event, just because she could. That wasn’t something she could do in an apartment or some such.

Leaning back on her large bed, Cecelia was flipping lazily through the pages of a fashion magazine. Though it wasn’t doing a lot to hold her interest to be honest. She was actually starting to wonder if the issue was out of date, or if the editor just had ridiculous tastes, because she was sure she had seen all the trends three years ago at least. Blah, how droll. Cecelia sighed as she closed the glossy book. Tossing it towards the end of the bed. It was so out of date it simply offended her too much and she couldn’t look at it a moment longer. Perhaps she’d go take a bubble bath. Cecelia had been so busy lately with her social life and well, her social life masked as a career, that she felt she needed to take a day just for herself. To do all the things she simply hadn’t had time to do. Trouble was, she hadn’t realized just how lonely time for herself would be. Maybe she needed a housemate or something. It was always just so quiet.

Frowning, the young woman stood up. While it would have been nice for the house not to be so quiet, Cecelia wasn’t sure living with someone else was such a good idea. The girl liked things her own way, and she had no issues in admitting that she could be awfully controlling and probably impossible to live with on a long term basis. Not that she was likely to change at all. Just because she was aware of certain aspects of her nature, did not mean she had any desire to change, or better herself as other people would call it. As far as she concerned there was nothing that needed changing. She was controlling, and could be possessive, and could be cold as ice at the drop of the hat, but that was who she was, and anyone who wanted to stay in her life would just have to deal with all of that. No one was worth changing over, and people would do well to remember that.

Picking up the remote of her CD player, the young woman pressed play. Imogene Heap’s version of ‘Hallelujah’ filled the room. It may have seemed depressing to anyone else, but for some reason she thought it was the perfect bath music. Making sure it was loud enough to hear in her bathroom, Cecelia moved into the tiled room connected to her bedroom. Taking a box of matched from her medicine cabinet, she started to light the candles scattered around the bathroom. Candlelit bubble baths were actually one of her favourite things. She had lit all the candles, turned off the lights, and unzipped her dress when she heard her cell phone. Cecelia let out a low groan, frustrated at the interruption. Pulling her silk dressing gown over her underwear, the brunette moved out of her bathroom to find her phone. Seeing the caller I.D, she rolled her eyes. A very large part of her wanted to just ignore the phone, but that was somehow never an option when Damien was involved. Gah. Grapping up the phone, she hit the accept button. However she had no chance to even speak, as the male had launched into a tyrant about his carpet. Cecelia rolled her eyes. “I told you it was a disgusting colour that time I threw red wine at your head and it didn’t show up on the carpet. However, It is not my problem and you are interrupting my bath.”

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[damien]

Damien had to think long and hard about what Cecelia was referring to. There had been so many times when she’d gotten angry and lobbed something at his head that the conversation about his carpet seemed to be lost among them. Failing to recover the memory, he let out an unamused sound that defied definition. They got into fights so often that they all blurred into one another. Was he really supposed to know exactly what moment she was talking about and did he honestly care that he was interrupting her bath? No, not really. Damien only cared about what concerned him and if she wasn’t going to answer his question then he wasn’t exactly too keen on talking to her. But, wait… bath. The word caught him and he realized what that meant. A dirty smirk crossed his face and he rolled over onto his back so his voice was no longer muffled by the blankets beneath him.

Okay, perhaps Cecelia was good for more than just telling him who the best interior designer in town was. She happened to be oh-so-perfect for that itch he couldn’t always scratch by himself. In fact, some of his most memorable times with Cecelia had her in less than dignified positions. “Don’t let me keep you,” he spoke, tone carrying a slyness. Suddenly the carpet mattered less and less and Damien was dreaming up reasons to make his way to Cecelia’s place. Of course, he could always show up unannounced but he wasn’t a favorite among her family’s staff and he wasn’t really up for battling with them just to get through the door.

“The tile in your bathroom is much more appealing than the carpet in my apartment. Perhaps I need to come and compare the two, get the name of your designer…” It didn’t matter. Damien didn’t need Cecelia’s permission. He was already pulling himself up off the bed he’d dove into and was looking around for his wallet and keys. He was coming over if she wanted him to or not and there wasn’t really much she could do to stop him aside from not letting him in and that would only cause problems later. Besides, Damien was certain that he was her weakness. She would always let him in even when he deserved to be kicked to the curb.

An audible click of the door locking in to place announced that Damien was no longer inside and instead was on his way to meet her. She should have known better, really. If she really didn’t want to be bothered she should have come up with the most boring situation, or at least something she knew wouldn’t catch his attention. But nudity in any way, shape or form that concerned Cecelia and Damien was ready and willing to drop everything he was doing. Unless it was important, of course, but complaining about carpet could wait awhile longer.

“Protesting is futile, I’m already on my way.” There was certainly no stopping him now. He knew what he wanted and it had nothing to do with carpet at all. Oh, how things changed so quickly.

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[cec]

Cecelia had a rather annoying habit of not forgetting any fight between them. Her brain seemed to have a separate file where she kept them all, ready to bring out when she could most affectively use it against him. It was actually something she’d always been good at. Her cunning mind could pull a memory up in a moment’s notice in clear detail so it could be used against a person. It came in handy when calling people out on lies. Or using hateful things they’d said in anger against them. That as one of her favourite things to do, actually. Use what someone has said irrationally out of anger, and parroting it back to them in the best (for her) possible moment. She’d done it to Damien so many times before it was actually surprising that he didn’t remember the fights better if only to counter her attacks. Then, she was glad he didn’t, because she said a lot of things out of anger that could really come back to bite her. Yes, it was better if he didn’t remember anything unless she wanted him to. That way, she never got a taste of her own nasty medicine- because that would be bad.

Raising a delicate eyebrow, she forced herself to frown. While inwardly the idea of Damien interrupting (or joining) her bath was highly appealing to the young woman, she couldn’t let on. It was part of their game- for Cecelia to resist his advances at any cost. What was the fun if she just agreed to him all the time? No fun at all, that’s what. Glancing at her own bathroom tile she shrugged slightly. “Everything about my house is far superior to yours. We both know this, so there is really no need for you to come over and prove that to yourself.” She kept her tone cold and distant. Not at all revealing her true feelings about the situation. However she was very well aware of the fact that no matter what she said, he wasn’t going to be deterred. His determinedness was part of why she both liked and hated him- depending on the day. “In about sixty seconds I am going to hang up on you and get into this bath.” She stated, smirking a little. “And you better not show up here.” Without waiting for a reply, she ended the call and tossed her phone at the bed. After all. She was a woman of her words.

Moving to her bedroom door, Cecelia opened it enough to call downstairs. “I’m about to take a bath. If anyone should happen to call for me you may as well send them up.” She smiled, before adding. “But act like you’d really rather not let them in!” Again it was all part of the game, and Cecelia played her part well. She always followed through with her threats. Even knowing full well that in a matter of minutes Damien would be there, Cecelia stripped off the remainder of her clothes and moved into the bathroom. After making sure the rub was full enough, the water wasn’t too hot. And there was enough bubbles to cover her, she slipped in. Closing her eyes and fully submerging herself. Ahh the pleasures of having such a huge bath. Cecelia never understood how people could really enjoy bathing in those tiny things where your legs hug over the edge. It sounded more like hell than heaven. Which completely negated the whole point of taking a nice bath.

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[damien]

Not having a chance to add anything to their conversation, all Damien could do was grin when Cecelia hung up on him. Oh, the game was definitely on now. He just had to devise a way to become the winner. He had to make CC want him more than he wanted her. And right now? Well, right now that seemed like a daunting task. She had the upper hand, the bathtub, the nudity. What did he have? A fast car and expensive cologne? It wasn’t enough. It was a start but it wouldn’t get him where he wanted to be.

A man on a mission, it didn’t take Damien long at all to get from point A to point B. With the simple slam of a car door, the roar of an engine and weaving in and out of the light Capeside traffic, he was pulling up to the Reese home. He liked that she was spoiled, that she lived in her family’s home still. It reminded him of himself and how his room in his father’s barely occupied home in New York was one of the greatest places to spend time. But it wasn’t something he could let her know about. Obviously she knew about his preference for people with money but that he actually related her lifestyle to his adolescence (and how much he wished he could be back home) that might mean that he had feelings and Damien just didn’t do that kind of thing.

Feelings were the icky sticky innards of all relationships. Damien had peeled away so many layers of the stuff in the past that he avoided dealing with it at all anymore. Feelings were for weaklings and people who needed to lean on others to have self success. Damien needed no one but himself. Because, most simply put, no one was better than him. Surely his decision to ignore the existence of feelings stemmed from a long childhood of nobody really giving a damn. But Damien didn’t like to dwell on that. Mostly because it was stupid. Lots of people who grew up in the type of family he did had similar, or worse, childhoods. It led to years of recklessness and self importance. As far as Damien was concerned it made him… well, awesome.

There was only a small fight between Damien and Cecelia’s staff. Mostly they seemed annoyed that he was there and insisted that Miss Cecelia needed no visitors while she was in the bath. Damien clearly disagreed and forced his way up to her room, arguing with the maid all the way to the door. “… I’m perfectly capable of seeing if she’s decent. In fact, I don’t want her to be. So if you want to keep your job you’ll go downstairs and pretend you can’t hear a thing.” Rudely, and in the most childish way possible, Damien stuck his tongue out at her as he turned to shut and lock the door. It wasn’t the first time he’d pulled this act. The maid and Damien went back as far as he’d known Cecelia. She was probably the staff member that liked him least and probably the one who had seen him with his hands all over Cec the most. It wasn’t his fault the girl liked to throw things when she was mad and her maid was the one who had to clean it up.

Running his hands down the front of his shirt, he turned and faced the girl in the bath tub. This was where he had to pull out the attitude that said he didn’t care what she was doing or that she was naked. With a quick glance over her, skin soft and wet and distracting, he looked down at the tile. “It’s not really that impressive in here. Perhaps I was mistaken. I might have made a pointless trip.”

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[cec]

Miss Reese stayed almost completely submerged in the water for a while. Enjoying the warm water surrounding her bare skin. She really did need to relax, and there was no use anticipating the inevitable fact that Damien was on his way over, so she really should just use the time to do what she had first intended with her free time and actually take a bath. It wasn’t so much that she needed to clean herself though, so for the brunette that just meant pampering herself with nice smelling bath products and embellish her skin with the ultra expensive skin care line she had purchased last week. It promised to make her skin feel as smooth as an infant’s or something to that affect. Not that her skin wasn’t already smooth, but claim it as top of the range and put a huge price tag on it and you had Cecelia sold. The bint would buy anything if she felt it had some prestige. Just so she could claim she had it first.

Cecelia had always been that way. She rarely cared for anything that didn’t have a brand name attached to it that would impress people. She could be swayed into liking something that wasn’t a brand, say, if it was an expensive something, or a one of a kind sort of thing. Mostly though, she wasn’t interested unless it had some sort of impressive tag on it. Her room was full of things just like that. In fact, her walls were painted a Tiffany’s blue, because even they deserved some sort of impressive connotation to them. It was something she got from her mother, actually. The whole house was an estate sale dream. The brunette couldn’t even imagine what the value of everything they owned would be. She would guess that easily in the millions. If you took into consideration the sheer volume of years both she and her mother had been alive for, and spending money for.

Even over her music, Cecelia could hear the faint sounds of Damien practically forcing his way inside her house. From what she could hear, her maid was putting up a rather good fight. A smile tugged at her lips. How she adored the fact that they would do anything and everything they were asked. No matter how strange her demands may have seemed to the house-hold staff, they followed them through. Even the ones that were above and beyond their job descriptions. She guessed her parents paid them enough that that didn’t feel any need to complain. Smirking, she rose out of the water a little, so her shoulders and top of her cleavage was exposed. Cecelia also raised her legs, resting them up on the edge of the bath. Exposing enough of her form that she’d keep her upper hand in the little game they both refused to call love.

Closing her eyes quickly, she tilted her head back. Acting as though she was in a deep state of relaxation as Damien entered her room and made no haste in finding her bathroom. Snapping her eyes open, the brunette sent a glare at her gentleman caller. “I thought I told you not to come.” She spat at him, her smirk now replaced with a look of distaste. If he wanted it, he was going to work for it. They both knew that. At his comment about her tiles, the young woman stiffened a little. Somewhere inside her she knew this was all a part of the game, but she couldn’t help feel annoyed by his comment. She had gone to a lot of effort to pick out those tiles, and he was very mistaken in his assessment of them. “I hardly think that someone who has lived with carpet like yours for so long has any place commenting on space,” she told him, her tone terse. Why she ever let him get her so riled up was beyond Cecelia.

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