06.24.3013: Fallin' To Pieces
Summary: Drakes come to see Letha the day before her father dies.
Date: 24 June 2013
Related: None.
Drake Letha 


The Vallas Manor, Phylon
A manor house.
June 24, 3013

It is well past sunset over Phylon when Drake's communicator would buzz with a simple text-based message. It read: Dad in hospital. All alone. Come to Manor. ASAP. She would come to answer the door in a long sleep tunic and soft pants, her feet bare save for the usual toe ring on her left second digit. She looks tired, though she does smile at the sight of him. "Hi…"

Drake doesn't have his guitar, and that says a good deal about the speed that he's come through the Waygate. Especially since he was probably at band practice at the time. When the door opens, he doesn't hesitate, stepping forward and spreading his arms to sweep her into a close hug. Provided she allows it, he clasps one one hand at the back of her head, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of her head, "I'm sorry, Letha. What happened?"

Letha is not about to resist that hug. She sweeps her arms around his shoulders, standing up on her toes to press tighter up against his frame. It takes her a few moments to manage to find her words, and she shakes her head. "He was having an episode, and I couldn't… handle it. I left him alone in his room and went to go play in the living room. The music was so loud, I didn't hear him collapse upstairs, nor his calls for help. He was unconscious by the time I got to him." She shakes her head, breathing out a sigh. "They need to keep him overnight, and… I didn't want to be at the hospital… and I didn't want to be alone…"

Drake squeezes tight around her narrow frame when she does find the words, turning his head to lay a kiss on her cheek as well, "Shhh…" His hand at the back of her neck strokes over her blond hair, "Hey. Hey." His arms squeeze around her again, and then he looses his grip to draw back far enough to look at those brilliant blue eyes of hers, "You want me to stay here tonight, or you wanna come crash at my place, get outta the big ol' house? Either way's just fine by me… I'm okay doin' the walk of shame in the mornin' if you'd like me here."

His comfort strangely has an opposite effect on her. She had somehow manage to avoid the tears until he started telling her it was okay, and then they fall down her cheeks in soft and slow rivers. Letha is the type of person who almost looks like she's smiling through the tears, but it just an upturned grimace. "My guilty conscious tells me I should stay… in case something happens and I have to go to the hospital quickly… but another part of me just wants to go to Landing…"

Drake frowns worriedly at the tears, patting his pockets for a handkerchief that isn't there. Instead, he reaches up to brush her tears away with the pads of his thumbs. "It's totally up to you, sweet thing. I mean, my pad's like ten minutes from the Waygate, but it'd be what, five minutes longer than here?" He shrugs his shoulders a little uncomfortably, "I mean… hey, why don't I just come in? You don't have to get changed that way. We can head over Landing-way later if you want."

Tear-strung lashes softly flutter shut at the touch of his thumbs, and she breathes out a soft sigh that softens her sobbing grimace into what is just a faint smile in response to his words. She breathes out a sigh, bobbing her head in a soft nod before she steps aside to let him fully in. So little has changed inside those big, vacant rooms, but that is just the way the Vallas manor is. There is a warm light coming in from the living room, but otherwise the hallways are stark and dark. She glances over toward him. "Do you want a drink?" She asks, stepping toward the living room.

Drake keeps his arms around her as she closes the door, settling his arm around her shoulders and moving through the mansion easily enough, toward the little glow in the living room, "Naw. I'm good, blondie. I was just at band practice." He settles down into one of the sofas, reaching up to draw her down to sit cross-wise on his lap, "I woulda brought my guitar if I knew you needed distractin'. I've been workin' on some new songs. I mean, I should be doin' the stuff with Vengeance, but there's more music just rollin' through my head."

The living room is where most of her family's instruments. There is a magnificent grand piano, two cellos — one traditional, another electric — and a violin. Who knows where her stand-up bass is, but its not present. "Oh… no… I'm sorry," Letha suddenly says as he announces he was at band practice. "I didn't want to interrupt that." She shakes her head as she steps up to the modest supply of booze. She pours herself a healthy amount of dark amber liquid from one of the decanters. She sniffs a bit before she steps back up to him to finally accept his downward tug that sends her sitting on his knee.

Drake shakes his head, "It's not a problem, babe." One hand settles at her back, the other rising up to pat at her knee, "It was goin' way late anyhow. I mean… it was Bring Me To My Knees again. I almost had it, but I was gettin' to that point, you know, the point where you get so damn frustrated, that you know that nothin's gonna go right." He's just going on now, talking about just about anything except her father, "It's just like, I get it like, once in twenty or thirty times and it's like… the best, but the rest of the time…"

Letha isn't quite listening as she nurses on her cup of scotch. She glances up at him though when he says something about twenty or thirty times, and she blinks up into those familiar dark eyes. "Hm…" And then she offers him a wane smile that is laced with a touch of apology. "I'm… sorry, Drake." She shakes her head a bit. "Bring Me To My Knees," she repeats. "Right. Is it just the guitar that's tripping you up?" She asks, trying to engage.

Drake watches her lack of reaction, letting his words trail off. The young rocker shakes his head when she apologizes and asks her question, leaning forward to press slow kisses to her forehead, the bridge of her nose, the tip of it, and then to her lips, each one soft, gentle, as if she was breakable glass, "Just talkin'," his words are whispered down, just above her lips, "just talkin' to talk. It don't matter what I'm sayin', Vallas…"

Each kiss offers a touch of comfort, and a reminder of soft and gentle emotions. She flutters her eyes shut as his lush lips touch those particular patches of skin, and she sighs softly into his kiss as she leans up against his mouth. She brushes her fingers slowly back through his hair even while she cradles the glass of scotch in her other hand. When the kiss ends, she breathes out steadily through her nose. "I don't know if I can do talking," she half-murmurs.

Drake brings his hand up from her knee to caress her cheek through the slow, soft kiss. "That's okay booze-breath…" his lips quirk up into a dimpled grin at the teasing word, "…you don't have to do any talking. We don't have to do any talking." His thumb brushes over her cheek, "You wanna watch a vid, blondie? Or maybe head on up to the roof and look up at the stars?" Leaning forward again, he presses his lips lightly to hers again, his hand coming around to capture her chin in her thumb and forefinger, brushing over the curve of her jaw lightly.

"Hardly booze-breath," Letha says with a touch of a laugh that does seem to gently add light to her eyes. She tilts her head just a little bit. "Watching a vid… would be really nice." It takes her a few moments to consider this answer, as if trying to make sure that she is happy with that, and then she nods. "Something… funny and light." Her forehead remains gently pressed against his own, lashes fluttering shut as she breathes out another sigh.

Drake nods his agreement with her laughing correction, flashing that dimpled smile once more, "Yeah… not so much. Just 'cause you just took a sip." He reaches out to wrap his hand around hers on the glass, bringing it up so he can get a sip himself. And then he kisses each eyelid, "Yeah. Funny and light. How 'bout Sandy Summer Camp?" It's a light-hearted, and more than a little raunchy, comedy about a bunch of camp counselors at a summer camp on Inculta. Sunburns in naught places feature prominently.

Letha laughs in a soft, warm, almost surrendering kind of way. "Yeah… Sandy Summer Camp… sounds great. How about we go upstairs? Use the vid in my bedroom?" Get away from this room, disappear into somewhere familiar. She brushes her nose up against his softly before she starts to stand. Once she is on her feet — as long as he allows her — she will down the rest of the scotch.

Drake nods his head, "Yeah, sure blondie." He pats at her backside to prompt her to stand, rising up after her, "Maybe some time we can go on up to Inculta ourselves, see if it's really like that, eh?" It might be a little clingy, but once she downs the rest of the scotch, he wraps his arms around her shoulders from behind, stepping forward more than a little awkwardly one foot after the other, working to move her legs with the nudging from behind of his own, "I may not have thought this through, it's gonna be hard as hell to get up the stairs like this…"

Letha does not seem to reflect poorly on the clingy wrap of his arms around her, and she breathes out a soft sigh as she leans back into his frame. "Yeah… that would be nice. I've never been there." She sounds a little drowsy as if she's going to be soon drifting into sleep despite the happy, upbeatness of the movie they are destined for. She looks up over her shoulder toward him. "You'll just have to pick me up."

Drake leans forward to press a kiss to the side of her neck, "I should totally just throw you over my shoulder and carry you off like a Rovehn." He ducks low as if to make good on the laughing threat, but instead he grasps for a hand and kisses the back of it, looping one hand around her back and reaching to tuck the other under her knees to sweep her up princess-style. Straightening up and tossing back his head, he grins down at her, "I think I can manage that."

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