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All your coffee are belong to Gabe!

Location: The Cravat
Time: N/A. (Though for all intents and purposes it is morning.)


This morning, as with many mornings, Gabe's first thought was one word. This one word was 'coffee.' He carefully extricated himself from his and Jeannot's bed, making sure not to wake his love as he did. He left the room quietly and went down the stairs, looking for any new room, hopefully one containing a coffee-maker and some grounds. As luck ((or possibly the BC's inherent MKCSR powers)) would have it, the first room he decided to explore was the kitchen, the coffee-maker on the counter like a gift from G-d. He only had to look through two cupboards before finding the coffee grounds and cups, and he set about making it, humming Chelsea Hotel #2 very loudly to himself. Once done, he sat upon the counter, impatiently watching it percolate.

Comments

(Deleted comment)
kissingmyelbow
Feb. 1st, 2007 12:28 am (UTC)
Gabe smiled. "I suspect Holmes knows we're eavesdropping, anyhow," he said, and, hand in hand with Jeannot, began to walk down the hall, not exactly sure where to. "And I'd love to hear your story, secret or not, bel."
(Deleted comment)
kissingmyelbow
Feb. 1st, 2007 01:02 am (UTC)
Gabe followed Jeannot into the last room and lay down on the couch, placing his head in Jeannot's lap. "Just you being here makes this place more beautiful," he said, smiling up at his love. "But yes, there's wall-paint in the closet." He laughed. "There's everything in that closet. I'm not exactly sure how it's possible, but that goes for most of what's been going on lately."
(Deleted comment)
kissingmyelbow
Feb. 1st, 2007 01:44 am (UTC)
Gabe closed his eyes happily as Jeannot's finger brushed across his cheek, relaxing totally. He felt warm and content, like he was lying in the sun, on a hot rock, drying off, or curled up in blankets after a long, cold, walk. "I believe," he murmured, "that may I be starting to."
(Deleted comment)
kissingmyelbow
Feb. 1st, 2007 02:00 am (UTC)
Gabe shrugged. "I don't really know," he said. "Haven't ever really thought about it." He paused for a moment, thinking intensely, and then smiled. "They'd need a rather lot of angels for that, I think. We humans are a troublesome bunch."
(Deleted comment)
kissingmyelbow
Feb. 1st, 2007 02:32 am (UTC)
Gabe opened his eyes to look up at Jeannot curiously. "Why the past tense?" he asked. "Did your angel fly off?"
(Deleted comment)
kissingmyelbow
Feb. 1st, 2007 03:16 am (UTC)
Concern clouded Gabe's face. "Was she still-born?" he asked, quietly, not wanting to upset his love.
(Deleted comment)
kissingmyelbow
Feb. 1st, 2007 03:49 am (UTC)
"Is that why you became a painter, Jean?" Gabe asked, eyes closed, trying to picture what his love had described.
(Deleted comment)
kissingmyelbow
Feb. 1st, 2007 04:29 am (UTC)
"It's a good thing he did, too," Gabe said, smiling up at Jeannot. He lifted one hand to trace the line of his love's jaw. "Because I don't know what I'd do without you."
(Deleted comment)
kissingmyelbow
Feb. 2nd, 2007 11:39 pm (UTC)
Gabe closed his eyes to listen to the story, his mind painting water-colour pictures of the incident in his head. He smiled. "It sounds," he murmured, "like a fairy-tale story."
(Deleted comment)
kissingmyelbow
Feb. 3rd, 2007 05:42 am (UTC)
Gabe felt Jeannot's distress at the memory and took his hand, carefully entwining their fingers, in an attempt to comfort him. "You fell?" he prompted.
(Deleted comment)
kissingmyelbow
Feb. 3rd, 2007 07:20 am (UTC)
"Maybe that wasn't the last time you saw him," Gabe suggested. "Maybe, ever since then, he's just been waiting on the edges of things, giving you a push in the right direction, but not obviously enough to be noticed, just making sure you go where you need to go and meet who you have to meet." He smiled. "Making sure you play your proper part in life."
(Deleted comment)
kissingmyelbow
Feb. 3rd, 2007 08:08 am (UTC)
"Why's it silly?" Gabe asked. "It's not as though there's a set of rules about guardian angels. It's all belief, and belief starts with what one man thought."
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holmes, oscar, byron, nineteenth century
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The Byronic Cravat

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