★ it's the wrong time for somebody new | why do people let me do things

[11ady]

[Une's idle forefinger traces lackadaisical circles onto Kyoya's bare back, a gentle touch nothing like the tight clutches from the night before. He doesn't stir, still asleep. He'll have to wake up soon enough. She snaps and the lights turn on, a dim orange glow. The ruby on her wedding ring catches some of the light and it glimmers as she fights the urge to scowl. A constant reminder of her fate. "The exact same shade as your eyes," she'd told her then-fiancé. Such sentimental nonsense for a marriage of convenience.

There's really not much to see. Might as well have kept the lights off. There are nights when she just stumbles to her bed in the dark. She's had this suite for five years now, and it's still as empty as ever. The only thing her bedroom can boast of in terms of furnishings is a dresser with an obscenely large gilded mirror, a simple desk and a practical bedside table bearing an alarm clock. The bed itself, while spacious and soft, is usually just decked out in gray: gray sheets, gray pillowcases, gray cloth in excess. Was it really so wrong to bring someone in and give color to it once in awhile? After all, even at 26, she's starting to feel rather gray herself.

Her husband's concerns lay mostly with his laboratory. That's why she chose him, wasn't it? He would never stray or bring her scandal. Far too enamored with his work. Of course, that came with its own pitfalls. He's always been a hard man to please and tearing his attention away from his scientific pursuits could prove damn near impossible unless he needed her help funding something.

It's a ridiculous state of affairs when you have to pay your own husband to come to your bed.

So, on occasion, she indulges the repulsive creature inside her that yearns to feel wanted. Last night, she found herself particularly alone while working overtime. With her better half having gone down to the planet to collect soil samples for most of the week, she knew she would be coming home to an empty room. That's when she decided to go down a floor, seek the nearest male employee burning the midnight oil, and throw her sales pitch: the one that almost always guaranteed her someone to warm her bed.

Kyoya Ootori has granted her almost five years of dedicated service by now, and grown up quite nicely on the job, too. A bit taller than her with a nice head of hair kept cut in a dignified fashion, and glasses that lend him an air of refinement. He has a certain boyish charm. He also had to have a silver tongue of sorts to have lasted so long as head of her organization's PR department; a position he's held since age seventeen. One could only wonder if his mouth was good for more than just talking.

Une got her answer and more. But then again, sex is the easy part. The aftermath's harder to deal with. Regrets are easier felt without pleasure ebbing through one's body.

She lost the ability to feel regret for this sort of thing a long time ago, but the boy in her bed hasn't.]

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[unframedthird]

[Une might be meeting this with apathy but Kyoya can't shake the underlying fear that comes of being caught by her husband when said husband could likely snap him like a twig and not break a sweat. And it would be well deserved, too.

He grants a nod of acknowledgement to Wesker before determining that a quick escape is probably for the best]

I know when my welcome is outstayed. If you'll excuse me.

[He moves to attempt his escape. Key word: attempt]