[Sundays are days of rest, for the most part, where Sypha is concerned — things have reached a point where she's just come to expect that Fridays and Saturdays will be marathons of this event or that one, of places to go and people to see and images to live up to. It wears on Alucard more than it does her, which makes sense; he is the one with eyes on him, always, and half the time that she's with him, she's going out of her way to try to draw attention onto herself, just to spare him those few extra moments in the spotlight.
It's a set of circumstances that lends itself to almost always sleeping in on Sundays, simply by virtue of how late they'd gotten home the morning before (Saturday parties always run late, pushing the envelope almost up to the darkness just before dawn), and so usually she sleeps comfortably until some form of brunch rolls around at about the same time as Trevor arrives home, and then it's just an hour's worth of time to relax until she commandeers the front room, the sofa, and the radio for the week's installment of her favorite program.
It's rare that Alucard isn't here today, but there'd been a note slipped to him in the midst of the party last night, and so she suspects he's spending his afternoon doing something or other about it — it's the sort of affair where she knows not to ask, simply because he'll tell her if he wants her to know, and if he doesn't, then she'll have spared them both the awkwardness of having to shoot her inquiry down. He took the car, though, so he'll be a while.
That's fine. In five more minutes, she'll have a pleasant diversion to preoccupy her, anyway.
And Trevor is here, which is nice. He's brought his knitting and taken up his usual chair, and she's curled up on the loveseat with her nose about an inch from the radio speaker, waiting intently for the familiar introduction of this week's installment of dashing rogues and bold adventure.]
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It's a set of circumstances that lends itself to almost always sleeping in on Sundays, simply by virtue of how late they'd gotten home the morning before (Saturday parties always run late, pushing the envelope almost up to the darkness just before dawn), and so usually she sleeps comfortably until some form of brunch rolls around at about the same time as Trevor arrives home, and then it's just an hour's worth of time to relax until she commandeers the front room, the sofa, and the radio for the week's installment of her favorite program.
It's rare that Alucard isn't here today, but there'd been a note slipped to him in the midst of the party last night, and so she suspects he's spending his afternoon doing something or other about it — it's the sort of affair where she knows not to ask, simply because he'll tell her if he wants her to know, and if he doesn't, then she'll have spared them both the awkwardness of having to shoot her inquiry down. He took the car, though, so he'll be a while.
That's fine. In five more minutes, she'll have a pleasant diversion to preoccupy her, anyway.
And Trevor is here, which is nice. He's brought his knitting and taken up his usual chair, and she's curled up on the loveseat with her nose about an inch from the radio speaker, waiting intently for the familiar introduction of this week's installment of dashing rogues and bold adventure.]
What are you working on today, Belmont?