#aonle

Embarrassed, Enola gestured to the clothes currently taking up most of the space in her tiny (not modest, but tiny) flat. She'd gone from having nothing but the clothes on her back to a whole wardrobe after taking Melissa's case, and she wasn't sure what to do with it. Whilst weekly tea with the older woman was one of the better parts of her routine, she'd invited her over very purposefully as opposed to the usual arrangement of coming to Melissa's space-- she had to see what a mess her flat had become.

Enola sighed, hands on her hips. "I'm afraid I've no more space for any new presents. Quite literally."

[ unscripted asks . always accepting ]

There was no hesitation on the songstress' side to step into Enola's flat - Melissa had not been born wealthy, even if one wouldn't be able to tell given how the etiquette and mannerisms from polite society had been deeply ingrained into her. Curious eyes wondered over the room, without any judgement; she was merely interested in seeing how her newest protégée lived, even if that word was a bit of a stretch to label their relationship.

(The maids back at her manor all had taken to calling Miss Enola Holmes as their madame's ward; it was clear as day to anyone that the retired, recently widowed and very lonely woman had latched onto the detective as if she was a missing part of her existence.)

"That does seem to be the case, my darling," Melissa agreed amicably, a smile slowly spreading over her features. There was some sense of contentment to see Enola welcoming her influence and gifts; she had so much to give - from material possessions to time - and so few people willing to accept that. The songstress dropped her skirts in the middle of the room (one of the few uncluttered spaces) and twirled around to find Enola, holding her hands next with affection.

"I am sorry for the distress I have caused to your living quarters. Perhaps we could carry some of this back to my home," Melissa offered, but clearly that was not her preferred suggestion. There was a pause, followed by a sharper intake of breath and a glint in her eyes; "Or perhaps you could just take up one of the rooms for yourself. Enola, my dear, you have seen how painfully empty that house is. I would be delighted if you selected one of the bedrooms as your study. Office. A storage place if you must," Melissa nodded, seemingly satisfied with any of the options.

...As long as the detective's answer was 'yes'.

"You must believe me quite the sad person, I imagine," the smile on Melissa's face was subdued then; not tainted with melancholy, but a tad more realistic. The retired diva knew the weight of her ask - and that it was a rather selfish request. It was just not fair to expect a young woman to uproot her existence to cater to the whims of a bored, lonely performer without an audience - or perhaps a mother without a child. It was no fault of Enola's that Melissa and Richard were never blessed with a child.