Mι∂ηιgнт Ɠяιη∂

[formidable]

Private AU/PSL RP. A tale of two brothers from alternate 1879 France, and the witch, her golem, and other colorful characters, who get entangled in their lives. Urban fantasy, steampunk, magic, guns, and coffee collide. ➤ PART I ➢ "La Caravane".

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claude aubert: "il faudra que je cours."

[pragnanz]

[ He wonders if this isn't unhealthy for him, this sudden constant in his life. The past few days have been spent on his day job, being called out on the odd injury and illness, checking up on the paranoia of the wealthy and the more pressing issues of the less well-to-do— it's all routine, really, though he must admit to the fatigue that builds up after each day of a full schedule.

Incidentally, the past few days have been spent pointedly ignoring the presence of The Grind, which seems to flit in and out of vision on his walks home. On a particularly exhausting day where he'd had to sit and listen to some pompous aristocrat talk about how she's certain that someone must have poisoned her drink— she usually never has stomach trouble— he really was tempted to give in and walk into the familiar cafe for a cup of coffee, he really was.

It's only stubbornness that barred him from paying a visit, but after the fourth, then the fifth day of trying in vain to shake off his mind's advice that he needs to unwind, Claude Aubert finally caves.

His medical gear in tow and his hair slightly mussed under his hat, Claude pushes into the warm space with a tinkle of bells, closes his eyes. This feels acutely like a defeat, even if the slight wrinkle in his usually immaculate three-piece vest-and-tie combo says otherwise: he's earned some respite, despite all his struggles to say the contrary. ]

Table for one, s'il vous plait.

[ who is he even trying to fool here ]

[infusion]

[The owner's dark wavy hair bounces as she turns at the sound of the familiar voice. Her face breaks out into a bright beam and she waves Claude over to an empty table.]

Welcome! C'mon in, it's been a while!

[Iona Oakes, without fail, always has a smile for her regulars. Doubly so when it was the Aubert brothers who pass through the entrance of the Midnight Grind (or in Gus's case, tumbling in).]

You're making me wonder Claude, does the door not appear all the time? Oh, and will it be the usual coffee?

[Currently, there's a small number of customers in the cafe, mostly young adults poring over textbooks and one young man napping on the one sofa seat they have in the cafe. There's someone else behind the counter that isn't Oren for once. A woman with dark skin (lighter than Iona's), fairly short and fluffy hair, and a set of long lashed green blue eyes glances at Iona and the newly arrived customer. Her chin rests on one palm, while the other lays on the counter top, giving the impression of disinterest, but she's clearly intrigued otherwise.]
[Currently

[pragnanz]

[ God, ever the ray of sunshine. One would wonder if she doesn't ever get tired of it all, this unbridled affection for everyone who happens to wander into her path, but he supposes that she would be a very different person if she thought of her energy in expendable terms. He does, which is why he finds all of it very exhausting.

And yet, he keeps coming here.

His smile is curt only to swallow some injured pride he hates having (he's not worth that pride, nor her attention), a bit distant from worn-thin patience that he tries to dredge if only to let himself relax here. The stranger manning the counter is a deviation that he isn't quite sure what to make of. Doubtless Gus has already tried to charm this young lady too (his brother never learns). ]

Coffee and a bite to eat. [ He turns his attention back towards Iona, sets his large bag of supplies on the floor. ] And to answer your question, quite the contrary. For an inanimate object, the front door to your cafe seems to yell quite loudly.

1/2

[infusion]

Ah, it was screaming at you to open it, huh? Well, better now than never.

[Save for the rare customer or two she would have Oren place a permanent ban on (it HAS happened, but less than one would think), Iona never found a reason to not smile at anyone who came inside. That's just her; the most optimistic and cheerful witch who wants to love everyone as much as possible.

(It burdens her though and it can have its toll; Oren is always looking out for the signs of wavering.)

Iona, thankfully, is not pressing him anymore than needed and she leads him to a table near the counter, not far from the new(?) girl. The witch pats the table and walks towards the back.]

Just make yourself comfortable and I'll be right back with your order! Oh yeah, you haven't met Monts yet.

[She gestures at "Monts," who gives Claude a placid smile not unlike his, the one that is meant to mask and a short wave. Iona makes a quick introduction gesturing with her arms.]

Claude, Monts. Monts, Claude. He's a regular by the way!

[There's a pause as if Iona's suddenly considered something.]

Just you know, don't be so... [She's interrupted by a customer holding up a glass asking for another serving of iced tea.]

Never mind! Work beckons!

[And there she goes, a busy bee of a witch... ]

[nerine]

[... Leaving Claude Aubert at the mercy of Monts.

With a second glance at her, it's clear to see she's what anyone would call quite pretty; she had a slender and willowy frame, long fingers, and long lashes. Compared to Iona who was bouncy and whose charm comes from being all smiles and the constant vivaciousness, this girl had a serene aura around her with thoughts that are unknown to anyone except herself. There could be something that could be called unsettling about her, but what it is would remain a mystery for now. In the end, it would be a mistake to say that she was absentminded.

She gives Claude a smile, a disarmingly sweet one that would throw off some people, making it quite obvious that she's sizing him up.]

If she didn't make it clear enough, I work here. So, hola.

[Another playful and quick wave.]

[pragnanz]

[ What a hurricane of an introduction. Claude barely has time to make a crisp retort about what exactly Iona means by "being so" before he finds himself left alone with this young lady and her inscrutable smile— he's almost inclined to "be so", just to prove a point to Iona (this is just how he is, thank you very much), but he elects to be an adult in this situation.

Or, well. As adult as he can manage in his current condition.

Folding his hands neatly on his lap, he fixes green eyes on his newfound conversation partner. Finds that there's something about that expression on her face that he relates to; amiability as a weapon, a tool.

He returns it in kind, a charming smile that doesn't quite warm his features. ]

I gathered. I sympathize. [ ah yes here it is, same old claude ] Do remember not to believe the things she says about me— I'm hardly a regular.

[nerine]

Ah, no need for that. [She waves a hand as if dismissing the "sympathy."] You get to see all sorts of people for one thing. Boss lady needs to learn to rein it in sometimes though.

[Iona shines too brightly sometimes, even Monts has to tell her to tone it down.]

Mm. And you say that, but she remembers your name, and from the sound of it, you've been here more than once and you see the door a lot. That's regular status, unfortunately.

Midnight Opera ❈ Think of Me

[infusion]

[The Paris Opera House was in a crisis.

Various sabotages, the cause being unknown, has made the star singer exit out of the stage in a fury. The new opera house managers, were not ready to be faced with the prospect of having to cancel hundreds of seats, sending letters of apologies, and least of all, recuperating the cost of operating the machinery backstage and throughout the opera building which needed skilled hands in order to create the perfect effects for the stage (the Auberts were not going to be happy at all and none of them wanted to think of dire consequences that would follow). What use was there for the dazzle and glamour when there was no star singer?

A phantom in the shadows, however, has already given them their solution...]

❈❈❈

♪ Think of me,
think of me waking,
silent and
resigned... ♫

[It has become opening night. Instead of the innocuous costumes of an extra, Christine Daae, the new singer being introduced that evening, has become the center of attention, decked out in jewels, a crown, and an equally elaborate gown. But these were mere trinkets to the true treasure that was her voice that lit a flame of wonderment and awe of the packed opera house. Even the special effects and the noise of gears and electricity wasn't a match for her. She spins around in a simple dance with all the charm and reverie of a yearning lover.]

♪ Recall those days,
look back
on all those times,
think of the things
we'll never do... ♫

[Of course, everyone is paying attention to her. Why wouldn’t they? But someone else in one of the top box seats who is singing along where only the three people next to her can hear her]

...There will
never be
a day, when
I won't think
of you...


[Iona, invisible to all, but the Aubert brothers, turns to beam at them happily.]

She’s wonderful.

[pragnanz]

[ Honestly, this entire tiff about the opera production seems like a complete waste of time to Claude. Their father had insisted upon everything going without a hitch, of course, in a grandstanding show of influence and power and what-have-you, but Claude really can't see what the big issue is in losing the 'star' of the show: surely they can find a replacement in the vast number of people afforded to them in the city.

Gus accurately accuses him of being a 'complete wet rag', after he voices these opinions; Claude doesn't disagree.

However, he does feel obliged to eat his words somewhat when they arrive at the opera house and the new diva starts singing. She has a voice that could melt hearts, he thinks to himself, as he settles back in his chair and watches his brother practically sink into his seat (such an active participant in every emotion, it's amazing to Claude that Gus doesn't wear himself out constantly). Iona confirms it with her honest comment about the proceedings, and Claude can't help but hum in return, a sound that might have been noncommittal if it weren't for the slight upwards quirk of his lips. ]

Exceedingly lovely, yes. It looks like the night won't be a disaster, after all.

[ Famous last words. ]

[infusion]

[Iona leans out against the railing of the balcony to get a better look at the stage, the audience, the singer... Well, a better look at everything for a lack of better wording. Despite the opera being a formal event, the witch's clothing was understated; she wore a black cloak (ha) over her patterned cotton dress. She was invisible after all, so there was no need to shine and she said with some sadness to the brothers that Oren said it was for the best.

But it certainly hasn't stopped her enjoyment of the performance. In fact, Iona had been smiling all evening at being invited out back to 1879 and her eyes seem to widen slightly at the name of the new star singer (but she waved it off, saying it was nothing).]

How many people are working backstage? There's so many gears! They have to make sure to time everything right don't they??

[effet]

[ Gus has a few words to say to Oren about Iona's choice of attire (most of them being let her wear whatever she wants, fun police), but he's far more elated about the fact that she's here in the first place to complain overmuch; her enthusiasm, as always, is infectious to him. He feeds off of it with no little amount of earnesty, and his kinetic energy seems to radiate from where he's sitting, rapt and at attention. ]

Mmhmm, the crew is huge! You see how all the parts of the stage move? That's because every component has someone working behind it— there's even a machine that controls the breeze inside the theater, I'll show it to you later...!

[ Because Gus played a part in building some of the mechanisms, avid tinkerer that he is. ]

[infusion]

I'd love to see what it's like behind the scenes later! I never was able to get a good look at how the tech would work in this world.

[Oren, standing ever so silently in the back catches her eye and it's as if they can see each others thought process crystal clear. She's trying, TRYING so hard not to ask other questions that would seem suspicious, but the set up is too good, too intriguing not to poke at. But it seems this time, in order for them to enjoy their time in Paris, her golem had warned her ahead of time to not step out of line like the last time.

Of course, Iona hides these frustrations, or rather overrides them with her genuine enjoyment of the performance and of the opera overall. She beams at Gus and then lets out a small, "Oh!" as she turns her attention back to the singer.]

I think she's about to hit the last note...?

[how does she know that--

But there's no time to really question that because Christine Daae's angelic voice begins to steadily climb higher and higher--

And it's nothing less than a grand finale. The audience stands up, roaring with applause, with Iona following their suit.

Even Oren claps in the background. Brava.]

[effet]

[ Man, Iona is really... prescient, huh. Maybe it's a witch thing? Gus doesn't question it much, given that he knows that Iona is from the future and bound to know some things ahead of time; sometimes he wonders if she doesn't already know about him and what happens in his future, and she's just choosing to lie to him out of her kindness.

He wouldn't hold it against her, really.

But he sets that aside to appreciate the swell of music and the lingering crescendo of Christine Daae's last note, finding that he's also unconsciously gotten up out of his seat in rousing applause.

He turns to Iona, all smiles (the expression given so freely) as he leans in to speak directly into her ear above the crowd. ] You can come with me backstage during intermission!

Iɴᴛᴇʀʟᴜᴅᴇ﹕ Mᴏᴏɴ Sᴏɴɢ

[nerine]

I'm lying on the moon
My dear, I'll be there soon
It's a quiet and starry place
Time's we're swallowed up
In space we're here a million miles away...

[Another quiet evening in the suburbs of Japan, a little away from the busy urban city. Monts had been walking across the bridge that hung over a waterway, hands behind her back and she had stopped to look at the evening crescent moon that was already present in the sky as the sun began to dip back down into the horizon. The song is low, sweet, and simple.

She finds herself liking Japan a lot whenever she gets to go. It kept her vision busy as the young woman kept on trying to observe and study the unfamiliar environment around her. Of course she has someone to thank...]

I'll teach you that song if you haven't heard it already. Do you like it?

[crafting]

[ That 'someone' is En, of course. The skittish, somewhat-rude Nue with a penchant for strange gestures because he still has a poor grasp of what humans consider 'kind'.

It's after one of those 'you-gave-me-too-much-food-again-even-if-I-can't-pay' dinners that En's dragged Monts out into the night with him, shoved her on one of those dingy local trains that took the both of them to a riverside town with fireflies littering the dimming sky.

He narrows his eyes fondly, like a cat, when she starts singing. ]

Never heard it. 's nice. [ He tries to hum what little she's sung of it, swaying gently on his heels. Some parts of him are still undeniably childish, despite his centuries. ] They like it, too.

[ Pointing to the fireflies, who are weaving circles around his index finger. ]

[nerine]

[Did he drag her along or did she subtly push him into doing so with one of those nice and large meals??? The world will never know. She's appreciative either way and the fireflies hover around her as well.]

I'm glad. I guess I'll have more reasons to sing to others than just myself.

Thanks again for taking me out here.

[Almost zero cost travel is pretty great, thanks magic cafe.]

I feel calmer already.

[crafting]

[ He tips his head to the side when Monts mentions being calm, as if this is something he didn't anticipate. ]

What. Stressed?

[ Like a dog, he pulls inwards and examines his companion carefully, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny. ]

Bottling again?

[nerine]

Hm... It's sad to admit, but I bottle up all the time.

[it's not hard to see why]

But that said, I'm usually calm. I dunno... It's hard to explain.

[crafting]

[ He hums lightly, catching fireflies on his finger as he thinks about what he's been told. ]

Hard for you. [ He states, simply, before reaching out to put one of the insects on Monts' head. ]

's fine. I don't mind it.

ᴍɪᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀ: ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ.

[pragnanz]

[ It's been a while since Claude's had to stretch his investigative legs, so to speak. The goings-on of the previous night have spurred somewhat of a witchhunt at the Aubert mansion, a flurry of papers and hurried footsteps scrambling for information, for names and territorial disputes that could have led to the sabotage of the month's most highly-anticipated opera event. Could it have been the work of an enemy faction with a grudge? An upstart group looking to make waves? Speculation's been running wild, but there's been no talk of a ghost in the opera house, or the subterranean dungeons that might wind underneath it.

Which is good for Claude, incidentally. It means that no one else is looking for what he's after, and no one asks questions save for whether or not the ceiling of the theater will be fixed soon— because surely that's the reason why the good doctor is looking for schematics of the building. For construction purposes.

He doesn't refute or affirm. Only smiles in that vague way of his to field any inquiries, to sidestep anyone from intruding into his personal affairs. It works, because people know that the half-brother with his penchant for solitude is also the one that'll patch them up if things go south.

Best not to offend your family doctor.

With all of his affairs completed for the early morning, Claude stops by the bakery and buys an assortment of bread to accompany the papers he'll be delivering to Iona and her golem. Not because he cares, mind you!! Just because it's polite!!!

He regrets it immediately when he pushes into the front door of his flat and smells something delicious from down the hall. Something that smells suspiciously like tea— hadn't his apartment floor smelled more like formaldehyde when he'd left?

Iona...

A sigh and a resigned hn, he strides down to the previously-empty room next to his own, and knocks at the door with his gloved knuckles. ]

—It's Claude. You're awake, yes?

[infusion]

[Oren is propped up on the sofa which is one of the many additions Iona has added to the one room flat. There's also a modest stove, wooden table and chairs and a cabinet to keep some simple foodstuffs. And a mini-fridge because there are some things one can't live without even with magic. There's one large bed that takes up the most space. The overall effect is instant coziness, warmth and given time, it'd constantly smell like coffee, flowers, and right now, tea. The walls are bare aside from the fairy lights she added over the bed. Oren wasn't lucid enough to really comment on how Iona's been making herself at home, but if it makes her comfortable, he probably wouldn't have argued to begin with.

There's a stumbling noise as if someone just woke up. Well, there's only one someone in this case really. The doorknob twists and when it opens up, a sleepy looking Iona, with her hair, somewhat messier than usual appears.

And also, she's wearing a nightgown, that's a bit too modern.

She gives Claude a wave.]

'Ey! Mornin'.

[There's a pause. She looks down at herself.]

Ah. Right. 1879.

[The door closes.]

[pragnanz]

[ The coziness oozes from the interior, the comfortable smell of tea and the warm wash of atmospheric lighting. Claude only gets a brief glimpse of what Iona's done with the room before he gets an eyeful of...

...of.

Well.

He doesn't blush, of course— he's seen far too many women in various states of undress during his checkups to be truly prudish— but he does turn away, clearing his throat as the door closes behind him. ]

Should I come back later?

[ HE ABSOLUTELY DOESN'T SOUND FLUSTERED, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ]

[infusion]

[SHE'S BACK and she opens the door, hair slightly tamed and dressed more appropriately, but still staying true to her modern roots.

I mean, c'mon, her ankles are showing. Iona waves to Claude, much more awake this time and not at all perturbed by what she did. She's kind of an idiot that way, although at least she knew she needed to dress better.]

C'mon on in! Is that bread I smell??

And don't mind Oren over there. He can still hear well, but he won't be moving around for a while.

[pragnanz]

[ The dress is a marked improvement, even if her soft hair and gauzy dress are still very stark reminders that Iona comes from a very different time than his.

Claude almost feels a bit... foolish? For having assumed that Iona would need any help adjusting at all. Why did he even care in the first place, is the real question. Enough that he bought her bread? Now he's just questioning everything about himself, this is a disaster.

Regardless, he clears his throat again and lets himself in. ]

...An assortment. I didn't know [ OR CARE!!! HMPH!! ] what you preferred.

[ In the basket is a boule campagne, pain marguerite, a couronne, and a sliced baguette. He's rich, he doesn't care if anything is overkill. ]

I expect Oren isn't in need of a doctor?

[infusion]

That's fine! I love having a variety! [Iona rubs her hands together excitedly.]

It all looks great too so I can't wait to try!

[How unfortunate for Claude. There's a table for him to set down the food and she gestures at it while answering his question.]

Mmm. Well, the best "doctor" for Oren would be my grandmother. But he's stubborn and he probably won't let her look at him. He doesn't want to worry her.