sweethymns | Mι∂ηιgнт Ɠяιη∂

[ And, without missing a beat, he looks from Iona to Monts with an ease that speaks to his feigned dispassion. ]

I was trying [ he says, with an air of infinite patience ] to strike up a conversation with your friend. 'Bond', if you will.

You just happened to be the topic of conversation.

Bonding? Perish the thought.

[wow monts]

... Yeah, that would be scary. I don't think my heart could take that.

[Monts gives a sigh and both the girls looking at each other and give each other a nod as if agreeing on this simultaneously.]

[ WOW, THIS SHADE

He blinks, then puts one elbow on the table (poor manners, really) to lean into it with his chin, idly taking a sip of his coffee. ]

I'll just finish this and be out of your hair, then.

[ BYE ]

[Unfortunately for Claude, Iona likes him. So she waves her hands in front of herself to try and dissuade him.]

Nonononono! You just got here! You need to rest up don't you?? You got a few hours to kill and to relax with right??

A few hours.

[ The implication here is "what the hell would we do for a few hours, as if spending an extended amount of time with someone is a completely ludicrous concept. ]

I suppose I have one or two. Did you want a checkup?

[ claude why ]

[Monts has wandered off in order to take care of some customers who need a refill or have left the Grind, so some table cleaning will keep her busy (and allow Iona to suffer with the Frenchman)

Iona blinks at Claude's offer. She stands up straight and there's a look of bewilderment that settles across her features, her thick brows furrowing together as if troubled.]

... Hm. HMMMMMMM.

[One can see the gears grinding in her head.]

... Interesting point you brought up....

[ He had every intention of dismissing this as a morbid joke, but Iona actually seems to be considering this... rest in peace.

Setting his cup of coffee down, he leans forward. ]

Oh? Even witches catch the common cold, do they?

[He's trying to be rude and off putting, but Iona breaks her thinking pose to tell him with widened eyes and a voice full of awe...]

I don't remember the last time I went to a doctor.

[LITERALLY HER FACE RN]

[ yikes.jpg ]

Ah.

It might be too late for you, then.

[ "bye felicia" ]

Wait!! What if I DO need a checkup?? I mean, Oren's always taken care of getting me medicine for headaches or potions to dispel weird effects from creatures and curses... Then again, when was the last time I got a cold? I don't think I get viruses...?

Wow, I think it's been over 10 years since I've seen a normal doctor.

[A beat.]

I mean, you're a normal one right?

[ He sits here and listens to this entire spiel with a world-weariness that practically oozes out of his pores. ]

Do try not to lecture me on being a normal doctor while talking about potions and curses in the same breath.

[ WHO'S THE WEIRD ONE HERE, IONA ]

You might be a bit out of my field of expertise.

But hey! You'd be able to have, "I did a checkup on a witch," off your bucket list!

[he doesn't have one probably, but there iona just added it]

Well, I doubt you'd let me take a look at that arm, so I'll have to settle for the normal routine.

[ As if he'd intended to saw her limb off for science... Claude... ]

Will you let me draw blood, or is that strictly off-limits?

Hm? Oh, I don't mind if you look at it. My arm I mean. Blood, we'll make it easy and just say no.

[Oh that was easy]

I couldn't give you much of a diagnosis without analyzing your blood, you know.

[ Just the surface things, but that's fine with him.

He leans forward, cants his head. ]

Are you comfortable with me being in your space?

[OREN IS IN THE DISTANCE BUT THE LOOMING OVER IS SO CLOSE...]

... Oh yeah. I forgot the tools would be different, but it probably does the job doesn't it...

[If she's perturbed she doesn't show it because...]

Look, you know I could thrash you anytime I wanted.

Solving your problems with brute force. A woman after my own heart.

[ His eyes close briefly in something inscrutable, and his words have an edge that makes it difficult to tell if he's truly joking or if there's something more to the way the air around him seems to still—

—but it comes and goes, and he fixes his gaze back at Iona, then at Oren in the distance. Polite, innocuous. ]

Do you trust me, Miss Iona?

[... She could have sworn there was a skipped heartbeat at those words.

That's stupid, why would Iona feel strangely content with those words? What's with that stillness, what's... Oh, wait, they're still talking. His question is the one that gives her pause.

Does she trust him? It's a good one to think about.]

... Why not? [There's a friendly shrug.]

You know that I'm a witch and you don't let it bother you. And when you come back to get coffee, that makes me happier than you'd think. You even asked me to make sure Gus is alright.

So if you trust me, I can give a little back, can't I?

[ It's horribly naive of her, he thinks, to assume that every person who doesn't openly use the ammunition they've been given is trustworthy. There's nothing inherently generous about accepting other people's idiosyncrasies; some people only tolerate it as something out of their hands, after all.

How trite of her to think that his selfishness in wanting her to preserve his brother comes from anything but self-interest. He can't imagine why she thinks so well of him in any way— what has he done to earn it, exactly?

She makes him feel ugly. He fancies that she wouldn't understand why.

So he keeps on smiling. ]

I suppose so. [ Easily, without much in the way of protest. ] You said so yourself. Even if I were untrustworthy, you would be able to trounce me easily.

[The both of them are nowhere near the point where they understand each other yet. Iona understands this. She gets it. She gets it, but like the blockhead she is, she keeps finding herself wanting to clash with everything and everyone to feel alive. The witch burns brightly because the years ahead will be so very long.

~~It's not enough, it's never enough.~~

People will be gone one day. People will leave her and there's no strength in her that would help her keep them in her grasp. And yet...

She grins triumphantly at Claude putting her hands on her hips.]

Yup! Underestimating me is a grave mistake!

Get it?

[Monts returns to her place rolling her eyes, but smiling at Iona's terrible joke. It's charming in that overdone way.

Her happiness and her need to create happiness has always been that way. Hopeless, but charming.]

[ It's precisely this kind of behavior that Claude can't get behind, this hopeless optimism. There's no salvation in wearing yourself thin for the sake of others: it's the sort of thing you do when you're desperate, scraping away at yourself until you have no layers left, until you're forced to admit that this is all you have left, your heart and your soul. Vulnerable. Open to rejection. Open to fault.

There's not a single person in the world that wanted to save him before. He wants that to remain constant— he wants to disappoint, because pleasing others is terrifying.

(It doesn't last. It never has.)

He almost looks like he wants to lash out for a moment, sharp eyes narrowed in retaliation, in that wall he throws up when someone gets too close. He wants to prove her wrong, wants to hurt her— people will always hurt you, how can you be so blind— but he doesn't.

But he doesn't laugh, this time around. ]

...I don't intend to make you a murderer.

[Ah, she's deflated. Slightly. Just a little. It shows by the way she tilts her head and sighs as if defeated, but not broken. (Monts is watching these little changes, watching them both even)]

Well, I'm definitely not gonna be a grave digger either.

[Someone else calls Iona over for a favor and she goes off to look after said customer.]

Anyways, if you need anything else, Monts will get it for you, won'tcha Monty?

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