sweethymns | Mι∂ηιgнт Ɠяιη∂

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?

... Mm.

[She shrugs. Monts doesn't seem to have the level of hospitality that Oren and Iona provide with their whole selves. It almost makes her seem negligent ~~or rather, she played favorites like with a certain Nue, shhhhhh~~]

You seem to have fun talking to him. I'll keep chatting it up then.

[ He's effectively been handed over, but he doesn't mind it too much. It gives him an opportunity to shed most of his pretenses and sit back in his chair while he watches Iona fuss with her other customers.

This is why he prefers being alone, honestly. ]

I've scared her off, have I.

[ Dismissively. ]

We're you being scary? Cute.

[Fights!!!!]

Will you be antagonizing me for my entire cup of coffee, or are you finished?

[ uh oh ]

Are you going to threaten me with a checkup too?

No— with a paid bill and an empty seat.

Though I don't suppose that that's much of a threat.

No, that's just rude.

[She blows some of her bangs out of her face before glancing at Claude.]

... Do you hate her?

Ah, how nosy. We're not meant to speak so poorly of our peers, you know.

[ She's fishing, and he's not willing to give; not to someone who works closely with Iona, though he doubts he'd ever tell the truth to anyone. He's not an open book. ]

A peer, is it...

[It's a bit hypocritical of her because she's not going to say thing one about her own situation and how her friendship came to be with Iona.

Iona just didn't give up even when it was hopeless.

Maybe it's too hopeless in this case.]

I know she's annoying, but at least it's not in a bad way.

[ The yard-long stare Claude gives Monts is an indication of something, maybe a weariness that speaks to his inherent distrust of most everyone (including himself).

But he concedes to something as well, as he settles against his backrest and heaves a thin sigh. ]

Is it really so terrible? Is it so imperative that I 'like' someone who I spend some measure of time with?

[ Does his opinion even matter, is the question. ]

If I hate her, what then? Will you tell her about it and warn her away from me? That would be smart, to be sure.

Not at all. Oren would have been the first to do that. And he hasn't by the looks of it.

[Which is actually rather interesting to Monts. She saw Oren tell off Gus the first time she met the latter.]

And she's older than me, she can make her own decisions about who she does and doesn't like. Even if they are weirdo doctors.

Then why ask?

[ No, really, he genuinely wants to know— what's the point, is what he says with the dubious upquirk of a brow. ]

If you all find me so repellent, you should leave me well enough alone. No need to continue reinforcing it.

[She's eye rolling like mad here]

It's interesting. [go trainwreck(?) go???]

Probably because it seems like you haven't decided yourself.

Assumptions are dangerous. You've no idea who I am, miss— I've known you for little over half an hour.

[ A soft laugh. ]

Will I be interrogated every time I come here, or only on the odd occasion?

Fortunately for you, my shifts aren't regular. I'm just surprised we haven't met earlier.

Thank god for that, hm?

Oh, I wouldn't go so far as to say that. I've no ill will towards you, I'll have you know.

[ And that's the truth of it, however much he's chosen to be stubborn about staying 'true to form'. ]

I'm just of the opinion that I'm not worth your time or investment.

I can decide that for myself.

Kind of like how you decided to come here of your own volition.

...

I may have come here to see Oren, you know.

[ THROWING OREN UNDER THE BUS ]

Mι∂ηιgнт Ɠяιη∂

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