sweethymns | Mι∂ηιgнт Ɠяιη∂

[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.

[ 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?

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.

Edited 2016-08-24 02:13 (UTC)

[ He even brought fresh butter and jars of jam for her to try, which makes him feel exceedingly more foolish. As if he expected her to ask him to stick around and have breakfast with her, or that he wanted her to force him into that corner.

Ridiculous.

But he sits down anyway, waving aside his emotional conundrums because they only serve to irritate. Everything is laid out with practical precision, while his gaze sweeps across the room that'd previously been storage for his unused tools. ]

How novel. I don't expect your grandmother would be too happy to hear that her golem's keeping secrets from her. [ Which is incredibly hypocritical of him to say, but it's his chance to be prickly, give him this. ] As a doctor, I do feel like it's my duty to tell you that the most infuriating patient is one that's waited until the last moment to acknowledge that he or she is ill.

[Iona sits across from him as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Although, it is kind of nice of him to stay, she thinks, after their last encounter in the Grind. He wasn't pushing her away or being snide. Well, not being snide as much. It's the little things.

She helps herself to a baguette slice, slathering on some butter and then jam.]

I guess I can't speak for either of them, but Berna did tell him to put me before her... This might be his way of doing it.

They're both weird about each other, is what I'm saying.

[ Claude doesn't touch the food yet, and instead, he watches Iona's selections and idly commits them to memory.

This next revelation, though. It sits a little badly with him, maybe because it also hits a little close to home. Who can say? ]

And that doesn't bother you, does it? That he was told to prioritize you?

[She bites into her slice of bread chewing thoughtfully and thinking of a reply before answering. It's a tough question and one not many people tend to bring up.]

... It kind of does.

[The witch stands up to go over to the stove. She forgot about serving some tea and coffee, but that's easily fixed. Her right hand goes over to the neglected pot of hot water and there's a faint glow beneath her fingertips. Steam rises out of the spout; a quick magical heating shortcut.]

There's nothing else like Oren in the world, you know? Once he sets his mind on something, he sticks to it rigidly. It's not even really in his makeup as a golem.

[ Despite his personal feelings on the validity of magic, there's still something remarkable about the sudden heat that floods the room through that one motion, the change in atmosphere that Iona can elicit with the barest hint of a gesture. He's only ever really seen Iona use her magic to create comfort and to fill a space with familiar scents; he idly wonders if she can destroy just as easily, just as efficiently. If she has that capability in her, regardless of whether or not she chooses to draw on it.

(Yes, he knows she can punch her way through walls, but he's speaking in a less... punch-y sense.)

Setting his papers and blueprints down, he tries to unravel the thread of this conversation. ]

So you're saying that his devotion to you is a choice, and not because of what he was made to be?

[Magic is tricky and sometimes "tricky" is not a quality Iona has when it's essential for witchcraft. She is, in Oren's words, a blockhead with little finesse. (But she's only 23, and with age comes greater competence, but she doesn't like thinking about getting older).

But when it came to softer things, warm things, that, that Iona seeks and creates because the want is stronger.

She takes out two mugs and opts to make coffee first. It's morning after all.]

There's a reason why Berna doesn't have another one like Oren around. It's not like she hasn't made other golems of various types. A lot of them look really human like him too.

But with those, she started from scratch. With Oren, he already was.

[The dark and bitter aroma of coffee begins to waft through the air again.]

... There's a lot you don't know about us, huh?

[She says this aloud as if speaking to herself, but it's voiced loud enough for him to hear.]

[ He already 'was'. Claude wonders if that's a mercy or if Oren struggles with his own selfhood the way any human might. But that's probably ugly projection.

It might have been easier for Oren, if he was just another doll made from scratch. Without autonomy, you never have to make decisions about yourself, and you certainly don't have to be plagued by the understanding of your limitations. If you're a failed product, you get scrapped, and everyone else moves on.

...Again, that's projecting. Ugh. Next. ]

I'd say that the ratio of things I know about you to the things I don't know about you are 2 to 8. But that goes for me, too, doesn't it?

I've not been too candid about myself either, after all.

Well, I can list off some things I know about you! Or rather, observations from a cafe owner to a regular customer.

[She's chipper again at least. Iona sets down two cups filled with coffee alongside a small jug of cream and a pot of sugar cubes.]

That said, it's not like I nag you or Gus about yourselves. I mean, unless you want me to bother you more.

[And that was said with a hint of playfulness on her end.]

Oh, you nag well enough already, Miss Iona.

[ And he laughs, which wouldn't be a rarity on its own if it weren't for the slightly amiable way his breath hitches, the slight downturn of his brows that almost borders on troubled. He's not used to feeling positively about people other than his half-brother, so he has to vigorously hide it under 500 layers of self-deprecation.

That being said, he's still half-smiling when he adds: ] But if you're so observant, I'd like to know how you'd describe me to someone who doesn't know who I am.

[ Is this truly a good idea, to ask this???? Who knows ]

Let's see...

[She pushes a cup of coffee towards Claude before giving her answer.]

You're a little overworked, but even when you're at the Grind, you tend to be on guard. Probably no thanks to me? [SHE KNOWS...]

When it comes to food, it doesn't really seem to matter, but you'll always finish any cakes or pastries Oren and I serve you without fail! You definitely get interested in the seasonal ones that we don't serve at any other time like our pumpkin spice items during autumn... Oh, and you always add an extra lump of sugar to your coffee compared to most of my other customers.

[ He's fine with most everything about this assessment until he's called out about the sugar.

Which then causes him to clear his throat. Defensively. ]

Your roast is a bit thicker than what I'm used to, I'm afraid.

[ This is a lie, he just likes his coffee with an excess of sweetness. Like his desserts.

Being a doctor, this feels shameful to admit. ]

[There's a bit of silence. And then Iona glances to the side although it's clear that she's smiling rather cheekily as she purposefully mumbles:]

Red velvet brownies...

[They do serve red velvet cake all year around in humble, but decadently flavored slices of crimson red cake with bright white frosting that Claude may have seen around in the cafe. But why is she mentioning this one in particular? Because he's never seen or tried it yet?

Yes, she's trying to tempt him, shh.]

Edited 2016-09-06 02:25 (UTC)

[ HE'S SEEN THOSE BEFORE and he's so mad that he's being reminded of them right now, how dare she do this to him on this day. ]

You should take care not to clot your blood with so much sugar.

[ This is possibly the most unprofessional, bullshit medical factoid Claude's ever conjured as an empty threat.

His mug clatters a little too insistently on the table when he sets it down. ]

...Are they any good? [ YOU KNOW, for. Science. ]

I-I eat more carefully than you'd think you know! [Cause if she indulges too much, Oren puts her on a strict diet... It's horrible...]

Oh, and the brownies?

I can make them someday! And you can try them!

[ Ugh come on Aubert, get back on track!! He takes a second to savor that momentary victory of Iona's stutter, and tries to veer right back into Smarmy Asshole territory. ]

How magnanimous of you.

Is this what you'd call "a date plan"? [ ha ha how funny ]

... I mean, if you want!

[The flush on her cheeks is quite noticeable even with her dark skin tone, but it's there.

She tries to wave it off as if they're being their usual playful and joking selves. That's how they usually are with each other right? RIGHT??

(They're sitting together, the sun shines through the windows, the smell of coffee lingers, it's simple, it's nothing, it's everything, this is a memory she'll treasure because he's there, she likes his smile, it's different from usual, but he's just about the same).]

It'd be the first time you tried something I baked.

[Iona runs her hand through her hair, a sure sign that she's nervous or embarrassed about something.]

[ There it is, that flush, that sliver of an opening he can sink his fangs into and tear at, because when you leave scratches on people, it doesn't matter if you're a doctor: they leave, they make conclusions about you that are irreversible. It doesn't matter if Claude has healing hands because he has a tongue that's forked and ready to distance, and he sees these opportunities to hurt because he's survived them, all these passive-aggressive little thorns that they've embedded so far into his soul that he doesn't even think about pulling them out anymore.

But she smiles, and the sun catches her hair just so, and she tips her chin down and breathes with a gentleness that actually makes him... pause.

And recalibrate.

And reevaluate. ]

...Is that so.

[ His words escape him before he can stop himself, not because they're barbed, but because they're achingly earnest. He hates it. ]

I'll be looking forward to it, then. [ Ah, he's done it now. ]

[There's a chuckle of delight, short, but joyful nonetheless at his answer.]

Good! I'll make sure to remind myself so I won't forget!

[Iona probably won't forget about something like this. It's just the kind of person she is. There is something else they should be talking about though...]

Oh yeah! Any information you were able to scrape together about last night's fiasco?

[(Changing the subject for both of their sake? Maybe? It is the original purpose, but deep down the witch isn't pushing her luck...)

She breaks off a piece of the pain marguerite marveling at the shape before taking a bite.]

Like, the opera's definitely got an underground section right? Gus and I discovered that after all, but we didn't want to go any deeper.

[ The temptation here is to tell her to forget about it (more important things at hand), but the more he protests, the more she'll be likely to remember out of spite (projecting), so he leaves this well enough alone.

Playing along with the subject change, Claude reaches down to the rolled-up schematics of the opera that he'd commandeered, taking the most relevant one and laying it flat on his side of the table. ]

—Right, the operahouse. As you might have seen, there is, in fact, an underground segment of it. Far below the ground floor, there's a subterranean level connected to the sewer systems through a complicated network of tunnels and riverwater from the Seine.

[ He points it out as a spiderweb of lines that fragment in the lower levels of the map. ]

Presumably to make equipment easier to carry to the building during construction. It hasn't been used since, and was largely thought to be obsolete... until now, I suppose. It's not the safest place to be, and much of the technology that'd been used to control the flow of water should be outdated. More traps than conveniences.

Edited 2016-09-12 00:26 (UTC)

[Iona traces her fingers across the map and then down to the where the lower levels are pictured, studying it as carefully as she can.]

Our special someone has probably made some use of it... And when you combine superstitious theater types, he's probably been moving around and doing a lot of shadowy work.

[She finishes off her bread piece and takes the paper so that it's facing her way.]

That's just my guess anyways.

[Is it really Iona?]

He may be building something. I've heard that more than a few construction materials that are couriered down the river have gone missing in the past few months, though it's all been attributed to carelessness.

[ Could it be that the Phantom is building some sort of weird mech?? Mecha-Christine?????

Anything is possible in Steampunk France, though. If he can't have the real thing, then who's to say that he's not trying to build a replica? Imbue it with her heart, her song?

Of course, Claude won't jump to conclusions. He takes a sip of his coffee. ]

Does this sort of thing excite you?

[ ok that's perhaps poor phrasing, but you know what he means ]

More traps you think? So if I did go any further, I'd probably be screwed.

[In response to his question, her response is a rather noncommittal gesture with her hand.]

What? The danger? The mystery? The anticipation that I may have to punch someone or something in the face?

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