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[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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[infusion]

[Thank god for jeans because it's helping Iona maneuver her way past people as she makes her way inside with Claude. Stepping inside, her eyes gaze in awe at the lovely interior and she makes a circle in order to give herself a 360 degree view of the area.

At Claude's warning, she rolls her eyes and lowers her voice into a quiet, but witty reply of a whisper.]

The only thing I'm gonna break open are the books, Claude.

[A beat. Then she covers her mouth with one hand, whispering even lower to Claude so that her voice doesn't reverberate.

Maybe in a corner where no one will notice a floating book, right?

Got any story on phantoms?

[pragnanz]

[ Note to self: take lessons in ventriloquism and master the art of talking without moving one's lips. Claude conveniently steps to a nearby shelf and angles his chin down, casting his face in shadow so he can speak under his breath without anyone looking too suspicious. ]

I'll look for the books, and you find an alcove to sit in.

I'll cover you.

[ lewd... ]

[infusion]

[Are you trying to tell her to sit still Claude, really?? Although she is one to protest and it shows on her face with the way she purses her lips and crosses her arms, and taps her foot... But surprisingly, she lets it go without a fight.]

Okay, okay. I'll try not to make too much noise.

[wow incredibly lewd]

[pragnanz]

Next time, you can pose as my date.

[ THIS IS A JOKE... TRULY.......... BELIEVE HIM. He says it as snidely as he can manage, which isn't as snidely as he would have, even a few days ago. What a disaster.

He breathes though his teeth, and moves to put his jacket on one of the nearest cozy corners so someone doesn't mistakenly move to sit on Iona on her perch. Not on his watch, Satan. ] Be good, now.

1/2

[infusion]

[Again, date?? Twice in a day?? Iona just stares at him...]

[infusion]

[And she looks away trying not to look affected. She sinks into the spot Claude saved for her, running her hand through her hair, suspiciously looking pleased? Or at least mildly so.]

Don't take too long, or I'll start whistling!

[pragnanz]

[ Do you ever play yourself: the life. Claude does his level best to look away from Iona after he sees the edges of contentment seep into her expression, letting his hands busy themselves with adjusting his collar and tie.

I'll be back in a minute, he says, before quickly disappearing into the throng of books and archaic equipment, into the archives where he fishes for records of orphanages and births happening around the operahouse within the past 30 years or so. Those are the dry books he'll skim through, the ones that don't exactly spur imagination— the records he brings back for Iona are the ones with more of a story to them, old newspapers and handwritten stories of a boy with a sad voice who lives in the sewers.

When he comes back, Claude sits down so that he covers Iona from any passersby, leaving her free to pick up the books without worry. ]

Oh good, you're still here.

[infusion]

[When he comes back, he'll find her with her phone in her hands (it's weird, there's technically no signal, but she had received a text from Solomon before she had left her room).]

I'm not gonna ditch you, not when this is our first time out together by ourselves.

[She glances at the newspapers as she sets the phone in her lap.]

Well, that's more than enough to work with. Eerie too really...

[Iona takes one of the papers skimming through it before going back to the beginning to read the lines carefully. As she does so, without redirecting her gaze at Claude, she asks rather casually.]

Are you familiar with anyone called Raoul by any chance? He's got a fancy title... Like a viscount...?