sweethymns | OPEN RP POST SIX

Oh.

... Oh, yeah. Refrigerators don't exist... Damn it...

[She crosses her arms at him huffily.]

How can I make a bacon sandwich if I don't have the things for it then mister?? And also, must I list all the debilitating diseases that come with malnutrition to you again??

[He's a Servant, his limits are not human!! Still, she's right about the last part.]

... Of course. We are a team as you say.

[Sen is not his king. But that's not the point, so much as their relationship is Master and Servant, not king and steward.]

My limits aren't as dire as you make it sound, however. That being said... I will take care of myself just like you should be aware of yourself; all for the sake of supporting each other.

Edited 2018-09-20 04:30 (UTC)

[It's never a dull day in alternate 1879.

Time had passed between Iona J. Oakes, her golem, and the Aubert brothers, from visits to her beloved Midnight Grind and then to Paris, one of the few back and forths the witch made consistently to her own surprise. She's aware of her tendency to get attached and affectionate towards anyone who she became friends with, but something else had flourished, more than she had anticipated. There were so many things that mattered to her, but she had found that someone whose hand she wanted to grab, to run away with, and to show all manners of wonders and awe they had yet to explore together.

Her mettle and resolve had been put to the test; agonizing questions and logical fallacies that she had to face head-on if she were to pursue this path. Obstacles of the physical, mental, and emotional kind had strained Iona's heart and had made her wonder if she could truly change anything for the better. The scars of a bloodline were not meant to be healed by others, a dirty business that could only bring more heartache. But still, she endured wanting to prove that there was meaning in everything they had gone through, that there was another path in an entirely different direction; not only for her own sake, but for...

❂❂❂

Iona sits on a rooftop of the apartment building she had been staying in every time she and Oren visited the Aubert brothers. The smell of ash had lessened over the week, but from her height, she can still see some smoke in the far-off distance of some ruined buildings. The witch nurses a large mug of chamomile tea in her lap, letting out a heavy sigh, bringing the mug to her lips.]

Turf wars and magic do not mix.

[It's a long story.

Oren, for the first time in a long while, returned to her grandmother's side to be repaired after the extent of damage that had been done in the resulting aftermath of their involvement in the city and its longstanding feuds. She was alone. It was an odd feeling, knowing she would not see him for a week and a strange sense of unease with the freedom of having to look after herself. In a way, Iona continued to be in the process of recovering from what seemed like a world crashing down on her to somehow making out of it okay. She didn't lose anyone this time. She was alive.

And she knew who was important to her.

The Parisian sky transitions from a peachy-orange sunset to a darkened blue sky, with just a hint of starlight, managing to peek through the smoke and clouds of that day. Iona sits and waits. She waits and hopes.]

... Oh, who am I kidding?

[She pulls up her legs and wraps her arms around them, burying her face in her knees.]

Even after all of this, he'll probably laugh at me.

[The witch really hopes that nothing else crashes down around her if she's going to go through with her delivery. ]

[ Claude Aubert, they say, has a heart of stone. He's carved from marble, congenial in a way that only affects the surface of his smooth exterior; when he smiles, the emotion begins and ends at the curve of his lips. A learned behavior, passed down from another hand— if anyone asks about the state of his personal distance with everyone and anyone, he'd refer them to his better, more exuberant half-sibling for lessons in affection.

"I'm your doctor," is his excuse. "It wouldn't do for me to be distressed should my assistance ever prove to be insufficient."

(the thinly-veiled implication that he deals in life or death is enough of a turn-off to most.)

What most people don't know, however, is that stone can warm over. With enough patience and firepower, even marble yields and fissures; it flakes, revealing the uneven underbelly, the hidden patterning.

Claude Aubert never stood a chance against Iona Oakes, who bleeds and burns as brightly as the sun.

So he's here, after a month fraught with ill-advised infighting. Some of his favorite arrondissements are in tatters, caught in the crossfire of territorial bickering ending in mass injuries and inconvenience; his phone's been ringing nonstop for balms and salves and splints, but he's taken the afternoon off.

Is it unprofessional of him to take a break for a personal visit? Probably, but he's beyond caring.

Polished shoes tap on reinforced roofing, and Claude shows up exactly on time. Not a minute or second out of place, even if his mussed hair and slightly crooked tie speak to the fact that he did, in fact, speedwalk his way on over. ]

Oh, I don't doubt that I will.

[ He heard that, Iona. Oh, ye of little faith.

He smiles, anyway. ]

No need to look so glum. You've seen worse, haven't you?

[His voice startles her, causing her shoulders to sharply jump in surprise as she whips around to look at him with her tea mug still covering her lips.

When things were normal (in a manner of speaking) between them, Iona's usual reaction towards Claude Aubert would have been a perk in expression, a light in her eyes, a smile, and an impudently cheerful greeting to spar with his snideness and self-loathing. Instead, she regards him with an uncharacteristic reservedness with averted eyes and a pout.

("What am I going to say? How am I going to say it? It feels like it'll hurt, I don't want to be hurt, I don't want to hurt him, I don't want to let go, I don't...")]

I've seen worse, but I think being involved with a citywide catastrophe is a first for me.

[She's still young. There are so many ways to screw up badly as her years march on as a witch.]

...

[A pause hangs between them when it's usually filled with the witch being insistent on his company. It's awkward. She coughs and pats an empty spot next to her.]

Can you sit with me?

[She asks this time, undemanding.]

[ "Oh." He thinks. "Here it comes. The goodbye."

It makes sense, in his mind, that she'd split while the damage is still minimal; it makes even more sense, considering the trajectory of their still very-short conversation. The equation that Claude draws up is as follows:

"I've seen worse, but this is a first" -> "And I honestly don't think I can keep doing this" -> "I want you to sit down because this is hard for me to say" -> "Goodbye, and have a good life."

He should have known, he should have known.

Outwardly, he doesn't reveal anything of what he's feeling (a cocktail of disappointment and resignation and a tablespoon of heartbreak, mixed with anger, garnished with something indescribable and painful)— he only shrugs, pats down his pant legs, and starts to take a seat. ]

Is this a precaution? I won't go anywhere until you finish, you have my word.

[ Breezy. Already guarded, judging by the set of his shoulders. ]

Speak your mind. You usually don't need my permission.

Good.

[Claude should know better. The moment he takes his seat, Iona shifts and rotates herself so that that her back is leaning against his shoulder and arm. Her voluminous hair cushions her as she makes herself comfortable.]

Then I don't need permission for this either.

[ Well, that's. Unexpected, but not entirely unpleasant.

There's a beat or two of dead air, occupied by the sound of wailing from a distance. ]

...I suppose not. [ He raises a brow. ] Though I can't imagine that this is comfortable.

Before, maybe not.

[Iona moves so that the small of her back fits against his.]

I've been comfortable with you for a long time now. I thought you noticed?

—To some extent, yes. I've always felt it was misguided.

[ Snippy. He regrets it as soon as it comes out of his mouth, so he chews over his words and makes an addendum. ]

I wouldn't have let you do this before, you know.

[There is a low hum of agreement in response to Claude. It's so strangely peaceful and Iona basks in the moment with more clarity than she usually has. ]

This is what they call, "growing up" I guess. But I like this direction.

[Another pause. She says the next sentence more shyly, yet sincerely.]

I like you.

[It comes out easily enough because she's said as much many times before to him even though he kept that affirmation at a distance. She says it now to be truthful again and to test the waters; see where they are after all they've been through. ]

[ Iona's hair tickles at his neck, rests softly under his chin and warms the space between his ear and jaw. She smells like sunshine and baked goods; such a sharp contrast to everything about this city, with all its grease and cogs and wheels.

There's something about her that feels precious. Raw. Like reaching inside a machine and finding a robin's egg; a vibrant life nestled between moving parts.

He doesn't deserve her, he thinks, even when she says that she likes him. Even so, he breathes a half-chuckle through his nose. ]

Do you?

[ It scares him, that she's so genuine. He can reject her, and she'd still tell him that she likes him— it makes him afraid of hurting her.

Still, he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. ] I appreciate that you're audacious enough to say so.

[ Translation: "I like you too". ]

Edited 2018-09-21 11:44 (UTC)

Well. [A light laugh and she leans on him a little more. If she doesn't, it may not happen again.]

You know me.

[If Iona hadn't spent nearly all of her time with him in the past year or so, she may have assumed he was just being himself; evasive and untouchable. But this time, she understands and her heart quickens in its beat.]

"Audacious" is my middle name.

[Iona lets out a soft sigh as if contented. There had been too many close calls before and it felt like a miracle, being able to be in this present moment. With him. She idly says a thought aloud as she looks ahead at the scenery in front of them.]

... You know? If I fell asleep here right now, I wouldn't mind it. I'm bushed.

What about you? You had appointments all day today. You tired?

[See, and so it should be a lot more straightforward. He should be allowed to just...relax, as she would put it. Master and Servant has a different kind of relationship, where she rather not be put on a higher pedestal when she is also dependent on him.]

Indeed. I may fret...ah, perhaps worse than you, even. [JOKES.] But I do it because I wish for you to relax around me. I will admit, I rather like it when you worry over me, because you are a caring person. [So it's nice.

Anyway that was embarrassing to admit so she hides under the covers and feigns sleep.]

[In a way, Bedivere can still sense that she's awake as their bond is something that's alive and constantly humming with the life that they share between them.

It's been an odd beginning, this Master and Servant relationship. Cautious, bumbling steps, but a more pleasant relationship than expected. And he actually even enjoyed himself, more often than not.]

... Sweet dreams then, Master.

[His own wishes were complex, tied up with his past and his dutybound heart towards his king. And yet, he wishes at that moment, for nothing more than the best for Sen.]

[An absolutely fake, that's what she is, when she's doing this "sleep" here. But she hears him, can feel his thoughts and it's soft. It's almost like he did ease up, just a little.

They're taking those little steps, for certain. She's sure that this is one of those moments. The more time spent, the more they'll get to know each other, and she wants him to be more than just her comrade, but someone she can truly call a friend, and someone incredibly precious. She has a feeling that he deserves that.

A tiny smile appears on her lips, under the covers. But she thinks to herself, that once she wakes up, even if she had no dream, at least she'll be seeing Bedivere again.

Also because she actually wakes up early so that's going to be something.]

[ She leans, and he sits up straighter to accommodate. He's never done this before with anyone but Gus, and even Gus has a hard time accepting that Claude lets Gus get away with more than he should; Claude's never known reciprocity until Iona demanded it of him.

He's tired, with half a dozen mishaps under his belt in the past month. But with Iona nestled against him, he feels less alone. ]

—Yes.

[ There's his small admission for the day: he, too, is human. But he doesn't dwell on it for too long, because he closes his eyes and shifts to make sure that Iona can stay where she is for as long as she's comfortable. ]

Not to mention that I'll have to take apart more than a few cadavers over the next few days to figure out causes of suspicious deaths. [ morbid. ] Do try to humor me for at least a few more minutes. You'll be the last living person I'll be talking to for a while.

[That causes her to laugh a little as she stretches her hands in front of herself.]

You're going to be paying attention to them more than me? I'm almost a little miffed.

Just a little though. You can make it up to me by resting at the cafe.

[A pause and she adds.]

... If you're able and if you want to. Of course.

[She's been trying to lessen the forcefulness in her personality, not wanting to unwillingly drag him into her gravity.]

Oren's going to be out of commission for a while so it'll be just me. And Monts sometimes. But mostly me.

[Although she's settled down and sitting still, there is a restless energy beneath the surface. She steadies herself with her hands by her side.]

I'll be around for a long while yet.

["I still want to be here. I still want to be with you."

It's an unspoken reassurance.]

[ Try as she might, she'll never be able to turn off her pull. It's absolutely absurd to Claude that he's gotten caught in her orbit, and more absurd still that the only time he feels secure is when he's lost and blindsided by Iona.

She surprises him in ways he can't articulate, and he's learned to love that about her.

Crazy.

When the rejection never comes and he's hit with a gentle invitation instead ("I'll be around"), Claude takes a second to watch smoke billow in the distance from fire to sky.

He takes a deep breath.

Laughs. ]

I've never heard anything more ominous.

[ —A slight lean, and a flutter of fingertips at Iona's chin. ]

...You'll leave my table open for me, won't you?

[ His lips brush her ear, featherlight. ]

I won't sit anywhere else.

[ "I wouldn't want to go anywhere else." ]

[Oh. Oh my.

It's incredibly new and yet familiar at the same time; Claude, just him, being near him, and being with him was all that she wanted this whole time and yet she's completely unprepared for it, having been too doubtful of it before. There had been too many, questions of why, how, and when, but after all, they had been through the past month, the answer was crystal clear.

No matter what, through rain or shine, through thick and thin, or to hell and back, Iona wants to be there with and for Claude. Her magical and long-lived nature be damned; life is made of smaller moments and within those, she knows she could lose everything if she lived a life of denial. Iona's heart is always set to burst and overflow with no direction, but understanding where he had come from and just progressing through their daily lives with one another?

He keeps her on her toes without spoiling her. She loves that about him.

That said, her eyes widen when he's so close to her and she can feel a warmth shoot through her cheeks and up her spine way too readily.]

Whoa!

[While Iona seems to be a force of nature, it's the little gestures and gentle touches that can topple her over. The trace of his fingers under her chin and his words dancing lightly on the edge of her ear, it's almost too much. It's an overwhelming show of affection that confirms more than enough. Her hand finds its way to his and she turns around to fully face him and her fingers thread and intertwine with Claude's.]

H-Hey! Of course, I'll keep that table open. You're always welcome and... Um.

Damn. [Even with her dark complexion, it's easy to tell she's burning up. Her words start rushing out like a flood with excited and nervous energy.]

This is the part where I say the embarrassing things, isn't it? Like how... I like you? Like. I really, really, like you. Way too much to be healthy and we both knew it, but um...!!

[ This is embarrassing, he thinks. Not once in his life has he ever heard the words "I like you" in the context of someone being sincere; not even from the people who birthed him, not even from the people who raised him.

He never wants to admit that chip on his shoulder, but it's there. Iona fills it in without a second thought, and the feeling suffocates him like a sweet vice; it makes him pause for a second to catch his breath.

If he didn't know better (he doesn't), he'd say he was nervous. ]

—Yes. In my professional opinion, this is very unhealthy.

[ With the hand that isn't twined with Iona's, he puts a palm to Iona's forehead. Facetious, he checks her temperature. ]

You're burning up, as well. You must have caught something— how tragic.

[ He leans even closer, and he's trying to hide his own half-flush by letting the setting sun light him from the back. ]

...It also seems highly contagious. [ He hums, before pressing his lips to hers. ]

[She lets out a jittery laugh, but before she can answer, he doesn't give her a chance to fill the space between them with more words (but for a second, just a brief one, she thought she caught a hint of color in his expression).

The distance is closed. He kisses her first and her eyes widen in surprise (in a way, she thought she'd end up doing it first), but not long after, she reciprocates gently. Her lips softly sigh over his, as if finally satisfied and truly content. Maybe, for the moment, words were unneeded.

Sitting up on her knees, Iona's hands move to his shoulders before drawing away from him. She's practically glowing and it wouldn't be a great shock if she just burst into fireworks from sheer happiness. She holds up a finger, shaking it, not to reprimand, but...]

I'm... That. I definitely wanted to do that for a while. And... [She beams at him.]

I would like to do more of in the future. If you'll have me! Because after that, there's no way I'm letting you go.

[So she declares boldly, but she does so with a rare shyness.]

[ It's funny— Claude knows that Iona is so much stronger than him, that she's an entity far beyond his reach, that she'll outlive him by decades and centuries. If he didn't want to hurt her, he probably should have played dumb.

But here she is. Glowing, with her hands braced on his shoulders. Happy.

It would be so easy to turn this situation on its head (he's twisted enough that he knows what to say, how to tank this and himself), but for once...

...he lets himself bask. Even if, you know.

He ruins it by being a smartass. ]

—Do try to slow down. I'm a gentleman, I'll have you know. [ A mock-sniff, as if she's actually offended his 19th century sensibilities. ] Slow and steady wins the race.

[ Says the man who's pressing another kiss to Iona's exposed collarbone. ]

Hey!

[It's not so much a protest against him; more like she knows he's just being playfully glib to distract her from what predicting his next actions towards her are going to be. Iona couldn't have foreseen Claude reciprocating her feelings for him in such a manner as if it's his own way of revealing the floodgate of what had been on his mind.

Had she been unprepared? A little (a lot).

Iona squeezes her eyes shut and shivers when he gives her collarbone attention; it's quick and smooth and she wrinkles her nose jokingly at him before sitting back down on her bottom, pushing a finger against his lips and quips at him.]

Okay, I gotta ask. Is this some form of payback for all the times I embarrassed you?

OPEN RP POST SIX

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𝖣𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖨 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌

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1/2

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