sweethymns | OPEN RP POST SIX

[Dominique wants to flinch (some parts of Claude feel too similar such as the disappointment experienced from a young age and the damaging distance caused by a parental figure, especially one who could not deal with a child who could see all their imperfections and darkest parts).

There's an intensity to his gaze as he carefully watches Iona and Claude, mostly because he is observing the two of them, but also so he doesn't appear as distracted while he picks up the bits and pieces from the other man's mind. That's what usually flags down a telepath if they do not have an absolute focus on their surroundings.]

"Did you say anything weird to him?"

[Oh. Well.

Iona still had a connection to him and her voice, clear as crystal rings in his mind as she glances at him very briefly before bringing her attention back to Claude. And he replies without moving a muscle.]

"Not a word. He doesn't like me."

"He doesn't like a lot of people... Look I'm just going to assume it got a little awkward and..."

"On the other hand, he really likes you."

[The exchange between their minds occurs within less than several seconds, but the fluster blooms in Iona's expression, both from Claude saying he was about to leave and no thanks to Dom for his assertion. Her eyes widen and she blinks rapidly as if trying to gather her bearings before she replies to Claude.]

Out of my hair-... Oh, don't be like that!

[A third chair is pulled over and she plops herself down with her hands placed on her knees (scrunching up her skirt beneath the table out of nervousness at this situation involving the one man who was previously the most important person in her life and the other...)]

Oren hasn't even served you your usual yet. And uh, I wanted to ask you about how your week went and...

[She weakly gestures at Dominique.]

Aaaaand... I guess Dom made himself known.

[It's not like she was never going to talk about Dominique, it's just that there was no real good way to go about it and knowing the way that he was... Iona gives him another sideways glance, a knowing one that has been developed through prior years of interaction and closeness.]

... I sure did!

[Dominique puts his hands down, clapping them together before he rests one arm on the table and leans forward, smiling widely at the both of them; it's an expression akin to a person looking forward to the rest of their television drama, except in real life.

Look, no one said that Dominique didn't have a little bit of asshole in him.]

So how was your week Aubert? I'm sure Iona was looking forward to it!

"YOU TOTALLY KNOW HOW IT WENT BEFORE ME!!"

[He ignores that. He turns to Oren to call out to him.]

Oren? Get this man his usual and maybe some extra treats? Ah, something with matcha in the cake sounds appropriate for the occasion.

[Ah, green cake for someone who's green with...

Yes. Yes, he is playing around.]

[ Claude watches this all go on, and he does a great job of hiding how most of it bothers him. It's the sort of true neutral he assumes when he's three glasses of white wine into a cocktail party, the sort of polite disdain he wears when he introduces himself to everyone who wouldn't even bother acknowledging his existence if not for the fact that Gus was the one who invited him over.

He misinterprets Iona's fidgeting for some residual embarrassment that stems from residual affection for an old friend. She's entitled to it, of course, so his reaction is irrational.

He hates it. He never used to be so personally affected by who was cavorting around with who. ]

I feel outnumbered.

[ A thin smile, and he raises a brow. Perfectly cultured, with his back straight and his gift still in his pocket.

He tries to make pointed eye contact with Oren, to no avail. ]

Come now, my week can't be as interesting as the empty space of time you two spent away from one another. Surely you won't be rude and keep me from rubbernecking.

[Yeah, there's no depending on Oren, you're on your own Claude. The tall golem stiffly and silently serves everyone at the odd table without so much a blink or a word of acknowledgment.

Iona's uncharacteristically taking her given cup of lavender chamomile tea (it's deliberate, Oren is getting her to relax in his own way) and hiding behind to the rim to avoid a response while Dom is more than happy enough to answer in her place.]

Well, there's not that much to say. We're friends now and I haven't paid a visit in a long while.

I miss meeting interesting characters that pass through here. And you, believe it or not... [Dom grins into his own mug, taking another sip before continuing.]

... Are interesting. Even if you do try to hide it.

"You're pushing it..."

"I know, I know."

I bet Jackie's been bothering you to make regular visits too, right?

[Iona rolls her eyes and lightly shoves him in the shoulder with one hand and he just chuckles.]

[ Okay, what the fuck is going on here.

Claude frowns. Looks back and forth between Iona and Dom.

He finally settles his less-than-approving half-grimace at Iona, and opens his mouth. He sounds vaguely accusatory. ]

What have you told him about me?

[ HE'S NOT BUYING THIS CHARADE!!!!! WHAT IS GOING ON HERE ]

I've said nothing.

[Iona sounds firm about this. She takes another sip of her tea.]

He's just really good at guessing or maybe I'm just that predictable.

[She seems adamant on not giving a straight answer if only because in this case, this is Dominique's responsibility, NOT HERS]

[Someone here, on the other hand, is clearly enjoying himself. Dom is radiating some feisty energy on his end as it becomes apparent that Claude is catching onto something fishy (it's Dom, Dom is the shady and fishy boy).]

Yes, to both of those things she's said. I'm good at reading people. Hell, you could even call me an expert. Broadly speaking, it helps me get by.

Quick question though Aubert... [His smile turns into something grim under the surface.]

Do you think I'm normal?

[ Guess what Claude really hates: This. He drops his faux gentleman act altogether because he can't be assed to attempt politeness at this juncture, can't even muster the energy to pretend. ]

If you're part of Miss Oakes' clientele [ still keeping up the use of her surname, though; who is he even trying to kid? ], I'd wager that you're not what I would call a 'normal' human, no.

[ Which begs the question of what kind of abnormal Dom is. ]

I don't suppose you also have an arm or a leg that I could cut open for research purposes.

[ CLAUDE!!!!!!!!! ]

Edited 2018-11-21 11:31 (UTC)

[Whoops, there goes his smugness.]

What.

Already??

[Meaning, "He already wants to kill me?"]

[Iona lets out a heavy sigh and stands up.]

Alright, you two. I have to get back to work. You on the other hand... [She's looking pointedly at Dominique.]

You're taking responsibility for whatever comes next. And you... [Iona looks at Claude and there's a pause.]

... No sharp objects here. And thank for coming to visit me.

[And before either of them can have a chance to speak up, Iona is disappearing behind the counter and into the kitchen.]

[ Iona leaves, and the table pitches into awkward silence. Not awkward on Claude's end (he revels in the dead air, drinks it in), but awkward in principle. His eyes are pinpoint daggers, waiting to dig into Dom's secrets.

He's not happy.

Somehow he's the one to eventually speak up first, tongue barbed and words clipped. ]

What, pray tell, are you going to be taking responsibility for?

[ Do enlighten him, because he's going to be Mad. ]

[Ah, what a conundrum. Dom knows there's no one else to blame, but himself though. It's like clockwork really; even if he starts off on the right or wrong foot, there are usually only two outcomes when it comes down to the very blunt truth about himself.

He lifts up his mug again to sip some coffee but discovers he's already all out. Oren isn't going to refill for him in this sort of situation (the rock man said as much in his own mind). Sighing, he leans back his seat again as if bracing himself.]

Well. If you've been coming here long enough, you know most of the customers have a party trick or two.

[Strange and otherworldly powers so to speak. It's a feature of the Grind to attract those types really.]

I've got a pretty severe one.

Edited 2018-11-28 05:32 (UTC)

[A warm puff of breath emits between Marianna's lips as a thin wisp of air.]

... Would you look at that? The weather matches how I feel for once.

[She refers to the glittering snow falling in the evening that is illuminated by the soft glow of weathered down lampposts that line the streets of an eerie city, reminiscent of a Victorian urban sprawl, but altogether different. It was a world pieced together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that happened to fit (the dreariness of Gothic style, the feminine curves of Noveau, the sharpness of Art Deco, all twisted, always something off) but created an entirely different image that deviated from their end result. If one had asked Monts why she decided to explore this dreary world instead of playing it safe and enjoying the snowless and less sharp chill of the western coasts, she wouldn't have given a satisfactory answer. Curiosity. Spontaneity. Boredom. A combination of all three. But mainly, she went because there was someone else who was accompanying her tonight.

Dressed in a dark fur-lined cloak and a warm dark dress that matches the aesthetic of the area, Monts turns to her traveling companion with her usual charming smile.]

Can you imagine? I think this is only the second or third time I've experienced snowy weather.

[Simon's bowblade rustles against his back and he steps evenly through the crisp snow. It's dreadfully cold, and gloved hands reach up to tug his collar of his long dark hunter's coat upwards, burying his chin briefly into the barely-there warmth of his attire. His breath catches and becomes visible in the air.]

Matches how you feel... and what's that? Cold and dreary?

[Some things transcend his own transformation from human to not human. The driest subtle touch of sarcasm is one of them, though it's hardly edged in anything ill. This place sings against his nerves, sets them oddly on edge in its surrealism.]

This place reminds me of Cainhurst. A castle stained with the blood of its slaughtered residents. A mausoleum of the past. [Which begs the question-] Why did we come here? The air feels strange.

[There are other residents, all heavily cloaked and going about their business and eying the duo with suspicion, but some instinct kept them at a distance. For the time being, they were innocuous and harmless travelers, just passing through.

Monts looks up at Vincent with a bemused look that always appears when he alludes to or expresses his bloody past experiences. When he asks her, she gives a light shrug.]

I actually felt like I had to come. Somehow. Like... This place was a magnet.

[Her "flower" buzzed under her skin when the door from the Grind opened up and they had peeked outside. Monts rubs her cheeks, warming them up as she thoughtfully continues.]

Do you feel it too? This place feels like it's a balancing act and it's barely holding itself together. Maybe there's something out there that's similar to what we are.

[And then she smiles even more brightly at him.]

Also, I wouldn't have gone if you weren't with me. I'm counting this as a date that I asked you out on.

…Yes. I do feel it.

[It makes something in his paleblood coil and vibrate, thrumming just under the surface of his skin. Eyes pressed forward along the snowy road, he ignores the residents’ wary and weary looks alike. His welcome was a far colder one in Yharnam; this is nothing. And they, in so many ways, are nothing to him.]

But many things call to me. This does not mean that they’re all worthy of visiting, nor safe.

[He turns his head to look at her, lifting a single brow that can barely be seen beneath the shadow of a tricorn hat.]

You have a very strange sense of romance if you consider this a date, Monts. Yet at this point, I’ve just conceded to the fact that you’re just the sort to tease a man about dates and affection, without there being much weight behind either.

... Well!

[She looks mildly surprised at this remark. In all honesty, Vincent wasn't the person she would think of when it came to figuring out her game. It makes her let out a disbelieving chuckle, muffling it with the back of her hand as they make their way down the paved stone path.]

Hah. I can't believe you actually called me out.

[Monts shakes her head causing some snowflakes to sift through the strands of her fine hair. The cold is supposed to be biting, but she supposes it's her insensitivity to pain that allows her to endure this otherworldly winter.]

I am pretty insincere, I'll give you that.

[But everything else about her is so heavy.]

But I like to call it "levity" instead. And it doesn't change the fact that I'm actually glad I met you and I do want to be here.

[...Ah, well. Called out or no, she's turned it around and made it into a sincere sort of flattery, and that is something that Vincent reacts to. Mostly by pushing his look forward once more as they walk, snow crunching beneath boot.]

I could say the same, I suppose. [His human sensibilities were once very skewed towards propriety, not counting the times Vincent was cut in the color of blood during his hunt. During the endless dreaming and waking and nightmares. His old life -- so long ago, it feels -- still lives with him, like a dead carcass that sometimes stirs.]

I do like your levity, though, don't mistake my comment for otherwise. Like wisps of clouds marching around your body, while the rest of you is made of stone.

[But the eldritch part of him makes him say things the human side never would. Two halves intermingling and making him strange to speak with, even stranger to be around. Like the world tilts just a little too sharply on an incline, being near Vincent.]

Whatever we find here, it'll likely be sleeping. These things usually are.

Edited 2018-12-06 06:56 (UTC)

[She's started to notice the strangeness of his speech now that they are outside the warmth of the cafe. That inhuman side lingering beneath the surface seems to expose itself more when out in the chill of this wintry place. Monts finds that she doesn't mind it although her whole being is on alert. As for her...?

... She doesn't know.

Is she thinking with her body or with her mind?

The thought troubles her. She continues to speak trying not to sink into self-consciousness.]

Do you think you're "sleeping" right now in a sense? Since we established before that you aren't supposed to be in a human body, but something not that pretty.

[With a comment like that, she's the same as ever.

Is she? A cloud of doubt looms like the darkness of the sky above them.]

... You know, I wanted to talk with you more outside of my usual place because... I thought you might understand where I'm coming from.

Neither of us is what we appear and... I don't know. [There's an uncharacteristic sigh of frustration.] I've started thinking about this ever since I met you and how... I talk about how I'm separate from what's inside me, but recently I've been thinking that's not the case.

[Is he asleep? The part of him that isn't human. The whole of him, really, as it should be -- this body should only be a shell, but a human form begets human tendencies. Begets human thought. Wearing old skin is still strangely comfortable, even if he knows it's far too small for what he had become.

Her question would be strange to any other man. Not to Vincent.]

I don't know. I should be sleeping, in my faraway dream. But I still feel present here. Awake in this form, very much aware of time flowing in one direction. And you don't know what I'm supposed to look like; maybe I'm very "pretty" regardless.

[He's a baby slug, so probably not. Still, he looks at her again, over the rise of his high collar.]

So... you mean you do not think you're asleep, either? That you're whole as you are?

Something... Something like that.

[There's a pause. There are many lampposts that line the path they're on, leading to a bridge and they flicker as if they're some sort of muted form of life. The uneven light creates patterns across her face.]

... Twice.

[Marianna's eyes darken as she turns her back to Vincent to lean her arms against the iron railing staring into the black water. She can't see her reflection.]

I've "died" twice, I'm sure of it. But I end up whole again because I... It... "We..."

... Whatever I am, I know I just don't like pain. I won't ever die. I'm not a taker, but I know I'd take a life if it meant I would keep existing.

[Because the "flower" has attached itself to this skin, it is fiercely protective of it. By itself, it would not have any strength or means to wholly exist. For the longest time, Marianna Medina would call it a separate creature. The line between "Flower" and "Marianna" is supposed to be crystal clear. Now she's frozen in the face of the realization that she stands there, a combination of two very wrong things.]

So it's not a matter of whether I'm awake or not. I think I've been in denial and still am. [She takes another deep breath and the air she creates disappears into the night.]

This is the most honest I've ever been, you know? Because knowing what you are beneath the surface, I don't think I would have been able to keep it to myself for long.

[He stops at the crest of the bridge, just looking at her back as she stands against the railing, cast against uneven shadow. Vincent’s brow pinches, and he allows himself a slow exhale — fogged breath coils up, reaching just above his hat before it disappears into the night air.]

It hardly sounds much like denial to me, Miss Monts. It appears that you know exactly what you are — just afraid to accept it.

[He steps forward, pressing gloved hands against the railing, peering down into dark water. His own reflection is just a blearily half-formed thing staring back up at him.]

In any case, some say Great Ones are purveyors of truth. The deepest, most unnatural kind. Careful you don’t spend too long in my presence else you go mad.

[He looks at her, offering a small smile; his turn at levity, or some attempt at it.]

What’s so wrong about being what you are? Other than I’m not sure that half of you likes me very much.

... I don't know if it's wrong.

[Blue-green eyes look back at Vincent before one gloved hand idly reaches up to remove some snow from the side of his face.]

It just feels lonely I guess. Is it possible I'm already just crazy by following you around?

Edited 2018-12-06 22:17 (UTC)

Following me around? You’re the one dragging me to and fro, you understand.

[He moves the clasp gloved hands behind his back, faintly smiling, but with faraway consideration. The admission of loneliness is a heavy one, for a singular person in a vast universe — relating to no one or nothing.

Vincent wonders if he should feel that way, too, or if his mind is too vast of a thing to care any longer. The human part of him, maybe, could relate better.]

You’re not alone. The universe is large, and there are many like you. Like us.

[A beat.]

Do you seek others like yourself? Would you want to? Barring me, of course; I was just strange coincidence.

OPEN RP POST SIX

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sɪʟᴇɴᴛʟʏ, ᴄᴏʟᴅʟʏ

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