sweethymns | ᴊɪɴɢʟᴇ ʙᴇʟʟ ʀᴏᴄᴋ

[ Guess what En's doing today— or, well, guess what En's been doing for the past 30 minutes under this cursed mistletoe, stuck there and forced to wait thanks to some unknown power that he can't pinpoint or break free from.

He's gone through all the stages of frustration, flown past aggravation, and finally settled into resignation. Sitting on the ground with his knees drawn up, he grumbles at nothing and no one in particular.

Whoever put magic mistletoe on the awning of the entrance leading into the Midnight Grind is going to get a very angry letter from En later!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ]

[Death awaits.

Or rather, it is one Marianna "Monts" who walks up to the Nue and stands before him, arms crossed and looking Too Amused to even be mildly concerned.]

En.

[Is that a smug smile? It's probably smug.]

Are you hungry?

[And yes, she is deliberately ignoring the mistletoe. For now.]

[ God, En hates it that Monts is still pretty even when she's making him mad for being smug. He makes no secret of the fact that he's sulking, with one long finger in the dirt drawing pointless patterns by his foot. ]

Hungry.

Cold.

Pissed.

[ He was so proud when he learned that word— it applies to him about 65% of the time. ]

Your fault? All of this. [ Gesturing to his general... everything. What kind of rude prank is this!!!! ]

Nope.

[She squats down so she's at his level and letting her hands rest on her knees.]

Should I say it's my fault so that you feel better? Not that I mind seeing you pout.

[This is the most blatant bullying she's done in a while to him.]

[ Now he's drawing a crude picture of Monts on the ground. When he's done, he pettily swipes it clean with one palm. ]

You'd make me mad.

[ As if. Here's the proof that he's not actually too irate (not anymore): his voice doesn't take on that unpleasant ringing that it does when he's really not in control of his emotions.

As a nue, he tries his hardest not to weaponize his words. Especially not around Monts. ]

Stupid. Really stupid. 'm not a dog. Why'd you make me sit and stay?

[There's a rise of a brow and a click of the tongue when she sees what he drew before erasing it. As for the quality of his voice, Monts can feel the edge to it, but it's blunt and non-threatening. She understands very well that he tries very hard to control it.]

It really isn't my fault. Do you know what mistletoe is?

[She points to the plant hovering above them.]

Around this time of year, they always appear and as you can tell, they're irritating. It's hard to get rid of them since they're like... The weed of the holidays if that makes sense.

[ He's waaaay too Japanese for this, which means En shakes his head and looks up at the plant, as if staring hard enough will make it whither. ]

Harmless?

[ They sound like gremlins-turned-foliage; he squints, suddenly suspicious. ]

How d'you get rid of 'em?

[Monts looks.

Shocked.]

[Why must he do this to her... This is too easy. This is a bit much. The shock on her face settles into something uncharacteristically shy while making a side glance.]

Um. Yeah. They're harmless for the most part.

They really don't have mistletoe in Japan??

[ En, formerly formless, still occasionally has a hard time with interpreting subtle changes in expression. He watches as Monts shifts from surprise to trepidation, and wonders if it's something that he said, or— ]

—That bad?

[ "For the most part," she said. He wrinkles his nose, slightly concerned. ]

Never heard of it. 'f it's bad, 's fine. You don't gotta deal with it.

Alright. That explains enough.

[There's another seemingly long pause. Monts isn't one to be shy for long so after nodding to herself, she drops the question.]

So. En.

In the 800 years you've lived, have you ever been kissed or has anyone kissed you?

Edited 2018-12-12 06:11 (UTC)

[ ????? ]

[ ????????? ]

? Didn't have a mouth for a couple hundred years.

[ ohhhhh boy ]

—Oh. Humans kissed me lots. When I was a cat. [ en!! ]

En.

[That Smile is back again. Monts is leaning forward.]

That doesn't count.

[ Hmm. He's suddenly somewhat offended by this??? He pouts, like a child who's being told that he can't do something. ]

Why not. Still counts. A kiss is a kiss. Even if it was on the nose.

[ Hmph!! ]

'm not a baby. Never needed to kiss anyone, anyway. Isn't that supposed to be.

Mm.

'Important'?

[One hand is used to rest her cheek against it as she sighs almost dreamily at En. He's so hopeless and that's what's endearing about him to her.]

Well. You're not wrong. The timing for it should be ideal. Sometimes people are bad at finding the right moment for it.

[Her eyes glint at him playfully.]

Better now than never, right?

[ He's still crouched, eyes fixed on Monts as if to gauge whether or not she's just teasing him the way she always does. ]

...Hn. Know what you're gonna do.

Gonna make me flush. Then you're gonna back out. Just wanna see me disappointed, 's all.

Oooh?

[Bad move En, her voice takes on an even more teasing tone if possible.]

If you think you're going to be disappointed, then does that mean you've actually been thinking about it?

[ Oh, now he's really puffing. Red around the tips of his ears, bristling subtly like a cat who's had its tail stepped on. ]

Maybe?

You're pretty. 'm not blind.

[ He's strangely honest about this, even if he's not quite sure what the implications behind his words are. All he knows is that he feels what he feels. ]

Does it matter? You think I'm a kid. A big dumb yokai.

[Her features soften upon hearing his sincere response. There's a strange, but not an unpleasant sensation that envelopes her insides as Monts takes in his words and his expressions and it only takes her a second to recognize it as fondness. She's so fond of him, she wonders if it's safe for either of them.

There's a short exhale as Monts runs one hand through her hair.]

Well... I'll cut to the chase.

[She points at the mistletoe.]

There's a western Christmas tradition involving mistletoe. The long and short of it is that if two people find themselves standing underneath it, they're supposed to kiss.

[A shrug.]

And usually, it's not magic, so you have a choice whether to follow through or not. But you know... I wouldn't mind it.

[Another short pause before she asks with a surprising amount of hesitation.]

Would you?

[ En is never sure what to make of Monts. He's not sure if she just wants to rattle his cage, if she wants to be kind or if she's afraid of letting herself be kind because of what she houses in her human frame. He knows about her 'monster', knows what it does to her, and he wonders sometimes when he thinks about her if she's afraid of it.

He's concluded that she's probably more afraid of it than he is of her. Which is to say, he's not afraid of her at all— he's more annoyed, really, when she does this to him. Makes him uncertain, that is.

So he pouts again. Looks to the side, like a dog that's had its food bowl taken away.

It only lasts for a second, before he's pulling his lips into a wide grin. ]

Nn.

[ 'No', in a single hum. ]

Teach me.

[ Again, blunt and honest. ]

[For Monts, above her hidden fears about herself and what it means to be synthesized with a creature of unknown origins, when it comes to people she cares about, people he loves... They are few and far between. Over time, En had become one of those people. There was something about him she didn't want to tarnish even with her coquettish ways.

When he openly puts himself out there for her and gives her nothing short of honesty, there's a sigh of relief. Her squatting position shifts so that she can sit on her knees instead.]

Alright, alright.

[One hand reaches out to cup his face and her thumb strokes his cheekbone affectionately.]

If you want me to stop, let me know okay?

[ Too many years spent being formless and alone have made him just as curious about touch as he is about speech. He reacts to the fingers along his skin with just the slightest hint of a shiver, a careful narrow of his eyes, but ultimately? He adjusts.

It's true— he wants Monts to teach him, but he didn't think about how all of this would necessitate them being so close. He feels his cheeks warm under her touch, but he doesn't pull away. ]

'Kay.

[ A low mumble, and he scoots closer. He can't seem to decide what he wants to do with his hands, so he puts one on Monts' knee before looking uncertain. Is this... fine...??? ]

...You have nice eyes. [ awkward ]

[She's heard that line before. It's given to her almost thoughtlessly by people who pass through the cafe and people she's been on dates with who have seen only her surface but are unsuccessful at finding a way to reach her heart. They'll give her pretty words sometimes even out of discomfort because they can't place what is wrong with her. But Monts knows that with En, it's none of those things. He's blunt and childish, but ultimately, his words are the real thing.

The hand on her knee makes her blink, but she doesn't have an issue with it. She smiles reassuringly at En and her other hand reaches over to ruffle his pale hair.]

And you have a nice voice.

[In another context, that might have been an ironic jab. But here...]

Because when you say things like that, I want to spoil you.

[And then she angles her head and moves in. From a certain perspective, it looks like she's giving him a proper kiss. Marianna knows better than to move that fast, but then again...

She's kissing him, not on the cheek, or nose, but at the very corner of his mouth. A little too close, still far, but it speaks volumes about how she feels about the Mononoke who stumbled into her life.]

Edited 2018-12-28 05:39 (UTC)

[ He almost wants to grimace when she mentions his voice, because he knows that there's nothing nice about it. As much as she worries about her personhood, he has his moments of knowing that he's a creature very commonly known as culturally malevolent. A manifestation of fear and paranoia, a chimera brought to life due to human uncertainty.

But Monts follows it up with something sweet, something sure. He feels his cheeks redden even more, flushed red-hot and burning, and then—

—and then. There's soft pressure against his skin, the tickle of Monts' breath along the seam of his mouth.

He feels like he's going to evaporate. His shoulders hike up, and he tries not to think about how good she makes him feel— how special he feels around her.

Hmm. ]

'm supposed to. Do it back. [ Mumble mumble. ]

[Monts doesn't pull away completely after her chaste kiss, opting to stay close to him instead. Her blue-green eyes are twinkling, taking in every little reaction, both the subtle and unsubtle.

She replies airily to him as her hand moves to his forehead.]

You're burning up. Are you sure you can do it?

[But she'll throw him a bone and be encouraging. Mari knows she should acknowledge that this is probably some of the many firsts for a creature like En.]

Take your time, En. I'll be happy with whatever you'd like to do with me.

... I mean, within reason.

Edited 2019-01-16 07:45 (UTC)

[ Here's a really contrived prompt, because I said so: for the first time in a long time, Claude's the one that's injured on the holidays. It's usually the case that Gus is the one caught up in some freak kidnapping scheme during the tenuous end-of-the-year truce— ones that he slips away from by virtue of good luck and herculean pluck. It's Gus that usually sneaks into Claude's apartment in the dead of night, bruised and battered and laughing as he piles himself into his half-brother's bedroom, tracking mud onto clean sheets and putting his palms together in apology while dutiful hands bandage open wounds.

Not this time. Claude's the one who's in the Midnight Grind tonight, bleeding from a shallow cut that extends from his elbow down to his wrist. He feels somewhat badly that he's using the place as a way to hide from his pursuers until he can patch himself up, but. It's that or possibly getting murdered, so he'll take the lesser of two evils.

Coincidentally, he's also sitting in a chair right under the mistletoe, so there's that going for him. He hasn't realized yet, of course— he's too busy making sure he doesn't bleed all over the furniture.

Kiss or heal???? Maybe both???? Maybe neither. Let him die. ]

Edited 2018-12-10 03:38 (UTC)

I distinctly remember we had a holiday season one year where outright murder wasn't an issue. I must have caught you on a good day.

[The Grind is decorated with the usual holiday flourishes, including Christmas trees, colorful lights, peonies, holly, magical candles that did not burn to the touch, and of course... Mistletoe. But right now, Iona has Claude seated at his usual table and it's set up like a mini-nursing station or some semblance of it. There's a first-aid kit with some bandage rolls, disinfectant...

And a shot glass filled with what looks to be an inky black concoction with oily looking emerald streaks that floats above the surface. The witch pushes the shot glass towards Claude as she works on the smaller cuts with her own magic.]

Drink. It looks like death, but it's mostly minty and it'll speed up your own recovery. My own healing magic is really basic so that'll help you out more.

[Despite her chipper attitude, she's been handling his injuries with an unexpected gentle touch and tenderness (considering what they are now explains it). Her crystalized finger traces his cuts and she clicks her tongue at how many there are.]

Also, you better not be telling me you're going back after this.

[ Claude is a model patient: he doesn't hiss when his wounds are touched, nor does he flinch at the sight of the suspicious shot glass full of mystery fluid. He looks more interested than anything at the remedy offered to him, as if he wants to keep it instead of drinking it so he can break down its components... but alas. Healing comes first, and he knows better than to argue with someone who has his wellbeing in their hands.

A tip of his head, and the medicine goes down his throat. She wasn't lying; it tastes like peppermint. Very much in line with the festive theme inside the cafe. ]

You've caught me at my most festive, incidentally.

[ He gestures to his tie: emerald green. A nice contrast to the red on his sleeve. ]

And I was planning on stepping out for a change of clothes, but I know that tone. [ Tone, he says, as if she's being unreasonable. ] You think I'll go and get myself killed before Christmas. Oh, ye of little faith.

[With puffed up cheeks, Iona tightens one of the bandages around his elbow. Her magic would take care of most of the deeper cuts, but it'd be suspicious if he went back later without it. Not that some of the wrong people in Paris weren't aware of her oddities, but how far her abilities go is still a murky detail (she's mostly known for her magic arm).]

Considering how much you ran away from me before, are you really surprised I'd think that? It goes without saying, but you're staying with me AND we'll have a real Christmas.

[A pause (she's thinking about something, she's not good at hiding it). Then Iona takes away the glass, tapping it so that it's clean again.]

One with fewer knives and more hot drinks.

Edited 2018-12-10 05:51 (UTC)

[ The fact that Claude ducks into the Grind as often as he does is already drawing suspicion; couple that with sightings of a mysterious woman with the uncanny ability to appear and disappear in times of trouble, Claude should be doubly careful.

Should be.

He shutters his eyes closed for a beat as he feels the medicine work in him, like cool tendrils sliding over inflamed skin. It's a strange sensation, but not unwelcome. ]

That sounds far too peaceful. I've never known a holiday without some sort of sharp item in someone's face.

[ A huff, almost a laugh, and he opens one eye. ]

That said, I won't be missed. [ He usually declines 'family' gatherings, anyway. Too awkward. ] I suppose a day or two in your care won't hurt my business too terribly.

[Iona's face brightens up after applying the last swab of disinfectant.]

Then I'm taking that as a definite, "Yes." Good!

My semester at college is finished too. Talk about good timing!

[That means she can use the extra free time to be with him instead of their occupations taking the center stage of their lives. Iona's been doing her best to balance things out not only for her sake but for his now that their priorities have shifted.

The witch stands up stretching her fingers and wiping them down with a tea towel.]

If you're staying with me, our holidays will probably see some mildly chilly, but still sunny weather. Sounds great right?

No pneumonia and coughing children? A miracle.

[ As if he doesn't look forward to breaking the monotony of opening up bodies with a sick kid or two. With everything patched up, he lets himself unwind in increments; it starts from the bottom up, with his legs uncrossing and his toes flexing inside his expensive shoes.

It's alarming how safe he feels here, nestled between holiday decor and a person he's come to sincerely love.

Not that he'd say so. ]

I'll have to dress for the weather. A three-piece is a bit much, no?

Got'cha covered!

[She gestures at him with a cute and triumphant thumbs up. Although, without thinking, she follows up with...]

Anyways, I guess you can room with me—

—Or here! Here! I can make a room!

[Iona's stopped herself after realizing what kind of suggestion she's made and the embarrassment is clear as day upon her features.]

I mean, you need your space, right? Right? Right.

[And not that she's going to point it out, but Oren hasn't been present for a while and he won't be because he's on an extended break of sorts with her grandmother. Iona's finding herself off-balance when her interactions are not being monitored and silently judged by the golem.

She's mumbling to herself now and wringing the towel in her hands nervously.]

Not that you can't stay with me, but... Um.

Edited 2018-12-12 08:00 (UTC)

[ Oh. Well.

He hears it— the backtracking, the mumbled half-honest addendum. Most people in his line of work would consider such a half-baked proposal a poor one, but in terms of matters of the heart? Iona is a master negotiator.

He has the upper hand here... or so he fancies. He knows what he'd prefer, but he'd rather let her work towards it.

(Or maybe he just likes digging his own grave. That, too.) ]

For someone who likes to insist that I don't need my space, you're suddenly eager to give it.

[ If she wanted to give him space, she would have let him be a coward ages ago. He smiles thinly, but not unkindly. ]

I've been told I don't snore.

[She feigns a pout although the blush on her cheeks is still apparent.]

Alright.

[Iona plops back down onto her chair and takes Claude's hands in hers decisively.]

You're staying at my place before either of us change our minds. And uh... Implications aside...!

[She gestures wildly with one hand as if trying to dismiss any "strange" notions of what may or may not follow.]

It's our first Christmas together so I want you to be here. [The witch beams at him.]

Last time, we left things hanging, remember?

[She refers to the other year during the holiday season where they only started to acknowledge that they had a modicum of attraction towards each other and that was it. But it's that and more now and it creates a pleasantly fuzzy sensation in her chest knowing they've come this far.]

Edited 2018-12-18 06:52 (UTC)

[ A sliver of him balks at the idea, at the fact that Iona says "first". It's the part of him that wants commitment but hates the thought that it could be temporary, the part of him that gets his hopes up about a "next time" only to be disappointed that his shortcomings have made it impossible for people to stay. Supposedly.

But he swallows that bile down, and lets it sit in his stomach. He tries for a smile, but it's not as breezily condescending as he'd like it to be; it verges on sincere and he immediately regrets it.

Her hands are warm in his, and he watches her fingers curl for a second before he brings them up to his lips. ]

Ah. Yes, there were some loose ends. There still are.

[ A breath, through his nose. ]

...As an Aubert, I can assure you that my family doesn't leave anything unfinished.

[Deep down, while Iona deals with all of life's problem's with a foolish veneer of bravado, Claude coming in with his injuries really gave her a good reminder once again about what their time together will entail. There's a lot she knows she needs to do. She needs to be careful, she needs to not assume everything will go well, she needs to remember he has a lot of enemies on his side and that...

The touch of his lips on her fingers makes her think, that instead, she needs this. She needs to be with him.

There's a short laugh and when she glances up... Ah. Well. Iona grins when she sees the mistletoe and points above the good doctor's head.]

Then we're in luck! I'll admit, I totally regretted not going for it at that time.

[ He's trouble. He knows it, has known it since he was born. Oren's been correct from the get-go; Iona probably would be safer and more secure with someone who isn't ostensibly from a gang family.

That said, he flicks his gaze up at the mistletoe and scoffs under his breath. ]

I taste like medicine.

[ A warning. Thanks, Claude. ]

Uh huh. [She relinquishes his hands and crosses her arms jokingly.]

And when has that ever stopped me?

[And true to her words, she's scooting closer to him.]

[ He doesn't move where he's reclining in his chair. He might have, a few months ago, but that's then and this is now.

A sing-song hum, vaguely patronizing. It's offset by the fond slant of his lips. ]

Nothing stops you. It'll be the death of you, one day.

[ He tips his head, and leans closer. ] Are you feeling lucky?

[She chuckles bending her head down for a second before looking up at him again. Her eyes are twinkling with unending affection. Although she wouldn't admit it at this moment, Iona does feel some nervousness at the newness of it all.]

Absolutely. This time, I'm hitting my mark.

[And true to her word, her lips catch him in a soft and warm kiss. This time there's no avoidance, little of that coyness that had them running around in circles around each other, and no doubts.]

[ He'd expected a fraction more of her previous hesitation, but he doesn't find it when their lips meet. It's entirely new to him too, the sudden surge of protectiveness and comfort that wells from between his ribs, but he doesn't swallow it back this time around; he just lets it float, simmer.

A tip of his chin, and he's reciprocating. Despite the warning about tasting like mint-green medicine, he parts his lips just a fraction and lines the seams of their mouths together more properly, exhaling on her inhale. ]

[When witches aren't being benevolent, they veer on the side of being greedy. And that's a shade of how Iona feels right now because when Claude returns her kiss so readily it makes her want more, to take more, and just...!

The scent and taste of mint are equally pleasant but also keeps her senses alert. She doesn't remain stationary and after a few seconds to let him have a taste of her, she moves her lips so it brushes his bottom one and the corner of his mouth before she pulls back, her own face feeling overly warm.]

Aha... See? Told you I'd do it.

[For all of her overt and sometimes overbearing affection, Iona can be surprisingly demure when it comes to expressing it in deeper ways. She's greedy but sometimes clumsy in trying to acquire what she wants. But most importantly, at least it's genuine.]

ᴊɪɴɢʟᴇ ʙᴇʟʟ ʀᴏᴄᴋ

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