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[formidable]

Private AU/PSL RP, set anywhere from 1879 alternate history France to 21st century North America. A tale of two brothers and the witch and her golem who gets entangled in their lives. Urban fantasy, steampunk, magic, guns, and coffee collide. ➤ PART I ➢ "La Caravane".

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[infusion]

[However, Iona seems to be taking what he said seriously because she's eying all the clothing pieces with a critical eye, holding them up next to each other, mixing and matching while muttering to herself.]

Mm. Right... If I'm taking care of you guys, I can't allow you be walking fashion disasters...

[pragnanz]

[ Somehow, this doesn't bode too well... he's been a human Barbie enough times in his life, thank you very much.

He reaches into the pile, takes out the most comfortable-looking button-up and slacks he can find. ]

This'll do. Thank you.

Auguste will probably sleep in his underclothes, don't mind him.

[oren]

[Iona looks a little surprised at Claude's reaction, but it IS his choice. Before she can reply, Oren reappears from the hallway.]

Rooms inspected. Passable. Spellcasting has improved.

[Iona puffs up her chest looking proud of herself, but...]

Bathrooms. You forgot them.

[FACE IN HANDS and a, "PLUMBING IS HARD TO MAKE UP."]

[pragnanz]

[ Man, all of this is so weird... Gus is too busy lying on his stomach on the couch, three plus-drivers in his hand and a phone already half-taken apart. When he gets like this, it's difficult for anyone to really pull him back into the realm of the living...

Wisely, Claude doesn't even try. ]

Miss Iona can commandeer the bathroom for now.

Are there any pieces of her underwear that we should be on the lookout for?

[infusion]

[OH MY FUCKING GOD.]

Leave my underwear out of this or I'll make sure a constant draft comes through your bedroom.

[pragnanz]

If you'd like for others to start questioning your standards for hospitality, by all means.

[ Claude...cease... ]

[infusion]

I would like to think that part of my standards is drawing a line when the person I'm housing starts using my underclothing against me.

[pragnanz]

Scathing. I'd say that your negligence is an example of you using your underwear against yourself. I believe that's what we call 'self-sabotage'.

1/2

[oren]

. . . .

It's late. No more flirting. Classes tomorrow.

[infusion]

[Iona sputters as she stands up running her hands through her hair.]

The hell kind of flirting was that?!

Ugh, and class is at 9 AM too...!

[pragnanz]

[ Claude doesn't even flinch: all he does is quirk his lips upward just a fraction as he watches Iona move through the room. ]

Ah, I'm being a nuisance again. Please, do go sleep.

[oren]

[The young witch grimaces at Claude, gives Gus a goodnight and stalks off to bed. Oren watches her go off and then makes his way to the couch, sitting near Gus, placing his hands on his knees.]

Tease everyone that way?

[pragnanz]

[ Claude takes his station against the wall, arms folded and still slightly inscrutable, if only because he has a feeling he should be more careful with his words around Oren. ]

If they give me an opening, yes.

[oren]

[He's probably got the right idea.]

She might actually retaliate. Doesn't like sitting back.

[pragnanz]

She already has, hasn't she? I'm surprised my nose is still intact, after all her abuse.

[ Deflection skills: expert. ]

[oren]

Cheeks are next. Be prepared.

[Sounds like someone's been through something similar.]

[pragnanz]

In that case, I'll be nothing but sugar to her. I'm rather attached to the shape of my face.

[oren]

[Oren closes his eyes for a second and then opens them again to glance at Gus, tinkering with the modern tech.

What he says next is somewhat...]

No one else is there?

[pragnanz]

[ ...Yes, color Claude lost. ]

In...?

[oren]

No one else important.

[He's gathered that much from how Claude defers to Gus over himself anyways.]

[pragnanz]

[ And Claude is somewhat relieved that Gus is so engrossed in his work, because he can declare without much hesitation: ]

My opinion hardly matters in the grand scheme of things. But if I had to say, yes.

[oren]

. . .

[It's somewhat strange, for a being like Oren to comprehend the concept of finding someone or something similar to one's self. Or at least be reminded of how he was like before.

He had heard them talking to Berna. He would have gone out to give her his own greetings and she wouldn't have minded. But he was still deferring to her after all these years and the Crystalline Witch had made it clear that Iona needed him and that he needed a different purpose away from her. And because Iona was his creator's granddaughter, the servitude and devotion was indirect.

But Jackie always asked for Oren's opinion. She refused to call him her servant and she would get angry, argue with him, smile, laugh at his oddities, and praise him for all of his knowledge that he gained from being with Berna.

What he sees in Claude is the obstacle he himself faced when told to care for someone else.]

Hm.

[But all of these complex thoughts? He'll keep to himself for the most part.]

Nostalgic.

[Oren's words, choppy and concise as they were, seem heavier that way.]

[pragnanz]

[ There are things outside of the scope of Claude's understanding: living for 500+ years, for one. Living is hard enough already, without the added nuisance of immortality— or maybe that would make it easier, eventually not caring. Something to look forward to.

It's simpler. Pragmatism, utility. People in neat categories, with only one outlier. He would prefer that no one remember him if he died: a blank sheet of paper is far more aesthetically pleasing than a mess of scribbles and wrinkles.

He hears Oren, but prefers not to notice the weight. Or prefers to pretend not to. Same difference. ]

Something to think about for the night.

[oren]

[People like Berna and Iona were the ones that caused gravitation or directly pulled others towards them; forces of nature in their own right. Oren here, is thinking with some mild amusement at how Claude really did walk into a trap, that was the Midnight Grind.]

Anyway.

[Oren stares at Gus.]

Really should sleep. Or at least go to your bedroom.

[A beat.]

I don't sleep.

[Not a, "I can't," or "I don't want to." Sleeping just isn't a necessary function for a golem and Oren doesn't suffer for it.]

[pragnanz]

We'll be off to our rooms, then.

[ And, well. It's a bit of a struggle to get Gus's attention, and the conversation goes a bit like: "Auguste." "Mm." "Your room." "Mm." "He'll be turning the lights off." "Mm." "I can't carry you." "Mm." "I can, however, anesthetize and drag you." "—Okay, okay, going!"

Gus flops past first, carrying a load of tools and parts in his arms, followed by Claude; still upright, but with just a hint of fatigue in his shoulders. ]