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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".

Comments

[infusion]

Excessive cat person and a terrible poet... But still, he's hot??

[The witch shakes her head and sighs dramatically.]

Well, if you say THAT... But does he hold a candle to Oren?

[SEE THE MORE IMPORTANT QUESTION HERE, meanwhile Oren is at a distance away, overhearing their conversation and not caring about Iona dragging him into these sort of dumb questions sheesh.]

[pragnanz]

He may— he has an impressive head of hair, to his credit.

Maybe you and Oren should visit him, the sun is out today and he may have graced Paris with his glowing presence.

[ Aka: strolling outside with his cat, his precious baby. ]

[infusion]

Huh. There are very few people who match up to Oren... [Lancer... Oh beautiful man, where are you now...]

I'll have to pass though. I already have so much fun with you and Gus.

[pragnanz]

Fun, you say, while carrying a comatose 20 year old halfway around Paris.

[ A light tease, as he ventures towards a quieter part of the city, surrounded by more greenery and older-looking buildings. There seem to be less technology in this part of town, if not for the copper wiring running up trees and walls like vines. ]

Your idea of fun is interesting, Miss Iona.

[infusion]

It's just one of those days.

And what makes you say that?

[She's taking note of the wiring... Around the trees too? It seems excessive, but it's probably necessary.]

[pragnanz]

Most people don't consider getting tangentially involved in turf wars 'fun'.

[ Plainly, blithely. He raises a brow, to emphasize how strange he finds all of this. ]

[infusion]

It's the "tangential" part that keeps it all grounded for me.

[A beat.]

The again, maybe it's not that different...

[pragnanz]

Come now. You can't possibly be so naive— people are killed every day for far less.

[ He says, as he leads her through a gated entrance, down a long gravel path that leads to an impressive stone-built mansion. ]

[infusion]

["Don't look!"

Solomon's hands wrap around her eyes, obscuring the sight of their parent's bedroom. Her big brother, her strong brother was shaking. The trembling of his finger tips reached down and pierced her heart and plunged her into a world neither of them had prepared for.

"Don't look."

Iona doesn't look at Claude and stares at the foreboding mansion instead.]

... I know.

[pragnanz]

[ Ah. That moment of silence is...something, he notes it as either accepting her current situation or something he doesn't quite want to put a name to.

He cuts through the lawn, avoids the front door to go to the back of the mansion. ]

As long as you know where you stand, I'm sure you'll be alright.

[ Is that a warning? Possibly. ]

[infusion]

Oooh, fancy.

[She follows him inside and looks around appreciatively. Organized crime or not, Iona likes the taste in architecture.]

Are you gonna try and slip back to your place, unnoticed?

[she wants to stick around out of insatiable curiosity.]

[pragnanz]

[ The interior is slightly modern, but with a semi-Victorian twist: dimly lit, smelling faintly of musty carpeting. Claude never did like this house very much.

He leads Iona down a deserted hall, past a row of heavy-looking doors, to one of Gus's private studies.

The room, predictably, Is A Mess. ]

I doubt anyone is looking for me, but yes— slipping back unnoticed would be preferable. People are still contacting me about you.

1/2

[infusion]

[Ack, she's trying not to trip over anything, lest she drops poor Gus onto the messy floor.]

Then I'll continue my invisibility services for you! Nuts to those people though.

Gives me a chance to see more of the city anyways and--...

[She turns her head to look at Oren who's...]

Oren... You don't need to clean the room. I know it's painful, but leave it.

[oren]

[The state of this room's cleanliness is distressing and Oren, who had stopped to sweep a bunch of papers into his arms... Releases them upon Iona's order.

Look... No place should be this messy...]

[pragnanz]

[ It's full of... Stuff, bric-a-brak, half-completed projects and half-read papers and reports. Claude motions to a divan in the corner of the room where Iona can deposit his brother, piled high with wiring that he moves onto the floor.

Yeah. Sorry, Oren. ]

He prefers it this unclean, he says it makes for inspiration.

[infusion]

Ah. Kind of like Grandma and her workshop. She never allowed Oren to clean it up.

[Iona carefully places Gus down on the divan. Oren, as if wanting to make sure this depositing job was as thorough as possible, sets about arranging Gus's limbs to make it look as if he collapsed on the seat itself to make it more natural. Iona's fondly ruffling Gus's hair.]

Cute kid. I hope the door stays apparent for him.

[pragnanz]

[ Her words seem to exasperate Claude for just a moment...

...but it fades, and he concedes. Strangely enough. ]

It will, knowing him. He has a knack for finding people.