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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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[pragnanz]

Do you dare, mademoiselle? I'm without my gloves tonight, whatever will you do if you catch an incurable disease by touching my hand?

A risk a wise woman surely wouldn't take.

[ Fight him, Iona?! ]

[infusion]

School children in the States call that "cooties."

I really hope we aren't being school children right now.

[pragnanz]

We call it "potential plague epidemics".

[ He reaches out, puts his metaphorically cooties-ridden hand on Iona's face!! Gasp. ]

Ah, it's too late for you now.

[infusion]

[Iona mocks a gag into her champagne glass and takes his hand on her face by the wrist (this is her right arm, mind you) and waves it back and forth.]

Are you SURE the champagne isn't getting to you?

[pragnanz]

[ He lets her, his hand limp in her grip as it waves side to side. ]

Not sure. I don't feel reckless enough to be drunk— all I've done is doomed you, and I don't think that that qualifies.

[infusion]

I hate to break it to you, but you are hardly the worst thing that's happened to me.

Sucks, I know.

[She releases his hand, to brush her hair behind her ear. And in front of them, Oren is already on his second dance partner who is very much enamored with him.]

See! Told you he'd be distracting.

[pragnanz]

I'll try my best to remedy that.

[ And, well. He turns to see what she's looking at, and scoffs a little when he sees Oren charming half the women in the room; he can't say that he's surprised. ]

Ah, yes. Our Belle of the Ball. Does he always take it upon himself to buy the ire of every non-female member of a party?

[infusion]

He doesn't try. He just... Is.

That said, I told him to be interactive so that he doesn't spook everyone by just lingering in the background.

[pragnanz]

Perhaps he's being too interactive.



Look at poor Auguste, he's shrunk into the background.

[ And he has...he's in the corner, sipping champagne like a Big Baby. ]

[infusion]

Mm. You're probably right. Better not exhaust himself...

[Gus... Gus, please...]

Ah. Geez, does he butt heads with other people often? Like, it's just not him and Oren right?

[pragnanz]

Mm. He does, not out of an inherent need to— he clashes because he's criminally inept at restraint.

[ He says that with a degree of fondness, depositing his empty flute of champagne to get another one. ]

And if you've noticed— [ he says, with a slight quirk of his lips. ] —he likes your company. I pray for you.

[infusion]

He'd be pretty popular where I'm from! Being inept at restraint isn't entirely a bad thing.

[although oren hates it!! (even after serving two women who are pretty much that)]

And he's earnest; it's a good point in my book.

[pragnanz]

It's his earnesty that I worry about, more than his rashness.

[ That's a surprisingly candid remark for Claude; it must be the alcohol. He doesn't make eye contact, however. ]

You'll look out for him, won't you? That is, until you find other prospects.

[infusion]

[Other prospects... Oh. Iona tilts her head in one direction, thinking as she sets her empty glass down nearby. One glass should be enough.]

I can do that for the time being. I definitely don't mind in the first place.

[There's something apprehensive in her voice though.]

If it's just temporary, then it's not like I have control over the situation.

[pragnanz]

[ Hm. He looks a little more interested by her trepidation— that should tell you something about him— and he tips his head to the side, his new glass held at his lips. ]

Oh? You always have the option of refusing, you know. This time isn't your time, and this place isn't your place. You've the opportunity to walk away at any time, I should think— you have the means for it.

[infusion]

[There's a pause and she looks down at her hands. Then Iona looks at Claude, with a small smile of her own.]

I'm pretty bad at letting things go. That's what I mean by no control.

[After all, the door of the Grind is the only thing that links her to this world after all.]

And you asked nicely! I don't feel like refusing, not when we've come this far.

[And thus, she makes her way over to Oren, to save him from having another dance partner and to engage in conversation with other people for him. Iona smiles all the while, charming, vivacious, and yet...

No, that's pretty much her. It's not quite a facade, but there's always been more to her actions and her words than what seems to be on the surface.]