sweethymns | Mι∂ηιgнт ιη Ƥαяιѕ

[Oren on the other hand is paying attention to their surroundings. That said, he's not making it apparent that he is in fact keeping alert even if he can't see the danger for now.]

Drink water. Good after all that champagne. Iona, how much?

[Iona let's out a sheepish chuckle.]

"Less than you think, more than you hoped?"

Not an answer.

"Let's just say I could handle a Bulldog and some tequila shots even after tonight. I won't try that of course!"

Edited 2015-09-28 06:02 (UTC)

A 'bulldog'?

[ In perfectly good spirits, Gus teeters over to Iona and cranes waaaaay over to see if he can rest a chin on her shoulder, which is difficult considering their height difference. Sometimes this dumb baby giant forgets how tall he is, especially when he's a tiny bit tipsy. ]

Iona! I want to try that. What's a bulldog?

[ Needless to say, he hasn't caught on to the party following behind them, and is effortlessly maneuvering the group towards a more discreet location where no one will see him stumbling... he hopes. ]

A pretty boozy drink, hon. I think Claude would appreciate it if I didn't introduce it to you.

[Oren's just gonna. Lightly take Gus by the shoulder to pull him back and let him straighten himself out. Of course.]

Please. What I he needs is water, and—

[ The street they turn into is much narrower, only wide enough for two people to walk side by side comfortably. That in itself isn't alarming, given that Claude's walked through these side alleys more times than he's ever cared to count, but the sudden quiet and the fact that he hasn't quite been paying attention pulls him back into some semblance of caution; there's a lingering footstep that doesn't line up with any of theirs, and it occurs to him that this isn't the greatest idea that they've had, to file out in one conspicuous group like this.

He cuts himself off, and turns towards the corner they just turned. ]

—Miss Iona. I think it may be a good idea if you, Auguste, and Oren go on ahead. I think I need to take a moment.

[ He follows that up by mouthing 'followed', then 'probably', and then a motion that indicates 'I'll try to take care of this'.

Says the surgeon with about 15 glasses of champagne in him, but hey. ]

[Iona pauses to glance at Claude curiously before Oren pats her on the shoulder and gestures to move ahead.]

... Okay. We'll go on ahead.

[And she mouths back, 'I'll be back.' The witch then takes Gus's hand to pull him forward.]

Let's speed up shall we? But Claude better catch up too.

[ Gus has a protest springloaded on his tongue, but it's silenced with the knowing look that Claude only employs on rare occasions: 'which one of us is more important, you or me?'

He doesn't have an argument for that (doesn't want to, in many respects), and he clams up, shoots his half-brother a similar look that says that he's not happy about this, before turning on slightly-wobbly feet to maneuver down the alley.

Claude relaxes incrementally, and flashes Iona one of his gently inscrutable smiles again. ]

One too many champagnes, I suppose. Don't worry about me, run along.

[ Followed by another silent mouthing of: 'you have 45 seconds, at most.' ]

[Iona follows Oren into the alley where the cafe's d usually appears for the brothers, far from the inevitable scuffle. Oren, is now shadowing Gus and waves his hand making an invisibility bubble around the both of them.

Iona, (who isn't part of the bubble) before letting go of Gus's hand, holds it with both of her own as if trying to give him some reassurance.]

Looks like our trip back to the Grind is going to have to be well earned, huh?

[ It's not ideal— Gus hates being protected, above all else— but he also knows better than to tread over the few opportunities that Claude takes to be roundaboutly worried about his wellbeing. They're not few nor far in between, but there are times when Gus knows not to contest.

He sighs, then brings both of Iona's hands to his lips, presses her knuckles against them like a mock prayer. ]

Sorry. [ This is the first thing he says, bluntly, earnestly. He's never had a hard time appreciating or apologizing. ] Are you gonna go back?

Yeah. But I'll be fine. We'll all be fine.

[Iona smiles warmly at Gus and pulls out one hand to hold out her pinkie.]

Pinkie promise! It's the kind I'm not allowed to break.

This'll teach me to be quieter, huh.

[ He does feel guilty, under all his jokes and smiles, but he takes the pinky and twines it with his own; it's not the time to make her comfort him, right now. ]

Come back soon, I already miss you.

[The witch nods and then looks at Oren. The both have an affirmative light in their eyes and she says nothing, turning around and leaving the invisible bubble to make her own as she hurries back to Claude.

Oren is silent before he speaks to Gus.]

Not angry. Expected as much. Will be fine.

[Wow, Oren, are you actually being nice???]

[ Gus waits until Iona is out of earshot before he crouches down, squats with this head between his knees and his palms on his head, mussing his hair. ]

—Aghh! I wanted things to be good, you know? Without any of this.

[ Muffled sighing by Oren's feet, here... though he appreciates the kind words. Wow, Oren...!!! ]

Well.

Can't help, but stand out.

[not helping...]

Cares about both of you.

[ Ah, well.

He looks up from where he's cradled his head in his knees, and looks up at Oren with a trace of a grin. Just to cheer things up a little again. ]

'Cares', huh.

Iona does, or you?

[ tesing u oren, u big mommy ]

I serve her.

She takes care of who she can. I help her do so.

[It's as simple as that for the golem even if his connection with Iona is fraught with odd complications.]

[ 'Serve'. Ah, he's not a fan of that word, never has been— but his brother's used it enough times for him to know how important it is, despite the fact that Gus has always found the concept to be paper-thin.

So, after a beat: ]

Can I ask a question?

[Oren looks at Gus, unblinkingly and nods.]

Ask.

[ It's not a particularly pleasant question, and he's only asking because neither Claude nor Iona are around.

It goes to the tune of: ]

If Iona told you to die, would you?

[ And for a moment, his expression borders on what might be expected of a young man brought up to possibly be a ruthless leader: evaluative, serious. It comes and goes, though. ]

[For what seems to be a long time, Oren remains silent as if the question did not really reach him although in his eyes, one could see that he was thinking very deeply. And he's remembering.

She felt so weightless as her blood created a pool beneath her.

Her flesh was so fragile and he was beginning to see the light go out of her eyes.

This shouldn't have been any different. He and Berna had seen so many lights like Iona's go out in an instant, a moment that flows by quickly like a rushing river. But for the first time in many years, this moment slows down, painfully, fearfully, aggravatingly because this WAS different.

And although it would take him long time to admit this to her, in that moment he plunges his hand into his chest to reach his inner being, he wasn't thinking and he wasn't thinking about Berna.

He did it for her.

And thus, Oren replies.]

Doesn't have to ask.

[ For someone— something— that isn't supposed to have a tangible heart, Gus can fancy that he sees the same sort of inner debate that he sees in a lot of people, the quiet question of loyalty and love that most people never quite reconcile.

It hurts a little to see it, it reminds him a little of something that's close to home.

But he's the one that asked, and he has to be satisfied with that answer. ]

...That's the way it is, huh. [ A long exhale, and Gus sits down against the wall. ]

Well, let's hope Claude's taking good care of her, then. I don't want to be the last man standing here.

[Oren only offers a nod. If there's anything Oren's learned from being part of the world, it's that even when the odds are in one's favor, uncertainty is always part of the mix.

That being said, Iona's definitely not having any complicated thoughts right now as her heels click on the ground as she trots briskly back to Claude. Oh yeah, she's still wearing a dress... And without another thought, she unzips the skirt. Because yes. It was designed with that practicality in mind. THANKS OREN! Underneath, she sports a pair of dark shorts and she sighs.]

Well. Can't be a princess forever.

[She folds up the skirt and she's pretty sure she's near to where Claude is now; the witch hides behind a wall from a nearby alley to assess the situation before jumping in.]

[ Claude is, in fact, nearby. He's around the corner, actually, and is being approached by a stocky man that's taller than he is... which is a feat, all things considered. If Iona leans in, she'd be able to hear the conversation that's taking place, which is roughly as follows: ]

Where's the woman you were talking to at the party?

Ah, I'm sure I wouldn't know which. If you wanted to ask her for a dance, you've missed your opportunity, I should think.

Don't play dumb, 'Aubert'. She's the one who was sighted a few days ago, isn't she? The one with the—

—God, don't bore me. Can't you see I've had enough of all of you for one night?

—Tch, watch your mouth. Don't think that your last name entitles you to anything, failure.

[ That last statement is cut off with a sigh: Claude's, as if he's heard this a thousand times before. ]

...I'm telling you to piss off.

[ And that's uncharacteristic of Claude, the foul language. But it's also followed by the unmistakable click of a revolver. Not Claude's. ]

Shitshitshitshitshit—...!

[Time is of the essence. Iona looks around trying to find a higher vantage point. Yup, found one. There's some crates to climb up to a nearby window ledge and if she times it right...!

Okay, screw timing, she's going for the, "What the fuck?" here. And that's exactly what happens.

There's a rustling of cloth coming from the ledge, something comes floating down, down, down...

The ballgown skirt drops right on top of the stocky and large man, obscuring his view with ruffles and layers of lace.

What the fuck.]

[ Ah.

What the fuck.

Claude is appropriately flabbergasted for the second it takes him to recognize whose dress it is that's come out of nowhere, and he'd almost be inclined to laugh— was Iona wearing anything under this?

But a second man is stepping out of the shadows, followed by a third, and Claude isn't properly equipped to deal with this right now. Sadly, he's not much when it comes to fighting. ]

I'll be going, then—

[ Is what he tries to say, with a turn on his heels. That's cut short, though, by gunfire and the unmistakable sensation of a bullet grazing his arm.

Bastards. ]

[And that bullet is what spurs Iona into immediate action. She jumps down from her ledge, heels and all, dropping straight down onto the third man to knock the wind out of him. And yes Claude, she's wearing shorts! It totally works even for 1879!!]

—Whoops! That's gotta hurt.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject