sweethymns | Mι∂ηιgнт ιη Ƥαяιѕ

[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.

[ Finally, finally Claude looks less like someone who hates everything and everyone and more like a human being: he even laughs when he sees Iona in her shorts, raises a careful brow. ]

Ah. She's beauty, she's grace.

[ She also just saved his ass, so he can't be too snide... ]

A shame about your dress. Will you be trying to get that back, or are we going to be running?

[Iona rolls up her sleeves as she hops off the man who was her landing pad (he's definitely not getting up anytime soon from that impact).]

You know what? Running might me a good—...!

[Uh oh, second man is rushing at her from behind. She barely dodges before going low on the ground to grab him by the ankles and... throws him at the large stocky man as if she was throwing a sandbag. And with that taken care of, she runs over to Claude's side, pulling him by the arm.]

—Yeah, witty banter over, let's move!

[ Oh...okay. He keeps forgetting that Iona can do things like that, that she can pick people up with one hand and toss them around like they weigh nothing, so seeing it in action is still somewhat disarming. He forgets to move for a split second as he watches the lumbering figures topple and curse, but her voice snaps him out of it, enough that he shifts on his feet and starts trotting. ]

—They're armed, watch your back!

[ There's fumbling behind them as they run, the definite sound of thugs trying to find their guns so they can fire at the duo. ]

[Iona stops for a moment, suddenly having an idea.]

Can't shoot what they can't see! Watch this.

[She takes a deep breath and holds out one hand. When she exhales, a long a steady stream of smoke and mist is produced and large quantities at that until the surrounding streets and alleyways are obscured with fog while the path ahead of them is clear for them to move. Iona gestures to Claude to move ahead while she follows.]

Neat, huh? Best part is, you can just explain that it was a smoke bomb and not magic!

[ Ah. This is...convenient, and again, he's impressed by the magic and the seeming ease with which Iona deploys it. The fog is thick, but it starts right at his heels; he has no trouble running to avoid it from curling over him. ]

...Well. I suppose this is the first time you've decided to be subtle.

[ That's just a joke, though— he's grateful, and his expression edges into a faint smile. ]

They're looking for you. That makes you a wanted woman.

After seeing me in my dress AND in shorts? Who's surprised?

[Iona.........

That said, she moves up to Claude, looking concerned.]

Where did you get shot? I have a first aid kit back in the cafe, but if it's really bad...

So much skin. I'm surprised they didn't faint at the sight of you.

[ Claude!!!

But he dutifully shows Iona his arm, where there's a grazing of skin and blood staining his suit near the elbow. He doesn't look too perturbed, despite the injury. ]

The wound isn't so terrible. I'm a doctor, you remember— no need to worry your pretty head.

Oh, c'mon. This is nothing on the West Coast.

[That said, when he shows her the damage, she rips off the long ruffly part of her opposite sleeve without any hesitation and proceeds to tie it around his elbow as a makeshift bandage.]

There! Now I have nothing to worry about.

[ A raised brow accompanies her shirt-tearing, followed by curling and uncurling the hand on his injured arm. ]

Keep that up, Miss Iona, and soon you'll be walking around wearing nothing. Keep your clothes on, please.

[ And, well. Like a gentleman— for a given value of one, since his jacket is mildly dirty now— he shrugs off his coat and puts it around Iona's shoulders. ]

I'll keep the rest on, don't you worry. Oren's going to get grumpy about me leaving the skirt part behind and ripping it up—... Oh!

[Iona seems pleasantly surprised by the coat around her shoulders. She looks up at him her surprise soon followed by a sincere beam of gratitude.]

Ah, so there is an actual gentleman in there somewhere?

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