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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]

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.

[infusion]

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.

[pragnanz]

[ 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. ]

[infusion]

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?

[pragnanz]

[ Claude tries to be as aloof as he can about this, but the mild sense of amusement creeps into the corner of his expression, manifesting in a half-smile that's annoyingly sincere for his tastes. It's not the danger that's caused him to unwind, but the following simplicity of Iona's assessments. As if what just happened was as trivial as, say, tripping and falling during the middle of a dance.

It's refreshing. Even he has to admit that. ]

An actual gentleman, born and raised. [ That's a self-defeating comment, but he delivers it with his usual conviction as he tucks Iona a little more snugly in his jacket. ] I can't even begin to imagine how you could have doubted it.

[infusion]

You do try in making me think otherwise you know.

[... It's nice, she thinks. It's nice when there's something sincere in Claude that does resurface every now and again because she thinks it's healthier for him and because she honestly thinks it's pleasant.]

C'mon. Let's get to the Grind before Oren tries to pick us up.

[pragnanz]

[ As someone who works every day of his life prioritizing other people above himself, his own health isn't too important to Claude. It's troublesome that Iona didn't just up and leave without him, return to the Grind without him, but he's.

Grateful?

He's not sure what it is, so he elects not to think about it as he offers Iona a hand to lead her back to a safer route to the Grind. ]

To the princess's castle, then. Before Evil Stepmother can give me disapproving looks about said princess's state of undress.

[oren]

[And when they finally make it back, Oren already has hot drinks at the ready at the counter which he stands behind like a statue. His head turns to see Iona with Claude's coat around her shoulders and Claude with his arm wrapped up in the glimmering sleeve of what used to be part of her gown.

Typical.]

Welcome back.

[He can be lenient when he wants to be... Sometimes...]

[pragnanz]

[ Ah. He'd expected more of a quiet reaming than that, so Claude laughs, lets Iona wind her way back into the store first before closing the door behind him.

Gus looks up and makes eye contact with his half-brother for a second, then goes back to picking at his drink. It's always a little awkward, when these things happen. ]

Good to be back. [ Flopping into a seat, now— what an ordeal. ] Did you two bond while we were gone?

[oren]

[Oren takes the coat from Iona and pushes her gently towards the back room to change into more comfortable clothes. While she's away, he replies to Claude.]

In manner of speaking.

Your arm. Needs better bandage.

[pragnanz]

Better?

[ He laughs at that, a low, reedy sound that he garnishes with a vague hand gesture. Essentially waving that point of concern off, as it were. ]

I should think that this is the best bandage money can't buy. A young lady sacrificed her garment to dress this wound— I should keep it on as a token of her generosity, no?