begrimed | Meetings

Meetings

Behind an ever traveling emerald green door (you'll find it when you really need it, but it never seems to be in the same place in the palace) lies a quaint office, often slightly ajar with a few notes of music beckoning guests inside.

In the center of the room lies an ornate cedar wood desk, cluttered but just short of messy, with various sheet music piled on top. The bookcases on each side are in a similar state, books shelved away neatly were it not for the lack of any semblance of alphabetization.

The boss of this domain can often be found with his feet up with no regard for decorum; a casual enough atmosphere for casual enough chats, surely.

Those who venture into the palace to seek out the emerald green door will find it's different than usual, sturdier, with a particularly bright sheen and emblazoned with an insignia.

The door is also always closed, though whether it's locked or not depends on when you visit.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

No, it's not that type of gift.

[ She checks his left hand thoroughly, running her fingers along his palm to feel for bruises. Any fresh injuries? Recent scratches? ]

[ Blink. ]

Trying to read my fortune?

[ No fresh injuries, scratches or bruising. His hands aren't soft mind, they have all the feel of someone who's spent their life working away outdoors and there are a few old scars. ]

Mm, perhaps bad luck for the next week? At least one person will curse your name.

[ All of this said in an absentminded manner. She is really, really focused on his hand. ]

Right hand, please.

[ She'll repeat the process on his other hand. ]

Better be more than one or I'm losin' my touch.

[ He cants his head but supplies his right hand too. It's much the same, no cuts, injuries, or bruises just old scars. He doesn't ask "Why?" but his gaze says it all, really. ]

One out loud and nine in private.

[ She can't tell him why because she's not allowed to ask about it. She ignores his gaze for the moment, studying the rest of him too now that his hands are covered. Then she nods, satisfied. He doesn't seem injured. ]

I'm glad you're all right.

Well I guess that's OK then. [ A playful lilt like normal, though the curiosity is still written on his face. ]

Haha, well of course, I'm immortal. That's part of the whole package, you know?

Of course...

[ This is, at least, some sort of confirmation that he doesn't listen in on their town meetings. ]

But some things can't be help. When you worry for someone, it's not always logical. Being immortal isn't the same as being immune to pain and hurt.

Ah, so my lady worries for me?

[ ... ]

But yeah, you're right. [ His voice is softer now. ] I can get injured just fine, but it'll heal no matter what kind of injury it is. The whole deal with my eye is...a special case.

[ Her injuries heal the normal way and anything permanent resets during the next cycle... What he has to deal with seems worse. ]

Even so, I wanted to give you this.

[ She turns to the desk and opens up the burlap sack to reveal two small jars. One is the herbal healing salve, labeled like the other ones she had given everyone else. If, um, it's in a bigger jar than theirs, well - only she is privy to this information. The second jar is simply labeled: peony tea. ]

D-don't expect too much from it, however. It hasn't been imbued with magic. [ For obvious reasons. ]

[ The presents aren't a surprise, she walked in here declaring she had them and yet. He blinks a little too wide, a glimmer of the same expression he had last week, an expression that is still entirely hers to behold. This time it settles into something much smoother than laughter, a breathy exhale and a small curve of a smile. ]

My lady has brought me two gifts. [ Quiet, but with a speck of something bright. ]

Are you going to drink this with me? [ He picks up the peony tea, not commenting on the non-magical nature of the salve and she'd be forgiven for assuming he doesn't care whether it works or not. ]

[ Oh.

The unexpectedness of his smile - sincerity making itself know when she'd been unprepared to look because she was so worried and distracted by everything else. She's overwhelmed, caught unawares by its fragile brilliance. Yet this is what she had been seeking last time. Not... this exact expression, she hadn't ever imagined this one. She should be satisfied to have found it. She wants to keep it safe and secret, forever.

(But they don't have forever.)

Her chest tight, she smiles up at him, something tender and sad settling between them. Softly, almost melancholic, she echoes words he's said to her once before: ]

How could I say no?

I'd want to have it with you now, but it would probably wind up being rushed. And not like I've been to many tea times but...pretty sure that's not how they're supposed to be.

Next time, then. [ They don't have forever, but they still have "next time" because the story must go on, but that doesn't mean he can't take full advantage of it while it is. ]

Yes... next time.

[ Rushed... Is that happening again tonight? And here she is, giving the Villain gifts when someone might die tonight. This night or another night. She can't be sure it won't be her - and she can't count on the safety of this room and this space with him. Would he stop it if it was her? Could he? What would this wretched fairy tale do to him if he dared?

... Would her world not attempt to draw her back if she died? After all, the story must go on. Without its Heroine, there isn't a story at all. ]

Tea aside - is there no time at all to talk?

[ He smiles at her, easy. ]

We can talk. Just-forgive me if I need to be rude in the middle?

[ She raises an eyebrow because - really? Her expressions says she'll think about it, your lordship. ]

If you earn it.

[ He laughs. ]

Mmhmm. So, what do you want to talk about my lady?

[ They could make small talk, but tonight... It might be better stick to something a little more serious. What she really wants to ask about is Sunday, which is the one thing she promised not to ask about. Checking his hands does not count as breaking her promise - she hopes.

Maybe... ]

Since we are short on time... Could we talk about the... dead?

[ Blink. ]

Eh? Why do you want to talk about Zola?

Not her, exactly. But earlier... there were some notes in the fountain. One of them was - [ She presses her lips together, waiting for a surge of emotion to pass, before continuing quietly: ] - very kind.

[ A tilt of his head. ]

Oh? What'd it say?

[ She tilts her own head in response. ]

You don't know? [ A tilt in the other direction. ] It said we were doing our best and to protect the mirrors.

[ It is desk sitting time again, but first he takes the tea and the healing salve and puts them away in one of the desk drawers. Then he sits on the desk as is apparently tradition in their talks, though he speaks as he's going through the motions. ]

I told you I hated spying, hm? Even here, that's something I won't do.

[ She goes to her seat - because well, it is hers at this point, isn't it? ]

Yes, I remember. I think about your words every time I leave this room.

[ Whether good or bad, she remembers everything they've talked about. She remembers everything about him. ]

These notes just felt - out of place...?

One of these days you might just make me blush, my lady.

[ Not that it seems like he's inclined to do now, mind. To the question though, he shifts a bit as he settles into a comfortable position, one leg crossed over the other. ]

Hm? Because they were "kind"?

Surely you jest. [ She'll believe it when she sees it. ] My thinking about your words has nothing to do with thinking of you.

One was kind, yes. They didn't match any of our handwritings and... it did not sound as though they were currently in our position.

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