Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Printable Version
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Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - megs - 06-16-2015
Adelphie Rhodes was currently on her way to Tsundoku. She did so in a sleek, white Mercedes because she had decided that a limousine was perhaps too extravagant for this particular adventure. She gazed out at the gloom, passively, through large tinted sunglasses. One hand tapped against her thigh, and the sound was muted, because shining, black leather on soft, black suede made very little noise. Copper hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, which were clad in white fur. The imagery resembled old blood on snow, but it was not a scene she imitated on purpose. A black suede jacket over a lacy, white blouse made the rest of her look startlingly monochromatic.
When the car came to a stop in front of the townhouse she could have argued that it was a mistake. Her companion seemed sure of himself though, and it wasn’t as if she knew Valesport well enough to tell him otherwise. She looked back to the house and tried not to frown - this was not at all what she had been expecting. Pressing a few folded bills into the driver's hand, before gathering her things and exiting the vehicle into the steady mist.
She looked around and pushed her glasses into her hair, failing this time to smother her frown. She caught sight of the painted sign that confirmed this was her destination. Just as she'd been directed through a long and convoluted trail of metaphoric breadcrumbs. She marched up the stairs to the door, sharp cane and sharper heels like bullet-points for each step.
At the threshold gloved fingers turned the knob on the door and pushed it open to allow her curved figure inside. She pulled her cane from the floor, and tip-toed precariously around piles of books in designer boots, holding her bag close to her sides. Blue orbs scanned the room from side to side, as she approached the desk. It was blatantly obvious she was not looking for a book. Even still, her intentions were not so obvious.
The pair convening near the desk did not seem to interest her either. Even if the girl smelled like ripe strawberries and fresh cream in her subtle indulgences. However, Adelphie did not allow herself to be distracted by it. For now.
She dropped her cane back to floor when she reached the clearing in front of the desk. It met the paneled flooring noisily, drawing attention, but she did not lean on it. The black polished wood with silver edgings seemed to be purely decorative.
Adelphie tried to brush some of the clinging moisture from her fur stole with her free hand, and put on her best smile. It was wide and showed her curious array of fangs, but she didn't seem to mind. She drew a breath as if she would speak, but lips pressed shut and she turned her head in the general direction of the kitchen. Waving her hand apologetically to the pair, as if to excuse any brief interruption on her part, she began walking again.
Upon reaching the kitchen, she peeked her head around the entry first. A lonesome man resided within, all silver curls and a dashing suit. She cleared her throat as she entered the room, not one for sneaking up on people. "Do you work here?" she chimed pleasantly, in her velveteen voice. She approached further, and noticed that this one was all cloves and cinnamon. There was an underlying touch of night-blooming jasmine, as there had also been on the girl. But it wasn't enough to be who she was looking for. "If so, hopefully you could help me?" She was all innocent smiles once more.
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Tindome - 06-16-2015
Jean sighed, because she was clearly doing her best to make him feel better with what limited means she had, which only served to make him feel… he did not know what. Not patronized, necessarily, but somehow childish. He was not some delicate thing, broken-hearted and looking for pity.
Not from her, anyway. Not from anyone in this house, if he was honest. There was no greater insult than pity that had not been asked for, pity that had not even guilt in it to make it useful.
He released her, hands sliding over her skin as he bent to retrieve the towel she had dropped. "Navy, sapphire, aquamarine," he said as he stood, running the towel very gently over his hair. "Azure, sky, cerulean… or, no. Not quite so many as that, now." He frowned. He'd started listing them on reflex, but in truth, many of his suits had been ruined and not yet replaced. He'd not been out of his hermitage quite long enough for that, yet. "The navy needs to be washed, I think… there is the slate? Mais, non. You said shirt, the shirt is not blue with that."
Satisfied that his hair would not be ruining anything, he gave a sudden sweep of his arms, draped the towel over her shoulders like a cape. "There must be something," he said, before turning to search through the clothes hanging on the rack.
Downstairs tasted an anxious mess. How awful of Elijah, to not even give him anything good to eat. How terribly selfish of him, to putter about worrying when there was kissing to be done.
"No, no, no, no," he said, rejecting anything the wrong color. "No, no – this is awful, I must burn this." He pulled it from the hanger to let it fall in a heap on the floor of the closet. "No, no, no, what an awful brown, why do I still have this, what an awful decade, no, no, this is… I shall keep the vest, I think. No, no… hm." He pulled out a shirt without a matched suit, and narrowed his eyes at it assessingly. A bright shade of true blue, the sort of thing that would be eye-searing in excess but which could be eye-catching in small doses.
"What do you think?" he asked. "If I wear it with all black, and perhaps a ribbon? Or maybe you had a different blue in mind."
He paused, then, shirt held up against his skin, a manner slightly too similar to a canine catching a scent. Someone new, something new. Whiskey and wine and cigar smoke, this, and he felt as if he ought to know what it was. Not a vampire, not a werewolf, not any fae thing. What was this rarity that he could not place? Curiosity overtook his sense of propriety and fashion, throwing the shirt over his shoulders and buttoning it with that same absent expression, trying to read what he could not see. Trousers in black, he had plenty of those – but that waistcoat was torn, that jacket was frayed, he really did need to see a tailor.
"And what will you wear, belle chatte?" he asked, and he tried not to make it obvious that his mind was elsewhere, trying to decipher layers of a coffee cake.
Not from her, anyway. Not from anyone in this house, if he was honest. There was no greater insult than pity that had not been asked for, pity that had not even guilt in it to make it useful.
He released her, hands sliding over her skin as he bent to retrieve the towel she had dropped. "Navy, sapphire, aquamarine," he said as he stood, running the towel very gently over his hair. "Azure, sky, cerulean… or, no. Not quite so many as that, now." He frowned. He'd started listing them on reflex, but in truth, many of his suits had been ruined and not yet replaced. He'd not been out of his hermitage quite long enough for that, yet. "The navy needs to be washed, I think… there is the slate? Mais, non. You said shirt, the shirt is not blue with that."
Satisfied that his hair would not be ruining anything, he gave a sudden sweep of his arms, draped the towel over her shoulders like a cape. "There must be something," he said, before turning to search through the clothes hanging on the rack.
Downstairs tasted an anxious mess. How awful of Elijah, to not even give him anything good to eat. How terribly selfish of him, to putter about worrying when there was kissing to be done.
"No, no, no, no," he said, rejecting anything the wrong color. "No, no – this is awful, I must burn this." He pulled it from the hanger to let it fall in a heap on the floor of the closet. "No, no, no, what an awful brown, why do I still have this, what an awful decade, no, no, this is… I shall keep the vest, I think. No, no… hm." He pulled out a shirt without a matched suit, and narrowed his eyes at it assessingly. A bright shade of true blue, the sort of thing that would be eye-searing in excess but which could be eye-catching in small doses.
"What do you think?" he asked. "If I wear it with all black, and perhaps a ribbon? Or maybe you had a different blue in mind."
He paused, then, shirt held up against his skin, a manner slightly too similar to a canine catching a scent. Someone new, something new. Whiskey and wine and cigar smoke, this, and he felt as if he ought to know what it was. Not a vampire, not a werewolf, not any fae thing. What was this rarity that he could not place? Curiosity overtook his sense of propriety and fashion, throwing the shirt over his shoulders and buttoning it with that same absent expression, trying to read what he could not see. Trousers in black, he had plenty of those – but that waistcoat was torn, that jacket was frayed, he really did need to see a tailor.
"And what will you wear, belle chatte?" he asked, and he tried not to make it obvious that his mind was elsewhere, trying to decipher layers of a coffee cake.
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - megs - 06-16-2015
Her soft rumbling stopped when he sighed, because she thought she heard a hint of exasperation in it. She felt a bit foolish for it; silly to even think that there was something she could do for him. While she often referred to herself as a pet, she was hardly so useful. She tried no to dwell on finding words that better suited her purpose. An ornament, perhaps? Though, that usually indicated an object of certain attractiveness.
Jean drew away and Rylan's ears pushed forward as she stepped back so he could pick up the towel. Listing colors all the while. She did not respond, settling instead to catch her bottom lip between her canines. She assumed he was talking mostly to himself, so she let him. Just as she allowed him to leave the towel across her shoulders before almost disappearing into the closet.
She tugged the towel off when he'd turned away. She folded it and draped it over arms that she crossed against her stomach. When he reappeared, he held a shirt that made her demeanor perk up noticeably. His selection near enough to what she'd had in mind.
"That sounds lovely," she replied, at length. He was already pulling the shirt on when he spoke and she need not guess as to what what was distracting him. Rylan had heard the door when it opened. She didn't even have to strain to the hear the woman walk inside. When she asked for assistance she may as well have been standing in the room. It made Rylan's ears twitch.
She cocked her head, and even she could appreciate the way Jean was attempting to give her his attention. "I can wear whatever you would like," she explains, easily, as she moved past him to deposit the towel she held with the rest of the laundry. Tail swayed as she fluffed her damp skirt with empty hands. "I could wear something similar to this. Or perhaps a dress to match you? It would take no time at all to find something, if you'd truly wish me to return."
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Blade - 06-17-2015
The apparition, not quite a ghost and not quite something else, felt the hum of gold along his skin—if one could call it that—shift away. The brief anger, if one could call it that also, died entirely as he made his way over to the coffeepot and moved through the motions of making something for himself. He needed not food, not liquid alertness. As Jean would say, as was his nomenclature for the time being, it would be wasted on him. And yet, it was something to do besides sit and stew on what was to come.He did not like Rhys, but he did not dislike her either just then. It was a given that Elijah liked very few, so it was not entirely her fault. It was nothing she caused directly, it was merely that she was someone who had not yet grown beneath the invisible cracks like soft ivy. While it wasn’t within his thought process just then, it was not entirely impossible for Elijah to like Rhys’ company one day. For now, he knew too little of her to care, much less make an effort. Of those people he did not like, the list of those he disliked with a passion, were a small list indeed... as small as the list of those he liked. He was, if nothing else, fair in his likes of others and adamant dislikes.
There was nothing personal involved in disliking the kitten. He simply disliked her, not adamantly, because of how she made his master feel. Though, the more she lingered and pushed with her very ignorant presence, the more that dislike became adamant.
He lifted the mug to his lips, sipping as he faced the cabinetry. It was during this time, the time in which he tried to allow his anger to drift and die, that he felt someone new—someone on something of a mission, by the sense of her. His eyes narrowed as she moved towards the kitchen from the main living space. The coffee in his hand, close to his mouth, moved away and his brow furrowed.
This one was not like the others.
Were his abilities misfiring in their ability to decipher? It felt like his masters and yet not. And yet, that could be considered entirely impossible. Elijah was, if ever, rarely curious about anything. He’d lived far too long, seen far too much on this planet over the ages, to ever be truly curious about anything. And yet he was.
And so, when the woman came into the kitchen Jean and the kitten were forgotten about briefly—something that never happened to be sure. He turned to face her. Magenta hues, a brighter pink than ever, stood out against his alabaster skin—glowing once—as she came in, met his gaze, and addressed him.
For a moment he could not respond, coffee in hand and brow furrowed. The glow left his eyes, bringing them back to normal. When he had turned, the stray curl he was forever unable to tame, fell again along his temple.
Still, he had enough control of himself to know that in spite the innocence of her smile she was likely anything but, as she felt constructed entirely too much like his master. And so, he did not feel rude in saying, “In a manner of speaking.” A pause as he drank his coffee before he said next, cultured and pretense fully engaged until he knew what was about, “Are you looking for a particular tome?”
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - megs - 06-18-2015
Adelphie's smile shifted imperceptibly. She held his magenta gaze and the corners of her mouth curved even further. This time the smile reached her eyes, but it was interest that shined in them, not amusement. He had glowing tricks about him. How quaint. Handsome, and well-dressed, but scowling. Composed and serious made Adelphie want to find out what she had to do to make them unravel. Another time, perhaps. So many other matters to attend to.
There was cedar under all those spices and she couldn't figure why he smelled so woodsy. He did not seem the lumberjack type, but indulging in whatever had him out of sorts filled her senses with tree sap.
Patience. If nothing else, Adelphie had endless patience.
"Oh, wonderful," she replied, generously as she watched him sip his coffee. She toned down her smile, remembering that all those fangs had a habit of making others uncomfortable. That wouldn't necessarily matter if what she was looking for was here, but she did her best not to be rude.
"Oh, not a tome," she corrected, sounding very excited about it. She pulled her purse closed to her chest so she could rifle through it. "I'm looking for someone."
Out of the over-sized handbag she produced a single slip of paper. A receipt to be specific. "Would you happen to know the owner of this signature?" She turned the slip around so he could see it, taking a few steps closer to him so he could take it if he wished. The delicate, scrawling signature of one Jean Cernunnos was drawn across the bottom.
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Blade - 06-18-2015
His eyes narrowed just barely when she smiled at him, wider still than before. He didn’t feel threatened; it had been a long time since Elijah had ever felt threatened, to be certain. Even so, that smile likely evoked a sense of fear in someone who wasn’t so well traveled and so long-lived; someone who, in another place and time, had not seen quite so much of the world beyond his front door.She wasn’t witch. That was good. He could smell magic the same way a bloodhound ferreted out a fox in a burrow. And truthfully, he didn’t need another magic user mucking the place up. The last bitch had been enough for him, enough to wake him up with hackles raised. What was more besides, Jean didn’t need any more trouble than he already currently had in his bedroom.
He wasn’t certain how wonderful it was that she had found him, but he held his tongue all the same as she went on speaking and digging around in her bag. When she produced the scrap of paper and came forward a few steps, he set his coffee down and met her distance. His dress shoes clipped a sound across the tile just before he carefully took the item from her hand. He adjust his circular glasses just so, not that he really needed to; habit bore many actions over time.
When he looked over the signature, eyes narrowed, it did not surprise him she was looking for his master. He pulled his gaze up towards her own, all the more curious still. Had she been looking for anyone else, himself or even Rhys, he likely would have directed her immediately. As it stood, he was hesitant to unleash this unknown element on his master—protective as he was.
“Jean is currently indisposed,” he said politely with the same cultured tone as he handed the receipt back. It was not a lie, and for once his master being quite too busy to be about was a welcome turn of events. The kitten truly meant no harm, but he was uncertain about the redhead who felt like his master. “You are in the right place, however.
“Would you mind my keeping you company in the meantime? If not, I can certainly offer you something to drink… Unless you have other business in town?” He gestured. “If that is the case, I can take a message for him.” Jean would tell him to smile, but he refrained, unable to summon the ability to do so.
And truly, if she was anything like his master, if she knew something about exactly what he was… there really wasn’t a need to.
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Tindome - 06-18-2015
She was still concerned, but she'd gone from hopeful to disappointed, less cream and more bergamot. Unfortunate, when he hadn't intended it, but she hadn't been discouraged at least. As long as he hadn't done permanent damage to her ego, it was probably fine. Not that she had much of an ego left to damage. Someone else had done a number on that long before he found her.
To possess another person repulsed Jean on a visceral level; nothing inherent to his nature, but something more along the lines of a grudge that he had managed to hold onto for multiple millennia. Even Elijah knew better than to address him directly as master, regardless of his personal preference and how he thought of him. But a pet was something different, and it could not be denied that he had a tendency to acquire them. Women and men and sometimes neither, he kept them company and they kept him fed, which was entirely the opposite of the usual arrangement one had with a pet. It was the insinuation that he might keep anyone against their will to which he objected, despite his undeniable history of bending wills to his own.
She was not quite a pet, yet. Or rather, not his. To be possessed seemed to be her preference, or perhaps a habit. She wasn't being biddable for him. Just, biddable. Eager to please and be pleasing, regardless of for whom. It had been a very long time since he had broken a person, but when moved to do so, he preferred that it be for him. Not just anyone, as had apparently been the decision made by whoever had wreaked havoc on Rylan's heart. He could not determine if it was related to the one with whom she shared her form.
He smiled in answer to her approval of the decision he had made without her, though he was still trying to determine what exactly was happening downstairs. The mystery guest – a woman, he thought – had gone straight for the kitchen, rude thing. Elijah did not feel angry, curiosity instead. That was very unexpected. She must be very interesting, indeed, to intrigue even Elijah.
Despite years of practiced attempts, there was really no dignified way to put on a pair of pants. Just one of many reasons to prefer undressing in company to the alternative. Stray curls and loose waves fell in front of his face as a natural consequence of looking down at himself, and he huffed in irritation, raking his fingers through his hair. He'd need to tuck his shirt in before putting on a waistcoat, of course, but he stopped first to catch the passing cat and press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
"I do like that outfit," he mused, as evidenced by his need to dress. "But what a pretty picture we would make, if we matched." His fingers flicked at the hem of her skirt to flip it upward, an idle gesture speaking to a particular affection for the convenience of a short skirt. "I will be quite pleased to see what you decided, on your return." Fingers brushed beneath her chin, though he did not think she would appreciate it as much as an actual cat.
To possess another person repulsed Jean on a visceral level; nothing inherent to his nature, but something more along the lines of a grudge that he had managed to hold onto for multiple millennia. Even Elijah knew better than to address him directly as master, regardless of his personal preference and how he thought of him. But a pet was something different, and it could not be denied that he had a tendency to acquire them. Women and men and sometimes neither, he kept them company and they kept him fed, which was entirely the opposite of the usual arrangement one had with a pet. It was the insinuation that he might keep anyone against their will to which he objected, despite his undeniable history of bending wills to his own.
She was not quite a pet, yet. Or rather, not his. To be possessed seemed to be her preference, or perhaps a habit. She wasn't being biddable for him. Just, biddable. Eager to please and be pleasing, regardless of for whom. It had been a very long time since he had broken a person, but when moved to do so, he preferred that it be for him. Not just anyone, as had apparently been the decision made by whoever had wreaked havoc on Rylan's heart. He could not determine if it was related to the one with whom she shared her form.
He smiled in answer to her approval of the decision he had made without her, though he was still trying to determine what exactly was happening downstairs. The mystery guest – a woman, he thought – had gone straight for the kitchen, rude thing. Elijah did not feel angry, curiosity instead. That was very unexpected. She must be very interesting, indeed, to intrigue even Elijah.
Despite years of practiced attempts, there was really no dignified way to put on a pair of pants. Just one of many reasons to prefer undressing in company to the alternative. Stray curls and loose waves fell in front of his face as a natural consequence of looking down at himself, and he huffed in irritation, raking his fingers through his hair. He'd need to tuck his shirt in before putting on a waistcoat, of course, but he stopped first to catch the passing cat and press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
"I do like that outfit," he mused, as evidenced by his need to dress. "But what a pretty picture we would make, if we matched." His fingers flicked at the hem of her skirt to flip it upward, an idle gesture speaking to a particular affection for the convenience of a short skirt. "I will be quite pleased to see what you decided, on your return." Fingers brushed beneath her chin, though he did not think she would appreciate it as much as an actual cat.
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - megs - 06-19-2015
Adelphie was incapable of hiding that she was… other. She could, however, make it difficult to determine just what kind of other. She did her best not to fall into any particular category. To leave others thinking: not human, not shape-shifter, but what? This subtly meant she was never pursued for what she was, but that was not to say she had never been prosecuted. That particular series of events had been for other matters entirely. She would leave the apparition to guess and wonder, just as he would leave her to do. Not quite ghost, and not quite poltergeist. She wondered about his purpose and the strange, minty scent of loyalty that clung to him. This house was like walking past a candle store in a mall - so many scents, and no way to process them all without numbing the senses.
He moved closer, and that pleased her, because that meant he did not see her as a threat. Adelphie was not a threat to him, but that was not to say she wasn't dangerous when the situation called for it.
She watched the way silver curls reflected the light with half-hearted interest as he inspected the receipt. Exuding calm benevolence all the while, and toying with the hanging designer's badge on her purse. He handed the slip back to her, and she shoved it deep inside once more. The smile reappeared, because she couldn't quite help it. Being pleased with a turn of events was hardly something that needed to be smothered, anyhow.
"Indisposed," she repeated, and the word was staccato with chuckles. If the man in question was the one she truly sought, she was not at all surprised that he was currently unavailable to her. Cornflower oculars shifted past her company and around the room, as if in thought, but mostly in assessment of the room they occupied. The kitchen was not unpleasant. It was simply not what she had expected to find. None of this was what she expected to find - from the townhouse turned bookstore, to the figment before her.
"Your company would be unobjectionable," she informed, after the briefest bout of silence. "I've nothing to do today, and would very much like to speak with this… Jean." She faltered on the name, practiced smile falling a touch because of it.
He was trying (and in her opinion) failing to be polite. No need for all this apprehension, as if it wasn't perfectly warranted. If she had any plans to watch this one unravel, she would have to put quite a bit of time and effort into it. Luckily, Adelphie was resilient and had nothing but time.
"Oh," she stated, suddenly, as an afterthought. "But what shall I call you?"
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - megs - 06-19-2015
She paused in her task as he reached for her, and the kiss he left against the corner of her mouth caused it to curve upwards in the smallest representation of a smile. She enjoyed the small affections he could spare for her. Rylan was not as damaged as she appeared. Her behavior was only caused by her desire not to be damaged further. If she already appeared soft and mild, there was no need to try and make her so.
Rylan wanted for very little. She did not desire a home, nor the love that came with one. She had no need for a master - already having one collar left little hope for another. Comfort and decency was all she asked for, not that she would ever voice it unprovoked. She was willing to trade what she needed to, for the illusion of a place where she was wanted, and the idea that someone cared about her. Arrangements such as these were typically temporary, but Rylan was more than adept at dealing with that when the time came
She watched the way he toyed with the end of her skirt, tail swaying gently behind her knees. Silver ears swept against her hair, once, and as he continued to speak she lifted her gaze to his face. "Then I shall attempt to find something you will like."
Soft fingers stroked across her skin, and the gesture was reward with a pleased feline trill. The sound had nothing to do with the specific motion, being mostly caused by having touched her at all. She rose up on her toes to kiss him, quickly, because she felt like she had earned that much at the very least. The option to kiss him, if she desired, when they were alone. She would naturally refrain from being so bold around others.
After dropping back to the floor, she turned away from him and walked across the room to retrieve her boots. When she had them in hand, she moved to a corner that was shadowed enough for her to disappear entirely, as if she'd never been there at all.
Time moved differently inside the Umbra. It was a strange, sheer veil between planes that allowed her to be where she wished with the utilization of her strange abilities. Therefore, when she returned through the same darkened corner in which she had left, time had only moved forward a minute or two.
Her skirt and sweater had been replaced with a bengaline wiggle dress that matched the blue of Jean's shirt. The three-quarter sleeves and knee-length skirt revealed the spots that trailed along her left side, and the collar of the dress framed the one around her neck. The filigreed locket, that usually dangled from the accessory, had been replaced with a sapphire pendant. A belt and patent leather pumps in the same vibrant blue completed the outfit. Her hair was loose, but pulled away from her face with sparkling barrettes, and the ribbon he had previously left on her ponytail, was tired around her wrist like some sort of favor.
"What do you think?" she asked, as she completed a small turn to model her decision, because all in all the change had been for him. "Good enough to greet your new guest?"
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Blade - 06-19-2015
For a moment he considered letting Jean know; there were ways, naturally… however, he was not entirely certain that he wanted this woman aware. Should he care? She would notice undoubtedly. She would likely sense the way his form would split and siphon to another portion of the home. Tut tut… it was silly to think his master could not manage things well enough on his own; it was always his heart that Elijah had a fear of ever being in danger—feelings were such sticky things. He thanked the gods, the ones he did not worship, that he had no care for as much beyond what devotion he gave to Jean.No, he already knew she was here; Elijah merely wanted the man to have information. Though, what he possessed thus far was limited at best. It would be a waste of his time. But, she agreed to tarry for a time, so he would make the most of it.
He held her blue gaze, long lashes blinking once for no reason in particular than it was a human habit. Curiosity and then some exuded from her, crisp and ripe. It was not a tangle of emotions, but they were clearly directed towards him and the man not present that she sought—the home by extension. Were she anything like Jean it probably all seemed rather confusing to her. A simple home looking a little too much like a quiet scholar’s who couldn’t keep a mess in order if he dreamed of it. Given the length of time he’d been in his master’s presence he could understand that feeling well enough.
This, by far, was tame when it came to Jean and the many names that rarely followed him. And Elijah should be grateful for the restraint given what he’d managed in previous eras.
When she repeated his word—indisposed—his lips twitched a bit. Not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. And it wasn’t entirely her fault the expression presented itself; more that, it was brought on by the very memories, that latent sarcasm he could sense. “Indeed,” he agreed, wondering if she understood.
“It is French,” he provided when she fumbled on the name, as if that explained everything. And it would, if one knew the man.
And while she still had yet to answer his question about the drink, he realized how entirely out of place for it was to have not introduced himself yet. While his master had taken many names over time, he’d always retained the same first one at least.
“Forgive me,” he told her, not the least bit apologetic in the formality. “Elijah Noctum.” At the introduction he offered his hand. “And you, madam?”
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Tindome - 06-20-2015
Jean had only managed to get his shoes on by the time Rylan returned, digging through his closet to find a plain black waistcoat. It was surprisingly difficult. Black with colored trims and black with brocade and black with pinstripes, and most of them were probably in such good shape because he did not wear them half as often as the basic black. What an awful paradox. "Hmm?" He squinted at one with a torn stitch near the hem, trying to decide if he could get away with it.
Oh, the hell with it. Bugger the whole mess. He'd already dressed once today, and that had taken quite long enough. This was the sort of thing he needed a valet for. That, and occasional sodomy. But, mostly, not having to go through the tedious business of sorting through his clothes. Which he had left, now, in magnificent disarray. He may have knocked a few hangers to the floor just to spite them.
For someone who became so irritated when someone else was unkind to his clothes, he was not very careful with them.
He emerged from his closet, and smiled when he saw Rylan, raking a hand through his hair again. "Lovely, ma belle," he assured her, descending on her to kiss the spot on her neck beneath her ear, just above the collar she wore. He sighed. "Maybe too lovely, when I am a mess." He wasn't actually, of course; for most, he would be considered well-dressed. But without the waistcoat, the jacket, the tie – it wasn't really a suit at all. It would have bothered him even more, at another time, to even consider being seen in such a way. His years of hermitage had at least done him that small bit of good where his vanity was concerned. He began rolling the sleeves up to his elbows, because it was his personal opinion that a shirt without a jacket looked better that way. Or perhaps he had too high an opinion of his own forearms.
"Alas, I believe that if I continue attempting to find something just right, I shall tear everything off in frustration and go downstairs undressed rather than bother with any of it. Elijah and Rhys might not mind, but there are other guests to consider." He took the hand with his ribbon and kissed the back of it, as if in thanks that she put up with him. "Perhaps later you can find something more presentable to do with my hair, oui?" A braid, maybe, or multiple braids. There were very few things he was opposed to, where his hair was concerned. She could put it in an updo and he would likely be delighted. Any excuse to let her touch his hair, to observe the effect when he let it fall later.
"Shall we meet the mysterious customer currently shopping in my kitchen, mademoiselle?
Oh, the hell with it. Bugger the whole mess. He'd already dressed once today, and that had taken quite long enough. This was the sort of thing he needed a valet for. That, and occasional sodomy. But, mostly, not having to go through the tedious business of sorting through his clothes. Which he had left, now, in magnificent disarray. He may have knocked a few hangers to the floor just to spite them.
For someone who became so irritated when someone else was unkind to his clothes, he was not very careful with them.
He emerged from his closet, and smiled when he saw Rylan, raking a hand through his hair again. "Lovely, ma belle," he assured her, descending on her to kiss the spot on her neck beneath her ear, just above the collar she wore. He sighed. "Maybe too lovely, when I am a mess." He wasn't actually, of course; for most, he would be considered well-dressed. But without the waistcoat, the jacket, the tie – it wasn't really a suit at all. It would have bothered him even more, at another time, to even consider being seen in such a way. His years of hermitage had at least done him that small bit of good where his vanity was concerned. He began rolling the sleeves up to his elbows, because it was his personal opinion that a shirt without a jacket looked better that way. Or perhaps he had too high an opinion of his own forearms.
"Alas, I believe that if I continue attempting to find something just right, I shall tear everything off in frustration and go downstairs undressed rather than bother with any of it. Elijah and Rhys might not mind, but there are other guests to consider." He took the hand with his ribbon and kissed the back of it, as if in thanks that she put up with him. "Perhaps later you can find something more presentable to do with my hair, oui?" A braid, maybe, or multiple braids. There were very few things he was opposed to, where his hair was concerned. She could put it in an updo and he would likely be delighted. Any excuse to let her touch his hair, to observe the effect when he let it fall later.
"Shall we meet the mysterious customer currently shopping in my kitchen, mademoiselle?
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - megs - 06-23-2015
She was clearly pleased that he had caught on to her little joke. Indisposed was such a polite word that undoubtedly covered a myriad of impolite activities. The tiniest twitch of lips was her reward, and she would take it for more than what it was worth. Perhaps, she could get a real smile out of him before the day's end. Surely, there was someone more entertaining beneath this stone-faced exterior. Adelphie was beginning to think she truly was in the right place. Not just as far as the signature was concerned. Now, she was almost ninety-nine percent positive that the signature belonged to the man she sought. Clues, that weren't meant to be clues, were dropped by her company, and everything was piecing together in familiarity.
"Of course, it's French," she concedes with another lilt of chuckles. He'd misunderstood the reason for her stumble, but it wasn't worth mentioning. Jean, as he seemed to call himself now, had had quite a few names in the time that she had known him. Of the ones she knew they were all so French. This one, however, was certainly the most boring of the lot.
She took the hand that was offered to her with gloved fingers. As she often did, she wondered to the feel of his skin. Did it feel as soft as it looked? Were the golden illustrations decorated upon it raised or rough? Or did they blend in seamlessly with all that paleness? She would never know, however. So much easier to wonder, than to deal with accidentally poisoning someone.
"Adelphie Rhodes," she replies, pulling her hand away from his after a brief handshake. "Though, just Adelphie, please. I am not quite old enough for all this madam, business." She waved the hand that she'd just taken from him, casually. It wasn't often that request was honored with those of Elijah's make. Taking himself too seriously. Though, it was likely Adelphie that did not take anyone else seriously enough. "It’s lovely to meet you, Elijah."
"Nothing to drink for me," she informs, though the offer had been sometime ago. Then, with another smile, she moved past Elijah to find a clear spot at the kitchen's island. She slid her bag off her shoulder and set it upon the counter before sliding into a stool. Still no confirmation that she was in the right place, but she was more than happy to make herself comfortable, anyway. The setting was rather homey, so she might has well take advantage of it. She crossed her legs, precariously balanced on the seat, and folded her hands in her lap. Currently, her attention was all for Elijah. "Such a gorgeous rose garden, I saw outside. Do you take care of them?"
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - megs - 06-23-2015
She purred, clearly pleased that he had complimented her choices. Even more so, when he kissed her neck, tilting her head slightly against the press of lips. "We both know that isn't true." Her voice was too soft to be considered scolding, but he was far from being any less presentable than she. Ears fell as deft fingers replaced his on the cuffs of his shirt, swiftly straightening any wrinkles or uneven folds.
She adjusted his collar, just to have and excuse to touch him, before smoothing her fingers over the buttons. He caught her hand before she finished; more kisses prompting more soft smiles and the swaying of her tail behind her shoulders. "I doubt even your other guests would mind," she teased, and her tone wasn't anything above a murmur just loud enough to be heard.
Her free hand pushed dark locks behind his shoulder and she nodded, eagerly. He had beaten her to the suggestion of arranging his hair. Truthfully, she'd wanted the opportunity to bury her hands in the soft fall of it since she'd met him.
Reclaiming her hand, she nodded again. All soft and quiet once more, because there was someone new downstairs, and that terrified her. Ears perked to attention, as she turned away from him. She opened the door, slipping into the hall to wait for Jean to take the lead.
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Angel Kimmi - 06-23-2015
Once he finished sneezing Zakiel wondered if he really had hurt their feelings, or was being a bother. They didn’t respond immediately to his request, though as aquamarine eyes lingered on Elijah he got the impression that it was more that his mind was elsewhere. It couldn’t be helped, he had that same problem quite frequently. He was a touch disappointed though when the tall handsome man excused himself and was gone in a few moments back from whence he came.That left him with Rhys. The prospect made him mildly anxious, but he would be fine providing she didn’t invade his personal space quite as…enthusiastically as last time. Zakiel’s attention was arrested momentarily as the door opened and there was the clack of heels as the red-head wove her way through the stacks of books. The newest arrival didn’t look like she spent much time around books if he was honest, too glamourous and perfectly put together… she was intimidating far more than Rhys was. Man-eater, was what came to mind as she came past them.
Zakiel jumped slightly as the cane came down on the floorboards with a loud noise. He froze as those blue eyes focused on them for what felt like forever but was probably mere moments. He shivered slightly but not due to the cold this time, he didn’t miss the unusually sharp white teeth that flashed with the smile, and was quite glad when she moved on. He could breathe easily again once she was gone, though briefly wondered whether she knew the owner or Elijah to walk around so freely on the premises.
Either way he was thankful that her sights were elsewhere. Elijah could no doubt look after himself. Turning his attention back to the young woman he said her name, "Rhys?"
Tsundoku - Antique and Well-Loved Books - Blade - 06-25-2015
Like Jean, she had a way of saying two things at once while hardly meaning the most obvious, he noticed. And really, it wasn’t two conversations at the same time because individuals like his master really only meant the least obvious of the two. Manners, above all else, dictated that it appear as though you meant the one that everyone assumed it to be. And the ones who understood you didn’t mean that at all, well, they were the only ones meant to understand at all.He sensed appeasement; however, he wasn’t certain if that was to be considered a good thing or not. Happiness could mean a variety of things depending on the one that felt that way.
He wasn’t certain how he should react to her ‘of course’, but decided to ignore it for the moment. Even so, there was an underlying familiarity about the way she said it. It was the tone more than anything else, as if she couldn’t imagine Jean calling himself by anything not French. Which, in truth, he could concede. Did this woman know his master? If she were like him, as he sensed, it wouldn’t be entirely impossible. The world, in his opinion, was small enough to make it so.
When she released his hand and made the request of the word madam he nodded. “Miss then?” he offered. “Miss Rhodes,” he corrected. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, as well.” Not entirely true, as he wasn’t certain about her; however, it sounded nice enough.
As she swept past him and took a seat he turned and tucked his hands into his pants’ pockets. When she sat, making herself at home in a way he still wasn’t certain about, and asked about the garden he glanced towards the window showing the abode.
The unsightly wench days prior had been responsible for the cleanliness. His master seemed to like things a bit messy as of late, and he wondered if that was his way of coping because he’d always been messy with his affairs. And while those were still—obviously—a bit messy, it was nowhere near where it had been.
He took a deep inhale, the most human thing to do if one were clearing their thoughts, and removed his hands from his pockets before crossing the room—around the island—to his coffee. The latter was procured before he turned and stood adjacent to her at the island. He close his eyes before sipping at the drink and then answered, “Thank you, but not as of late,” he told her honestly. “…A guest took liberties quite recently,” seemed the most polite way to say it. “If Jean requested it though, I would tend to it.” He certainly had enough time on his hands to if such a fancy carried him in that direction. But, he wouldn’t do anything to unnecessarily upset his master. The past, after all, still burned brightly into his mind—something distant and a little despondent. If Jean wanted a messy garden he wouldn’t deny him; there were more important things to confront him about if it became necessary.