Warm Reunions [Closed] - Printable Version
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RE: Warm Reunions [Closed] - Tindome - 03-26-2017
He took a slow step closer to her – just one. A limp, but his legs were still long, and one was all he really needed to get his point across.
"Cernunnos," he said. "Mr. Cernunnos, at your service, mademoiselle."
Lying through her teeth, and poorly. He didn't even need to be able to taste it on her to tell.
"I do not wish to upset you, young lady, and I apologize if it seems that I am accusing you of anything untoward–" He paused, watching her, considering. "Is it possible, I wonder, that you have not been entirely honest with me? I can be very forgiving, if you have."
He took another slow, deliberate step. "Why are you here?" he asked as gently as he was able. "Please do not lie to me again."
"Cernunnos," he said. "Mr. Cernunnos, at your service, mademoiselle."
Lying through her teeth, and poorly. He didn't even need to be able to taste it on her to tell.
"I do not wish to upset you, young lady, and I apologize if it seems that I am accusing you of anything untoward–" He paused, watching her, considering. "Is it possible, I wonder, that you have not been entirely honest with me? I can be very forgiving, if you have."
He took another slow, deliberate step. "Why are you here?" he asked as gently as he was able. "Please do not lie to me again."
RE: Warm Reunions [Closed] - SolitareLee - 03-26-2017
"Mr. Cernunnos," she repeated shakily, taking another step backwards. Her ass hit the desk. "That's... haha, that's not even close, is it? My apologies." She was so fucked. With each step he took closer, a vice clenched tighter in her chest. She knew that limp was mostly an act, that he could be fast and nimble and much stronger than her.
"I'm--I don't--" She was so fucked.
But he knew she was lying. But still didn't know her? He couldn't put two and two together, the book she was asking for and the general appearance of her? Perhaps menacing teenagers was such a regular hobby of his that she could have been one of a few dozen. The thought made her teeth clench, but she supposed it wasn't all that surprising.
Still.
It had only been four years.
"My name is Bridget Corey," she said finally, hands clenching around the edge of the desk, uncertain as to what his reaction would be. To mock her, most probably. To laugh, perhaps. "I came to see if you were selling my book."
RE: Warm Reunions [Closed] - Tindome - 03-26-2017
"Bridget Corey," he repeated, rolling the syllables around in his mouth. He was not a fae thing capable of drawing on the power of a name, but the effect was ominous nonetheless.
She expected the name to mean something to him.
Fuck.
A mother? A father? Had he at some point fucked a dog? Was someone under some unfortunate misapprehensions about their parentage? He certainly hoped not, considering the sexual confusion.
What book? Perhaps he'd bought something from one of her parents that had not been theirs to sell. It wouldn't be the first time. Would he have done that? He didn't think that he would. Not if she'd been a child. The distress of small children with terrible parents was hardly something he savored, even at his worst. The distress of small children in general. It took time for a person's pain to become palatable. It was why hospitals were so unpleasant. And pregnant women.
Whatever she was looking for – children's stories, old, must have been in poor condition for her to mention it – she hadn't found it. Therefore, logically:
"The book will not be leaving my possession," he said, not missing a beat and without the faintest idea if what he'd just said to her would be upsetting or a great relief.
She expected the name to mean something to him.
Fuck.
A mother? A father? Had he at some point fucked a dog? Was someone under some unfortunate misapprehensions about their parentage? He certainly hoped not, considering the sexual confusion.
What book? Perhaps he'd bought something from one of her parents that had not been theirs to sell. It wouldn't be the first time. Would he have done that? He didn't think that he would. Not if she'd been a child. The distress of small children with terrible parents was hardly something he savored, even at his worst. The distress of small children in general. It took time for a person's pain to become palatable. It was why hospitals were so unpleasant. And pregnant women.
Whatever she was looking for – children's stories, old, must have been in poor condition for her to mention it – she hadn't found it. Therefore, logically:
"The book will not be leaving my possession," he said, not missing a beat and without the faintest idea if what he'd just said to her would be upsetting or a great relief.
RE: Warm Reunions [Closed] - SolitareLee - 03-26-2017
She narrowed her eyes. There was no glint of recognition in him at all, despite the ominous way he'd over-pronounced her name, as if he was tasting it.
Did he... Did he... still not recognize her?
Surely not.
Surely, after all that fuss about her name and keeping track of her and her remembering him.
He hadn't proceeded to not bother to remember her fucking name.
...He had smelled an awful lot like alcohol when they'd first met.
Oh god, had she been menaced by a drunk French monster? Was that why he'd been so much more of a sadistic little shit? Less control of himself due to alcohol?
"...You're selling an awful lot of books," she said instead of voicing her suspicions. She gestured all around them. "Why not this one? If you decided to stop being a book-hoarding shut-in, why not let me take some off your hands?"
RE: Warm Reunions [Closed] - Tindome - 03-27-2017
The charred taste of suspicious anger.
Shit.
"I do not think that I care for your choice of words," he said, mild warning. "I have made a hobby of acquiring books, and now I am making a hobby of assisting others in the acquisition of books. As I recall, you showed an interest in several, and I did not object to that interest. My sale of some books does not necessitate the sale of all books, particularly not those that are... special."
He had no idea if he still had her book, or if he would even consider it special by his standards. Nonetheless, he objected to characterization of himself as a hoarding shut-in. He wasn't a dragon. He just hadn't felt like going out. And books were a common collectible.
Her disdainful attitude was uncalled for, anyway, when he'd been nothing but civil. As far as he could recall.
Shit.
"I do not think that I care for your choice of words," he said, mild warning. "I have made a hobby of acquiring books, and now I am making a hobby of assisting others in the acquisition of books. As I recall, you showed an interest in several, and I did not object to that interest. My sale of some books does not necessitate the sale of all books, particularly not those that are... special."
He had no idea if he still had her book, or if he would even consider it special by his standards. Nonetheless, he objected to characterization of himself as a hoarding shut-in. He wasn't a dragon. He just hadn't felt like going out. And books were a common collectible.
Her disdainful attitude was uncalled for, anyway, when he'd been nothing but civil. As far as he could recall.
RE: Warm Reunions [Closed] - SolitareLee - 03-27-2017
"Préférez-vous en français?" she snapped, even though she really should be focusing on controlling her anger. "Vous puait d'alcool. Vous avez regardé comme si vous n'aviez pas quitté votre chambre en jours." She took some pleasure in the smooth way the language left her tongue. Her minor in French had been totally unnecessary, but she was sort of glad for it now. She let out a frustrated hiss of a sigh. Antagonizing him wasn't going to get her book back. She ran a strained hand through what hair she could reach around the base of her hat. "Please. Tell me honestly. Are you keeping it from me because it's special, or because it was destroyed or lost?" He had no reason to tell her. She had no reason to believe whatever he said. "At least tell me that much."
It would be nice to think that maybe it had actually been worth the $50,000 price tag, for whatever goddamn reason. It hurt her not to have it; it hurt her the way she'd parted from it. But if it was well-loved somewhere, that was... better, right?
RE: Warm Reunions [Closed] - Tindome - 03-27-2017
Ah.
What a horribly rude girl.
"In theory," he said, "I would always prefer French. Mais, from you, I think that your English is no worse than that of anyone else. A lack of disadvantage can be a sort of advantage unto itself n'est-ce pas?"
He couldn't possibly have been drunk. There wasn't enough alcohol in the world. If she was assuming he was, that was even worse, wasn't it? Showing up at his house to berate a man in recovery. Which he was. In his way.
Rude girl.
"It is mine," he said simply. "I am under no obligation to inform you of the status of my possessions. You gave up your right to know such things when the book ceased to be yours."
What a horribly rude girl.
"In theory," he said, "I would always prefer French. Mais, from you, I think that your English is no worse than that of anyone else. A lack of disadvantage can be a sort of advantage unto itself n'est-ce pas?"
He couldn't possibly have been drunk. There wasn't enough alcohol in the world. If she was assuming he was, that was even worse, wasn't it? Showing up at his house to berate a man in recovery. Which he was. In his way.
Rude girl.
"It is mine," he said simply. "I am under no obligation to inform you of the status of my possessions. You gave up your right to know such things when the book ceased to be yours."
RE: Warm Reunions [Closed] - SolitareLee - 03-27-2017
She let out a frustrated huff, crossing her arms. He. He had no idea, did he. There was no glint of recognition, no sign of the faintest sheen of the sadistic pleasure he'd had four years ago. Was this some kind of supernatural tomfoolery? She pointed an accusatory finger at him. "You don't remember do you? You have no idea who I am. You don't even know what book I'm talking about. After all that shit you put me through! If there are two of you in there and I'm scolding a stranger for something his alcoholic, unshaven counterpart did, by all means, please inform me!" It seemed as likely as anything else at this point, and it would explain how mild he was being, in general. Rude, but mild. She'd called him stinky--and he was--as an 18 year old girl and he'd proceeded to eviscerate her. But she'd chewed him out--in French--and all he'd had was a comparatively mild insult about her oratory skills. This was honestly kind of off-putting. She was kind of starting to feel like an asshole.
"I'm serious, is this some kind of horrible case of mistaken identity? Is Mr. Lestrange a different person than Mr. Cernunnos? Are you a set of twins? Multiple personality disorder? Extremely forgetful?"
RE: Warm Reunions [Closed] - Tindome - 03-27-2017
"You are a presumptuous young woman."
This time, those precise steps continued until he was within arms' reach of her. Or cane's reach.
If she'd been as rude as this before, it was no wonder he'd done whatever it was she was accusing him of having done to her. Assuming that he had, and she wasn't just overreacting to some minor slight. How offended she was already, at the mere suggestion that he might not remember her!
He didn't, but she couldn't possibly have known that for sure. Her unwillingness to give him the benefit of the doubt suggested an unpleasant sort of personality that he did not care for.
And overall, if he was honest, the subtler tannins of her fear were far preferable to the burnt taste of her indignation.
"Tell me, Miss Corey: what exactly is it that has left you with the misapprehension that you have the right to know anything at all about me?"
This time, those precise steps continued until he was within arms' reach of her. Or cane's reach.
If she'd been as rude as this before, it was no wonder he'd done whatever it was she was accusing him of having done to her. Assuming that he had, and she wasn't just overreacting to some minor slight. How offended she was already, at the mere suggestion that he might not remember her!
He didn't, but she couldn't possibly have known that for sure. Her unwillingness to give him the benefit of the doubt suggested an unpleasant sort of personality that he did not care for.
And overall, if he was honest, the subtler tannins of her fear were far preferable to the burnt taste of her indignation.
"Tell me, Miss Corey: what exactly is it that has left you with the misapprehension that you have the right to know anything at all about me?"
RE: Warm Reunions [Closed] - SolitareLee - 03-27-2017
She tried to swallow back fear as he approached, but pressed herself back against the desk subconsciously. God why was she like this. What had happened to go in, check for the book, get out before anything horrible involving kneeling, begging, or French could become involved?
"I'm--I..." She swallowed, took a deep breath. Composed herself, or tried to. She was being messy, because he made her feel like she was eighteen and scared and humiliated again.
"Because the last time I was here, you put me through hell," she managed finally. "Really weird, uncomfortable hell that probably should not have happened to a high schooler." Did he seriously not remember? "There was kneeling involved. You tried to get me to beg for anal in French. Is any of this ringing a bell? Or do you just do that to all the teenage girls that stop by?"
RE: Warm Reunions [Closed] - Tindome - 03-27-2017
Hm.
It was… almost plausible.
"High schooler," he repeated, dubious. "A child, still in school?" He clicked his tongue. "What a peculiar thing that would be to do to a child, unprompted." He tapped his fingers on his cane. "I think that you are forgetting some very important things," he said, "as comfortable as my floors may seem to be for kneeling."
He started to say something else. He paused.
Scones.
His eyes widened. "Zut." He suddenly and without preamble abandoned his impromptu investigation to head back toward the kitchen, stumbling halfway and catching himself before doing anything too clumsy. His torn muscles of his thigh throbbed at him like the beating of a heart beneath the floorboards, so easy to ignore except when it wasn't. He muttered curses under his breath, threw open the hall door and didn't bother closing it.
He also didn't bother putting on an oven mitt when he pulled the pan out of the oven, though he did take the time to pull off the glove on his right hand and toss it aside with his cane.
It was nice leather. He wasn't about to go ruining a perfectly good pair of gloves.
The scones were slightly overdone, but not burnt, a fact for which he was immensely grateful. He regarded his blistering fingertips with some disdain. "Tch." They hurt, the way burns always hurt, the way injuries to fingertips were always the worst, all his nerve endings sizzling down to the bone as if it were anything other than the shallowest possible thing. It would heal quickly enough – faster than it would have taken to buy a new set of gloves. And the scones were saved.
It was… almost plausible.
"High schooler," he repeated, dubious. "A child, still in school?" He clicked his tongue. "What a peculiar thing that would be to do to a child, unprompted." He tapped his fingers on his cane. "I think that you are forgetting some very important things," he said, "as comfortable as my floors may seem to be for kneeling."
He started to say something else. He paused.
Scones.
His eyes widened. "Zut." He suddenly and without preamble abandoned his impromptu investigation to head back toward the kitchen, stumbling halfway and catching himself before doing anything too clumsy. His torn muscles of his thigh throbbed at him like the beating of a heart beneath the floorboards, so easy to ignore except when it wasn't. He muttered curses under his breath, threw open the hall door and didn't bother closing it.
He also didn't bother putting on an oven mitt when he pulled the pan out of the oven, though he did take the time to pull off the glove on his right hand and toss it aside with his cane.
It was nice leather. He wasn't about to go ruining a perfectly good pair of gloves.
The scones were slightly overdone, but not burnt, a fact for which he was immensely grateful. He regarded his blistering fingertips with some disdain. "Tch." They hurt, the way burns always hurt, the way injuries to fingertips were always the worst, all his nerve endings sizzling down to the bone as if it were anything other than the shallowest possible thing. It would heal quickly enough – faster than it would have taken to buy a new set of gloves. And the scones were saved.
RE: Warm Reunions [Closed] - SolitareLee - 03-27-2017
He wasn't quite in her personal space, so far, except for the fact she had a very wide definition of personal space. It depended on the person. Her personal bubble, so far as he was concerned, was about a football field. But he was close enough that he could have reached out and grabbed her. Or tucked that cane under her chin again. But maybe he wouldn't, since he probably didn't remember her. Her fingernails were practically digging into the desk. Not for the first time, she wished she were a proper werewolf and had some actual defenses. Being a cursed human was extremely inconvenient. All of the downsides, none of the benefits.
And she could use benefits at a time like this, when she was once again trapped in a house with an immortal she'd pissed off because she was a fucking dumbass who just did these things apparently. She was practically sitting on the desk now, just trying to get some more space between the two of them.
He was looming.
And then, apropos of nothing, he swore and half-ran out of the room, stumbling as he seemed to put too much weight on his bad leg. He caught himself with his cane and kept going, throwing a door open and vanishing into it.
...Had he... remembered?
He'd remembered something, but somehow she doubted it had anything to do with her. It had seemed to urgent. She didn't think he considered anything to do with her particularly urgent.
She could probably leave now. Or like. She didn't know, knock something over. Although there was nothing here but books and she could neither damage nor steal them. She would never be able to allow herself to. That was just low.
...She couldn't go sneaking around his house. But she was curious. She meandered vaguely towards the door, not going through, but looking through. She could sort of see into a kitchen. Where she saw him grab a pan right out of the oven with a bare hand. Holy SHIT! Her legs were sending her closer before it even registered to her what she was doing.
Sure enough, his skin was horribly blistering, practically melting. "Oh my god!" she exclaimed, almost yelping. "Holy shit! Where is your first aid kit?!" She glanced frantically around the kitchen, opening a random cupboard as if it might contain a burn kit. It contained baking sheets. She glanced back over at his hand, wincing. "Oh god! Put it under some cold water, hurry up! You idiot, did you forget an oven mitt? What is with your memory?" This other cupboard contained pots. Still no bandages.
RE: Warm Reunions [Closed] - Tindome - 03-28-2017
Jean blinked in surprise as the young woman entered his kitchen, and watched as she proceeded to fall into a horrible dither.
Her distress was both intense and entirely genuine.
He laughed.
"Mademoiselle, if you could please extract yourself from my cupboards?" He bent at the waist to get more at her level. "Thank you kindly for the help, dear. I am quite fine." He held up his hand, and wiggled his fingers. Entirely intact and not even calloused, his nails tidy little ovals. "The kit is beneath the sink, regardless."
Not that he'd ever needed it. But he had such a troubling tendency to acquire the unluckiest strays.
He sighed. "You are a rude girl, but I cannot fault your intentions here, can I?" In this one, small, specific instance. "Have a scone. I have not glazed them yet, but they should be delicious without it, assuming you object to neither lemons nor currants." He waved dismissively at them. "Take a deep breath. Collect yourself."
He might have patted her head, if she wouldn't have taken it the wrong way.
He leaned back against a counter. "This book – would it have broken your heart to part with it?" If she'd gone through all the trouble of coming back here when it so clearly distressed her, it was plausible. If that were the case, he knew exactly where he'd keep it.
Her distress was both intense and entirely genuine.
He laughed.
"Mademoiselle, if you could please extract yourself from my cupboards?" He bent at the waist to get more at her level. "Thank you kindly for the help, dear. I am quite fine." He held up his hand, and wiggled his fingers. Entirely intact and not even calloused, his nails tidy little ovals. "The kit is beneath the sink, regardless."
Not that he'd ever needed it. But he had such a troubling tendency to acquire the unluckiest strays.
He sighed. "You are a rude girl, but I cannot fault your intentions here, can I?" In this one, small, specific instance. "Have a scone. I have not glazed them yet, but they should be delicious without it, assuming you object to neither lemons nor currants." He waved dismissively at them. "Take a deep breath. Collect yourself."
He might have patted her head, if she wouldn't have taken it the wrong way.
He leaned back against a counter. "This book – would it have broken your heart to part with it?" If she'd gone through all the trouble of coming back here when it so clearly distressed her, it was plausible. If that were the case, he knew exactly where he'd keep it.
RE: Warm Reunions [Closed] - SolitareLee - 03-28-2017
She wasn't expecting him to laugh. It didn't sound as cruel as it had in her memory, or perhaps imagination, since she didn't actually think he'd laughed. Had he? No, she didn't think so. Chuckled, perhaps.
"What?" she said, still distressed but now confused as well, squatting at a cupboard. She looked up at his wiggling fingers, and was astounded to see them entirely intact. Had she seen wrong? No, that was stupid. "Oh." She began to flush. Right. Immortal. Obviously he'd have some. Stupid heal-y power or whatever. And she was digging through his fucking cupboards like a moron. He was supposed to be her antagonist or something. But she'd always been very poor at seeing people in serious pain, unless she'd been the one to put them there, in which case she knew exactly what they'd done to deserve it.
She could--and had--break a man's arm for pawing at a classmate on the bus, but let her see a random person with a broken finger and she'd be a frantic wreck until she could get them medical attention. It was very stupid, one of many social faux pas she repeated regularly even though, after seven years in human society, she should have fucking known better.
She stood, straightening out her skirt and trying to look less like a fucking moron. It was probably a lost cause. She eyed the scones, wondering if it would be considered rude to refuse, or more rude to pick the "currants" out. She was lucky she knew Fancy Asshole for raisins, or she'd be in a world of hurt if she actually ate one. She didn't really want him to know she couldn't have raisins, anyway. He'd know why. It would be embarrassing.
"Thank you, but I'm sure they're still very hot," she decided as a reasonable compromise. "If I burn, I won't heal in a few seconds." Nervous chuckle, somewhat forced. It felt weird, but he was being less aggressive and it was hard to be angry on the end of so much concern for someone's well-being.
The question, however, made her flush darker. More just because of the way he said it. It felt like an accusation of weakness. He wasn't wrong. She'd never thought about it in those terms, but it had sort of broken her heart. A few other things, too, like her self-image and a few details about the way she saw the world and where she fit in it. Her pride had taken a serious blow. She couldn't admit that out loud, however. She tried, and it wouldn't come out.
"My mother gave it to me when I was five," she said instead, quietly, staring vaguely towards the scones to avoid making anything resembling eye contact.
RE: Warm Reunions [Closed] - Tindome - 04-01-2017
Confusion, embarrassment. Cute.
She was lying about the scones. What a strange thing to lie about. Did she think he'd be offended if she said no? What a peculiar thing to worry about, now, after the things she'd already said.
Currants. The taste of white pepper. The hat.
He smiled. "My apologies," he said. "It was not a deliberate attempt at a poisoning – I did not consider your condition. As it were. I suppose I ought to be more careful, now, when baking for guests." He frowned as he considered the scones. There were many such food allergies, weren't there? Perhaps some kind of muffin, or tart… a cake would not feel so inviting to a stranger. A cupcake? No, too pedestrian. Tarts. He liked those. He could find a way to make that work.
Hm.
Losing her book had upset her more than she was willing to admit. Mortified in ways she had a hard time expressing. That might be obvious even if he couldn't taste it on her, the colors she was turning.
She had such pretty skin. He would not be so gauche as to say so.
"You may come upstairs with me, if you would like," he decided, retrieving his glove. "If it is not worth the risk to you, then I will not be offended – but that will be that." He tugged his glove on and flexed his fingers in the leather. "If you are willing, then you may see what has become of my book, which was once yours." He took his cane back in his hand, and rested on it, waiting.
She was lying about the scones. What a strange thing to lie about. Did she think he'd be offended if she said no? What a peculiar thing to worry about, now, after the things she'd already said.
Currants. The taste of white pepper. The hat.
He smiled. "My apologies," he said. "It was not a deliberate attempt at a poisoning – I did not consider your condition. As it were. I suppose I ought to be more careful, now, when baking for guests." He frowned as he considered the scones. There were many such food allergies, weren't there? Perhaps some kind of muffin, or tart… a cake would not feel so inviting to a stranger. A cupcake? No, too pedestrian. Tarts. He liked those. He could find a way to make that work.
Hm.
Losing her book had upset her more than she was willing to admit. Mortified in ways she had a hard time expressing. That might be obvious even if he couldn't taste it on her, the colors she was turning.
She had such pretty skin. He would not be so gauche as to say so.
"You may come upstairs with me, if you would like," he decided, retrieving his glove. "If it is not worth the risk to you, then I will not be offended – but that will be that." He tugged his glove on and flexed his fingers in the leather. "If you are willing, then you may see what has become of my book, which was once yours." He took his cane back in his hand, and rested on it, waiting.