The kinds of books she wanted were the kind that he kept in his office rather than out and about, but his memory… was simply wretched. He tried to keep a catalogue of things, but he rarely updated it, and even more rarely bothered to mention things like contents or subject or what the book looked like – since so many of the more obscure tomes in his office had no titles. Journals, diaries, grimoires.
He did not think he would be giving any grimoires to girls who fucked gargoyles and talked to rats. He barely trusted witches with grimoires.
He barely trusted witches to breathe.
Perhaps he ought to warn her about witches.
The first book he managed to locate was a never-actually-published account of one man's dealings with gargoyles, back when forests had been fearsome and the old gods hadn't left. Back when armies might include centaurs, or werewolves – or gargoyles.
Jean had only met a few gargoyles. Nice enough folk, on the whole. Gargoyles were on the short list of beings capable of penetrating him without hurting themselves in the process. It had been a long time, indeed, since he'd run into someone like that. How strange that she seemed so unsure of its nature, whoever it was, and wanted a book. Perhaps it spoke no English? A gargoyle generally spoke the language of whoever had brought them into being. A foreign gargoyle, then.
It was around when he found this first book that he tasted her first dark chocolate overtures toward fulfilling his request. An orgasm, then?
But, no. His hunch seemed to have been correct. Too sore for such things. Based on the glitter, her partner had been thorough.
The other book was one of a set, less personal in nature. A sort of bestiary written by someone interested in scientific inquiry toward magical things, back when they'd all been the same. The kind of thing that would focus on peculiar particulars like types of stone, the phase of the moon at time of creation, mechanisms of damage and repair. This volume had a variety of animatory beings, including gargoyles, but also things like homunculi–
Good riddance. He needed no reminders of this sort of thing.
Ah. She'd hit something. Some specific trigger had struck true, and struck hard. He was grateful for the distraction. Lemongrass and ginger, furious and painful. He hummed as he continued his search, passing over a grimoire as too risky despite its potential.
Oh. She was crying, now. It wasn't a fresh hurt, but it was a deep one. Better not to wonder at the source. He'd hurt people, certainly, but he was deliberate and precise. The wounds left by others could be so messy and vulgar, accidental or else serving no good purpose. It was depressing. It lacked artistry. Heartbreak simply wasn't as fun when it didn't seem like the victim deserved it. But this one was no concern of his, except that he could at least make it a little useful by enjoying it now.
He wandered back to the kitchen, humming. He set her books down on the counter, rested his cane against a cupboard, and started looking through the fridge.
Cake? She was finishing up, it seemed, and she felt like she'd need cake. An almond mille crêpes cake, with raspberry-rose cream. Quiche lorraine? Everyone always loved quiche. Brioches à tête would be nice and portable, surely, if she needed to take something with her. Apples were healthy, she could have brie and apples. Vanilla bean ice cream to go with the cake!
… perhaps this was all a bit much. He never could remember how much was considered a decent meal. They'd used to have such feasts, once upon a time, but even then it hadn't been universal. He set out a plate, anyway, and put out a slice of quiche so that she could sit at the counter. Sweets on an empty stomach might make her sick. Quiche and cheese first, and then cake. Start with the healthier things.
"Over here, dear," he called from the kitchen when she emerged from the bathroom.
He perked up immediately when he could get a better look at her, pale blue eyes skimming over her outfit. "Oh! But you look lovely, souris." He was pleasantly surprised. He'd thought for sure she'd be one to go for something big and shapeless, those little ballet flats that so many women of her sort seemed to prefer. He came around the counter to circle her, stopping short of touching her directly, but lifting his hand in a clear direction that he wanted her to lift her chin up to better examine her. "The sparkle," he said with relish. "Ah, you are radiant. No salon has seen to your nails, but with a necklace and a little lipstick to match the shoes.." He sighed. "Ignore me, it is only that I am enormously pleased. You have exceeded my every expectation! Sit, help yourself. Would you like a drink?"
He did not think he would be giving any grimoires to girls who fucked gargoyles and talked to rats. He barely trusted witches with grimoires.
He barely trusted witches to breathe.
Perhaps he ought to warn her about witches.
The first book he managed to locate was a never-actually-published account of one man's dealings with gargoyles, back when forests had been fearsome and the old gods hadn't left. Back when armies might include centaurs, or werewolves – or gargoyles.
Jean had only met a few gargoyles. Nice enough folk, on the whole. Gargoyles were on the short list of beings capable of penetrating him without hurting themselves in the process. It had been a long time, indeed, since he'd run into someone like that. How strange that she seemed so unsure of its nature, whoever it was, and wanted a book. Perhaps it spoke no English? A gargoyle generally spoke the language of whoever had brought them into being. A foreign gargoyle, then.
It was around when he found this first book that he tasted her first dark chocolate overtures toward fulfilling his request. An orgasm, then?
But, no. His hunch seemed to have been correct. Too sore for such things. Based on the glitter, her partner had been thorough.
The other book was one of a set, less personal in nature. A sort of bestiary written by someone interested in scientific inquiry toward magical things, back when they'd all been the same. The kind of thing that would focus on peculiar particulars like types of stone, the phase of the moon at time of creation, mechanisms of damage and repair. This volume had a variety of animatory beings, including gargoyles, but also things like homunculi–
Good riddance. He needed no reminders of this sort of thing.
Ah. She'd hit something. Some specific trigger had struck true, and struck hard. He was grateful for the distraction. Lemongrass and ginger, furious and painful. He hummed as he continued his search, passing over a grimoire as too risky despite its potential.
Oh. She was crying, now. It wasn't a fresh hurt, but it was a deep one. Better not to wonder at the source. He'd hurt people, certainly, but he was deliberate and precise. The wounds left by others could be so messy and vulgar, accidental or else serving no good purpose. It was depressing. It lacked artistry. Heartbreak simply wasn't as fun when it didn't seem like the victim deserved it. But this one was no concern of his, except that he could at least make it a little useful by enjoying it now.
He wandered back to the kitchen, humming. He set her books down on the counter, rested his cane against a cupboard, and started looking through the fridge.
Cake? She was finishing up, it seemed, and she felt like she'd need cake. An almond mille crêpes cake, with raspberry-rose cream. Quiche lorraine? Everyone always loved quiche. Brioches à tête would be nice and portable, surely, if she needed to take something with her. Apples were healthy, she could have brie and apples. Vanilla bean ice cream to go with the cake!
… perhaps this was all a bit much. He never could remember how much was considered a decent meal. They'd used to have such feasts, once upon a time, but even then it hadn't been universal. He set out a plate, anyway, and put out a slice of quiche so that she could sit at the counter. Sweets on an empty stomach might make her sick. Quiche and cheese first, and then cake. Start with the healthier things.
"Over here, dear," he called from the kitchen when she emerged from the bathroom.
He perked up immediately when he could get a better look at her, pale blue eyes skimming over her outfit. "Oh! But you look lovely, souris." He was pleasantly surprised. He'd thought for sure she'd be one to go for something big and shapeless, those little ballet flats that so many women of her sort seemed to prefer. He came around the counter to circle her, stopping short of touching her directly, but lifting his hand in a clear direction that he wanted her to lift her chin up to better examine her. "The sparkle," he said with relish. "Ah, you are radiant. No salon has seen to your nails, but with a necklace and a little lipstick to match the shoes.." He sighed. "Ignore me, it is only that I am enormously pleased. You have exceeded my every expectation! Sit, help yourself. Would you like a drink?"
The following 1 user Likes Tindome's post: SolitareLee
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »
Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-01-2017, 03:48 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-01-2017, 03:49 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-01-2017, 07:06 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-01-2017, 07:31 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-01-2017, 07:52 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-01-2017, 08:06 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-01-2017, 08:29 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-01-2017, 08:49 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-01-2017, 09:38 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-01-2017, 09:48 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-02-2017, 05:22 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-02-2017, 07:31 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-04-2017, 04:33 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-04-2017, 02:46 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-05-2017, 03:31 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-05-2017, 11:17 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-05-2017, 02:46 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-05-2017, 03:09 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-05-2017, 07:03 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-05-2017, 07:27 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-06-2017, 03:02 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-06-2017, 03:31 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-06-2017, 04:46 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-06-2017, 10:54 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-06-2017, 09:17 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-06-2017, 11:11 PM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-07-2017, 03:55 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-07-2017, 10:05 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-08-2017, 03:11 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by SolitareLee - 04-08-2017, 03:36 AM
RE: Être Dans de Beaux Draps [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-08-2017, 04:12 AM