[He takes a moment to sink further into the tub, though the idea itself is ridiculous -- he is hardly a small man, and the tub is not even close to being large enough to accommodate him comfortably. As a result, his knees peak over the edge of the water.
His sigh makes some bubbles on the surface, and he adjusts himself to rise out of the water. He's not moping.]
[She all but clucks her tongue at him, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.]
For God's sake, stay put. I'll bring it to you.
[Let the poor man continue to stew if that's what he preferred. She withdraws from the doorway accordingly without bothering to pull the door shut behind her. All in all, it takes her perhaps ten minutes to fix them something. The kettle runs very hot and fast and she's never been so silly as to not know how to cut and squeeze a lemon. Thank Heaven for her place in the Order; she can't begin to believe how pathetic she might have been in Eudio city had she spent her entire adulthood doing nothing but plunking away on the pianoforte and lounging in silks. She orders the cups on their saucers (the first pointed purchase she'd made outside of a new wardrobe), and fetches both bath to the washroom where she fully expects Alistair to still be submerged.
She shoulders the door open and has not even the thought of hesitation much less the pretense of shame as she carries in the two cups and sets one just there on the edge of the bath. She flips down the lid of the toilet and tosses a towel over it, then perches there, fighting the inclination to put her feet up on the tub's edge (her boots are dirty from the park).]
[She misses the brief smirk that appears on his face as she leaves -- its quick to turn somber, as always, but turning Isabeau to exasperation was always one of the more amusing tasks of his life fraught with bloodshed, politics, and death. He stays put -- after all, it would be rude to refuse her, and though her brother he may be, he is her older brother.
The truth is, he's beginning to prune, and the water has stopped steaming. The bubbles still cover a thin film on top of the water, but the red on his skin from the heat has started to fade to gooseflesh. Alastair is careful to reach for his cup slowly, so as to not jostle the porcelain and ruin all of her hard work.]
None.
[He pulls the sauce to his chest and glances up to her with a raised eyebrow as if to ask ever again? He gives it no voice -- wouldn't want her to get the idea that he was going soft, after all.
But he can still smell that aftershave -- more, now that she's so close.]
Forgive me for wanting to spend more time with you.
[Her own saucer and cup she balances on her knee, the fine little flowers and tiny birds circling the base of the cup pleasantly simple and familiar if she squints and pretends they've been painted by hand rather than printed in reproduction. She fetches the cup up-- pauses--
And looks at him, her her mouth faintly pinched and her eyebrows raised by some narrow margin. In any other circumstance - if they were home, for example -, she might make fun of him. But they're very far from it, and she can sympathize with kind of homesickness. With wanting to be near to something or someone who makes sense when so very little else does.] I suppose. Just this once.
[To that, he stays silent for a time. He knows his sister's need to always seem haughter, wiser, stronger than everyone else around her. A thirst to prove herself, a competitive streak that he never really shared beyond an urge to make her happy. He fed her needs just enough to keep her happy, and not enough to exhaust what little reserves of energy he had.
He was endless, but he was tired. Always tired, but determined.]
One day, you'll actually begin to keep count.
[He drinks the water he's been given perhaps a touch faster than he ought to in favor of freeing himself from the chilly bathwater. There is ample warning in how he pulls the plug from the tub first -- but he isn't about to wait much longer than it takes to drain down to his midsection. Alastair stands and steps free of the bathtub, grabbing the towel off the rack to make himself decent before standing opposite of her.]
It isn't so bad, is it?
[It wasn't often he asked questions, but Isabeau's opinion is the only one he really cares for. Their current dwellings were seemingly free of strife, struggle, and filth. Admittedly, its a change -- a big change that makes some of Alastair uncomfortable, even knowing there were others like him lurking about.
But its all the unknowns that keep him from getting too comfortable.]
[She does him the favor of raising her eyes to the ceiling as the bath drains and he extricates himself from it. There's a chip in the paint by the light fixture. It will need to be remedied before the moisture begins to take hold, before it begins to bubble and peel. She'd rather like her security deposit back if they ever have the means to shift out of this little place with its cheap carpets and odd laminate counters--]
Isn't it?
[She says it without thinking, dropping her attention back to him. Even when she has a moment to consider what's just left her mouth, she isn't surprised by it. --Maybe she's just surprised by him asking.]
To be sure, the air here is cleaner and there's rather less blood in the streets if that's your sort of thing, but-- don't you miss it? London? Knowing exactly the role you were meant to play.
[Christ, she does. Even the part of her that had longed to be done with the Order, to remove herself and be married and have children and manage a house and grow old, misses it. She misses Westminster. She misses dark catacombs. She misses her arc gun and the short sword on her back. She even misses their Father who could unarguably be a cold old man, shackled by tradition (but by God the man had earned the right to be ornery?)
But certainly that isn't why he's asking. That can't be all he wants to hear from her. She does her best to give him that - not just because she somehow owes it to him, but because she wants to. He's her brother and she loves him as terribly as she misses the way things used to be (before poor Mallory had died).]
But I will admit this place affords certain allowances that I wouldn't have otherwise. Namely, that I get to be in your company so often. I've also learned to make a fairly good cup of hot water, you know And-- [Well no one would be astonished if she were to sometimes make her bed elsewhere. No that she has. Not yet, but--] And the people are very kind and sweet.
Sounds like you miss the blood in the streets the most.
[His smile is a flicker, at that. Oh, to be young. His position was privileged, certainly, compared to most lycans. But blood in the streets? That's what he was hoping to avoid. In comparison, this city is...nice, in a way that feels strangely toothless, in a way he still isn't sure how to approach. A place where he doesn't have to fight.
A place where he can finally enjoy a family again, in a way he hadn't since before he could remember.]
I miss my routine.
[And--yes, that was it, really. He couldn't miss father, especially as of late. Not when everything was so rapidly beginning to bear down upon him, not when soon, he would be forced to subjugate him or kill him. And, knowing his father, it would not have ended cleanly or kindly.
At the mention of the people, his tone changes. From his brotherly tone, to his Knight-Commander tone.]
[She sniffs and takes a sip of her hot water. It's not like that at all. She could happily trade away the lycan hunting, but isn't she allowed to miss what had come of it? How close they once all were - bound by some common purpose and truth. The fact that it was broken before they'd even come to this place doesn't escape her of course, but everything about Eudio serves as a bitter reminder of it.
Luckily Lucan is more than capable of keeping her from becoming too terribly grim. No one else would know it, but the man's sense of humor isn't so dead as it seems. She makes a short noise, rolls her eyes.]
For conversation? Of course. There are two or three perfectly interesting people to talk to in this city. Occasionally I told their hand while we do it. [She raises her cup and arches an eyebrow. God save the Queen and all that tosh.]
And you? Don't tell me you're staying so fit just because you prefer it.
[Truthfully, Alastair was about as interested in what he believed the aims of Eudio to be as Isabeau likely was. Perhaps even less -- to sire another lycan would be to willingly curse his would-be bedmate. The idea was appealing because it was an idea. In practice -- well. He had other things to be concerned with. And what was the point, if not to build a family?
He'd bet on a more prosperous future, yet here he was.
But he'd spent many years telling stories that were not his own, so Isi gets another brief flicker of amusement across his face before he offers her his reply.]
Would that be so unbelievable? You've seen more lycans in a fortnight than I have in almost a year's time. I would grow a belly in short order. Who would hold my hand then?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
His sigh makes some bubbles on the surface, and he adjusts himself to rise out of the water. He's not moping.]
I suppose.
[Ok, maybe he's moping a little.]
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For God's sake, stay put. I'll bring it to you.
[Let the poor man continue to stew if that's what he preferred. She withdraws from the doorway accordingly without bothering to pull the door shut behind her. All in all, it takes her perhaps ten minutes to fix them something. The kettle runs very hot and fast and she's never been so silly as to not know how to cut and squeeze a lemon. Thank Heaven for her place in the Order; she can't begin to believe how pathetic she might have been in Eudio city had she spent her entire adulthood doing nothing but plunking away on the pianoforte and lounging in silks. She orders the cups on their saucers (the first pointed purchase she'd made outside of a new wardrobe), and fetches both bath to the washroom where she fully expects Alistair to still be submerged.
She shoulders the door open and has not even the thought of hesitation much less the pretense of shame as she carries in the two cups and sets one just there on the edge of the bath. She flips down the lid of the toilet and tosses a towel over it, then perches there, fighting the inclination to put her feet up on the tub's edge (her boots are dirty from the park).]
There. Now I expect no more complaints.
no subject
The truth is, he's beginning to prune, and the water has stopped steaming. The bubbles still cover a thin film on top of the water, but the red on his skin from the heat has started to fade to gooseflesh. Alastair is careful to reach for his cup slowly, so as to not jostle the porcelain and ruin all of her hard work.]
None.
[He pulls the sauce to his chest and glances up to her with a raised eyebrow as if to ask ever again? He gives it no voice -- wouldn't want her to get the idea that he was going soft, after all.
But he can still smell that aftershave -- more, now that she's so close.]
Forgive me for wanting to spend more time with you.
no subject
And looks at him, her her mouth faintly pinched and her eyebrows raised by some narrow margin. In any other circumstance - if they were home, for example -, she might make fun of him. But they're very far from it, and she can sympathize with kind of homesickness. With wanting to be near to something or someone who makes sense when so very little else does.] I suppose. Just this once.
no subject
He was endless, but he was tired. Always tired, but determined.]
One day, you'll actually begin to keep count.
[He drinks the water he's been given perhaps a touch faster than he ought to in favor of freeing himself from the chilly bathwater. There is ample warning in how he pulls the plug from the tub first -- but he isn't about to wait much longer than it takes to drain down to his midsection. Alastair stands and steps free of the bathtub, grabbing the towel off the rack to make himself decent before standing opposite of her.]
It isn't so bad, is it?
[It wasn't often he asked questions, but Isabeau's opinion is the only one he really cares for. Their current dwellings were seemingly free of strife, struggle, and filth. Admittedly, its a change -- a big change that makes some of Alastair uncomfortable, even knowing there were others like him lurking about.
But its all the unknowns that keep him from getting too comfortable.]
Aside from Father's absence, of course.
[Also: fuck him.]
no subject
Isn't it?
[She says it without thinking, dropping her attention back to him. Even when she has a moment to consider what's just left her mouth, she isn't surprised by it. --Maybe she's just surprised by him asking.]
To be sure, the air here is cleaner and there's rather less blood in the streets if that's your sort of thing, but-- don't you miss it? London? Knowing exactly the role you were meant to play.
[Christ, she does. Even the part of her that had longed to be done with the Order, to remove herself and be married and have children and manage a house and grow old, misses it. She misses Westminster. She misses dark catacombs. She misses her arc gun and the short sword on her back. She even misses their Father who could unarguably be a cold old man, shackled by tradition (but by God the man had earned the right to be ornery?)
But certainly that isn't why he's asking. That can't be all he wants to hear from her. She does her best to give him that - not just because she somehow owes it to him, but because she wants to. He's her brother and she loves him as terribly as she misses the way things used to be (before poor Mallory had died).]
But I will admit this place affords certain allowances that I wouldn't have otherwise. Namely, that I get to be in your company so often. I've also learned to make a fairly good cup of hot water, you know And-- [Well no one would be astonished if she were to sometimes make her bed elsewhere. No that she has. Not yet, but--] And the people are very kind and sweet.
no subject
[His smile is a flicker, at that. Oh, to be young. His position was privileged, certainly, compared to most lycans. But blood in the streets? That's what he was hoping to avoid. In comparison, this city is...nice, in a way that feels strangely toothless, in a way he still isn't sure how to approach. A place where he doesn't have to fight.
A place where he can finally enjoy a family again, in a way he hadn't since before he could remember.]
I miss my routine.
[And--yes, that was it, really. He couldn't miss father, especially as of late. Not when everything was so rapidly beginning to bear down upon him, not when soon, he would be forced to subjugate him or kill him. And, knowing his father, it would not have ended cleanly or kindly.
At the mention of the people, his tone changes. From his brotherly tone, to his Knight-Commander tone.]
Have you found someone to your liking, then?
[So he can
gutscreen them.]no subject
Luckily Lucan is more than capable of keeping her from becoming too terribly grim. No one else would know it, but the man's sense of humor isn't so dead as it seems. She makes a short noise, rolls her eyes.]
For conversation? Of course. There are two or three perfectly interesting people to talk to in this city. Occasionally I told their hand while we do it. [She raises her cup and arches an eyebrow. God save the Queen and all that tosh.]
And you? Don't tell me you're staying so fit just because you prefer it.
no subject
[Truthfully, Alastair was about as interested in what he believed the aims of Eudio to be as Isabeau likely was. Perhaps even less -- to sire another lycan would be to willingly curse his would-be bedmate. The idea was appealing because it was an idea. In practice -- well. He had other things to be concerned with. And what was the point, if not to build a family?
He'd bet on a more prosperous future, yet here he was.
But he'd spent many years telling stories that were not his own, so Isi gets another brief flicker of amusement across his face before he offers her his reply.]
Would that be so unbelievable? You've seen more lycans in a fortnight than I have in almost a year's time. I would grow a belly in short order. Who would hold my hand then?