Librarian

"Wow." Yeah. Wow. Because, like...what else is he to say? He was trying to throw maman a bone here -- he is thinking that word way too much right now -- blast her off someplace more to her understanding, and he's misfired. He can almost laugh. Instead, he purses his lips, trying for casual, and looks to maman with his tilting glasses. "Yeah, no, that's true," sure, "but I was sort of thinking more like -- space dust. Asteroids. You know, moms, the beginning of life. That sort of thing."

Ruby squeezed her daughter's shoulder again, quick to recognise the drop in confidence, and took a proper seat at the table in silent encouragement. In truth, she'd been about to retreat to a reshelving cart in an effort to escape the science talk that went way over her head, but Jane's comfort always came before her own. "So I, the ampelosaurus, am busy dying in space because there's no atmospheric pressure. Admittedly, a more unique death than most dinosaurs were granted."

So, he's going in stupid. And stupid blind.

"Yeah, about that. Pretty sure it didn't start until you showed actually, so..." If she's taking him from anything: "I think the party's here." Wow. That, Dr. Grace, was a little bit daring! And that, he startles, should have ran him out. But, alas, in contrast to his awkwardly slabbed together flattery — from the heart; pasture raised and entirely organic; you're the party! you're the reason! — his hands and his vision feel a great deal surer. Always, there's deniability in his sweetness, a lifeboat of a fashion should he read things wrong, but her beauty and her company and those bees in belly? Very real, he shudders. Very flipping real.

Were this anyone else, she would be stiff, shoulders back, posture more rigid than usual. Each touch, however accidental, would set her on edge until she had to force herself to speak. Instead, it's easy to brush off Grace's apology, "You're fine." She knows him. He wouldn't do it on purpose -- and even if he was, it'd be far clumsier than this.

Dost he notice that delicate tightening of his Librarian's chitinous fingers, that twitch of a reflex onto his bicep, and dost Roland proudly and cheekily grin, without his sumptuous or his bawdy words besides.

He bounds and laughs brightly, the tips of his pointed ears pinkening with the fragrant luxury of this great dressing room. "How dost thou mind of the delicate lace?" inquires Roland, most seriously.

"The straps of silk and the latches of emeralds, diamonds, sapphires? Dost thou believe mine handsome face and pallor is worthy for all-shining opals? My Darling," comes Roland suddenly, brazenly, sweeping past the tough, wispy cornstalks to greet the sweet flesh beneath. "What is thine favored color?"

"You will drown yourself in luxury," Ruby croons, brushing a knuckle against Roland's cheek. She pauses to shoot Auberlin a meaningful glance, at which he simply nods. His lips are sealed. "I would see you in any hue. Pale ivories, midnight pitch. A red as my name, if it pleases you."

Picky as she was, Ruby couldn't bring herself to choose just one. The idea of Roland posing and postulating in fine silk or wispy lace was enough to bring a hint of heat to the tips of her pointed ears. "The question is not what I would prefer, but simply what you will pick out first."

Grace peers up. Startled. Her fingers tap at his jaw, angling him just so, and his skin flushes. He's relieved. He wonders: would it be cruel to let her lead tonight, here when the pair of them are so well out of practice? He couldn't. But it isn't so bad peering up like this, he guesses. He opens his mouth. And then gapes.

Even still, the ache worsens with his mouth on her body, lips brushing against her skin with every syllable, and she lets out a quiet sigh. It takes more patience than she'd like to admit, letting Ryland put his hands where he's comfortable. It’s strange feeling this way after so long, to want someone so desperately that she has to hold herself back, though a part of Ruby knows all too well that rushing would be just as bad for herself as it would be for him.

As ever, Alan works himself to the bone, except this time, he has a new desk and office to do it from. Well, new to him. But that didn't matter. The room and all the furniture had been cleaned two weeks after the previous Expedition left, leaving Alan to take it over whenever he was ready. Were it his idea, he would have waited until they knew that the other Expedition succeeded or failed, yet there's no telling how long it would take for that to happen. No sign or warning that can be sent to tell Lumiere that status of their fight against the Paintress.

And so Alan has moved into the new office, bare of any personal touches that might have been left behind, save for the book packed tightly into the shelves lining the wall. Old records that had been found, details of past Expeditions and the people that went on them, amongst historical records of Lumiere since the Fracture.

Not even one full day of work, and already the desk has stacks of files on one end, while he puts together lists of supplies that might be needed. Early drafts that will be expanded on later, added to and removed as ideas blossom within their group. Gustave's Lumina converter is coming along nicely, and Alan hopes it will be ready in time for their Expedition.

So engrossed in his work is he that he doesn't hear the door open, but the footsteps reach his ears, his mind, and he glances up at whoever it might be. And oh, he is delighted to see Ruby, sweet and confident in the way she strides towards him - and it would take a blind man not to see that her nipples peak beneath her shirt. Usually, her breasts would be bound by a corset or brassiere, yet today they are not.

As painfully private as she can be about showing affection, the idea of today has made her reckless. For all she knows, there are still people in the building milling about, who might need something from Alan and stop short of knocking as they overhear what's going on inside. The risk does not entice, per se, but it seems more than worth it all the same.

"I'm not sure yet," she answers, making a show of tearing her eyes from his and examining the wood grain. "It looks serviceable, of course, but is it sturdy enough to suit your needs?" Of that, Ruby has no doubt. It seems to be thick hardwood, built to last and varnished to a shine, but there's no harm in testing how it might stand up to a bit of abuse.

Ruby doesn't bother with much coyness today. There is no subtle brushing of her knee against his or a quiet hint of what's on her mind. Alan knows exactly why she's come, and he seems all to pleased to indulge her. Of course, one can't jump into things right away, but she shifts her leg to press against his hand, a silent suggestion to explore further up.

Former. That's right. That they're still talking on a Saturday is a heck of a thing.

"Admiring?" Grace's brows furrow. He smiles. He is a martini of surprise, heart-warming delight on the rocks, and a razzling of nerves like a rind on the rim. "I've barely even started," he answers. "What are we admiring?"

"You're giving me a private concert when you should be enjoying the party. It would be a poor show on my part to mind a few missed notes." She's looking up at him again. Ruby's height is in her legs, and it leaves her a few inches shorter than Grace when they sit together. It's not a bad view. He is, objectively speaking, an attractive man; it's not the first time Ruby's noted this. She's not blind -- just closed off and frigid -- but there's a different note to it tonight. Here she is, at a party, listening to a handsome man play piano just for her. One who wore joke shirts and cardigans and made silly hats, who lived half his life in front of a microscope, but for some reason looked up every now and then at her.

" not even a tiny , eensy beensy , little bit of chaos ?? " the disappointment in her voice is theatrical in a way that truly only jester can manage with blue hands clasped together beneath her chin as though she's pleading for something far grander than harmless mischief. she isn't asking for much , honest !! no one has to get hurt , promise. examples. she needs examples , that must be it !! hm.

slowly ( so very slowly ) she reaches toward the shelf beside them , fingers dragging across the row of spines until one book is chosen at random. all the while , her gaze never leaves ruby's. locked together in mounting anticipation. with immense and wholly unnecessary delicacy , the tiefling finally slips the book free , and then [ . . . ] instead of returning it properly , binding outward and sensible like any normal person would , jester rotates it so the pages face out instead.

and slides it neatly back into place. the wrongness of it sits there staring at the both of them. quiet. subtle. catastrophic. a beat passes. her lips purse tightly , struggling against the smile threatening to split across them as she straightens , doing her absolute best to mirror ruby's composure. dead serious. which is a near impossible feat if you know her well at all. " now you try. "

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he hums tiredly, readily consenting, and drags his body the last bit of distance to the waiting tub. how is it just prepared like this ? like set up by invisible servants . . . once at their destination siegfried leans against the side of the bathtub. there are still so many questions burning on his mind and on his tongue.