Forigve me, Father!

“Oh! I am sorry. It was not my intention to frighten you…”

“I wasn’t careful enough. I apologize.” – the girl was a bit odd one; fair hair loosely falling on her neck and shoulders, and almost a porcelain-like skin. A woolen too big sweater, expensive silk skirt, and military boots. All looking weird on her dainty frame.

“Have you already finished using the piano?” – Nunnally was not aware he had just finished a concert; she came too late for that. In fact, she had entered the pub just when Carmichael had finished playing. Her long pale digits were brushing the keys. They knew her here. She sometimes came when they were about to close, and played a piece. Or two.

“Do you perhaps want to play a duet?”

Carmichael parts his lips to inquire about her well—being but she has already moved her attention to the instrument at his side.  For a moment, judgment clouds his mind: How oddly she is dressed! How pale her complexion is! Did she suffer from some sort of illness?  He shakes his head, feelings of guilt raining down on his judgments and washing them away.  It wasn’t his place to judge.

“Ermm. . “ He focuses his attention on the melody, trying to place it’s origins.  The pretty piece of music doesn’t ring a bell in his mind.  But whether that is because Carmichael actually doesn’t know it, or he’s overwhelmed by the sudden attention, he isn’t sure. 

“I.. I don’t know it, I’m sorry.” He wears a troubled expression, that rain of guilt falling again because he’s unable to entertain the doll-like figure before him. He clears throat and pushes past the guilt, offering a shy smile.  “But I’m a quick learner and I’m certain I could pick it up if you led the way, Miss. . ? “

Headcanon: Hobbies

Most of Carmichael's hobbies involve being outdoors or using his hands ( or both ). For one, he enjoys gardening. Mainly herb gardening with a focus on herb shrubbery. Most of his yard is filled with different kinds of herb shrubs, including rosemary, bay laurel, and thyme. Patches of lavender also growl here and there as well as fennel. He has little pots of mint and parsley growing on kitchen window sill. Carmichael likes to use these plants in cooking.

Specifically, he likes to use his herbs in bread baking. Baking bread is another favorite activity of his. He loves a good rosemary baguette or buttery bay leaf rolls; A loaf of hazelnut fig bread with fennel seeds for breakfast. Partner this with a tea brewed with the lavender growing just outside the window. Yum!

Just don't ask him to bake a cake. Not good at that.

Adrianna caught Carmichael in the middle of doing vocal warm-ups: vocal slides, humming, lip trills— The works, and her words break his composure.  Silly-looking lip trilling turns into giddy laughter. 

“Oh, I’m just warming up!” He chirps, a nervous grin on his face.  “I’ll be playing some tunes and singing some songs in this very bar tonight, Miss Adrianna!” 

𝙒𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙆𝙄𝙉𝘿 𝙊𝙁 𝘽𝙐𝙎𝙄𝙉𝙀𝙎𝙎 𝘿𝙊𝙀𝙎 𝙃𝙀 𝘿𝙊 ? would it be too forward of her to ask ? but before she can even entertain the idea his entire face is burning like the sun. had she done or said something embarrassing ? his comment about ' business and pleasure ' had entirely went over her head. it's not until he begins to ramble that she pieces together his reaction. oh. her free hand moves to cover her mouth, not wanting to laugh in the man's face. but her laughter dies at his introduction. he's . . . a priest ? she'd never been religious and neither was her family. what sort of business could he be up to ? but despite her curiosity she holds out her hand to him matched with a kind smile.

❛ i'm mia evergreene. princess. ❜ she wasn't one for formal introductions . . . they are always so impersonal but she is more than happy to match his energy despite it. ❛ carmichael ? i like that name. ❜

Princess?  She’d called herself princess again.  Carmichael stares at her outstretched hand with a dumbfounded expression on his face, stare vacant as his brain attempts to recollect information he was obviously lacking.  Rospain. . Like England, they had a royal family, correct? One with more political pull than his country’s.  Yes, there was a ruling king and an heir — A daughter— To the throne.  And here she was.  Standing before him.  Young and fresh-faced.  Not what he had imagined.  No, he assumed the princess was in her forties, much like the prince of England.  Whoops.

“I am so sorry, Princess!” Carmichael finally breaks from his trance to perform a deep bow and overload Mia with word-vomit. “Oh, how ignorant I am— How touristy I must look! Forgive me; I am not well-versed at using the internet, which is something I should have utilized before coming here.  I, ermm, I was given my task of business and sort of— Oh, what’s the phrase— I got tunnel-vision!”

Great, now he also had to sit in uncomfortable silence after raising his voice. He knew being mean to people never paid off in the long run, and even back in his active days, a reason he had such a good reputation was because he knew this rule of life. Sure he was a little rude, but he always blamed himself, which kept a balance in his mind. So now that the moment had passed, a gross, sinking feeling sat in his chest as he watched the other man pick up the few fallen pieces.

With Carmichael on his knees in front of him, he can't help but imagine some sort of sad, lornful puppy dog, wanting affection from their owner after doing barely a dog crime.

And he was quite weak to small dogs.

"It's fine." He sighs, shaking his head as tensions in his hand relax, causing him to finally put down the cane again. "You were just trying to cheer me up and it was an accident." There's a small moment of hesitation as he fights the urge to pat Carmichael's head (the dog imagery is rather strong in his mind), resting his hands on his lap.

To further nurture the image of Dog-Michael in Sasha’s head, Carmichael immediately perks up once he’s received Sasha’s word of forgiveness.  His serious expression melts into a warm smile.  Oh, how wonderful it felt to be in the former dancer’s good graces once again! 

“I very much enjoy visiting you!” Carmichael’s rising to his feet now, a small stack of books in his hands.  “I like to think that we balance each other. Your cool demeanor and my ermm. . Whatever the opposite of cool is!” Lame, you mean?

Carmichael replaces the books on a small bookshelf by the window, deciding it’d be better to put them away lest he knock them over again.  The warm sun streaks through the window and warms his skin.  Despite being winter, the whether was pleasantly mild.  He turns to face Sasha, excitement in his eyes.

“What if we went out this afternoon? Fresh air is good for you!”