` INTRICATE TIES *

Well, that was fast  ( enough to merit suspicion at that ).  Maroons observe him with an idle kind of curiosity, studying his deflated demeanor for any signs of sudden rebellion that might be sparked at the belief that Diluc might let his guard down  ( he wasn’t, he has been burnt too many times before over his own mercy ).

A hum.  ❝ I have a point ? ❞  he echoes, amused, depositing him on the sofa after a moment of deliberation, though he doesn’t allow him much room of freedom before he’s pressing him against the plushness of the furniture.  ❝ Generous, I would have thought such an admission would have required hours of unimaginable  ‘ torture ‘  to get it out of you. ❞  A tilt of his head, gaze faux bored.  ❝ Or is this a trick ? ❞

There is a couple of moments of undignified sputtering, only quieted by the crowding of him so discreetly. Torture. “You expect so much conniving of me.” Mumbled out, the sour little expression slowly softening as heat lit up his ears. Just this was a very sweet torture.

       Wasting food? CONJURING another snack?        “ You speak as if we’re not standing in our home, surrounded by plenty of food options that HAVEN’T touched a germ-riddled floor.”

       “ Yes, I’m glad that you’re eating, but don’t act as if you can’t simply grab any snack you want! Meals, even- I will cook so long as it means you won’t eat floor food.” 

How fickle. And if their experiences were at all similar, how was it that Lambert found it in his ticker to insult the drive of a lover like this? His knack for survival!  He must just hate poor people.

What a dramatic little man.  ❝ Is that really something you think pertinent to ask ? ❞   His arm secures itself around the scholar’s waist, pressing him immobile against him in a momentary display of mercy, lest he get too stirred and fussy  ( but still restraining him in case the other decided to repay the attack  – though with that scraggly form, he supposed it was a generous reach ).  ❝ I believe the better question yet would be what haven’t you done ?. ❞

The urge to reply with snark hadn’t dwindled any with the hand around his waist, but it has similarly sated the part of the man who just wanted to be acknowledged, leaving quite the ding in his defenses against the wrangling the man posed. 

@misdoctorate

Shakes him around like a raggedy old muppet.

@misdoctorate​ from x bc he has some thoughts 2 share

       A sort of hopeless look.

       “ … “ he rescinds his words, merely attempting to say he did not see what he saw is not nearly good enough to wipe that accursed image from mind– “ WHY, pray tell, would you eat something that’s touched the floor?!  It’s filthy! Think of the germs! What if you get sick?! ”

There’s genuine confusion across his face, expression shifting for three separate points before he seems to settle on one with a concerned little frown.

       Affection greets the bemused sort of confusion, brow raised and a small huff of a laugh leaving Lambert as he listens to his loved one speak. That small huff only manages to grow to a proper laugh as Laurant speaks of table manners–

       “You do eat rather like a man most starved - But surely that’s no reason to float down river and name yourself after a cheese,” for now he ignores the probability of falling right into the water in favor of crouching down beside Laurant ( casting an idle glance at all the fish nearby. Archons, how long had the man been laying here, where even the fish would come so near? )

       “I would not think of Mond’s people to be the sort to judge your table manners…” WELL. He can think of a few people, “When has the opinion of such sproutly folk been something to bother you anyways?” 

Laurant clicks his tongue, another critique as if he had much time for the upscale dining experience prior to arriving here. What a lofty thing, eating right, dining correctly. The man takes a deep breath, gently offsetting his little (remarkable, truly, considering it’s him) little bobbing-state for but a moment when he turns to face him. 

       THE SHEER AUDACITY OF THIS MAN to perform such childish stupidity is not nearly so large as Lambert’s own audacity to find it endearing. 

       “ FLOAT AWAY ? “ idle echoing as he seats himself on a rock nearby. Shoes set aside, rolling up the leg of his pants in rather meaningless hope of saving his clothes from getting too soaked by the water. He can’t just let the poor man float away, now, can he?

       The water is dreadfully cold, and yet he wades into it anyways– Coming to stand just beside his bizarre reflection, arms crossed and head tilted slight to the side ( IGNORE THE FONDNESS IN HIS SMILE ) as he looks down at him. 

       “ And where is it exactly, mon cher papillon, that you intend to float off to?”

“Somewhere. Anywhere they don’t know my name.” His tongue dips out, annoyed, lightly held between his teeth as he contemplates something clearly important. 

The gentle downstream current was not yet (and would never foreseeably will be) enough to further the path of the half-naked, exhausted looking man laying atop it. He was not mentally well. 

 A weighted growl sounded from the strewn-out beanpole on the davenport, arm draped across his own eyes to block any daring daylight across the windows. Laurant had been placed here long ago, set there in what he was sure was baby steps to get him up again, he was sure.

As much as the man would protest, he wasn’t in a state where things would get much worse; open air had long since become simply unbearable against the burning, unpleasant fatigue rendering his upper body useless. It was too much, complimented with proper attire he donned just to appear a little more fine and dandy; how awful and irritating. And then there was this man ( none of the above ), giving his condition all of the attention in passing, in preparation of something. Laurant could feel it. Not as though Diluc was bothering to be so sneaky against such a feeble stalk ( and yet still Laurant would feel so intuitive ) . 

❛❛ Watch it, ❜❜  he snaps, and oh how it borders on being a snarl, the state of being derailed into a passing, though nonetheless brutal, pandemonium.  It’s shameful how the mind trembles in disarray, how the fortitude of a usually resilient man caves at the first contact made between them.  Composure was an impossibility to yearn for in the devil’s coil, eased into an illusion of safety in its protective warmth  –  though, as Diluc scoffs, he can’t help but think there would be no room for mistakes when the ex-harbinger grinned down at him with such vitriol, maroons meeting carmines in a genuine beat of abhorrence.

It would be a mercy for such emotion to always linger, no matter the sight, no matter what roused sentiment to bloom into fruition.   The vigilante steps forward, further pushing the doctor against a corner.  ❛❛ My time outside of our established meetings is not your right, Dottore. ❜❜  And thus a hand raises, splaying on the ruffled fabrics of the man’s torso, successfully shoving him against the wall.  His mouth a thin line and brows furrowed in the perfect image of annoyance.   ❛❛ You cannot fall short on our agreement only because I lack the desire to play house with you. ❜❜  It’s cruel, he’s aware, as he had been the one to truly start the descent into …  such a sickening notion to begin with, but this childishness … !

…  He cannot blame him for it, yet this restlessness had to be nipped from the bud, lest it fester into something more, something harder to quell and control.

And yet, and yet, and yet, and yet …   His breath hitches, a weak little thing.  ❛❛ Do not look at me like that, you know it’s for the best. ❜❜  The gaze, sure yet afflicted, remains despite its desire to look away.   ❛❛ I cannot offer you what you want from me. ❜❜   He never could, but he supposes that’s a trait he shares with the world.

A slim reserve of the giddy, excitable thrum Diluc often gave him remained with the man’s restraint in full control like this. A more critical man might have analyzed this as something of a problematic prerequisite, but thankfully the only thing critical about the non-occupational harbinger of unease would be the spacey look of such dangerous boredom in those eyes. It’s for the best. What a mantlepiece that must be in the guarded, restless little nest the vintner lived in. Dottore’s sneer is unrestrained, finding such fleeting yet piercing dissatisfaction in his cornered, front-row seat to this hammed-up attempt at snipping him off—though he would never stay so agitated under those violent fingers, couldn’t remain so disinterested under the intense points of heat.

His little flame would always make this so easy; would always, always give him a way back in.

The desire to gnaw on something in his tension fluctuates to higher, more dangerous grounds, and a quivering mess of taut displeasure he’s left at the feet of a man that did not merit his vulnerability, even in its more high strung and brittle of forms that only wished to burn at the metaphorical fingers that prodded him.

❛❛ I have been most hospitable to you, Dottore, do not be unfair with your twisted assessments. ❜❜   And oh if only he’d allow himself a sneer at this fiend !  If only, if only …   he could be his worst.  Some form of civility ought to be kept in the other’s tantrum, however.  Someone should be the better man.   ❛❛ I have no care as to what title you use to refer to me as, so cease your petty name calling before it even starts if that is your intention. ❜❜  There is no sense in the decision that compels the vintner to approach him, encroaching the doctor’s space with an unhappy turn of his mouth and furrowed brows.

❛❛ If you have a problem, you better speak it, lest you’d rather have me lose my patience. ❜❜  

The frazzled mind Dottore had been left with was rife with malice and rebuttal, leaving him with no willingness to lose any ground to Diluc, not formally, not by word of mouth—yet he seemed all too eager to lose much of his physical space to the man, stepping back in accordance to Diluc’s advance with every step. Annoying, it was annoying how so much was demanded of him when the villain had been the one used; he was only too eager to show it. “As if you have any still.” Fingers slip under the thick braids fastened in front of Diluc’s shirt, closing the gap himself in an attempt to get the man off his feet (though he couldn’t, there was simply no way with how frail he had become—how neglected his guard was. Awful.

“I hope this spoils nothing for you, but you’re more open of a book than you would think, accusing me of using that title so insultingly. Is the weight of what you started too much? Are you over-extended, harboring the likes of me?” Begins, a laugh escaping him, preemptive, so clearly a part of an act he had pieced together in his head seconds prior. “I would have thought you liked it, luring me into a corner like this."