"Dominique."

The moment her eyes open, Antoine has put on a cool, collected, and innocent smile. Not that he'd been doing anything particularly terrible to begin with---contrary to popular belief, Antoine does not believe himself to be sat atop a high pillar from which he heartlessly holds all of the strings.

Besides, even if he did hold all the strings, Dominique would be a little more like set dressing. The fact that he cares for her to some capacity doesn't change that she'd be absolutely worthless to keep in his deck of cards, in his current situation.

In any case, since she's useless, he's not there for any particularly nefarious reason.

"I see you're getting up incredibly late. I wonder if this is a habit of yours." He laughts, covering his mouth slightly with one hand. "Never mind; I'm here to invite you to join me for breakfast. It's been so long since I was last able to eat with you."

"Am I in a fuckin' prison?"

He can't help but blurt out the question as soon as he takes quick stock of his surroundings. If Twain had to guess---which he always does---the fact that he ended up in a prison somewhere probably has to do with his dumbass reminiscing on his way out of the archives. Despite knowing he has to maintain concentration to get where he wants to go, there are times he really can't.

Like, apparently, now.

'it's a privilege to sit on the audition board', you remember dallan saying, && as you allow yourself a breath before the next person comes in the room, you think back to your own final-round audition. you'd been terrified, that much you can remember, && you'd pretty much blacked out after raising your bow.

what you do remember is head witch crane asking you, when you'd finished, why the beautiful song you'd played to accompany your recitation sounded incomplete. 'it was written as a duet,' you recall choking out / twenty-six years old, && raw from your first heartbreak. 'but it's... it's just me, now.'

'well,' crane had said, his voice warm with sympathy, 'i don't think i've heard a better accompaniment for that tale. congratulations. very, very, well done.'

"you know," maiza says from his corner of the couch, twisting to look over his shoulder at luck still in the kitchen, "i wonder what melvi && ronny do when you && are i spend all day together." he chuckles quietly, swirling the wine in his glass. "can't see them hanging out with each other, that's for sure." he knows for a fact that ronny, in his petty way, is still miffed over being dragged into melvi's schemes almost ninety years ago.

For all that Melvi is capable of impeccable composition on a good day, his faux-polite demeanor is only barely kept under wraps around most people. Luck, ever the exception, hasn't had the pleasure of bringing Melvi's public facade into the privacy of their apartment in quite a long time, but there are still things Melvi doesn't tell him right away even now.

For reasons other than politeness, Melvi can't help but worry over the thoughts that threaten to consume him. They aren't particularly bad, this time, though he does also generally struggle to tell Luck the difficult thoughts. They're nerve-wracking for a different reason.

Chiefly, the reason is that Melvi specifically remembers Luck admitting that he didn't particularly care for marriage.

Melvi hadn't cared for it either until recently, although looking back on it he supposes it had probably only been because marriage wasn't something he could even apply to himself and Luck until recently. He'd never been envious of Luck's brothers and the formal, official nature of their relationships---a tall feat, considering the ease with which Melvi experiences envy.

But now the idea of it isn't quite impossible anymore, and Melvi can't stop thinking about it.

It's the cause of some strange, pensive silence that follows Melvi---an unusual occurance even on his best days, so Luck is probably at least a little grateful for the small reprieve from Melvi's usual needling. Unfortunately, Melvi intends to break the silence to let some of his thoughts escape him.

"I really didn't mean to frighten you."

They smile sheepishly, though they think he'd seemed a little more frightened of their butterfly form than the transformation into a humanoid. Still, All Of Love isn't exactly perturbed by his phobia, though it should realistically be a dealbreaker; he's almost never in his butterfly form to begin with.

"I was only watching you because you seemed lonely. I'm sorry, I don't have a less insectoid form to do so in." He laughs, leaning against the back wall of the boy's residence. "And I don't mean to say I've been following you, either---I used to live around this area, so I fly about the neighborhood when I can."

The Alicein family had generously offered to continue taking care of their existing subclasses, but All of Love had expected to be cast out.

For Twain, taking a trip like this is about as natural as waking up every morning, but he knows it's probably different for Dominique, who seems a little nervous despite the general excitement she'd shown him when he first brought up the idea of bringing her along on one of his little extended escapades away from the constant politics the two of them exist adjacent to.

They probably won't miss Dominique at home. They don't really ever miss Twain either---there's so many people around that're much more willing to find a use for themselves. Twain tends to fade into the background, despite his ever-present attempts to stand out.

"This is gonna be nice," he says, going out of his way to act like he's not purposefully trying to soothe any nerves. "I've never gone on a trip like this with someone else before! Well, I've definitely met other people on trips, but I've never purposefully taken a trip with someone. They're fun. No expectations or anything. No-one to try an' impress."

Twain draws in a deep breath, taking in the scent of the room around them. It's small---they're not going to be here past tonight, Twain hopes. It's just an in-between, a start to the journey. Once they're out of here in the morning, the world will shift like it usually does, and Twain won't feel so bad about being excluded from the fray when there isn't a fray to be excluded from.

Tsukasa's words fell flat. It was barely even greeting, just a pointed observation. However, it was worlds kinder than the pointed way he used to brush Rui aside months ago. Of course, it was still worlds cooler than his initial kindness, and the noted tone of indifference on a usually so expressive face was still rather . . . alien. Even Tsukasa felt it was strange, how the burning anger of a lie came to light was burning out into a sort of numbness. He supposed that meant he was getting over it, but there was an ache where the anger should've been, as if he missed its absence. As if . . .

oh . . . i know what it is. it's too much like an empty home. i don't like it, at all.

Tsukasa shrugged, a ritual to dispel both the thought and the feeling, but almost a declaration as well. As if to say, your presence invokes nothing, as if Rui was just a stranger. It was perhaps a worse punishment, Tsukasa thought, to know there was no impact to have been made or if the slate had been wiped clean.

He should probably try to arrest him ; Tsukasa knew that, but at this point, there really was no hurry. He had let Rui come and go so many times without so much as a fight. What's the pain in letting him get away once more? It all felt like too much routine. He almost considered arresting him anyway, for the sake of something different, but he decided not to. Rui didn't come around without reason nowadays.

" you're getting rather bold. i can't tell if that's reckless or courageous. well -- i suppose that's my fault. if i had bothered to stop you before, i'd be seeing you a lot less. " whether that's a curse or a blessing, i can't say. " what's your business this time? have i stumbled upon you committing to another scheme of yours, or are you out looking to beg for my forgiveness again? i can't say either way is going to go very well for you. "

The coolness of his last words did not escape him, but the tonality didn't lack its bite. It was a harsh, but true statement. There was no need to dress it up in anything more, though somehow . . . that made him feel worse.

Rui shouldn't have gotten so attached to someone like Tsukasa in the first place.

In many ways, it's his own fault for not remembering what always tends to happen when he starts getting to know someone. It's even more his own fault for not considering the repercussions---naturally, the nice charade that kept the two of them together wouldn't have been able to be sustained forever, even if Rui could have cleverly kept it up for a long while.

Even despite the lies Rui piled onto himself, it was nice. Tsukasa had been one of very few people to face him head-on and accept him as he was. And now...

"Tsukasa-kun." Rui speaks flatly, with a small smile. "It's good to see you again. No, I don't particularly feel like begging for forgiveness today."

It would almost sound antagonistic, were it not for the lack of any sort of emotion on his voice. Rui misses Tsukasa the most when he's standing right in front of him, these days, and that deep hole in his chest makes it hard for him to even put up a front. Tsukasa used to give him boundless energy to tease, to bite---now he does nothing but take it.

It's not his fault, of course. It's mine, for getting involved with him in the first place.

"Coming here was a habit and nothing else, so I don't have any schemes to treat you to either. My apologies; I know you've always liked them." That sentiment is more bitter now than it ever has been. If he focuses, Rui can almost taste the words in his mouth, still.

He really had only come out of habit, but...

"... I'd like to talk to you plainly. In the event you decide not to arrest me, of course. In that case, I'll run away."