Who: Mabelle and Michel What: Trying to patch things up When: New Year's Day, evening Where: Always Michel's apartment, it's a happening place
Somehow Mabelle had managed back to Dorian's in the wee hours of the morning as the sun barely began to illuminate the city, and after collapsing she had slept most of the day through without any disturbances. When she had awoken, with a blanket over her that she hadn't remembered getting, Mabelle was disappointed that her hangover was the slightest of throbs and hardly excuse to remain in bed for the remainder of the day. Her own self-pitying mood had faded as well, and that was the only thing she was willing to blame on the alcohol from the night before. The rest she knew she would have done just as readily sober, although now sober she could understand the events from his perspective more clearly.
She was uncertain if she was grateful that she still retained vivid memory of the events at Michel's place, partially wishing she could forget it ever happened but knowing that wouldn't excuse her from the consequences. Remembering the warm kisses and his firm hands on her hips, Mabelle sighed with frustration at realizing how differently things would have ended if she had just... anticipated his reaction better. But with the way he talked and his aggressive behaviour, Mabelle had been certain he was the type of man that would appreciate such a thing, just as she got a twisted thrill out of the removal of her fingers. Part of her wanted to fault Michel as hypocritical, but she was beginning to understand with a twinge of embarrassment that he wasn't into it the same way she was. Which she knew made more practical sense than her own position, because after the rush of the moment, the permanent inconvenience of her lost fingers was a daily annoyance. And she had taken an eye, but only because she was more certain that he needed to keep all of his fingers for his work. At least she had tried to be considerate.
Mabelle had never been good at following what most would consider common sense anyway. It was what drove her to beheading her own father for a cause that stood fundamentally against her, it was what fueled her affection for a man that by all demonstrated and spoken evidence disliked her, and it was why the night after removing his eye she had returned early in the evening to his apartment despite his warning against her ever coming back. No, most people would have stayed far away or at least given a lot more time for the situation to cool down, although she suspected most people wouldn't have ended up in this situation in the first place. While well aware she was far from welcome, Mabelle wasn't the least bit nervous as she knocked at his door, no doubt in his condition that he hadn't left his apartment. While carrying a still warm pot of stew, her coat pockets were stuffed with the basic medical supplies for cleaning out and bandaging up his wound, as well as a copy of his key that she had managed to get a copy of without his consent or knowledge just the week prior. If he didn't answer soon, she'd just have to let herself in, because she wasn't about to let him die just because he was angry at her.