Mag Paget, Shotgun Knight (clippedwing) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-12-06 22:32:00 |
|
|||
The ring of the doorbell at six on the dot startled Mag. She had not expected Lav at the agreed-upon hour, and had started getting ready without him. The pieces of her outfit were abandoned on the bed as she rushed out of the bedroom; it was only once her hand was on the doorknob that she realized if this wasn’t Lav on the other side of the door, opening it in only the shirt pants and a corset was bound to throw her surprise guest aback, but couldn’t find it in her to care. She opened the door and confirmed that it was indeed Lav, arriving exactly on time for once. “Come in.” She stepped aside and started walking back to the bedroom. “Close the door before I scandalize my neighbors.” Timeliness was a rarity for a lazy person like Lavitz, who had good intentions, but couldn’t be assed to hurry. He’d left on time and hadn’t genuinely expected to be there exactly on time. Somewhere above, someone was clapping at his efforts. Momentarily stunned by the sight of her outfit, he paused, watching her retreat and finding, again, there was more to be surprised about: namely, the burn scars around the back of her shoulder blades. He stepped past the threshold, quietly pressing the door shut. “You started without me,” he noted aloud, feigning some hurt. His eyes scoured her back once more as he set down both bag in hand, for Kiernan and Foxe, and cane, propping it against the wall. “I figured you might still be sleeping,” she joked. She led him down the hallway and stopped by the kitchen as a thought struck her. “I made coffee earlier. Want some?” “Whatever will keep me awake before I pass out from all the drinking I’ll need to do,” Lavitz returned, a sigh on the heels of his words. This night was going to be a nightmare. Kiernan in women’s clothing was, quite frankly, the worst nightmare fuel he could conjure up in his mind. Mag laughed. “I have faith in Ari and Lea. They’ll make him shave his legs.” As she spoke, she was already moving to retrieve two mugs from a cupboard, and filling them with coffee. There was probably an empty mug in her room, discarded once she’d started dressing, but she couldn’t be bothered to go and fetch it. She popped the mugs inside the microwave—the coffee wasn’t cold, but she wasn’t a fan of lukewarm coffee when she could heat it up in a moment. When the microwave beeped, she withdrew both mugs and offered one to Lav. “Here you go.” Before taking his, he paused, eying her mug. “If you spill any of that, will you forgive yourself?” Mag looked down at her outfit. If she got coffee on her corset—well, it’d be regrettable, but it wouldn’t show through the shirt too much, hopefully. But if she spilled coffee on her suit pants, her outfit was essentially ruined. “Good point.” She’d already heated up the coffee, though, and she wanted to drink it, but Lav was right. Pausing to think on a solution, he shifted toward one of her drawers, rifling around until he found what he was looking for: a straw. The drawer was pushed shut, and he held out the straw between two fingers, amusement written into his face. Mag’s eyebrows rose as she looked first at the straw, then at Lav. “You’ve got to be kidding.” His lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Think of the outfit,” he reasoned, waving the offered object. “I might be saving you from disaster.” “I’m thirty-eight years old,” she pointed out. He had to be making fun of her—but he was right, Faram damn him. If she spilled coffee all over her outfit, it would be a tragedy. “Fine.” She took the straw and put it in her coffee. “Better? Do I need pigtails for this?” A more polite friend might’ve kept from laughing, but Lavitz wasn’t one of these friends. He bit his lower lip to keep from doing so, and failed. “It might complete the look,” he suggested. Yeah, he was making fun of her—and enjoying it. She sipped her coffee through the straw—and felt silly, as expected. “I think you’re enjoying this far too much as it is,” she said, and started laughing too, because it was funny. “Well, let’s get back to it. Here, hold this.” She handed him the mug and started leading him toward the bedroom; before going in, her hands came up to separate her hair into two sections, and she turned to stick her tongue out at him, pigtails gathered at the sides of her head. Lavitz breathed a soft laugh as he followed, obediently, both mugs in hand. “Now you definitely look your age. You’re,” a pause, “putting something over that, right?” “No, I thought I’d freeze to death,” she teased. “I mean, me showing up at the Duckling like this,” a hand gestured to encompass her current state of undress, “now that would be a real surprise.” Her tone was amused. He leaned against the closest wall, taking care not to spill any coffee on himself and realizing, belatedly, that he hadn’t removed his coat. Well, that was a concern for later. “Blue and covered in goosebumps,” he supplied, trying not to grin. “Besides, I’d give you my coat if you decided to scandalize everyone. I have a reputation to be gentlemanly and noble, apparently.” She pinched the fabric of her pants. “Well, if I’m blue, at least I’ll be sticking to the color scheme.” Laughing, she retrieved the dress shirt she’d tossed on the bed when the doorbell had rung, and shrugged it on. “But I’d rather you don’t turn blue, either. Red is more your color.” After a sip from his coffee, the one that didn’t have a straw stricking out of it and threatening to pop out of the mug, Lavitz raised both brows. “I don’t know if being blue and suffering from hypothermia is a bad thing, considering what I’m about to see from Kiernan, which, by the way, will never be unseen. I’m taking it to my grave, so if I start to cry or lose my eyesight tonight, at least I’ll have this to remember.” The nightmare fuel was inevitable. And because she had no words of reassurance to offer, she said, “I’m honored.” If Ari and Lea managed to actually make Kiernan look like a woman, then they deserved a parade in their honor. Kiernan was far too broad in the shoulders to pass off as female, but unlike Lav, Mag did not much care about the similarity; she was looking forward to the party. She buttoned her shirt up to her neck and cast around for the tie, finally locating it on the bed and draping it around her neck. The next step, however, posed a problem. She tried valiantly to knot it herself, and the result was a deformity utterly undeserving of being called a knot. Her failed effort prompted a smile on Lavitz’s face, and setting the mugs down on the closest stable surface, he stepped over to her, taking up the tie without permission and deftly undoing the poor excuse for a knot with practiced fingers. “I can’t tell if you asked me here just to help with a tie and hold your coffee,” he started, working said tie back to its loosened state to begin knotting it into a proper full Windsor, “or to be your fashion consultant, because you should already know if you ask how you look, I’m going to say you look great.” And mean it, too. Mag grinned up at him as he finished the knot. “Then I’ll have to ask you how I look,” she joked. She wasn’t one to fish for compliments, but she wasn’t about to wave them away, either. Her hands came up to gather her hair into a bun she could hide under the hat. “I’m sure losing the pigtails is going to lose me some points, but it can’t be helped.” Out of habit, Lavitz took another second to adjust the knot, ensuring it wasn’t too tight or too lopsided, but his knots were practiced after so many years spent as a noble. “It might, but you can make up for them later, somehow,” he suggested before stepping back. “Hat?” “But of course.” She tucked her shirt in and, once she was satisfied with the way the bun looked in the mirror, reached for the hat. She placed it on her head with the sort of minute care shown by a surgeon performing a difficult intervention; the angle was calculated just so, to cover her hair and be perfectly straight. “Or I could go for a sloppy look.” She tilted the hat, pulled two strands of hair free to frame her face, and loosened the tie. “No coffee stains, though.” “Hobo chic,” he supplied most unhelpfully, valiantly attempting not to grin and failing. “The sloppy is fine, though I don’t think sloppy is the word for it. The uptight noble look is always in fashion, but,” he laughed under his breath, “this feels more like you.” “So I’m sloppy. I thought you were supposed to lavish me with praise?” she said, feigning offense. A hand went up to her forehead in feigned dismay, and accidentally knocked the hat off her head. “How you lie and toy with my feelings,” she laughed as she bent to pick it up. “And get me my coffee while you’re at it.” The teasing smile appeared again. “Straw and all, my lord?” “If such is to be my fate.” She snapped her fingers. “Look alive, now.” A feigned sigh of chagrin. “I live to do your bidding,” he joked as he drew away to fetch that coffee, making sure the straw didn’t bob right out. It was handed to her, and for a moment, he considered holding the straw as if she were a kid just learning how to use it. He decided against it. “As it should be.” Mag made a show of flicking the hair framing her face back, nose turned up in the air in what she considered to be a perfect imitation of a noblewoman. Then, she leaned forward to drink from the straw, breaking character completely. “What tragedy, what tomfoolery, that the great Lord Paget should have to drink coffee through a straw. Truly, it is a kindness my multiple conquests are not here to witness this.” He shook his head, playing along. “I would never break confidence, my lord, as I’m nothing but your humble servant. But if I were to accidentally confess what I’ve seen, I do apologize most sincerely.” “Well, if you do divulge my secrets later this evening, when you’re trying to drink yourself to oblivion, I won’t blame you.” She set the hat back on her head, with her free hand—lopsided, but she had plenty of time to rearrange her outfit before they had to leave. “And I promise that if you manage to erase the image of Kiernan in drag from your brain, I’ll try to assure you don’t see the pictures when you’re sober again.” Personally, Mag thought the fact that Kiernan was being such a good sport and even enlisting help to make him look the part, no matter the outcome, was rather sexy; but she had no doubt Lav disagreed, with fervor. And so, as a good friend, this was all she could offer—though if she knew their friends at all, pictures of Kiernan crossdressing were going to do the rounds. “I promise to shelter your sensibilities. Gentlemen’s agreement.” She held out her hand. “You’ll forgive me for not spitting on my palm first, that’s disgusting.” Lavitz swallowed his laugh and reached out, shaking that offered hand. “I’m holding you to that, my lord.” |