Peony Min (blackmagicks) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-03-15 18:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, cormac hier, peony min |
Who: Peony & Cormac
What: Keeping a promise to Cy (and playing cleaning fairy a little)
Where: Cormac’s house
When: Early this evening
Rating: Tame
Status: Complete
Although it had been some months since she had heard from the synergist, Peony had not forgotten the promise she had made to Cyclone before her friend’s departure. There had been several occasions on which she had sent food over to Cormac’s clinic via the same courier service that she used periodically to deliver lunches to her brothers. Today, however, she felt fully healthy at last and there was finally enough time to do things properly. She’d made the curry that afternoon, leaving it to simmer while she went through paperwork -- vegetarian; the fasting season was upon them -- then packed half of it over rice and enjoyed the leisurely walk down to the clinic. She did not forewarn Cormac, but then, this was hardly a social visit. The white mage had seemed preoccupied of late, but she was certain that a bit of food would assist him in keeping up his energy. Once she had delivered it, she could return to the tower. The curtains were drawn and for a moment, she wondered if anyone was home at all. Still, she lifted her hand to knock on the door, hoping that she would not have to leave the food to cool on the porch. Cormac had been sitting at his desk, per usual, pouring over some notes. Ridley was wonderful at organizing them. He found himself consistently pleased with his decision to keep her around. She hadn’t been too bad in regards to the tournament either. He wasn’t cross with the fact that she’d lost some of the money. He’d taken a big chance on her and wasn’t putting her in the situation to find a reason to chastise her. Sometimes ‘dems were the breaks’. So far he’d halfway finished fixing the notes she’d taken, making other notes on the side for her to add in later on her own. That’s when he heard the knock at the door. His attention was instantly drawn away from the paper and he stood up and was halfway to the door before he’d even bothered to check the time. It was past business hours, but it was really when his more interesting hours began. Sure there were some fun things that came in during the day, but everything seemed mundane after the plague, not that he wanted to go through that again. Opening the door, he was closed his notebook. He let his glasses slide down his nose a bit before seeing who stood on the other side of them and he blinked with some surprise. “Peony?” He blinked once or twice and looked around to see if anyone was with her. It was a habit more than a necessity. “What brings you here at this hour?” A moment later, he stepped back so that she wasn’t standing on the porch for all to see, not that it mattered, but manners. She entered the house when invited, casting a look around. She had been here a number of times in the past, but the space was nigh unrecognizable. The lack of Cyclone’s presence could be felt keenly in the once-tidy spaces which had sucumbed to chaos. She supposed that the fact that Ridley did not share this residence, as Cyclone had -- and that the scholar had her studies to pursue, besides -- meant that her organized hands and mind had not made it past the clinic doors into Cormac’s private abode. Her thoughts on the state of the house would not show on her face -- she simply smiled, lifting the bag that she had brought with her. The scent of curry wafted out, warm and comforting (and, for Cormac, likely familiar). “I brought you dinner,” she said, a simple answer to a simple question, though she did not get into why. Sometimes, grown men were a bit odd when they realized one woman had asked another to ensure their well-being. She walked toward the kitchen, which she could find with little trouble, and set the bag on the table, beginning to unpack it. “I hope you have not yet eaten?” she asked. She had tried to time her arrival to ensure he had not, but seeing the house, she was beginning to suspect that he might have forgotten to consume dinner at all. The scent of curry was quite familiar to the white mage. Cormac was a fan of the dish, one that had been delivered to his office more than once. He’d never really paid attention to where it had come from and now that Peony stood here, it seemed all the more obvious. “Ah. No, I have not eaten,” he confessed. His stomach confirmed his lack of attention to its needs a moment later. He watched the councilwoman make her way over to the kitchen and start unpacking the food. The kitchen didn’t look much better, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Thank you for all the food,” he said ineloquently with a wave of his hand in the general direction of everything. He really need to do the dishes. He wondered if she’d even find any clean ones in there. He’d been used to them magically reappearing in the cabinet. That was the same with the food in pantry and fridge. Now he had to maybe find something that didn’t look like it would eat him back. Now he was hoping she just didn’t open the fridge. Fortunately for him, she did not open the refrigerator. She went instead to the cabinets, and having ascertained that not a single clean plate or bowl was contained within, to the sink. Seemingly undaunted by the pile of dirty dishes she found there, she tucked a towel of questionable cleanliness in at the waist of her skirt and rolled up her sleeves. “You are quite welcome. This should not take long,” she said, placid as ever, as she began to wash. The counters next, perhaps, and then the floor. After that, she would see. As though she had not just made herself at home in his kitchen, she spoke once more: “I trust that business has been going well?” He had been quiet recently. Perhaps this was due to Emily’s return, or perhaps something else -- Ridley had not expressed any concerns, but then, Ridley, for all her intelligence, was yet a child. Peony wished to ascertain Cormac’s well-being for herself, and it seemed she would be here for at least an hour or two, if this place was to be made livable. Cormac watched as she went through the cupboards and stared at the hollow cabinets. Really? There wasn’t a single plate inside. Then he watched as Peony whisked herself off to the sink and started to fill it with water and roll up her sleeves. She didn’t look upset about it at all. Instead, she looked…disturbingly at home. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, but he wasn’t about to move her away from the sink and start cleaning himself. He’d probably forgotten to request it of Ridley, but he’d dumped so much more important tasks on her. “Business is steady. There is no shortage of idiots doing things to get themselves hurt,” he said with a shrug. He’d seen his fair share of stupid, very stupid people walk in even after the disease was over. “And I have my steady clients with more specific needs.” He called them clients not patients. People liked it when you referred to them that way. It made them feel as if they were getting a service instead of just being an ill burden on their family. Funny how a little semantics could go a long way. “And you? I hope this visit isn’t taking too much time on your schedule.” He could only assume that she was a busy woman as there were only three people in charge of the entire guild. Sage excluded. “Injuries are an unfortunate part of life, especially the martial lifestyle,” she said. The pile of dishes had shrunk noticeably; although she did not make a habit of moving quickly, her hands were well-practiced at this task. She considered talking to Ridley about finding a part-time housekeeper; a doctor ought not live in such unsanitary conditions. “I am certain that those who come to you are grateful for your services.” If not, perhaps, his bedside manner. “I am busy but not overwhelmed,” she assured him. She had budgeted the time for this visit into her schedule, too, though she thought she would have to stay longer than initially anticipated. Still, her schedule would right itself in the end. Even now, the dishes were washed; she dried enough to make one place setting, putting everything on the table along with the containers she had brought and urging him, “I hope you will help yourself while it is still warm,” she said, returning to the kitchen to retrieve the sponge, clearly intent on the countertops. Fortunately, she found the cleaning supplies exactly where tidy Cyclone would have left them. She had to wonder if the synergist have been the last to use them, in fact. “We have had several new mages come to us from a variety of locations,” she said, carrying on the conversation -- now on to guild business -- as she began cleaning the counters. “Between their arrival and the newly created taskforce, it has been an interesting time for us all. I have not seen you around the Tower frequently of late, so I am uncertain how much you are aware of these happenings, however.” And just like that, his dishes were clean. The times he’d attempted to do it himself, it usually took at least, the very least, twice as long as it had taken her. He stared a little, wondering if he should offer to make her something, but he’d had tea made for him for so long that he felt it would not be good to try, for fear that she’d actually attempt to drink it just to be polite. He wasn’t that mean. And she’d put him at his own table with food she’d cooked on a plate she’d just washed. He wondered, for a moment, if this was really happening. He also paralleled how he couldn’t see this sort of thing happening with Emily. No, they’d be sitting at a table with servants bringing them plates instead. Ah, servants. That’s one thing he hadn’t really thought about. While Cyclone was clearly loyal, he didn’t know how much he could trust others with the sensitive information he held. There would be more people with access to his things than he would like. “Yes. Thank you,” he added after pulling himself out of his mild mental detour. “The taskforce. I saw about that. How is that going?” He hadn’t been really paying attention to that group. The idea of having to go into action was not his idea of a good time. He did most of his best work after they got back. “It is in its early stages yet,” Peony said. “I am not directly involved, but from what I have heard from my colleagues, it seems to be going well. I suppose we will not truly know until the time comes for the group to be deployed.” She thought they both knew that it was a matter of when rather than if. And in the end, mages were not the sort to espouse group battle tactics; her own tactical knowledge was based primarily on working as a damage-dealer in a mixed group. It would be an interesting experiment to see whether a group of mages in concert might negate the need for warriors to act as defenders. She only hoped that the first deployment of the taskforce did not end in tragedy. She finished the counters, located a broom. The kitchen was already practically unrecognizable. She wouldn’t have the opportunity to take care of the entire house today, but one room seemed better than none. “How is the curry? I know that it is not quite the same as Cyclone’s.” She had never gotten quite the same touch with it, though she was quite fond of it, especially considering the fact that it was meant to be spiced quite heavily. She had not made this batch to her personal specifications but rather something more akin to the way the synergist had made hers, so she did not think it would be unbearably hot. By the time Peony had finished her assessment and the counter, Cormac had been halfway through his bowl. It had been spicier than he usually ate, but it was still very good. The spice just added enough kick to possibly make him regret the choice of partaking in it later. He hadn’t even realized how hungry he was until he’d had the spoon almost in his mouth. When had he eaten? Possibly sometime around noon? He often got lost in his work and once Ridley left, if she hadn’t reminded him to eat or snuck him some sort of cookies, he was pretty much going to ignore eating until after he was done working. Perhaps he shouldn’t have eaten so fast, because now that he was thinking about it, the curry was rather spicy. His sinuses were clear, but his eyes weren’t to the point of watering. He did feel warm, however. “A little too hot, but otherwise quite delicious,” he commented honestly. “The heat actually adds to the flavor,” he said before taking another bite. He didn’t really know how that worked, but it was true. It was the kind of heat he felt he could work through if it meant the food tasted good. He’d been pretty lenient about the dishes and hadn’t noticed she’d gone for the counters, but the sound of the broom sweeping across the floor caught his attention. “You don’t have to clean for me,” he said a moment later, attempting to wave her to the table. “You’ve already brought me dinner, which I am most grateful for.” Really, she was doing too much. “I know,” she said, placid as ever. She continued sweeping, clearly intent on continuing with the task. That she didn’t have to clean did not mean that she shouldn’t; the work needed to be done and she was here to do it, so why not? “It is always pleasant to have a clean living space, and you are quite welcome for the dinner,” she said. “I attempted not to make it too spicy, but I am occasionally not the best judge.” She was glad to see that he had finished most of the bowl -- he was looking worn down and had surely needed a filling meal. The sweeping was concluded as quickly as the cleaning of the counter; she emptied the dustpan before fetching the sponge once again and making for the table at which he was sitting. She doubted he had motioned her over for this, yet it was the task upon which she had now focused her attention. Cormac just casually scooped another spoonful of food in his mouth as she continued to sweep. He wasn’t going to argue with her verbally and he was in the middle of eating so he couldn’t just get up and stop her. He could, but he was really enjoying his meal too much. He thought to get along to it when he finished, but when he did, she’d already put the broom up and was heading toward him with a sponge. That, at least, was convenient. Once she got there, he stood up and gently took her wrist. It wasn’t a strong grasp, but it was a halting one. “Please,” he said removing the sponge with his other hand. “I’ll get someone to clean. You’re here as a guest not a servant.” “I do not think of myself as a servant,” she said easily. “Perhaps I am simply a colleague doing a favor for a person who has done a great deal to aid me in endeavors near to my heart.” Still, she relinquished the sponge -- there was no need to argue with him about it. She would speak with Ridley herself, in case he forgot (or in case the words were idle). She did not take the dishes from the table to the sink, thinking he might object to this too, but after he released her wrist, she said, “Shall I make us some tea?” She was already headed for the kettle as she said it. All right, so it seemed she would perhaps do just a bit more housework before she stopped. And, in fact, if this was cause for Cormac to take his need for a housekeeper more seriously, then the tea would serve a dual purpose. She smiled slightly as she filled the kettle. When she wrote to Cyclone, she thought her friend would be pleased. |