mathieu trinket. (flauto) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-04-29 11:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, arielle chiaro, mathieu rozenkatz |
Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!
Who: Mathieu & Ari
What: Mathieu stages an intervention
Where: Ari’s flat
When: The day after this
Rating: PG-ish, some mild breaking & entering
Status: Complete
How difficult it had been to find one Miss Arielle Chiaro! If she had appeared anywhere in the city (and the streetears were of no particular use on this matter), it had not been at rehearsals. Therefore, to see that at least one detail of guild business was put to its proper place, the guild councilor had finally been convinced to make a house call. He expected to offer only the friendliest and most gentle of nudges, and so Mathieu came bounding up the apartment steps with his usual ample amounts of optimism and cheer--useful weapons for any situation. He knocked at the door and waited for her approach. And then, after a long while of awkward fidgeting at the doorstep, knocked again and wondered if she was at home at all. Further waiting and wondering had him concerned for her well-being, and eventually, after what seemed like a generous amount of time to allow for the other bard to answer the door, Mathieu began to rework his planned manner of entrance. And as it just so happened, the windows of the apartment weren’t so terribly far from where he was standing. The bard may not have been able to compete with fighters in strength and durability, but he most certainly made up for it in other ways, and with little effort, he found himself pushing up the glass and wriggling himself inside the apartment. Mathieu landed on the living room floor like a mischievous cat, fluidly standing back up to his feet and taking a moment to wipe at his expensive tunic. He looked around, noting the state of things inside and began his search anew. “Miss Chiaro!” Oh for Faram’s sake. From her cocoon of blankets, Ari raised her aching head and grimaced. What time was it? She’d had a little wine (and then, a little more wine) and, she supposed, a nap. All the curtains were drawn, making the flat a bit gloomy and making it hard to puzzle out the time of day (or maybe it was the hangover?). The voice, though, could not be ignored. Someone was in her house, and even in her muddled state, she knew the voice well enough to say who. “Go away, Mathieu.” Though as he approached over a floor much less littered with debris than it had been prior to Drake’s recent visit, she doubted he would listen to her. She sighed and said, “Don’t councilors have something better to do than breaking and entering?” “As it just so happened, it’s become a priority on my to-do list today!” His voice was unflinchingly chipper as ever, even as his eyes adjusted and Mathieu found himself in the slightly-chaotic aftermath of disaster. His well-bred instincts flinched, wishing there was a servant or three to clean up the clutter (for no one ought to live this way, especially not Arielle). Resisting the momentary urge to stand and spin around in place, he made a careful-footed beeline toward the bedroom area of the loft and to the place where she was attempting to hide. “My most sincerest apologies, Ari,” he said, and he sounded sincere enough (as much as he was hopping over toward her unhindered by any sort of genuine hesitation), “but it seems we have a few important details to discuss.” Eventually, Mathieu pounced himself on the bed, giving the covers a gentle tug. Ari tugged back. Not that he hadn’t seen her in less than the oversized shirt she had worn for the impromptu drunken nap, but it was the principle of the thing -- her flat, her covers. “I’m not important,” she said. “The city’s a mess.” But dissuading Mathieu was hard, she knew. In his own, very unique way, he was stubborn. So she sighed, finally saying, “Want a drink? I think I have some more wine… somewhere. Probably,” she added. She couldn’t be sure. Mathieu eventually plopped himself down on the side of the bed and remained perched there, looking around the mass of empty wine bottles and ice cream containers. Taking in the full sight of the damage before him, Mathieu let his thoughts run rampant as to the nature of the other bard’s plight. No doubt the events of late had taken a heavy toll on everyone, he thought, but this reaction struck him as most peculiar indeed. He took a deep breath and glanced back over to the lump of covers. “I was thinking of coffee myself,” he said, his cheeriness remaining undisturbed in the face of adversity. “Possibly with a very good friend of mine, who was intending to share their current woes?” “Oh?” she said. She was hung over but she wasn’t drunk; her mind was working fine. “Is there someone like that here?” The unspoken I have no intention of sharing my woes seemed clear as glass. But he kept sitting there, being annoyingly cheerful, and in the end the only coping mechanism that had worked so far (on all but Aspel, at any rate; best not to think on that) seemed the best defense; after another few moments stubbornly clinging to the covers, she stood from the bed and began making her barefoot way to the kitchen, a path clearly well-traveled as she avoided the remaining rubble without looking at it. “I can make coffee.” And that, in the end, was all she wanted to promise. But maybe if she made a show of just being tired, he’d leave her be. At least he hadn’t shown up while she was soused, the way Aud had; surely she could deal with one well-meaning friend. And, for the first time in awhile, coffee did sound relatively palatable. “An excellent start,” he chirped in approval. Mathieu was grateful for at least one evidence of progress--he dug down his heels, tucked in his proverbial chin and prepared for a long battle of wills (and all of it fought with a smile). After a moment of gazing around the collection of debris he followed suit, standing up and starting a far less direct path around the flat, taking into inspection each ruined item and piece of trash as if they were lost soldiers, things all needing some accounting for. Mathieu waltzed his way around the room while Ari busied herself with the coffee, clearly not intending on a casual visit. Details needed sorting, as much as the room did. “Have you been out and about in the city lately?” He stopped at the ruined guitar, giving it an almost disappointed expression. “Anyone come to call?” “People keep threatening to beat my door down,” she said, her tone clearly cross. Her usual lighthearted humor was nowhere to be seen, but the familiar smell of Ordalian roast began to permeate the kitchen. She breathed in deeply, releasing another sigh, deciding not to mention that actually, this was an improvement -- she hadn’t felt the urge to cry since he’d walked in, so maybe this hangover was better than the one before. “I went out the other day,” she said, a small defense against the charge he was certain to levy of her hiding herself entirely away. She rifled through the cupboards, said, “You’ll have to use a wineglass. The cups are broken.” And she’d mostly been drinking right from the bottles, so the couple of unbroken glasses would serve. “Or a bowl,” she added. “I have some of those, too. Just not spoons.” Mathieu carefully found his way to the kitchen area and, hands on hips, pondered over the offered prospects. His urge to hire a line of cleaners beckoned him momentarily, but the councilor promptly reminded himself again of why he was here--definitely not to tidy up Ari’s apartment! He stepped lightly around her, taking up a bowl and readying himself for what smelled at least to be a fine cup of coffee. “A bowl it is,” he said, appearing to happily make do beside her. “And in exchange for my humble gratitude.” While the two stood together in the kitchen and preparing their drink of choice, Mathieu kept the conversation at a steady march. “--Especially to hear that you’ve been out and about! Why, everyone in rehearsals must have cheered at your prodigal return.” And there it was, rearing its head at last. “Rehearsals?” Her blank look would tell the whole story -- she hadn’t even contemplated rehearsal since its interruption by a massive, earth-shaking beast. If there had been messages, well, she had been ignoring most of them. Then, suddenly, realization: “Are we having those again? Wasn’t there a -- a hole in the Sphere?” His expression seemed to say otherwise. “The show must go on,” he said breezily, “and not without its star performer.” Mathieu leaned against the counter and made himself look comfortable. “And for all that I can assure you, my friend, everyone else has now banded together in hopes for the most brilliant performance yet.” "Oh," she said. For a brief while, as she poured coffee into bowls, she said nothing at all. Finally, passing one bowl to her uninvited guest, she said, "I... don't suppose I can claim illness?" The idea of returning to rehearsal did not appeal. What good would she be right now? (Perhaps more than she realized, considering get current commonalities with the average tragic heroine, but she did not contemplate that truly depressing thought for long.) "Everything's a disaster," she muttered, "but of course the show goes on. Of course it does." She sipped at her bowl of coffee, realizing to some extent that she was barefoot and half dressed and unkempt and drinking coffee from a soup bowl in a flat that was two steps above a warzone (maybe even less than two) and caring very little. "If I say I won't go, you won't leave until I change my mind, will you?" she said a bit forlornly. It was exactly the sort of tactic she might have used herself. “Now what sort of friend would I be if I did that? To leave you here, all alone…” Mathieu took a generous sip from his coffee bowl, and the determination behind his cheerful expression was obvious. His entire campaign had been reaffirmed by the state of the other bard, and her apartment, and everything that he had heard thus far. That she had nearly forgotten rehearsals altogether…! “And as for my own work,” he added with a shrug, inferring his position as a council member, “well, that wouldn’t be very helpful at all.” A moment of gazing approvingly at his coffee bowl, and Mathieu looked up. “Is this Ordalian?” “I like being alone.” Realizing how very unlike her that sounded, she amended, “Sometimes. Lately. I…” Yes, altogether better to talk about the coffee, she realized. “I don’t have to share my Ordalian coffee that way.” She gave him a small smile over the rim of her bowl and added, “It is, of course -- the only kind worth drinking. For you, an exception from my selfish avarice.” She sighed and said, “I’d be a lousy associate if I kept you from your work, and you know that I know it. I’ll go. Tomorrow. Or… isn’t it Saturday?” The days blurred together, but Miles had been by yesterday, and the wedding should have been today. She could still reason. “I’ll go Monday,” she said. Bowl of coffee poised up to his mouth, Mathieu looked at Ari like the cat who had gotten the milk. The compromise seemed to satisfy him, for now. “A bargain I will be glad to strike,” he said. “And I’ll be happy to hear about your future progress as well!” A promise to check in with her again, or so it seemed. He raised up the bowl slightly in a gesture of cheers. “My thanks to you.” “Progress seems… debatable. But I’ll go.” She gave him a Look, a bit more reminiscent of her usual self. “Do try not to look so pleased. Someone already softened me up for you before you came along. And I’m running out of dishes, so I was bound to stop being a hermit eventually.” Another sigh. “Why not Monday?” “A new week, and a fresh start?” Mathieu did look very pleased with himself, especially to see Ari’s mood lighten, even if only a little. “You know, if you’re looking to hire a cleaner…” For that, he earned a brief laugh (amazing, Ari thought, that it wasn’t rusty from misuse). “How did I know that was coming?” But she did take the name, in the end. |