loch lemach gives zero fucks (cutandthrust) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-07-28 14:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, lionel baines, loch lemach, miles baines |
I got a woman way over town, she's good to me.
Who: Miles Baines, Lionel Baines & Loch Lemach
What: An unwilling ally for an unlikely cover-up
Where: Lionel's apartment.
When: Backdated to 7/12
Rating: PG-13 for language
Status: Complete
It was almost strange for Miles to be himself again, and the man found himself second-guessing his own mannerisms: was he standing too stiffly, was he laughing the right way, did he drop the right emphasis in his speech, had he successfully excised Norwood’s noble upbringing from each turn of the hand, each shrug of the shoulder? But the mime was a professional, and he soon settled back into his own skin over the course of dinner with the Baineses. The two brothers were now strolling back from their parents’ place, bellies full and nerves slightly rattled from the usual familial tension—but it had gone better than past (disastrous) meetings with Cole and Elayne. The parents had asked about their eldest’s next show; he’d hemmed and hawed and explained that he was still auditioning, that there was nothing lined up as of yet. Now the pair of them were strolling down the street at an amiable pace, chatting as they sauntered up to Lionel’s apartment. Miles yawned while he leaned against the wall, waiting for his brother to unlock the door. “Alright, fine,” he admitted. “You were right. That could have gone worse.” “I often am, brother,” Lionel replied, his tone a touch more smug than usual as he fumbled with his keys. As far as the mage was concerned, the meeting had been a successful one: there had been no tears from their mother, no angry frustration from their father, and minimal antics from Miles. But as he unlocked the heavy wooden door and ushered his brother inside, he knew the victory was a hollow one. He couldn’t claim to be as clever as Miles, not by half, but Lionel was sharp enough to know there was something off about the pieces of Miles’ life he chose to display. He cleared his throat. “But it went well because you were on your best behavior, so, ah, thank you for that.” “I do try. Sometimes.” Miles slunk in after his brother like a stray dog coming in off the street, sticking close to the wall and prowling the perimeter of the room while Lionel started flicking on the lights, illuminating the meagre little apartment. “Although I suppose it helps that I don’t actually have any news for them. Things have been shit in the city, so it’s fine to take some time off from acting for a bit. Theatre district needing some time to get itself back together, all that.” He dropped himself onto the threadbare sofa like a sack of potatoes, limbs sprawling; Miles had a tendency to commandeer any space he found himself in, as if he owned it. An amused smile tugged at the corner of Lionel’s mouth, folding his arms across his chest as he watched his brother make himself comfortable. There was another joke on the tip of his tongue—no, please, do make yourself at home—but Miles had given him an opening. “That reminds me. Where exactly have you been staying, again?” There was a beat, a pause. If he were someone less schooled in mastering their reactions, Miles might have spluttered: instead, he kept absolutely mum and impassive, but the man’s silence did just as well in sending up warning flags and suspicion. “With a friend,” Miles said vaguely, while his mind spun and searched for an alibi to latch onto—the inexplicable answer I’ve been living at a noble estate would hardly do. “Couch-surfing. You know how it is.” “With a friend,” Lionel repeated slowly, arching an eyebrow. He dragged a rickety chair from his kitchen table and took a seat across from Miles, his mouth pressed into a thin, disappointed line. His brother couldn’t even be bothered to feed him a convincing lie. “You’re right, I do know how it is. So where have you been staying?” The mage leaned forward, genuine annoyance and mistrust flickering across his face. “Please remember that I’m not the naive little boy I used to be.” Miles stared back, assessing the face currently frowning at him: the wide blue eyes he was used to thinking of as gormless, gullible, always assuming that Lionel would swallow whatever lie he could feed him. It had been several months since Miles’ apartment was destroyed and he still didn’t have a home, hadn’t bothered to spend the gil on it when he had an entire mansion to prowl through. Could he say Arielle? No, she was so damned public. Damia hadn’t been speaking to him for weeks. Rivalen would never. Ash’ occupation wasn’t exactly Lionel-safe. Who could be a plausible— His head spun like one of Wilde’s roulette wheels, finally landing on the one name he knew Lionel would believe, an act of desperation: “Fine. Loch. It’s Loch.” It took a moment for the words to register, Lionel’s mouth opening and closing as he mind blanked out on the proper response. “Loch, really? That’s—well.” Finally, a sly smile spread across Lionel’s face as he leaned back in his chair, smug satisfaction radiating off the mage in waves. “It’s about time. I was hoping you two would—” But a steady knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He held up a hand to his brother, his way of saying this conversation was not finished, and made his way to the door with a too-pleased grin on his face. Only sheer willpower—the determination that she would be nicer to Lionel, which was the whole reason she was there in the first place—kept Loch from raising her eyebrows at this excessive display of cheer as the door swung open. That determination, however, had its limits: returning the grin was out of the question. Instead, she held up the bottle of red wine and said, "Thought I'd drop this off, as promised. I hope this ain't a bad time for you." (Always the escape routes—and what a terrible idea the whole thing seemed now, faced with the risk that Lionel might invite her in for a drink, and conversation.) Lionel’s eyes darted between the alcohol and Loch’s face, and his smile broadening. “Not at all! In fact, Miles and I were just talking about you…” The murmur of voices from the door was immediately recognisable, and Miles sat bolt upright on the sofa, his face going instinctively blank in horror. No. No, what the hell was she doing here, right after he’d— His gaze flitted to the hallway leading to the one tiny bedroom, contemplating the benefits of simply making a break for it out the window right here, right now. Unfortunately, he’d only made it halfway across the room by the time the other two turned around, however. “Miles,” Lionel said cheerfully, causing Miles to freeze in his tracks. “Look who decided to drop by for a visit.” The mage ushered Loch in despite her protests, and gestured for her to take a seat on the couch. “Miles was just telling me he’s been staying with you these past few months! I knew you two would get it together eventually.” This time, Loch could not keep her expression neutral. "Was he, now?" She glanced at Miles, eyebrows arched and betraying her amusement. Judging from the way Miles stood in the middle of the room like a prisoner spotted before his escape could be completed, he had been gunning for the window. How many times had they done that exact same maneuver around each other, after all? She considered the situation and decided to let him panic a few moments longer before saying, "Well, news sure fly fast around here." Not a complete pledge of allegiance, but rather an acknowledgement that drawing out the situation would prove far more entertaining. Miles let out a small, imperceptible sigh before swiveling on his heel and returning, a bright and slightly brittle smile on his face. Of everyone in this city, Loch was the one most likely to seize his hint and run with it, improvising off the cuff—the only one as close was possibly Ari. “Lionel is an incorrigible gossip. He wormed it out of me,” he declared. “Only because I was worried,” Lionel replied warmly, reaching out to clasp MIles on the shoulder. “But I wish you had told me sooner! It’s about time you finally settled down.” “Settled down?” they both choked in appalled unison. Loch was the first to recover—or the first to speak again, at least. "A tad early to be saying that, no?" “Is it?” Lionel asked innocently, obviously taking great pleasure in their discomfort. “This has only been going on for years now, hasn’t it?” (The lack of elaboration on the nature of this — something carefully ignored throughout the mentioned years, like an unwelcome guest — did nothing to smooth over the two thieves' reactions. Rather than look at each other, they both looked around the room, itemising sorely-needed escape routes.) “Either way, I can’t tell you how happy I am for the two of you. This calls for a toast.” His voice was still bright and obnoxiously cheerful as he turned away from his guests, rummaging through his cabinets for a few clean glasses. "I could just pull a Vanish," Loch muttered, in mutinous tones calculated to reach only Miles. "Is the window locked?" “I’ll mimic you,” Miles said back in a low undertone. “It won’t take more than a seco—” But then Lionel had turned back triumphantly with the glasses, and two matching smiles (one slightly more forced than the other) immediately flitted onto the thieves’ faces as if summoned by magic. They subjected themselves to the toast, uncorking the bottle and breaking open the ostensible celebration (or gratitude). “To the future,” Miles said vaguely, raising the glass and they clinked together, taking a deep drain of the wine. Loch had never seen Lionel so pleased, but his smiles and words of congratulations (and his insistence that he had known this day would come all along) forced her to take a drink every time a flat-out denial of the situation threatened to spill out. The impulse to simply disappear into thin air (whether Miles managed to follow or not — his damn fault they were in this mess in the first place) was canceled out only by the mantra that after this, Miles would owe her more than one. Whatever Lionel might choose to believe, that was the essence of their relationship, the balance that had governed over it for so many years: that neverending tally. Not feelings; no, nothing of the sort. But even the thirst for leverage could only go so far, and once her glass was empty she had had enough of the cloying words, the vague talk of a future with Miles, the normalcy. With her best smile she put the glass down and her hand on Miles' arm, and said how tired they both were, and how they just had to get going and go home, Lionel, sure you understand. Miles choked and almost sprayed wine on his brother. They made their graceful exit, however, and even patiently waited until Lionel had waved them off and shut the door behind them before Loch delivered a well-aimed kick to the mime’s shins. "Well," she said, ignoring Miles' yelp of pain, "we had better get home before it gets any later, darling." “Fuck you,” he said. A beat, then: “And thanks for covering for me.” "Got to switch it up every once in a while," she said, and walked away, not waiting to see if he would follow. |