marcello the dragon. (tippedscale) wrote in fableless, @ 2016-12-03 21:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! log/thread, anahita abedini, marcello palla |
WHO: Anahita Abedini & Marcello Palla.
WHEN: Thanksgiving day.
SUMMARY: Marcello does twenty seconds of sweeping before they decide to do a food break instead.
WARNINGS: None.
STATUS: Complete.
After finding out that Esau was back to normal and therefore leaving a state of hyperawareness, Ana gave herself exactly one hour to sulk, stare at her hand injury moodily and feel sorry for herself. Then she stood up, brushed metaphorical dust off her shoulders, said goodbye to Basil, and went home to put her life back together. A couple days later, progress had been made, but it was still a bit of a mess. Glass and other shards were swept into a large pile next to the desk; wet rags were draped over the edge of a bucket, mop precariously balanced next to it. With one hand only half-functioning it was pretty slow going. Thanksgiving day, at least, meant fewer people banging on the door wanting to come in, fewer people she had to shoo away with some lie. When this knock came, Ana was sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at a small splatter of blood on the wooden shelf that she’d been scrubbing at with a toothbrush and baking soda for the last half hour, wondering if she could get away with it being artsy if she left it. “Closed!” she yelled, not looking up. The crunching beneath his shoes was the first indication that something was wrong, especially considering when he glanced down for further inspection, some of it seemed to be glass. It made him cringe a little, wondering what object in the shop might’ve been smashed, and for a moment he only stood there, ignore Ana’s snappish answer and blaming some senseless idiot for coming in here and clumsily knocking over what was no doubt a precious item. But the rest of the shop came into view quickly enough, as did the piles of more glass, more damages, and then, finally, Ana. She looked tired and worn and very unlike herself. Marcello had never seen her like this. “What’s happened to you?” There wasn’t quite worry there, yet, just wariness. The voice had her pause, look up carefully. Then she shrugged and looked back at her work, slowly tucking the injured hand into her lap. But she didn’t kick him out like she had others. “Someone came and wrecked my place,” Ana answered, the toothbrush-scrubbing starting up again. “Isn’t it obvious?” It was probably a little obvious, the stitches still stark on her jawline. But she didn’t say that. “Obviously,” Marcello replied, curtly, but softly. Softer, anyway, then his usual irritation with her. He wasn’t dipping to pity, yet, but it wasn’t difficult to tell how much the shop meant to Ana. It made him feel bad that someone had attacked something so personal to her. “But that does not tell me anything, really. What’s happened?” She was silent for a moment, shifting as she sat. Usually, Marcello was fairly easy to handle. If she wanted him to fuck off all she had to do was say so and he’d shrug and be gone. There was no playing games, no coyness. The fact that she’d tried to blow off his question and he actually persisted didn’t go unnoticed, and her whole body seemed to droop a little as she sighed. “You heard about all this Tale-reverting stuff that was going on?” she asked, completely unaware of anything Marcello had been up to while she was away and to which she received a short, irritated grunt in response to. “I got caught in the middle of it, a bit. Someone who already hates my guts also happened to be a bit of a murderer in the old life.” At that, Marcello’s features softened considerably, maybe more than he ever had with her and he walked closer. “Do you need help cleaning?” Looking at him, Ana frowned, from confusion more than unhappiness, but it faded in moments. “... I’m not in a position to say no, really. Got any tips on this stain here?” She scooted over on the floor and gestured to it with the toothbrush. Marcello was already kneeling down in front of her and reaching out to her chin to turn her head aside just enough to inspect her jaw and he almost looked like he forgot she was human and not some trinket with the casual way in which he did it. “Something acidic? What are you using?” “Baking soda,” she replied, allowing herself to be moved by him, rolling her eyes a bit but tilting her head up to let him see. “Be careful with the face, it’s worth a lot and has gone through enough.” At that, Marcello scoffed. “You act as if I do not know how to be tender with fine things.” He let her chin go, examination finished. It yielded no results, really, he only wanted to look. “Try something acidic,” he repeated the suggestion. If baking soda wasn’t working, maybe the opposite would. “Damn right I’m fine,” was her response, but it lacked the usual spark. “Alright, lemons then. I got some upstairs. You want to sweep up that pile of shards over there?” She stood, and stopped trying to hide her bandaged hand; if he was staying there was no point. “Did you have a better week than I did?” Marcello laughed as he took up the broom, but it was an empty sort of laugh. “I was… Under the influence of whatever happened,” he admitted, sweeping. “I did some terrible things as well, but not this bad.” Though - Breathing fire at Mat was something he deeply regretted, the fact of the matter was that Marcello still fully understood why it had happened and there was some part of himself that had trouble apologizing for any of it. Her head had spun toward him, eyebrows flying up as she spoke. “Now I bet that was interesting. Woodsbridge having its own dragon. Though all the things I could think of you doing… you sort of already do, don’t you?” “I took all my valuables and moved into a cave in the forest.” Without missing a beat. “Oh I’m sorry, how is that different than usual?” Marcello stared at her for a moment. “...You are right.” “Yep.” She grinned at him, and it brought a little color to her cheeks. “Actually, screw the shards for the moment. If I’m going upstairs for the lemons I might as well grab a bite. You want something to eat?” “No, no,” Marcello held his hand out, shaking it, discouraging her from going upstairs. “If you’re wanting to eat, I was going to cook dinner anyway. I owe you - yes? For dragging me through the mud.” Because it couldn’t be a full expression of gratitude. It was now twice in a couple of minutes that he surprised her, when not long before she had been considering how predictable he was. Ana’s smile grew less sharp, took more of a congenial edge. “It was hard work, getting you that dirty,” she acknowledged. “... Alright then, big guy. That sounds nice.” “Judging by the results, I’d say so,” came his reply, but it was with the curl of a smile as he moved toward the door of the shop. He’d help her clean another day. |