Isobel Brandt \\ Persephone (praxidike) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2017-02-01 08:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | hades, persephone |
love don't break the light
Who: Obed & Isobel.
What: Domestic bliss cracks around the edges.
Where: Pax Letale.
When: Late evening.
The paperwork shuffled in her hand, feeling almost like a bird trying to take flight. Isobel rubbed the heel of one hand into her right eye tenderly, still a little wary of her face even weeks following the altercation with Bryan. Her body might have healed, but her mind still remembered the bruises and the cast she'd just recently shed. She had full use of her hand again, and it felt so strange. She was seated in the dining room of the expansive apartment she and Obed had rented, and her right hand sported a ring with a decent yet modestly sized diamond. So much had changed in such a short amount of time.
But that was not enough to distract her from the bills and other work piling up around Spring Growth. Sheila was a capable manager, but there were so many things Isobel wanted to pay particular attention to. One of her failings was the simple fact that she could not delegate tasks, especially when it came to the topic of her beloved nursery. Isobel put the paperwork down, and reached instead for her purse, dragging out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She didn't immediately pull one out and put it to her lips, instead letting her hand remain folded around the box. Her eyes glanced among the newly purchased furniture, mixed in with pieces from Obed's former abode and a few of her own, ones that were nowhere near as nice as her fiance's but things that he'd been more than willing to accept.
Even with all of the furnishings, all of the stuff, it felt large and empty. Dark, despite the winnowing daylight bleeding through the windows. She hadn't wanted such a large apartment, mainly due to the cost, but what couple truly needed this much space? It was a conversation they'd had before, conversation being a relative word, one that she had eventually given into and one Isobel was sure they'd have again. Turning back to the paperwork and the vice in her hand, she pulled out one slim Newport and put it to her lips. Before she could strike the lighter, though, a yip sounded from the direction of the bedroom and the echo of scrabbling claws announced a third party into the scenario. Isobel put the cigarette down next to its box and scooted her chair backward so she could grab Hanni the moment he appeared.
"Hi, baby," she cooed at the tiny Pomeranian, who was more than happy to be cuddled. "Did you have a good nap?" The sound of the dog masked the apartment door's opening and closing, distracting Isobel from Obed's entrance.
He moved silently into the room, a sweep of dark clothes and pale flesh. A small smile crossed his lips at the sight of his recently acquired housemates, neither of whom appeared to have noticed him yet. The softer expression did much to lessen the severe line he cut through the apartment. He stopped by the table, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.
"Good evening," he said. "Both of you hard at work, I see."
"Mhm," Isobel replied, tilting her head up and then following him with her eyes. His presence immediately made her feel calmer, though did not entirely dissuade her opinions about the apartment. The small dog in her arms yapped again, this time at Obed, nearly pushing himself out of Isobel's arms in an attempt to leap on the man.
"How was your day?" She gave into Hanni's demands and held the small dog out for Obed to take, if he so chose. Her mind only vaguely remembered the bills and pack of cigarettes on the table behind her.
Obed plucked the dog from her hands and pulled him close against his chest. Short black hairs immediately fell and clung to his suit coat. He showed no sign he cared. "Not bad." He hooked one foot around the leg of the chair in front of him, pulling it out and moving to sit at her right side. He nodded toward the work spread out before her. "Equally full of boring paperwork. What's all this?"
Isobel glanced casually at the papers behind her, then made as unhurried of an attempt as she could in folding the papers up and covering them. He furrowed his brow, but Hanni distracted him quickly enough, with small, sharp bites on Obed's fingertips.
"It's nothing," she replied breathily, hoping she sounded more calm than she felt. "How's [Charon]? Are you going to invite him over for dinner like we talked about?"
His smile faded. His lips thinned, but he kept their corners from turning down at the corners. "Of course," he said. "I'm just looking for the right time to bring it up. Work has been busy. You know how it is. And he's… a particular kind of person." Outspoken would have been a kind word, but it did not seem to fit. Not enough, anyway, for Obed to justify its use. He chuckled, trying to soften the sharpest edges of the moment. "I think he's still getting used to my not being another bachelor anymore."
Isobel told herself that she had no right to feel hurt by what Obed was implying, much less due to the fact that she wasn't even being honest with him about her work. She turned back to him, trying on a small smile as she scooted forward with her chair and put a hand on his arm; Hanni yipped again, his small, black eyes darting between the couple. Isobel scritched his head with her other hand.
"It's OK. We'll find time. I don't mind having you all to myself until then, just..." She shrugged. "I want this to be normal. Our relationship isn't...doesn't need to be a secret. And I don't want this to mess up your friendship with him. I just want all of this to work."
"It will," he said, adamant. "This won't mess up anything between [Charon] and I. We've known each other long enough. It would take a lot more than my settling down to throw that off. Don't concern yourself with that."
He held the dog against him with one hand; the other he placed atop Isobel's arm. "Our relationship is normal. People get married over weekends, for god's sake. They elope to fucking Vegas." He chuckled. "We're pretty normal in the scheme of things."
His attempt at reassurance fell short. "And they get divorced days later," she replied, worry cutting into her voice. She gave Hanni another pat, rising from her seat. "I'm going to get dinner started; I got some salmon. That's OK, right?" She padded quietly to the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder as she asked her question.
He was leaning down, gently placing Hanni on the floor. Nails detailed the dog's movements, clicking his little way into the kitchen with spry, energetic movements. The line of Obed's shoulders was tense, but he was measured in his response. "Of course," he said. He shrugged out of his coat, leaving it hanging over the back of the dining room chair before following her into the kitchen.
"What's wrong, Isobel? Just talk to me, please." She was already putting a pan (one of hers, from her kitchen in her former Koreatown apartment) on the stove, turning the burner to medium heat. Her tongue wetted her lips as she shook her head.
"There's nothing wrong." Quick hands found the cooking oil, adding it to the pan. She glanced back at Obed, her face inscrutable. "Maybe that's the problem? It just feels like all of this... It's too easy. I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something to happen." Hanni took up a spot near the sink, his mouth lolling open and tongue panting as he glanced between the two taller beings in his space.
"Why would it?" He leaned against the counter at her side, his arms folding loosely across his chest. "Maybe it's just… working out. Maybe this is how it's supposed to go. Not everything is meant to be a struggle. Not everything is like it was with him."
"I know." Her voice was small and tired; Isobel looked back to the pan, where the oil was just starting to sizzle. She wrapped one hand around the pan's handle, swirling it a little to make sure the oil was distributed evenly. "I wish my brain would get that. I wish I could just...forget everything else." She licked her lips, scraping the bottom with her teeth as she left the pan behind to rummage through the fridge for the aforementioned salmon, which had been thawing. Her movements were smooth but frenetic, as though she were struggling to keep herself busy to distract from the content of the conversation.
Putting the salmon down on the counter, she pulled a knife out of the nearby butcher's block and undid the plastic, putting both cuts on a previously placed cutting board.
"I know. I know it's an adjustment. If there's something I can do to help, tell me." He stepped forward, pulling the discarded plastic from the countertop and moving to throw it away. "Have you... " He cleared his throat. Hanni stared up at him, then gave him an encouraging yip. He looked back to Isobel over one shoulder as he carefully placed the wrapper in the wastebasket. "Have you considering talking to someone? A therapist might be able to help in ways I can't."
She tensed, gripping the knife in one hand; her eyes closed, and she breathed out, clearly trying to not be offended. Then she wiped it carefully on a towel, putting it in the sink as she spared an annoyed glance in Hanni's direction. The dog replied by widening his grin. Isobel shook her head, moving the salmon from the cutting board to the pan, where it immediately began to sizzle.
"I don't think I can afford a therapist, not right now. Or have the time. It's not a bad suggestion," she added, trying to not sound completely like a Debbie Downer. "I just. There's too much going on. I was thinking of trying out some new exercise classes, some self-defense ones. I think that might help. I found some cheap classes near where the nursery is headquartered, so it'd be easy to go there right after work. Can you get the asparagus out of the fridge?"
He rolled up his sleeves as he moved to obey, folding neat cuffs just below his elbows. The asparagus was fresh, of course, more vibrant than any he had seen. She had a way with such things, he had noticed, and he never failed to appreciate it. He removed the little bands from around it, then set the bundle close at hand for her.
"That sounds worth checking out," he said. "Whatever you think will be best for you. But I wish you wouldn't worry about the money. You should know that isn't a concern."
Isobel's mouth pressed into a thin line as she let the salmon cook, turning her attention to the asparagus. A pot was brought out from the lower cabinets, filled halfway with water and set to boiling on the stovetop along with the fish. A third pot came out, which she filled with water as well and then started going through the cabinets for the next item she intended on adding to the meal. She replied as she moved, her words spaced out with her movements.
"It's just... I can figure it out. It's my problem, and I've got a handle on it. It's not that I don't appreciate your help, I do, I really do." She pulled a small container of cous-cous from the cabinet, holding it in her hand as she looked back at Obed. "I just feel like therapy... It's just more complaining. I don't need to talk about it, I just want to move on from it and actually do something."
He nodded; it was a position he personally shared, though this was neither the place nor the time to say so. He was pleased with her push for action, but found himself wanting to help with that, too, quite contrary to her apparent desire. She poured two cups worth of the rice-like material into the third pot, screwing the lid back on. "And I don't want you to feel like you have to pay to fix me. I'm not with you for money, I'm with you because I love you." Isobel put the container down, her eyes on the cooking pans in front of her but her shoulders tensed from the weight of their conversation.
"I know that. You don't have to prove it to me." He moved behind her, his arms loosely circling her waist. A soft smile curved his lips as they pressed to her nape. "You're very stubborn sometimes, you know that? It's one of your best qualities, but also very frustrating at times." Isobel's eyes slipped closed as her form leaned back into his, her tension abating slightly at his touch. A light smile graced her lips.
"I'm sorry," she replied quietly. "I'm not trying to be difficult. I'm just... This is a lot harder to figure out than I thought it would be." She pulled back enough to turn and face him, moving carefully inside the loose circle of his arms so she didn't break his grip. "You are helping, though. A lot. But tell me if I'm being, I don't know, unreasonable. I just get so tied up inside my own head sometimes, it's hard to know if I'm making things worse or not."
"I know. But I'll tell you." He kissed her, his arms tightening around her for a moment. "You'll figure this out. You always do. And I'm here to help you along the way. You're only being unreasonable if you don't let me do at least that much." He pushed a lock of hair from her forehead, kissing the bare skin that had been hidden beneath. She melted beneath his touch, completely at ease in his arms. Her only acknowledgement of his words was a gentle sigh, before she wriggled enough to turn back around and remove the salmon from its pan before it burned.
"I know, I'm going to try harder. I really wish [Charon] would just come to dinner. Or maybe we can invite your parents?" She knew she was going out on a dangerous limb, opening herself up to the idea of inviting her parents up from Texas. It was going to happen sooner or later, she knew, but she found herself wanting to leave it to the far side of later. Picking up another knife, she quickly cut up the asparagus and added it to the now-boiling water of the second pot.
This, at least, he could quickly answer. "Of course," he said. "They may turn around and ask us to drive there… they're not as young as they used to be, and other excuses. But that might be good, too. I know they're going to love you. They ask about you often."
He moved to the opposite side of the kitchen, withdrawing plates and utensils from their places. "[Charon] will come around, Isobel. I promise you."
"I hope so. I'm excited to meet the rest of your family." Isobel left that conversation there, unsure what more could be dragged out of it. She put the salmon on one plate, and then removed the asparagus from its quick dip in the boiling water before it became overcooked. The cous-cous needed another minute, but nearly everything was ready to be served. "What do you want to drink? A Sauvignon Blanc would go well with the fish. Unless you want red?"
"If I said red I'm almost certain my parents would come down here just to slap it out of my hands," he said. "I think I have a Chalk Hill '08 I haven't opened yet." He disappeared into a nearby closet, converted before their move into a makeshift wine cellar. From one refrigerated cabinet he plucked an unopened bottle, returning to the kitchen to uncork it while Isobel finished her work. He looked to her while he completed his task, and poured a glass for each of them.
"And what about your family, Isobel? I'd like to meet them, as well." A sharp little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You don't talk about them much. Are you worried I won't be able to charm them?"
Isobel cast an amused smirk coupled with a shake of her head in his direction, though the expression faded as she looked back to the meal. She took up the plates Obed had pulled out, putting a piece of fish on each, along with a decent helping of asparagus.
"No, I think they'll like you just fine. It's just...my parents are...weird." Of course everyone could easily lay claim to the description that their parents were anything but normal; Isobel was more worried about the fact that Obed would learn more about her past, especially in her connections to Bryan. "I don't know how they'd feel about coming up here. We don't...talk much."
"That happens. We could always go and visit them. Take a little vacation, see whatever sights there are to see in Texas." He carried wine glasses into the dining room, then returned for utensils and napkins. Hanni followed dutifully behind, little nails clicking, announcing their progress with each step. "What kind of weird? Fox News weird? Westboro Baptist Church weird?"
She let out a dry laugh. "Nothing that extreme. They're more...shut-ins. They were very protective of me growing up; I guess you can see where I get all the worries from." Isobel added a scoop of couscous to each plate, finishing them, and then turned off all the burners. The leftover couscous went onto a cool burner while the rest of the pots and pans went into the sink to be washed later. Balancing both plates, she carried them into the dining room and set them in their usually designated places at noon and two.
"And there's not a lot to see in Elgin. It's just your stereotypical Western town. There wasn't a whole lot to do when I was a kid. I'm sure visiting your parents in Northern California will be much more exciting." She took a seat, unfolding her napkin over her lap. "My parents'll probably make us sleep in separate rooms. I hope you're OK with fold out mattresses, if you're serious about this."
He chuckled as he slid into his seat. "Really? They… they do know I'm almost forty years old, right." He waved a hand, dismissive. "Of course. It's their house. I would abide by their rules. Dated and unhelpful as we might consider them."
The salmon flaked apart beneath his fork. He pierced the fallen bit and popped it in his mouth, ignoring Hanni's plaintive whine. "I'm very open to it, is all I'm saying. If you'd like to go, we'll go. But if you'd rather go to my parents' first, I certainly won't complain. There's not much to do there either, but it's beautiful."
"You're dating their baby girl, Obed; you might've put a ring on my finger, but we're not at the altar yet, and they're definitely not going to be comfortable with the age difference between us. All the more reason to make you sleep on the couch and put me back into my tiny teenage bedroom that they think I never should've left." He nodded, understanding, but clearly not agreeing. She cut her asparagus into smaller, bite-sized pieces, putting one in her mouth, chewing and swallowing before speaking again. "I would definitely prefer your parents first over mine, as anxiety-inducing as it'll be regardless. You're sure they're not going to suspect anything? Or, I don't know, assume anything?"
His brow furrowed. He washed down another bite with a lengthy sip of wine, giving himself a moment before replying. "Suspect anything? What do you mean by that?" He shook his head. "They aren't going to think you're pregnant, if that's what you mean." He chuckled. "They have to know I wouldn't propose over that."
Isobel slapped a hand to her mouth, half in surprise and half in amusement, doing her best to finish chewing the bite of salmon she'd taken and swallow it down.
"No, I just... I didn't mean that. I don't know what I meant, I'm sorry. I'm just being spastic about all of this again." She centered her eyes on her plate, pushing food around it for a moment. "I'm sure you're right, everything will be fine. I'm just being...ridiculous."
He smiled, grateful for the relative lightness of her response. He reached over to her, squeezing her hand around her fork. "I know it's stressful. It's okay to be stressed. But they're just two little kind of old folks who run a vineyard. They'll tell you embarrassing stories about me and make you taste every kind of wine we make there. That's it, really. We'll even sleep in the same bed." He gave her a teasing wink, then turned back to his food.
She cast a grateful look in his direction, chewing more of her food. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to make more problems when you've just gotten home from work. Is the food alright? And there's a new show on tonight I thought we could watch. Just spend some time cuddling on the couch, unless you've got something else to do." Her voice sounded hopeful, though not desperate. The hand not clutching utensils rose up to scratch the side of her neck, then settled on the table next to her plate.
"Not a thing," he said. "That sounds perfect, to be honest. And has anyone ever told you that you apologize too much?" He chuckled, and gave her hand another squeeze. "Dinner's great, as always. You know I don't expect you to have all this ready. I'm not the best sous chef, but I can help and not cut a finger off. I promise."
Her grin was wide, and she opened her mouth to apologize again, but stopped herself. "I know. I'm working on it. And this took all of 30 minutes. I love cooking for you, but I don't mind you helping out, as long as I'm not running you to the ER." She grasped his hand in her own, grateful for everything about him. Then she concentrated on the meal at hand, turning the conversation toward his workday.