deathsmajesty | Creepy Mansion Full of Misery and Woe, Thursday Afternoon

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Creepy Mansion Full of Misery and Woe, Thursday Afternoon

Last night's indulgences (one could say to the point of excesses) had left Liliana with a fairly mild hangover. You know, the kind that a few glasses of water (or, better yet, a bottle of red Gatorade ~~because blue was for cops~~), a few ibuprofen, and a cold shower could settle quite easily. That being said, Liliana was, of course, treating like she'd contracted some kind of wasting disease that had left her woebegone and bereft, unable to leave her bed, a most tragic expression affixed to her face.

Her head hurt and the sunshine was too bright and there was a weird hat on her head that kept appearing no matter how many times she took it off, and she wanted to sleep a little more but the dull throbbing in her head got minutely worse when she closed her eyes and and and--

Okay, it was a very short list of not-actual complaints, but Liliana was pouting and aggrieved about it anyway. There was no way she could go to work in this condition, obviously, that was far too much to ask someone suffering so terribly. All she was capable of doing was wasting away here in her bed, too weak to even continue the fight with the stupid hat.

Woe.

[Mostly establishy, but certainly available for phone calls, drop-ins, or any gentlemen who have been taken in by this showing of utter misery like no one else has ever experienced in the world.]

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Liliana eyed him a little suspiciously, not entirely certain that his indulgence wasn't just secretly sass. And then promptly decided it didn't matter, because either way, she was still being petted and indulged and he was allowed to tease her about it, so long as the rest continued.

"What kind of soup?" she asked, because that actually did sound delicious. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that her head wasn't her only priority today.

And that most important question taken care of, she added, "And how are you feeling today, my darling?"

She remembered the weird vibe from the night before, even through the dreadful hangover.

An Ignis without sass, though, was hardly any kind of Ignis at all!

That little rumble from Liliana's stomach pushed his grin a little further, especially with the way that, and the question that followed it, just left him unable to help thinking back to when they'd first met each other, his insistence on finding somewhere still open for them to quiet that rumble down (and, proudly, how little he'd heard of it since, and now he was lifting her hand in his to kiss the back of it.

"Chicken noodle," he informed her, "with plenty of things that are good for mitigating all your current symptoms, including ginger, which also has the benefit of elevating it beyond the expected pedestrian classic. And I do wish you were feeling better...I should have warned you, those shots of Summer's do tend to sneak up on rather unexpectedly."

Not that he had any experience with that, a-hem.

"But besides that...I'm fine."

Or he would be. Or he was close enough to it. He was certainly feeling...better, about some things, at least.

"After all, I had no hope of catching up with you last night, anyway, and it seems that my tardiness has worked in my favor, in the end."

"It was a good time, though," Liliana said fondly. "It's been, what? Five years? Seven? Since the last time I..." She trailed off, several emotions flitting across her face: chagrin, wistfulness, pain, regret...

...Heartache.

Healed now, and in the past in a way that Josu's loss was not, but it had left a scar behind.

"...The last time I drank and danced in a tavern, though then it was just a few ales. Certainly no jello shots. Though I ended the evening stone cold sober."

And in a fight. And kidnapped.

And it had all been a lie.

Jace.

It was true that Ignis could not see that parade of emotions marching across Liliana's face, and there was always a strong possibility that she was being mindful to keep any of them from wandering into her voice. But he did know her voice and its little fluctuations very well by now, and, besides, even without that, the way she trailed off, the fact that stone cold was usually achieved only a few ways even after a few ales, and the fact that trouble seemed to often follow wherever she went...The temptation to ask if something had happened then, these five, seven years ago, was strong, but if his assumptions were correct...it was hardly a good time, what with her already feeling so terrible, and his goal was to make her feel better, not worse.

Although, why would she even mention it? Did she want him to ask? Or perhaps just spark his curiosity? Was he simply overthinking it?

(Him? Never.)

So instead of asking what, he decided to ask something alse, a more circuitous route around the bigger picture that might help him determine if it was a topic better suited for another day, or hardly even anything at all.

"And where," he asked, "was this, these five, seven years ago? Which plane?"

"Ravnica," Liliana said. "In a tiny, squalid district of Ravnica named Avaric. We were celebrating 'Thralldom's End' - most of the rest of Ravnica called it the Festival of the Guildpact, but in places like Avaric, which had been ground into poverty for generations by the Orzhov, they called it Thralldom's End and celebrated the dissolution of the Guildpact, instead of its creation. We - well, I really - were in the Bitter End Tavern." She barked a bitter laugh at the name. "I wore a cream-colored gown and danced for hours."

The words suggested that she'd had a lovely time. The tone did not. She sounded tired, almost. Weary. At some point last night, Liliana had turned off her ability to modulate her emotions and thus far she'd failed to turn it back on again.

"I'd kept dancing even after Khallist left. Told him there was no reason to ruin a perfectly good dance. Even asked him to stay, but--" A shrug.

And those lingering threads of weariness was all Ignis needed to settle more firmly on a path. He smiled a little, with a faint hint of the wistfulness that her words might have otherwise tried to have found. "You do have quite the appetite for dancing," he observed, fondly, then even more as his grin grew a little more. "For a great many things, really....you know, I believe the Devil's Nest has a dance floor. As well as an axe range. We should go sometime."

She looked up at him, surprised, and then her expression softened. "I should like that very much," she said, leaning against him. Funny how much better she felt, tucked against his side. The change in position, most likely. "I was avoiding Devil's Nest for awhile, since it is supposed to be owned by a real devil, and devils are subservient to demons and I was still in hiding. Now..." She laughed. "If this devil knows where any of the other three are, I should love for him to run and tell tales."

She brought his hand up, brushed a kiss along the inside of his wrist. "I'd love for you to take me dancing. And axe-throwing, too, though I'll warn you now I'm far better at the former than the latter."

"Well, then," Ignis said, and with that kiss against the inside of his wrist, it made it that much easier for him to lean in and find her forehead to return the favor, "we'll be more evenly matched, then, because I am quite the other way around."

Which was not so much a disparaging remark against his dancing skills, as she could certainly attest fervently to those, but rather just a compliment to his axe-throwing.

"You know," he then added, with a thoughtful, musing tone, and a hint of a grin he couldn't keep down even if he'd wanted to, "I used to be quite the regular there, before our big time skip. Eric used to offer discounts for leather pants."

And he nearly got his head knocked in for his trouble. Liliana sat bolt upright, moving fast enough to earn a genuine wince from her head, but she wasn't going to let that stop her.

"You have leather pants?!" she demanded.

Ignis! Ignis. Next Wednesday would be three months to the day from their meal on the beach - not that anybody was counting - and yet at no point had leather pants ever been mentioned.

Ignis had been expecting some sort of reaction from the delivery of this news, but he hadn't quite expected it would be that, and, despite himself, despite the near-danger he had just about put himself into, he had to laugh a little.

"Why wouldn't I have leather pants?"

Liliana, you had seen how this man dressed.

His default outfit was subtle purple leopard print with a studded collar. Really now.

Fair point and also, nobody was going to take a moment to have feelings about them color-coordinating, don't be ridiculous.

"Well, why haven't I ever seen them?" she demanded. "Your leather pants belong in two places: on you, or on my floor, and yet--" She swept her arm towards her room where there were no pants, leather or otherwise, on said floor.

Oh! Ignis must have cleaned up while he was taking care of her. Because there had definitely been clothing strewn about when they'd gone to bed last night.

"--I have benefitted from neither and I am appalled by this shocking behavior."

Well, he definitely couldn't just leave the Sweater just lying about on the floor!

"You know," said Ignis, perhaps far too flippantly for such a clearly dire and serious offense having been made, "I don't get to say this very often, but I have, indeed, committed quite the rare but no less unforgivable fashion faux pas. However, to my defense, it has been a remarkably warm autumn.

"Rest assured," he vowed, "this wrong shall be righted in due time. Consider it incentive. I shall wear them to mark our inaugural excursion to the Devil's Nest together."

That's a fair point, though Liliana stood by her decision to leave it there last night. It had been in the way and there had been other things far more compelling to focus on. And had been far too grievously stricken today to have thought of such things.

"Mmmm, acceptable," Liliana agreed. He did sound far too nonchalant about the harm he'd inflicted, but he was clearly incorrigible, as seen by the way he continued to say her name in a most illegal manner, and it was up to her to be the bigger person and overlook these hurtful foibles.

The image of him in leather pants helped.

"Are there any other sartorial splendors still soundly secreted that I should be made aware of?"

Surely he couldn't be hiding anything else away. Like, say, pairs of slutty, slutty gloves or anything. That would be insupportable.

Liliana really should be a bit more unscrupulous and liberal with that small piece of insignificant metal she had. Perhaps investigate a few drawers. And discover that even a decade of no longer wearing them as much thanks to a greater dependence on touch as a resource had not dulled the man's love and appreciation for slutty, slutty gloves.

"Oh," said Ignis, "well, I should hardly want to deprive you of the pleasure of discovery, darling. If I show all my cards now, then what fun is there left to the game?"

He'd almost added something about hastening the inevitable arrival of boredom with the whole thing after that, but that cut far too close to the quick to be comfortably expressed.

You know, she just might have to, considering his penchant for keeping secrets. The audacity.

"The part where I soundly win and crow about my victory for a truly unseemly amount of time?" Liliana suggested. "I know I find that enjoyable."

And really, wasn't that what counted? Nine out of ten Lilianas say yes!

Her stomach rumbled again, reminding them both of its existence. She sighed and asked, "Could I inveigle you to fetch me some of that soup, my darling? It appears that I might be able to stomach some small amount of sustenance." She settled back amongst her pillows as befitting an invalid, still smiling. Ignis' fashion choices made for a much better topic than the one they'd been discussing previously. She was quite content with the possibility of never talking about that Thralldom's End and the relationship it represented ever again. In fact--

Another odd expression crossed her face as she thought of something.

"I dislike lavender," she said abruptly. "I don't believe I ever told you that. I have never been fond of the flavor or the scent, not since I was a girl. It's just something I thought you would wish to know, considering it is a common ingredient in some things."

Ahh, but what of that one outlying Liliana? Since it was hardly unanimous...

Ignis head tilted, slightly, at this abrupt, albeit valuable, information. One might consider it entirely a non-sequitor, but considering the source, considering the topic they'd just been discussing, he found it difficult...nay, downright impossible...to believe that Liliana was just pulling details out from the vault at random.

He let out a soft, thoughtful hum. "And indeed," he said, "one I am admittedly quite fond of using. In moderation, of course. But something very helpful to keep in mind."

A soft, gentle smile.

"Though I'll have to now completely rework my entire lavender-centric plans for dinner, but better I know now than before it's far too late."

He carefully extracted himself from his, from the bed, leaning in to kiss her forehead before straightening to his feet.

"But I have kept you off your lunch for long enough already. Anything else I should get for you while I'm downstairs?"

Nobody liked or listened to her and she was kept locked in the attic like the ex-wife of an innocent governess' brooding employer.

"It's something to keep you occupied while I nap for a few hours and can't entertain you with my scintillating conversation," she offered, unaware of any idle thoughts of going to abuse gym equipment instead, if such things still existed after a morning of caretaking. "Some more juice would be lovely and I've heard baked goods are a known headache reliever..."

She grinned up at him, lacing their fingers together. "And perhaps soup for yourself, that we might have lunch together," she added, a little more softly.

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Creepy Mansion Full of Misery and Woe, Thursday Afternoon

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