moritat | Victorian weenie au

He swallows hard, pushing back anything that threatens to give - he certainly can't allow himself to cry before her, and he feels downright ill with all that shame.

"As am I." There's a twinge of a smile. "...We mustn't remain here, the very least I can do is escort you home. This is not a safe place for a lady on her own at night." As he may have just proved himself a moment ago.

A man, anyone agreeing to take her out of sight where nobody looks askance is the entire reason she's in this den of filth and sin. Paloma thinks of her appetite and studies Jekyll, how handsome and lovely that threat of a smile is, and resolves.

"We have not found what we came to this place for," she says with considerable firmness. "Please, do not go because of your guilt. I am protected. Say nothing of me and know I say nothing to no one. You are my secret."

A little grin flits across the fullness of her mouth. She likes having a secret.

Every word she says seems to be the last one he would expect to hear, and yet each manages to be more surprising than the last. He raises his head from his hands to look at her properly, no more ostritch tactics. Now there's the question of what she is doing in such a place, if there's something in particular she came for. He can't imagine it's the same as his reason. But that isn't even remotely something that can be asked.

"No," it's hardly more than a whisper as he averts his eyes again, "I must not indulge this vile behaviour." She's far too kind, but it still makes no difference in his mind. That anyone knows the kind of man he is, is the greatest punishment he could receive. It's more than guilt, it's disgust in himself.

If he's decided on a course for himself then it is dangerous for Paloma to become involved. The last time she was tangled in human lives, they suffered, and she lost what precious few comforts were left for a fledgling and her sire.

(She suspects much would be easier for Carlos if he did not Embrace her. He implies it so often ...)

"What you must and mustn't," Paloma falters, finding the pronunciation a challenge, "is your choice for tonight. I will not interrupt and you are not mine to keep." His arm's warm, though, and she's reluctant to take her hand away.

"And to yourself as well. However, I cannot, in good conscience, leave you. I shall wait until you wish to go." After all this, he has to do the right thing somehow. Even if it's only being sure that she gets home safely, how ever long that might take, what ever she may be doing. It might also have something to do with a similar reluctance to part.

He's making her hunt more difficult than it need be.

Not impossible. There exists between them an imbalance of power, and it isn't what Jekyll believes. Who could blame him for his naivete? She was once so ignorant. And now if she wishes, she can warp his perspective enough to send him running out the door to leave her cold and alone at a drafty table--

No. No, Paloma does a thing she shouldn't. She allows him to stay.

Trying to duck away-- removing her touch at last-- and disguise the tentative smile, "It could be hours and your day has been long. Longer than mine, I promise."

"No matter. Your health must need a watchful eye as well." He forces a smile for her, part of him wishing she hadn't taken her hand away. "Besides which, hours spent waiting will help to clear my head. It is also not uncommon that I should retire to my room well after dawn, or that I am lost to the world for days. It will hold no effect on my household." So there's no reason he shouldn't stay. The servants will have no trouble handling their sometimes eccentric master.

Aware that she'd better be rid of him before dawn or bring very real danger on their heads, she buries those fears. Let Paloma pretend for a short while, let them have this for as long as it lasts. Who can say if they'll ever lay eyes on each other again?

That unhappy thought does embolden her.

"My health is in peak condition!" Paloma assures him, holding onto the table's edge to restrain herself from untowardness. "What else can I do to help your head, d-- doctor?" She nearly comes out with his name, regretting that it would be foolishness to curl her tongue around it.

"Have you not been ill of late? That is far more important than the grief I have brought upon myself." He smiles again, more natural this time than the last. "Neither would I wish to distract you." From whatever it is that she's doing.

He pauses, and practically mumbles for some odd sense of shyness as he adds, "Harry." That's what she can call him. If she wants. It's what people call him. And it's better than 'doctor'.

Edited 2015-08-19 08:41 (UTC)

She's beaming long before Paloma is aware of engaging with any foolishness. Biting the inside of her lips, her voice lowers, too: "I am not ill and you are not a terrible distraction. It is why I say these things. Harry." Feels like a special privilege to call him anything with affection.

It stings to realize she cannot offer the same, not when Carlos has adopted the only variants anyone ever used on her name. This is her quiet one-night rebellion and she wants it to be hidden in a separate corner of her heart under lock and key.

"I like it if you would say Paloma."

"Of course, Paloma." And as he did at the party, Jekyll bows his head to her.

There's a longer pause this time, but it's clear he has something on his mind that he intends to say. She said she had been ill enough until today that she had hardly been out at all, so why out all night now, and alone when her husband seemed to be so watchful, not to mention in such a place. He doesn't know what it means but it does give him worry for her wellbeing one way or another. "I do not intend to ask what it is you are looking for here, nor to dissuade you from it, however..." wait, what is it he's trying to say. "I hope that all is well." That's the best he can do.

Hearing Jekyll-- Harry say her name sparks such happiness in her as to be embarrassing. Paloma hides what she can of the grin behind curling fingers even as her eyes tell the whole story.

"All is well when I am in good company," she confides to him. It is the safest and most she dares explain of the mire her daily life becomes. "And coming here, we hope for company of any kind, yes? When it is good, it is a blessing. A graceful surprise. Ah, tell me, I think you understand?"

The other patrons largely ignore the two fools.

She's absolutely right, he knows what she means, why else do people come to a place like this but for company, even if it isn't of a sexual nature. But that isn't the way he takes it. "Not-- not any sort of company!" It's said with horror at the idea that he might keep company with anyone, woman - or man. Although she would still be correct had that been the way the question was asked. That it's the conclusion he jumps to should suggest as much.

His brow furrows and he presses his lips together tight, but not for any anger with Paloma, only frustration in himself for that defensiveness, and to chase those gay thoughts away. This evening isn't going well for him.

"Oh--"

She's offended him.

Going rigid, fingertips whitening as they clamp tighter onto the table, Paloma laments the difficulty of English specifics. And its limitations. Her smile's vanished and left only worry. "Apologies. I did not mean to insult, Harry."

Irrationally she fears he'll revoke the privileges of using that name, with its undertones of friendship.

"-No, I, I'm sorry, the fault is my own." Pause. "You must forgive me, evidently I am not so well to-night." Evidently. He's done a terrible job of making a good impression on a new acquaintance - who he should have liked to come to call a friend.

"I fear you made a terrible mistake in stepping into my home." He offers a smile, reassuring.

What are you doing, a sensible part of Paloma demands. Why delay the inevitable? Why play pretend? Dollhouses are for the rich and the living.

But--

But--

"And I fear my mistake is the man I wed," she blurts. Oh. Oh, why am I burdening you with this, oh, no. The wood of the table creaks in her distressed grip. "That is why I am alone."

That smile hardens, he could almost forget where they are, and how this conversation started, because he has to observe her carefully. "He is cruel?" That does explain some parts of this situation, why she is here without her husband so late at night, but not why she's here in the first place. Is it much the same reason as his? Or perhaps the reverse. That would call upon even more guilt on his part.

She's said too much already.

"He is a danger," Paloma tries to explain without explaining, "and, ah, cómo se dice ... not a trifle. It is unwell of me to speak badly."

Splinters in her fingers. Startled, she releases the table and studies them with mild horror. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid girl, he is right, know when to keep silent! "All I meant is that meeting you is not a mistake, and it brings me joy even if I cannot guess who I may or may not see again."

He worries all the more for it. A danger doesn't bode well at all. "Paloma-" Jekyll breaks off for the splinters, taking up her hand to pluck them out as best he can with only his fingers to do it. He continues, "I need not remind you what transpired only some moments ago. Nor is it my place to speak of your marriage. However, it seems to me you must keep poor male company."

The silly girl gets lost looking up at his face, not at his deft work. She doesn't notice the pinpricks beyond faraway pain.

"I do."

Please find ten more splinters than there are. And perhaps ten more after that.

"As I said, every night is a maze to find goodness. In me, in others."

"Your first instinct was the wiser one." To berate evil men for the things they do, or try to. "Some hint of goodness is not enough, if there is also inherent evil, when you are dealing with others." Don't trust men, mostly. He's proved it himself, had she been someone else, they would not be having a conversation, and the fact that it would change the situation is telling. "Do not go seeking God in Hell, you will only find more of it."

A chilling thought. Damning, too, although he hasn't the faintest idea what creature he's tending to.

Paloma's lashes lower. "This is no Hell. I taste the devil whenever I eat, Harry." Sounds like a metaphor, doesn't it? Surely nothing literal. Licentious maybe, but ...

God help her, his hand feels hot against the coolness of her own.

No, of course not literal, it's quite the grand metaphor, but one he can certainly understand. Or so he thinks. And surely those cold hands only signal that she has indeed been ill lately, and that she's cold - naturally, without a coat. He says nothing, not wanting to think on his proximity to the devil or speak his thoughts on his nature in any more depth than he already has. So, as much as he wants to keep his face hidden, now all the more, Jekyll slips off his coat to drape over Paloma, and sit at the table in silence.

That damnable bird in her heart won't be silent. Splinter-free, Paloma guiltily takes a different comfort from his coat than he perhaps intends. She buries her nose into its collar and remembers to breathe.

Her eyes slip shut against the awful tavern inn and its puttering light. "Thank you." Lord. What now? She doesn't want to fill the air between them with talk that means nothing.

Smoothing out his waistcoat, he offers a small smile in return, shy as the first moment he was discovered. "Don't let me keep you, of course." But that doesn't mean he doesn't want her company, either, even if he's struggling to find anything to be said. Though he's sure she's had enough of this disgusting man sitting beside her.

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