moritat | Victorian weenie au

Jekyll isn't sure he can show his face in public ever again, after making a fool of himself by kissing Paloma out in the open. How shameful that he was so unable to control himself, his reputation is devastated! Worse still, is Hyde's growing presence that he can't control. At first it took the potion to change, but more and more, it could happen any time. Last night he took a walk to enjoy the cool, fresh air...and by the time he returned home in the early hours of the morning, his coat was stained with blood - and maybe other bodily fluids - and a man lay dead in the street, beaten to a pulp. He should keep to himself for a while.

He'd been reading by the fire in a sitting room, and almost ignored the summons of a guest until Paloma's name was mentioned. Then he, perhaps too immediately, bade the butler to show her inside.

How can he refuse any chance to see her. At least he isn't a danger to her. Although he may also be too plainly excited to be receiving her, getting up from his chair to wait beside it, facing the door. After being sure his clothes are just so, of course. Can't look disheveled and crazy.

Hardly fair to poke fun at his preening when Paloma needed to enlist her most trusted adviser in matters of how low a collar is too low.

'There is no seducing,' she'd protested, squirming as fingers pluck and tug at her dress. 'Do you make a mistake of my intention?' And Samantha had laughed in a way that squeezed her heart. It chained her feet to the ground and hands to her lap until the deed was done.

Paloma still thinks that, for an innocent visit and the local fashion, maybe less of her throat should be on display.

She's a step behind his butler and clinging for dear life to the upper portion of her long coat, forcing it higher. With his back turned she can't help the eerie focus of her eyes on the door to the sitting room. If she's quiet, very quiet and listens, she can tell where Jekyll must be on the other side ...

Ah. There's a fire. That may be a problem unless she can look always elsewhere. Maybe not a problem, as when she's shown through, Paloma forgets to thank his butler and smiles broadly like the foolish thing she is.

"Harry, you are a painting of health." Painting is more emphatic than picture, yes? A good substitute, yes??

It's okay, he can put it out for her...!

She might notice him walking over to a wall, then back again. And when she enters, that that wall has a mirror on it. Is he a painting of health, though? That comes as a surprise, he'd expected the opposite, having been such a recluse. And the wording tickles him all the more, so he can't help but laugh. "Why thank you, I would say the same for you, Paloma. It gladens me."

He sweeps a hand out to offer her a chair. "Thank you, Poole, that will be all for the night." He almost says he'll show her out himself, but actually, he hopes she might stay.

Notice the mirror? Later. Like a man thirsting alone in a desert, it's been long enough she doesn't want to look anywhere else.

(Whatever happened to nothing matters, this doesn't matter, you stupid girl? Paloma's conveniently forgotten all of that and the recklessness of coming here even in the confidence of her one true friend outside these walls.)

She hides her curling grin into her coat but is less successful smothering a giggle, ducking out of Poole's way. "I think you are giving me charity, if you say I am greatly healthy." Knowing what you know. The light-hearted note holds, however unexpected the joke about her condition is. It's her first.

Edited (INTO HER GOAT) 2016-01-01 01:20 (UTC)

"No, not at all, you do look well." What is this urge to greet her with something more intimate? He shifts his weight, about to take a step toward her in order to act on it, but quickly stops himself. For a moment his heart seems to pound in his ears with the thought of it. "Physical health is not the only sort. In fact my work tends to air more towards the mental side. You look happy, it does my own self good to see you thus."

Sensitive to changes in mood and movement, Paloma cocks her head curiously, assessing. She looks very much like a bird that's chosen to hop around with petals on its crown.

"Perhaps it is my freedom, and with it my wellness. Without your hand with mine ..."

Correctly thinking he had wanted to be improper again, she glides closely enough so as to demonstrate her words in a literal sense. Pure earnestness and trust. "You helped me to frighten evil away."

To frighten evil away, she says, and yet she knows the sort of man he is! His hand curls around hers, and in doing so the beating of his heart doesn't return to normal for long at all.

"Not at all. It was all your own doing." Not knowing what else to do, he leans down to kiss her hand.

Maybe it was the wrong thing to do.

Paloma realizes how unfair her advantages are then, with his heart thumping in her ears. It's not so easy for him to know what she feels.

She tries to show him her heart in a wee and private smile. The crooked curves of her fingers fit themselves along his cheek. Yes, she knows his sort. Fools rush in. There's no rush, is there? There mustn't be. But ...

"But the time I lied-- laid? Laid ... that time, it gave me comfort and hours to think of a future. Please. Accept my thanks? I would give more if I knew how."

What time? The time they...laid together? Is that what she means? That's the first thing his mind jumps to. It makes him panic for a moment, until he assures himself it must be when she 'slept' after Carlos left. But it's all the worse with her hand on his cheek.

"Ah- y-yes! I am very glad indeed!" No he has to manage to say more... "...I can only imagine it must be quite freeing for a woman, with no man to answer to."

Nasty-minded beast!! Naturally, she was referring to the fake sleep in his bed and not the ravishing they did in that smelly tavern on the East End.

The heavy-lidded, sly glance she throws him would imply she agreed with that general statement. Paloma could take back her fingers, but blame the lingering on her indecision. Or distraction. Either work. "What a truth! But Harry, hear me confess?"

"Of course, what is it?" Confess is quite the word, though. What does she mean by it, what could she need to confess? "We have become such confidants, it seems, that you need never ask permission."

Edited 2016-01-03 03:18 (UTC)

"Oh," she responds smartly, dazed momentarily. A confidant? If she could flush from the honor.

Right, the confession. Her hand slides off of him to wrap around her own waist. Scandalous that last dance may have ended, but it hasn't left her quiet thoughts for long. Paloma is back to demure, to hesitant.

"We never finished our waltz and I have not practiced after."

Oh. That's not at all what he expected. She's very good at making him blush. "Ah- I apologise for that. I hope you encountered no trouble for it, it was incredibly...foolish."

He wants to kiss her. No, worse. Something rumbles inside him, that disgusting slime that is his other self threatens to take hold of him. Instinctively he takes a step back, but covers it up by taking a seat.

Hello, his Royal Majesty of mixed signals. Not understanding the sudden onset of his conflict for a discomfiting second, she bravely leaps to the wrong conclusion.

"Ah! Please, I could not regret it more! No, I meant I do not. Regret, I do not regret it!" Her finger joints pop audibly from twisting so anxiously. She doesn't pursue him. "Only, should we not ... practice?"

It's a long pause until she remembers to say, "My waltz."

"Oh, if you would like, yes." It's a moment before he gets up. Between his apology and rising from the seat, he looks much more drained, suddenly. Paler, especially in comparison to all that blushing, almost tired. If he was smart, he might tell her she shouldn't stay, that he can't keep it together.

"I've been out of practice myself, it might be good for me as well."

He's as good at confusing her as she is at causing his color to rise. Paloma tries not to worry overmuch about the change, a task and a half by itself. She's an insatiable worrywart.

"We shall have triumph over dance tonight," she declares, lifting her arms high for effect. They lower enough to be guided into position, and all the while she steals s peek. In a small, small voice: "If we are fools, that is well."

"I hope so." Taking her hand and waist, he begins to guide the first steps of the dance. Even without music, being so close to her promises to be good. Although he shouldn't, he should stop himself, he should go coop himself up somewhere that he can't make things worse with her. "You tend to make me quite the fool, after all."

Saying that is probably proof.

"Then I do not feel terribly alone." Pieces. Not whole truths, not complete forthrightness, but pieces of honesty are a beginning. Paloma glides along with him to no music at all, musing that she prefers losing these masks of virtue early on. It's part of why she possessed the nerve to come back.

And then she does a rude and mischievous thing by stepping onto his foot, balanced there like a ballerina.

He laughs, taking hold of her waist with both hands to lift her as if it really were a ballet move. When he sets her down it's still on his foot. "Just as good a way to learn as any! I stood on my mother's feet as a boy."

Laughing vividly, her other foot finds his to teeter onto as well. Her heels, mercifully, don't touch him.

"Really? We do not have so many-- drastic differences. Mamá sometimes put the flowers on me and we would swing, Harry." She's bright-eyed from the excitement of nearly flying. "Can we spin? Like this?"

"Absolutely!" Once again Jekyll takes her by the waist, but this time spins her around in the air, two full circles (while carefully stepping so as not to bang into anything).

By the time he's set her down again, it's against a wall. He presses against her, one hand remaining on her hip, the other against the wall, as he kisses her. It certainly isn't a simple thing either, heated and insistent. If it wasn't for her unnatural strength, there would be no room to break it off or squirm away.

How wonderful! To feel weightless. And so important, even precious. It's a little intoxicating, and slipping out from girlish glee into the well-fitted glove of a Beast is no trouble at all. Natural as eating. Paloma is welcoming of Hyde as much as he's caught her unawares.

Truly unawares. Who says this couldn't be another rash impulse from Henry? Why shouldn't he be allowed, greeted and provoked? Paloma's missed it. Missed him.

Someone's got to breathe eventually and it won't be her, but after a heavily disheveled minute of too many hands to keep track of -- her cheek turns, dodging any kisses with her mouth puffy and bruised. "Really, I meant only the waltz! This is not why I came!"

"Did you? You came to my house in the dead of night, with your neckline like that, and that isn't at all the reason you're here?" He kisses her neck, then her ear, the hand on her waist moves up to said neckline, over her breasts. "It's been so long since we were together. I want you."

God damn you, Samantha, she knew the collar was overdoing it!! Now look!!

What Hyde may not know is that their appetites at present do not align. He wants to get her dress off, reasonable enough for a randy bastard. But Paloma is exercising a lot in the way of restraint to keep from feeding. She hasn't used the blood magic to divert the Beast's hunger.

Still, she does like kissing for kissing's sake. It doesn't save him from the dainty hand like wrought iron gripping beneath his jaw in instinctive threat. She stares at their chests, bewildered.

"You know I cannot walk when there is sun! A-and my friend gives bad advice! And you are not yourself!!"

"Oh, you asked advice, even? That does sound like you had ulterior motives. I bet that fake husband didn't even fuck you, what a waste."

What she doesn't know is that he would welcome her feeding just as readily. Or how much more exciting that threat is. And yet at the same time, "If you even think of harming me, I'll throw you into that fire. You'd better make sure you kill me in one blow if you do anything at all!

"Ah, and I'm perfectly myself, I'll have you know. One hundred percent."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

into her goat.

Cheating on Jekyll with his best friend's goat sorry.

Slut

Learn to satisfy like a goat

Satyrfucker

What's it feel like to be cuckolded by one eh

Pretty shitty...

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject