moritat | Victorian weenie au

She sucks in her lips to form an invisible irate line.

"Why all of this?" Meaning, why the dogged persistence in dodging the inquiry? Why must it not be shared, after what she's seen? But after this, Paloma will have to let it go. He did fetch her a dress.

Clearly she doesn't understand just how badly he wants to appear perfect. That no matter what she knows firsthand, he will still want to deny. That's why, biting his bottom lip, he covers his mouth as tears come. "Because I am disgusting and you need not share in it."

In no world is she able to withstand Henry Jekyll crying and mortified. Worse, it's got to be her fault for pursuing this aggressively. She's about to initiate a sympathy cry herself!!

"Ah ..." Miserably, Paloma moves to delicately collect one of his hands and caress it. Like soothing a young cousin. "You do not need tell me until you are prepared."

He digs himself deeper and deeper. It was bad enough already, why'd he have to go jerk off too. And it's worse still to have to explain! He can't let her think it's some grave secret - but in another sense it is!

"It is nothing more than...the remnants of Hyde." That's right he wouldn't have gotten a boner over this himself. "There was built up adrenaline!" You tell yourself that, buddy.

The more convincing he is to himself, the more Paloma believes him! Isn't life grand?

Two and two begin putting themselves together. His red face. Sweating. He hadn't run. Mr. Hyde, and although adrenaline's one of the English words she hasn't learned, she understands 'built up' and the ... unfolding context.

Very cautiously, she pats him on the back of his hand like a cowering dog. "You ... released."

Well, he's a little convincing to himself, at least...

"...Yes." This is too embarrassing. Conveniently he leaves out the part where he was turned on by the bloodshed around him. But that's clearly just Hyde. Not Jekyll at all!! "You see, it is nothing really." Clearly he doesn't think that's nothing. It's a disaster, true shame.

She fiddles their fingers in and around each other. Stalling, for lack of a better word. He's cleverly dodged further upset by leaving out the details; if he wants to seem the perfect man, Paloma wants badly for him to not be just like her, with her guilty fascination for the bloody.

"Thank you for the honesty." Ha. Ha. Ha .................. and she kisses his fingers, forgetting what they've been up to.

If he could get any more red, he would be right now. "I-I haven't washed...!" DO YOU REALLY WANT TO TOUCH AND KISS THESE HANDS

AAAHHH ...

"Ah!!" Dropping his hand like it's hot. She'd sort of assumed he'd had the decency to rinse while off fetching the dress ...!! Paloma doesn't seem nauseated, but perhaps a little faint. Her throat bobs. "Ah. I. The bath is open."

"Y-yes, ah, I will! Thank you!" He was in such a hurry and so full of shame that he didn't even think to... Please don't think this reflects on his medical practice.

And so he scurries into the bath, where he sits in a pool of shame. Literally.

Once he's vanished into the bathroom, Paloma wonders if she ought not disappear as well. He needs rest, not to attend to a guest that mauled his beautiful study. She casts around for paper and pen, sniffing out an unused sheaf of the stuff he writes notes on. Her writing flows quickly and with more eloquence textually than she can easily attain in spoken English.

Most Loved Harry,

My welcome is overstayed. I serve more as a distraction than an aid when you are preoccupied. I will steal into the night and be home safely, I promise.

Thank you for the dress. Tonight has not frightened me away from you, be assured. Hyde has not claimed my fear, and my anger is for him alone. I dream of you calling on my house one day.

It requires no signature, and the note gets sneaked under his bath door.

Victorian weenie au

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