She hums amused acceptance, and there's a note of her own silent pride in there, too. The Barge has taught both of them so much.
"The plan is 'everything he knows', which is apparently quite a bit; his library back home rivals the Barge's." There's some downright giddiness in her voice, which is...refreshing. She'd felt so ground down when she came back, and the circumstances did the opposite of helping. Just being in Iris' presence has worked to brighten her, steady her, but there's no denying the new layers of loss and bitterness. "He's jaded. Gentle in the kind of way only people capable of immense brutality can be. Imperious, yeah, but polite about it."
She's quiet, for a moment, not quite hesitant but not quite certain, either. "In some ways he reminds me of Bruce. In others he reminds me of Aslan." With a wryly wistful smile, "He made me promise not to be his warden, so I wouldn't be saddled with a lost cause."
"Bet that won't take you long," she says, but it's almost reflexive; this is just Iris' mouth reaching for an easy compliment while her brain chews over the important information.
"Hmmm. I s'pose I might not hate 'im, then. I'm 'aving a lot of unhelpful feelings 'ere, my love. Mostly along the lines of 'ow I'll tear the throat out of anyone that patronises you. Except 'e's an inmate, and I loved Aslan almost as much as you did, and jaded and gentle and capable of immense brutality sounds like a lot of the people I fall in love with. So it's probably all right."
She sighs.
"I'll 'ave to go meet 'im, I s'pose. What should I wear?"
Her pensive nod becomes a tender dip of her head at the aggressive protectiveness. There are so few people she'd accept it from, let alone be this touched by it.
It's chased by a deeply satisfied grin; yes, she'd made that calculation, too.
"You have anything from the fifteenth century?" Things got very colourful; it's not hard to imagine Iris in pomegranate-patterned silk.
She lifts the image lightly from Barbara's thoughts, and offers it back filtered through her own - that the thought of wearing it to propitiate an old vampire's antiquated sensibilities is galling, but on the other hand, she has the perfect heavy silk dress and hat and it's ravishing with fishnet stockings and Louboutins.
The dress wins, and Iris closes her eyes and opens them again, like a satisfied cat.
"All right. It's patterned with pineapples. I'll try and mind me manners."
Her laughter, bubbling in her mind rather than tumbling from her lips, is full of warm delight; not just as the frankly stunning image and the stubbornness behind it, but the connection itself. God, she's missed this.
"Not too much. I think he likes being challenged."
Iris laughs out loud, rolling her head back to show her throat.
"Don't encourage me, I wouldn't put it past me to turn up with a crossbow."
Which is a joke, but one with conflicted layers: Iris comes from a reality where her problems usually can't be solved by fighting, and she feels vaguely guilty about how much she sometimes wishes they could. Fighting hurts people, and she loves it.
If Iris was anyone else, that might receive a flare of protectiveness. Instead, there's a swell of assurance, and understanding. Violence is exhilarating and satisfying and so, so easy to get lost in if you let yourself, but she trusts Iris to walk that line. Especially here on the Barge, especially with Inmates. They're equally ferocious in that devotion.
"Well, considering you've managed not to stake any of the other vampires..." Yes, of course she's followed her public conversations with Nadja, they're a goddamn delight.
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bodilesswarrior) wrote2023-08-15 05:50 am
[spam]
"The plan is 'everything he knows', which is apparently quite a bit; his library back home rivals the Barge's." There's some downright giddiness in her voice, which is...refreshing. She'd felt so ground down when she came back, and the circumstances did the opposite of helping. Just being in Iris' presence has worked to brighten her, steady her, but there's no denying the new layers of loss and bitterness. "He's jaded. Gentle in the kind of way only people capable of immense brutality can be. Imperious, yeah, but polite about it."
She's quiet, for a moment, not quite hesitant but not quite certain, either. "In some ways he reminds me of Bruce. In others he reminds me of Aslan." With a wryly wistful smile, "He made me promise not to be his warden, so I wouldn't be saddled with a lost cause."
Re: [spam]
"Hmmm. I s'pose I might not hate 'im, then. I'm 'aving a lot of unhelpful feelings 'ere, my love. Mostly along the lines of 'ow I'll tear the throat out of anyone that patronises you. Except 'e's an inmate, and I loved Aslan almost as much as you did, and jaded and gentle and capable of immense brutality sounds like a lot of the people I fall in love with. So it's probably all right."
She sighs.
"I'll 'ave to go meet 'im, I s'pose. What should I wear?"
Re: [spam]
It's chased by a deeply satisfied grin; yes, she'd made that calculation, too.
"You have anything from the fifteenth century?" Things got very colourful; it's not hard to imagine Iris in pomegranate-patterned silk.
Re: [spam]
The dress wins, and Iris closes her eyes and opens them again, like a satisfied cat.
"All right. It's patterned with pineapples. I'll try and mind me manners."
[spam]
"Not too much. I think he likes being challenged."
Re: [spam]
"Don't encourage me, I wouldn't put it past me to turn up with a crossbow."
Which is a joke, but one with conflicted layers: Iris comes from a reality where her problems usually can't be solved by fighting, and she feels vaguely guilty about how much she sometimes wishes they could. Fighting hurts people, and she loves it.
[spam]
"Well, considering you've managed not to stake any of the other vampires..." Yes, of course she's followed her public conversations with Nadja, they're a goddamn delight.