[ Years of stealth and training himself to move soundlessly through any room at any given time under any circumstances is certainly paying off here. Each footstep he takes doesn't rustle anything left on the ground as he avoids any spots which look like they might offer up any kind of noise which would betray his presence. The same goes for making sure he doesn't brush anything overhanging the edges of a shelf that could clatter to the ground if it's dislodged or rustle loud enough to not be mistaken for anything but someone moving it.
The plan's going well as the door's not all that far away, or so he thinks. Another benefit of getting closer to it means he can hear what's being said rather than just the timbre of the voice he knows and one he's only just learned. It's not like he plans to listen - not in that goal of getting out of here as soon as possible - but what's said sinks in anyway and Claude stops mid-stride.
Hilda's been staying here? That alone has him furrowing his brow with the creases caused by it only growing deeper when that deflection she offers sounds too familiar. It sounds a lot like being prodded away from his desk during the war or looking at contracts and letters after it in the never-ending aftermath where the candles had burned too low to be of help to him without him even noticing. But when Claude says something happens from time to time, he's really saying it happens regularly, and it's impossible to not wonder if Hilda means the same.
There's a sort of idle anxiety gnawing at the edges of his mind at the thought of that and what it means beyond her undeniable absence around the loft. Even if they aren't on speaking terms, it has plenty of space for them to all exist in it without any kind of further interventions than have already been taken - why had she felt the need to leave?
He's snapped out of those thoughts by the sound of the door shutting. Instinct has him biting the inside of his cheek to keep from sighing; a closed door will certainly make the soundless part of this rather difficult. At least by the time he slips through it, he tells himself as he waits for the sound of Hilda's footsteps to advance before he does himself in the opposite direction from where she's headed, he'll be that much closer to leaving. She'll never know he was here unless Cyprian mentions who'd been by.
Plans are all well and good until they don't work - just like the handle to the door doesn't turn and throws a twist into that supposed easy escape. There's a second where Claude blinks at it uncomprehendingly, offers another tug to see if that'll help (it doesn't), and then glances back over his shoulder again. Can't loiter here for long without substantially upping the risk of being caught, so he slips into the shadows beyond more shelves. Maybe there's another way out besides this one and if so, he needs to find it. ]
[ There's no way for Hilda to know that there's someone else in the warehouse with her. Not only is she walking towards the back of the warehouse hugging the opposite wall, but she's so caught up in her own maelstrom of thoughts that she wouldn't have noticed any deliberately dampened footsteps or rustle of clothing anyway. And besides, Cyprian hadn't made any mention that there would be anyone else here; unbeknownst to her, he probably would have had it not been for the fact that he had been so hellbent on discovering why she had been sleeping in the dusty attic of his workshop. ...Which she still didn't have a good answer for but hopefully something better than, 'getting caught up in a project' would come to her.
The click of her heeled boots comes to an abrupt halt when she reaches the back of the warehouse. Seeing the various crates and their contents spread out on the floor immediately prompts an annoyed huff from her. ]
Ugh, what -
[ She's never going to find what she needs at this rate. As she sets about tiptoeing through the organized mess towards the shelves, she vehemently contemplates finding who did this and giving them a piece of her mind. Cyprian is still plenty strong but Hilda was of the opinion that his time is better spent actually crafting works of art. Clearly whoever he had hired to help repack the boxes had done an awful job of it and she'd tell him as much once she found what she needed. ]
[ This isn't going well. Even though he knew Hilda was heading to the back where he'd abandoned his task in a hurry while intending to make up some excuse for why he was leaving suddenly, Claude's rapidly realizing that once again he's not left with many options of where to go next. It has him stopping behind the shelves where he's still out of sight to scan higher than ground level.
Hilda shows no signs of moving from where she is, so that leaves alternate routes out. There's a couple windows partway up the wall to let the light in, he notes, but they'll require a bit more to get up to them than a simple leave and scurry away. They're not out of the question; it'll just take a bit more planning than, say, walking out the impossibly locked door.
A few more steps bring him closer to the window nearest where he is and Claude studies it and the stacks of items around. Surely at least one of these boxes is sturdy enough to stack on another and have him stand on top of it. The only question which remains is how to do this without Hilda noticing.
He's focusing a bit too hard on the not noticing part since it means when he moves closer yet to consider those existing stacks and whether he really needs anything else at all, Claude forgets to stay out of the main sightlines of the open aisles between the storage, leaving himself in plain view. ]
[ He's lucky that she's off kilter, thrown off by a surprise line of questioning that she hadn't been prepared for and left with a mess by someone who appeared to have a worse work ethic than her. Hilda knew that the box full of supplies she had stored here was somewhere and had they not been moved, she probably would have been able to locate what she needed in a heartbeat.
Her eyes scan the various boxes along the shelves to be met with what she already knows isn't there which means it has to be somewhere on the ground. The items she knows are in the box aren't laid out neatly on the floor which means they still had to be in one place. ...Unless whoever had done this had already moved them into a different box. Another frustrated sigh exits her mouth as she bends down to sift through the boxes on the ground.
Eventually her search is rewarded and her eyes light up when she spots the box. A quick check confirms that it's indeed hers with everything she had been looking for and she hefts it up, readying to leave. Striding towards the door, she does a double take when she realizes that there's a figure standing in one of the aisles. At first it doesn't register that it's Claude, but when that fact does settle in it brings her to a halt and her hackles start to raise.
Before she can help herself or come up with something remotely civil she calls out – ]
[ This is definitely possible. It's not worse than the time he'd scaled one of the monastery buildings near the beginning of the academy year and realized the roof was actually much higher than it'd seemed on the way up. That required some true stretches of creativity to get back down unnoticed, or simply not noticed by Seteth since Hubert sure had rolled his eyes. Then again, of course he'd been looking. That probably should've been a sign of things, in retrospect.
Hindsight's about to come into play again here when Claude has the realization too late that he's been under surveillance of a different kind. The sound of her voice being so much closer has him gritting his teeth. Of course this couldn't have just worked out in his favor. Of course now he's going to have to deal with this. ]
Still sticking to that since in case you hadn't noticed, I'm actively trying to get away from you.
[ It helps to not be facing her where she can't see his expression and where it gives him a few seconds to wrangle it back into something aloof to match the utterly bored tone he'd spoken with before he glances over his shoulder vaguely in her direction. Whatever Hilda's doing isn't his concern, so then his gaze goes right back to the window while he's still calculating. Probably going to need more boxes than just two, but they shouldn't be that hard to balance. Maybe if one falls it'll add some momentum into the jumping part. ]
Would've been easier in the first place if you'd propped the door open on your way in.
[ He's not going to bother to clarify since he's occupied casting another glance around for crate number one. Hilda can connect the dots and go verify the state of the door on her own. ]
[ It doesn't even occur to her to think that he's out of place here or that he's staring not at shelves, but at a window high above either of them. Her annoyance towards him and avoidance of him act like blinders, giving her a singular focal point which is how much she doesn't want to be anywhere near him. Everything else she would normally pick up on are afterthoughts.
His bored tone succeeds in irritating her, but it's momentary when she processes what exactly he's implying. At first she thinks this is some childish joke. He had been known to make things difficult for himself before at the expense of a laugh or a bet. But there's nothing funny about being potentially trapped in here with her - sentiments she shares. ]
What do you mean it would have been easier?
[ Incredulously she stomps towards the door and gives the handle a gigantic tug with one to absolutely no avail. And even though it didn't work the first time she tries again in disbelief. Hilda's jaw tightens out of rising irritation but it also doubles as a vice against the noise of frustration that threatens to spill. This couldn't be happening to her. There's absolutely no way this was happening.
Suddenly his keen observation of the boxes makes so much sense. She whirls around striding back towards him but not coming any closer than she had been before. ]
Why are we locked in? And don't you dare imply that this is somehow my fault again either.
[ That's good that she leaves because it gives him a second to consider something else besides ignoring her. Also a chance to walk up to a couple of crates and nudge them with the tip of his boot like that'll tell him all about their strength when it comes to standing on them, but - it's a start. It's better than going back to tug on the door some more since that's really the only backup plan he has at the moment until some others make themselves apparent, and Hilda's already on it.
Nothing left to do then but pick it up and place it beneath where the window is above, and then reality provides another hard fact: they're going to need a lot more crates and boxes than a couple. Now that this one's up against the wall, it turns out to not be nearly as tall as he'd thought while looking at them from afar. Unfortunate, but at least there's plenty of others to work with still.
There's probably a metaphor in there for how this whole situation is going when Hilda returns to ask him a question which has him sending a skeptical glance her way. ]
Well, if I had to guess, it's probably because there's a lock on the door.
[ It's not quite the lighthearted tone they would've used once upon a time while pointing out the obvious to each other for entertainment's sake and in hope of laughter, but this is the best he can do. That and go get another crate since he meant it about leaving, since he'll leave being concerned about the door to Hilda. ]
And it happens to be an extra effective lock at that. I take it this hasn't happened when you've been here before?
[ As for what before consists of, there's probably no point in expanding on what it means when Hilda's the one who's been here. Often, from the sound of it, and as he'd meant to imply. Why pretend otherwise when even Cyprian's noticed? ]
[ Mock realization forms on her face, like what Claude had said about the lock is the most brilliant reason known to man. Her voice is laced with simpering, over the top adoration usually reserved for when she absolutely didn't mean what she was saying. ]
No, really? A lock? Claude, you're so brilliant I never would have thought about that.
[ She may have missed the memo where they should really be trying to make the most out of an awful situation but his skeptical glance grates on her nerves.
It's obvious what he's trying to do with the boxes now that one is propped up against the wall. The crates are thankfully sturdy and full of mostly durable things but she's certainly not going to lift a finger to help him especially when a familiar prickling feeling begins to crawl across her skin at his subtle indication that he'd overheard her conversation with Cyprian.
Why should she feel uncomfortable though? He didn't want to look at her nevermind talk to her. The more time out of the loft - out of his space with Sylvain - the better. And honestly, it isn't his business anyway that she's resorted to sleeping in several different locations to deflect attention. ]
Of course it hasn't happened before. If it had, I'd probably be able to figure out how to get out of here.
[ He isn't going to get more than that from her it seems. The workshop is also a little too far from the warehouse for them to call for help. And even if it were closer, the telltale sounds of a hammer meeting an anvil have begun to fill the air. There's no way that Cyprian would hear them over that. ]
Why are you here? Hopefully it isn't to make Cyprian's life difficult by leaving a mess all over his warehouse.
[ He's just not going to respond to that, he decides, even if for a millisecond he almost wants to smile over her immediate comeback and the tone over pointing out the obviously existing lock. That's just an old habit or an instant reflex from years of doing so refusing to not resurface. If things were normal it'd mean something, but it surely doesn't now.
At the confirmation it hasn't happened on any of her trips (or longer) here before, Claude opts not to say anything to that either. That's also as good as Hilda confirming what Cyprian had said - and what she'd said - are as good as true and not any kind of exaggeration like he'd wondered at first. It's not that he's setting that train of thought completely aside, but more that he's placed it on the metaphorical backburner to keep turning it over while his focus goes elsewhere. Since they apparently have something like unlimited time in this warehouse, it can wait until later.
He sets the second crate down on top of the first, spends a second looking at it, then changes his mind and moves it to the ground next to the original one. Better to create a sturdier base to stand on, and it's not like they're lacking more around to use. Maybe he'll volunteer to come back and help put things away later - after making sure the door works first. ]
I had a delivery to make and then stuck around because Cyprian asked.
[ That's good enough since she's not asking out of genuine curiosity anyway, he's positive. Comments about any mess also get ignored considering the only reason there is one is because he'd tried to leave before any of this happened. Instead he turns to look at her more directly this time. ]
Are you going to do anything to help get us out of here or not?
[ She's had to train herself out the habit of being curious about Claude, a difficult thing considering she's been curious about for years now. And while it's easy for her to claim she doesn't waste any of her energy on him anymore, that couldn't have been further from the truth.
Their deliberate distance has fooled her into thinking she's actually made some steps towards that. Except there are idle moments where her mind will wander to him and what he's doing. Or worse, when she's working on something she'll absently wonder what kind of input he'd give or what he'd think about it. It's moments like that when she's especially grateful for a place to hammer away on a piece of metal as if the act itself will also stamp out any thought of the man with green eyes.
Unfortunately her tools of choice are nowhere in sight and she has to remind herself it isn't productive or well adjusted to do that to boxes. She blinks several times at his question before dryly asking – ]
That seems counterproductive to leaving you alone, doesn't it? You're plenty capable without me helping you drag boxes around.
[ But she doesn't want to be here anymore than he does, and the alternative of wasting away in the warehouse isn't her idea of a good time. Begrudgingly she sets down her box before wandering over. Hilda can see his intention but she squints before tugging away one of the crates he's set down. ]
Not this one. Cyprian hasn't had a chance to break this one down yet; the wood isn't holding up anymore.
[ He'd meant it about helping, even if it was phrased blunter than he might've done at any other point in time, but Claude also doesn't wait before going to retrieve yet another something to stack on the growing makeshift quasi-staircase. There's a second where he has to press his lips together in a line again to restrain from saying something somewhere on the spectrum of unkind as an immediate reaction. It won't help anything, especially if they can't actually get out of here and have to be trapped together for even longer since this already feels like an eternity.
On top of that, finding himself reaching for his temper around her over and over is proving to be exhausting on so many levels both noticeable and not. As much as he doesn't want to stay barely on just this side of nice, the alternative's worse. For everyone. Claude inhales and lets it out in a soundless sigh to shake off any defensiveness. ]
Good news. The sooner you help me stack up things so we can get outta here, the sooner we can go right back to being not in the same room. Or even the same building, apparently.
[ Impassivity's the key there in keeping it from growing too pointed since what's said is merely a proven fact at this point as far as he's concerned. He returns from a couple feet away just in time to see her drag one of the stacked items away, resulting in a raised eyebrow from him until she explains. Upon a closer look out of curiosity - now that it's not interrupted by finding something to say back to her like before - he can see the subtle splits in the wood he'd missed. That would've been deeply unfortunate to find out when any farther above the ground. ]
Alright. [ Before setting the one in his hands down, Claude holds it out for her inspection. ] Is this one any better? It came from the same area.
[ The added advantage of her hair falling like a curtain across her face means that Claude doesn't see the mild surprise that appears on his face at his not-so-subtle call out in a very short amount of time. ]
It's rude to eavesdrop you know.
[ It's said lightly enough to try and match his impassive tone, but there's a restrained sharpness to Hilda's that she's clearly tried to dampen. There's more she could say but it'll only lead to a dead end and she knows it.
With the faulty box out of the way, Hilda locates a different crate nearby that's a little bigger than the one she had put away. When she whirls around to hold it out to him however he's already got another in hand. ]
That should be fine. We can stack this one below it.
[ The chiding pushes buttons he doesn't care for, and it almost brings forth yet another reaction he doesn't want. That instinct to be defensive even if it's hidden in flippancy surfaces again considering, Claude thinks, it was hardly eavesdropping all because she didn't know he was there, but it's not worth it. Saying so won't do anything but give a chance for it to escalate, and it seems nudging open a metaphorical door to talk about something which has obviously been going on is equally pointless.
He's not sure what he expected, so he spends a couple seconds staring at the shelves in pretend appraisal for something to do that isn't looking at Hilda and to reign in his frustration. There's only so many things he can invent to say about their task before being at risk of cycling through them, and right now he's not compelled to try finding more. But then again: no one ever said talking was required for stacking things when a clear enough end goal doesn't require any coordination. If they're lucky, it'll go by faster without pausing to say anything.
Wordlessly Claude sets the box in his hands down to take the one she's holding out to set it into place, and then scoops up the other he'd brought over to set it on top. One literal step closer to getting out of here. ]
[ They could argue about the schematics of what constitutes eavesdropping all day (just because you didn't know someone was there didn't mean they couldn't be overhearing or eavesdropping on conversations being had), but there's considerably less childish rage inside her compared to what she felt in the maze. It probably helps that there's no Fey wine in her body.
Truthfully her propensity for that childish anger is near empty. There's little for her to reach for in order to continue spurring her bratty tendencies. She's never gone this long being angry at someone, has never had to avoid someone she cared deeply for as she had for Claude for this long. If she thinks long and hard about it, she can't recall a time when she's gotten into a fight that lasted this long.
It's easy to get lost in thought about what that means when they're working in a tense silence. One of her favourite romance books had once said that love bordered on the edge of hate. That it takes just as much energy to love someone as it is to hate that same person. But that's a ridiculous notion because she didn't love him. And sure, she's angry with him but she doesn't hate him. Love turned to hate would make this all the more tragic and there's nothing in her life that reads like one of her romance novels.
With the other two boxes in place, Hilda goes in search of another. The ones along the bottom of the surrounding shelves are too heavy, filled with materials that would take more effort to take out than it was worth. Then she spots one, a box on the upper shelves that looks like it could fit perfectly...if only she were several feet taller. It could easily be solved by getting the ladder not mention safer to retrieve it too. Instead she casts the briefest glance over her shoulder towards Claude before pointing to the box in question and breaking the silence. ]
[ Silence, even despite being the one to bring it on, is something he discovers he still dislikes. This isn't a comfortable one like the many they've sat together in over the years; it's anything but. It's too much of a chance for half-started and mostly abandoned thoughts to keep whirling around his mind without any resolution for them while they work even though he's told himself his only focus should be getting out of here.
If only it was that easy. Instead it leaves more time to think about how things could be different even as he makes no attempts to change that. When she speaks he looks over for long enough to see what she wants as he then follows where her hand is pointing. ]
Sure.
[ It's a ways up there, but nothing that's not doable even if he's curious about why this box specifically. That'd require asking and rather than that, Claude places one foot on the lowest shelf to test how sturdy it is. Fairly so, given that it doesn't shift even when he places more weight on it. That's all he needs to climb up it before testing the next one in the same way, and then he's much closer to grabbing it.
Being up quite a bit higher than the floor requires wrapping an arm around the support beam since he's not trying to go crashing to the floor, and Claude stretches out his other hand to tug the box closer for a better grip on it. Whatever contents are in it seem to weigh less than the container - which is good news for him as he pulls it off the shelf before peering below since this would go faster with help. ]
Think you can climb up a shelf to grab this? Just one of them.
[ She hated dislikes silence as much as he did. It was part of the reason she chattered on as much as she did, much to Setheth's exasperation. So when her question isn't met with an icy silence, some part of her is relieved. But then again, why would it have gone unanswered? They're trying to work together so they can continue to avoid each other the way they have been for weeks. The thought brings about a pang in her chest, one that she doesn't expect to feel but is unfortunately a feeling that she's become used to over the last several weeks.
As Hilda watches him scale the shelf, there's some opportunity for her to tease him about not wearing high enough boots or being taller. In times past she might have even suggested she just climb up onto his shoulders so that they could reach the box - but they could barely stomach being in the same room, never mind any actual physical contact.
Reluctant silence meets Claude's question however. Whether or not they're on good terms, what will never change is Hilda's reluctance to exert more physical exertion than necessary. Habit has her ready to whine about it but she bites her tongue before nodding and doing as asked.
In the act of reaching for the box, her fingers brush ever so briefly against his and she takes in a sharp intake of breath. It's no more than a second if that, but that's all it takes to feel a jolt. Annoyance flares at how ridiculous she's being and she's quick to brush it off, adjusting her hold to properly grab a hold of the box. ]
Got it. We'll probably just need one more after this.
[ He doesn't say anything while waiting - just waits to see what she'll do or whether he's really going to have to climb down while juggling this box filled with who knows what. There's a rattle of something from inside it as he shifts it again, and again he wants to know what's inside, but what matters more is if it'll be something they can stand on as Hilda's predicted.
She moves to assist and he keeps a neutral expression throughout as if there's nothing to be interested in. Claude's about to look away, like there's anything to even look at except more storage from a different height, but before he can Hilda's fingers brush his. He has to swallow hard and unnoticeably as possible when that action not only brings a pleasant spark but longing and whispers to grab her hand with it. Like it's that simple. Like he even has that option, and like it's not a habit he wishes would disappear, among other untrue things he tells himself.
Instead the box changes from his possession to hers and Claude nods in response despite wanting to also raise an eyebrow over needing only one more box to make it out. That seems too pessimistic even while dealing with echoes of this almost being like something they would've planned together in the past because it's no more than that: echoes. Claude glances back up and grabs the box next to the one she'd pointed out to bring with him. That he moves one shelf below where he is by way of climbing down, then repeats that to a shelf that'll be within his reach and leaps down to the ground from there.
Nothing to do but bring it over to stack along with the other crate and survey it again before looking to her. ]
If you climb up there, I can give you a boost up to the window.
[ Probably. It should be close enough for her to get a grip on the ledge and climb up so they can see where to go from there if nothing else. ]
[ Being below Claude and having a box in her field of view means she misses any reaction he might have when their hands brush against one another. She knows him too well to know that something like that wouldn't go unnoticed, and because of that she immediately stomps on her curiosity in an attempt to quash the urge to wonder what his reaction had been. Better to assume that he didn't care, she reminds herself. If she didn't, the dangerous sliver of hope that she'd always held onto would always remain lingering in the depths of her heart.
She makes quick work arranging the box on top of the others. It only occurs to her belatedly to check what's inside because truthfully, she had no idea; she had only been going off the size. As Claude busies himself with the other box, she carefully cracks the lid open and her eyes widen. A familiar, polished jewelry box sits nestled in packing material. Alongside it sits another cardboard box and she doesn't have to open it to know what's inside. It's an unfinished project, one that she had started before their fight and completely forgotten about over the course of their fight.
Claude's approaching footsteps signal he's near and she hurriedly shuts the box with a definite thud before he can see. It's not very subtle and she can't help but wince. He'd normally ask - she would in his place - but she's banking on their mutual frostiness to stave off any potential questions. Before glancing towards him she tries to rearrange her expression into something neutral as he busies himself with the last box.
Unfortunately instead of neutral, her expression ends up looking a little more skeptical than anything else. ]
You aren't going to complain about how heavy I am are you?
[ There's a sort of telltale rustle as he approaches and the vague sensation of something being slammed shut, but for once Claude doesn't bother to look. It doesn't matter whether he's curious, he reminds himself yet again with another sort of dull ache, since the only thing to focus on is leaving. If Hilda wanted him to know whatever it was, she'd say something.
She doesn't - not about that as he sets down what's in his hands and takes a second to contemplate it. It's true, that might've been something he would've gone for - were they on speaking terms, if it would be taken as a joke like he'd meant whatever response given. Something he can't say he'd mean now, especially when the flat look he gives her in return vacillates somewhere between amusement and unimpressed in equal measure. ]
So I can end up on the floor again? Sure, let me get right on that.
[ If she's going to procrastinate, Claude's not going to wait. Resisting the urgh to sigh or roll his eyes since that'd be even less productive than allowing himself one (1) remark without any bite behind it and only something far more worn out, he takes a step onto the first crate. It's sturdy, so up he goes one more and then another to peer up at the window again. They'll probably be close enough, so nothing to do but look back at Hilda with an eyebrow raised next. ]
[ When the moment to ask passes, relief prickles over her. She didn't want to have to explain, didn't want to risk him seeing the source of her...what? Her embarrassment? Her hurt? The last thing she wants to do is explain that their fight had been so upsetting that she had to store the box he had given her that she had been using until recently to store tools in a completely different building on a shelf she never would have been able to reach on her own accord.
But as he brushes by her towards the box without a word or cursory glance, she can't help but feel a little taken aback that he didn't ask. That moment of surprise is quickly quashed when he reminds her of the night in the maze. Right, why would he ask? They're aren't friends. That's why the box and that unfinished project are in the crate in the first place.
Hilda sniffs, flouncing towards the boxes before carefully climbing up after him. ]
If we end up on the floor it isn't going to be my fault.
[ When she's beside him she motions for him to hold out his hand so she can step up onto it. ]
[ Claude immediately opens his mouth to ask if she's sure because it certainly was last time, and then thinks better of it and issues a tsk by clicking his tongue. Not worth it, he has to remind himself; it won't feel better to point that out. Silence is so rarely his default, but given how it feels like any step he might take is like being in range of a ballista? It's the better option.
When Hilda steps up and makes the requisite motion to be expected, there's a second of hesitation from him. That flutter from earlier in their accidental brushing of fingers comes back to mind - if something so small could cause it, what will holding onto her hand do? He's about to find out since that's what he does. The answers is it tugs on all those intricately bittersweet threads laced through everything, and most of all: it hurts that it still feels like her hand is meant to be in his.
It's distracting, but not enough so that he doesn't hear the sudden sound of splintering beneath them. There's no time to look to find out which it is because next the mostly level platform of boxes they're standing on becomes considerably less so by the second. Claude lets go of her hand to on instinct wrap an arm around her waist to pull her closer in reflexes he doesn't question and to lean back against the wall in hopes that - if they're lucky - maybe they'll just have a slow slide to the ground when the planks underneath their feet crack entirely. ]
[ Hilda had become astoundingly good at pretending things away – at least that's what she tells herself. She had however been so flustered by the discovery of what had been in the box that she had in fact briefly forgotten about the spark between them when their hands had touched.
His hesitation prompts a reminder, and her cheeks flush, embarrassed. Not just at the hesitation but at the thought that flashes through her mind unbidden that he might be balking at the thought of touching her. Claude has the propensity for pettiness. Has no problem cutting people out. She's seen it firsthand. It had just never occurred to her that she might be on the receiving end and the thought cuts deep.
But then he's grasping her hand and an all too familiar warmth rushes through her. She can't help but stare down at their hands, part surprise, part confusion. Holding her hand wasn't going to get them up to the window. What was he –
And suddenly the world falls from beneath them. Or the boxes do rather. Hilda feels her heart drop to her stomach as the sound of splintering wood and clattering of the contents of the boxes tumbling to the ground fills her ears. A small, startled sound escapes her lips and it's only when they tumble to the ground too that she absently registers Claude's arms are wrapped around her, bracing her from the impact.
Or most of it at least. Her elbows smack against the concrete and she hisses, the immediate prickle of hit nerves distracting from the fact that some of the items that had escaped where the ones in her crate. Inches from their heads lays the silver jewelry box – now dented because of a small anvil falling onto it – and the mildly crushed cardboard box.
She can't help but whine, not realizing that she's still wrapped in his arms, their faces are dangerously close to one another, and that her hurt, embarrassment, or whatever, is now scattered around them. ]
Ow, ow, ow! I thought the boxes we picked were fine.
[ Used to falling as he is, those other falls come with the benefit of being from much farther up and with time to correct the downward course - or be saved by a wyvern with faster reflexes than his own could ever hope to be. Neither of those things happen here even if he pulls Hilda closer still to somehow lessen the impact if he can. The air's knocked out of him in a rush when they hit the floor. On second thought, he would've accepted being tossed on the ground in the maze again. At least the earth has some give.
Though he'd tried to protect her, what he's managed doing in the same instant is reopening his own invisible wounds. Hilda's weight in his arms and the exact way she feels is something Claude wanted to believe he'd erased from his memory for it to never be part of it again. For it to be something he'd never have to remember, and yet it'd taken all of a second for all of it to come flooding back with her face right next to his in a way she's made clear is an impossibility for anything outside of this.
Those injuries will last longer than any bruises from this fall to the ground, and he knows it. ]
They seemed solid enough. Are you --
[ Claude was about to ask if she was alright as he carefully detangles himself from around her to start sitting up, but then his eyes catch on the contents of the box scattered around. Or rather: one item in particular in gleaming silver he recognizes quite well from being the one to proudly select it from the tables in the markets to bring back like a prize. It's been evicted, it seems, even though everything she's ever brought him still sits on his own shelves where it belongs.
He shouldn't be surprised. Hurt shouldn't run like a bolt of electricity through him with the current being as strong as any electrical spell ever aimed his way and landed. But for a second, Claude feels it so strongly it even slips through as a ripple crossing over his face, there and gone in an instant like it was never there at all when he wrangles all of his walls back into place and moves away to get more boxes to start over. Nothing else to do but to keep moving forward like always. ]
[ Hilda's realization is belated on...everything. Several seconds tick by before her eyes widen when she realizes the proximity of their faces along with the feeling of being in his arms like that, and she's quick to try and right herself. Unfortunately losing mild feeling to her elbows makes that more of a difficult task than expected. Determined to put space between them she pushes through, so focused on trying to right herself even with tremoring arms.
It's only when Claude cuts himself off that she comes to her next realization. Her eyes dart from him to the surrounding items as a stark horror dawns on her. The box. There's a sharp intake of breath from her, heat rising to her cheeks building off the lingering heat from before. Hilda breaks her gaze away from the box and back towards him.
She's always been able to read his expressions, but she can't read the flicker of something in his face now. Time has caused a rift that feels like it's distorted her vision of a face that she knew as well as her own. The brief second flash of something unreadable on his face can't be hurt. Why would it be? It can't be because if it were, then the constriction of her chest and the heat on her cheeks that's quickly making its way down to her neck would be shame. And why should she be ashamed of removing something that reminded her of him?
But Claude doesn't say anything, the moment passes, and she's left swallowing a strange lump in her throat. Her eyes stay trained on Claude's back, torn between apologizing and saying nothing at all. The quiet clinking of objects fills the air like a clock ticking down as her window of opportunity to apologize begins to close. Her body seems to move automatically, fingers numbly taking a hold of the jewelry box. Absently they run over the dent in the box.
Her voice is astoundingly steady but only because her voice is quiet. ]
I guess the foundation of the wood wasn't strong enough. We should have checked more closely. [ Clearing her throat, she goes in search of a different box for her jewelry box leaving the other cardboard box on the floor. ] There's other ones over here that will probably be fine.
[ It's easier to face away from her for now, to take a few seconds to push back against what's threatening to numb the edges of everything. It takes Claude a bit longer to figure out what it is until as he reaches for a box he registers it's the extinguishing of some sliver of hope he hadn't truthfully realized he'd been holding onto. There's all the times he's told himself that this, whatever it is - was, is over, and then there's seeing proof.
Maybe Hilda's doing him a favor with this. That's the first rationalization he reaches for though all it brings with is more of that same feeling of being plunged into ice. It's better to know so he can let go in a way he'd been denying he'd have to eventually even if she'd already made it so clear before this instant. The signs were there. He just didn't want to read them for what they actually were until faced with one that can't be ignored or twisted into anything else and one that says more than any of the barbs they've leveled back and forth.
Somewhere he's certain the gods are laughing that all he wants to do is to talk to someone about it like that'll help him make sense of things, but that the only person he wants to do that with is the very person it's about who doesn't want to hear any of it. He'll just have to live with that, too. The far kinder thing to do after he's caused her this much pain is to finally leave her be. ]
Sure.
[ That's all he can manage in an equally quiet tone when even summoning forth one single word feels like an effort to keep it even and trim away anything else out of it besides an acknowledgement of hearing her rather than any of what's said. Even if he doesn't really, even if it's more because he's been silent enough and he doesn't want to argue over who should've checked what. He blinks and remembers he's supposed to be moving this box his hand is still resting on, and comes back into motion to yank it off the shelf.
Whatever else is on the floor that'd spilled out of the crate holding the jewelry box - he doesn't want to know. Ignorance really is bliss, he reminds himself, and sets the crate down without looking. First comes clearing the smashed pieces of wood so neither of them have to step on it and putting those aside to clear out later so Cyprian won't have to clean up more of a mess. Claude adds the new crate to the stack and then steps away to retrieve another one. ]
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The plan's going well as the door's not all that far away, or so he thinks. Another benefit of getting closer to it means he can hear what's being said rather than just the timbre of the voice he knows and one he's only just learned. It's not like he plans to listen - not in that goal of getting out of here as soon as possible - but what's said sinks in anyway and Claude stops mid-stride.
Hilda's been staying here? That alone has him furrowing his brow with the creases caused by it only growing deeper when that deflection she offers sounds too familiar. It sounds a lot like being prodded away from his desk during the war or looking at contracts and letters after it in the never-ending aftermath where the candles had burned too low to be of help to him without him even noticing. But when Claude says something happens from time to time, he's really saying it happens regularly, and it's impossible to not wonder if Hilda means the same.
There's a sort of idle anxiety gnawing at the edges of his mind at the thought of that and what it means beyond her undeniable absence around the loft. Even if they aren't on speaking terms, it has plenty of space for them to all exist in it without any kind of further interventions than have already been taken - why had she felt the need to leave?
He's snapped out of those thoughts by the sound of the door shutting. Instinct has him biting the inside of his cheek to keep from sighing; a closed door will certainly make the soundless part of this rather difficult. At least by the time he slips through it, he tells himself as he waits for the sound of Hilda's footsteps to advance before he does himself in the opposite direction from where she's headed, he'll be that much closer to leaving. She'll never know he was here unless Cyprian mentions who'd been by.
Plans are all well and good until they don't work - just like the handle to the door doesn't turn and throws a twist into that supposed easy escape. There's a second where Claude blinks at it uncomprehendingly, offers another tug to see if that'll help (it doesn't), and then glances back over his shoulder again. Can't loiter here for long without substantially upping the risk of being caught, so he slips into the shadows beyond more shelves. Maybe there's another way out besides this one and if so, he needs to find it. ]
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The click of her heeled boots comes to an abrupt halt when she reaches the back of the warehouse. Seeing the various crates and their contents spread out on the floor immediately prompts an annoyed huff from her. ]
Ugh, what -
[ She's never going to find what she needs at this rate. As she sets about tiptoeing through the organized mess towards the shelves, she vehemently contemplates finding who did this and giving them a piece of her mind. Cyprian is still plenty strong but Hilda was of the opinion that his time is better spent actually crafting works of art. Clearly whoever he had hired to help repack the boxes had done an awful job of it and she'd tell him as much once she found what she needed. ]
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Hilda shows no signs of moving from where she is, so that leaves alternate routes out. There's a couple windows partway up the wall to let the light in, he notes, but they'll require a bit more to get up to them than a simple leave and scurry away. They're not out of the question; it'll just take a bit more planning than, say, walking out the impossibly locked door.
A few more steps bring him closer to the window nearest where he is and Claude studies it and the stacks of items around. Surely at least one of these boxes is sturdy enough to stack on another and have him stand on top of it. The only question which remains is how to do this without Hilda noticing.
He's focusing a bit too hard on the not noticing part since it means when he moves closer yet to consider those existing stacks and whether he really needs anything else at all, Claude forgets to stay out of the main sightlines of the open aisles between the storage, leaving himself in plain view. ]
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Her eyes scan the various boxes along the shelves to be met with what she already knows isn't there which means it has to be somewhere on the ground. The items she knows are in the box aren't laid out neatly on the floor which means they still had to be in one place. ...Unless whoever had done this had already moved them into a different box. Another frustrated sigh exits her mouth as she bends down to sift through the boxes on the ground.
Eventually her search is rewarded and her eyes light up when she spots the box. A quick check confirms that it's indeed hers with everything she had been looking for and she hefts it up, readying to leave. Striding towards the door, she does a double take when she realizes that there's a figure standing in one of the aisles. At first it doesn't register that it's Claude, but when that fact does settle in it brings her to a halt and her hackles start to raise.
Before she can help herself or come up with something remotely civil she calls out – ]
What was that about leaving each other alone?
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Hindsight's about to come into play again here when Claude has the realization too late that he's been under surveillance of a different kind. The sound of her voice being so much closer has him gritting his teeth. Of course this couldn't have just worked out in his favor. Of course now he's going to have to deal with this. ]
Still sticking to that since in case you hadn't noticed, I'm actively trying to get away from you.
[ It helps to not be facing her where she can't see his expression and where it gives him a few seconds to wrangle it back into something aloof to match the utterly bored tone he'd spoken with before he glances over his shoulder vaguely in her direction. Whatever Hilda's doing isn't his concern, so then his gaze goes right back to the window while he's still calculating. Probably going to need more boxes than just two, but they shouldn't be that hard to balance. Maybe if one falls it'll add some momentum into the jumping part. ]
Would've been easier in the first place if you'd propped the door open on your way in.
[ He's not going to bother to clarify since he's occupied casting another glance around for crate number one. Hilda can connect the dots and go verify the state of the door on her own. ]
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His bored tone succeeds in irritating her, but it's momentary when she processes what exactly he's implying. At first she thinks this is some childish joke. He had been known to make things difficult for himself before at the expense of a laugh or a bet. But there's nothing funny about being potentially trapped in here with her - sentiments she shares. ]
What do you mean it would have been easier?
[ Incredulously she stomps towards the door and gives the handle a gigantic tug with one to absolutely no avail. And even though it didn't work the first time she tries again in disbelief. Hilda's jaw tightens out of rising irritation but it also doubles as a vice against the noise of frustration that threatens to spill. This couldn't be happening to her. There's absolutely no way this was happening.
Suddenly his keen observation of the boxes makes so much sense. She whirls around striding back towards him but not coming any closer than she had been before. ]
Why are we locked in? And don't you dare imply that this is somehow my fault again either.
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Nothing left to do then but pick it up and place it beneath where the window is above, and then reality provides another hard fact: they're going to need a lot more crates and boxes than a couple. Now that this one's up against the wall, it turns out to not be nearly as tall as he'd thought while looking at them from afar. Unfortunate, but at least there's plenty of others to work with still.
There's probably a metaphor in there for how this whole situation is going when Hilda returns to ask him a question which has him sending a skeptical glance her way. ]
Well, if I had to guess, it's probably because there's a lock on the door.
[ It's not quite the lighthearted tone they would've used once upon a time while pointing out the obvious to each other for entertainment's sake and in hope of laughter, but this is the best he can do. That and go get another crate since he meant it about leaving, since he'll leave being concerned about the door to Hilda. ]
And it happens to be an extra effective lock at that. I take it this hasn't happened when you've been here before?
[ As for what before consists of, there's probably no point in expanding on what it means when Hilda's the one who's been here. Often, from the sound of it, and as he'd meant to imply. Why pretend otherwise when even Cyprian's noticed? ]
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No, really? A lock? Claude, you're so brilliant I never would have thought about that.
[ She may have missed the memo where they should really be trying to make the most out of an awful situation but his skeptical glance grates on her nerves.
It's obvious what he's trying to do with the boxes now that one is propped up against the wall. The crates are thankfully sturdy and full of mostly durable things but she's certainly not going to lift a finger to help him especially when a familiar prickling feeling begins to crawl across her skin at his subtle indication that he'd overheard her conversation with Cyprian.
Why should she feel uncomfortable though? He didn't want to look at her nevermind talk to her. The more time out of the loft - out of his space with Sylvain - the better. And honestly, it isn't his business anyway that she's resorted to sleeping in several different locations to deflect attention. ]
Of course it hasn't happened before. If it had, I'd probably be able to figure out how to get out of here.
[ He isn't going to get more than that from her it seems. The workshop is also a little too far from the warehouse for them to call for help. And even if it were closer, the telltale sounds of a hammer meeting an anvil have begun to fill the air. There's no way that Cyprian would hear them over that. ]
Why are you here? Hopefully it isn't to make Cyprian's life difficult by leaving a mess all over his warehouse.
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At the confirmation it hasn't happened on any of her trips (or longer) here before, Claude opts not to say anything to that either. That's also as good as Hilda confirming what Cyprian had said - and what she'd said - are as good as true and not any kind of exaggeration like he'd wondered at first. It's not that he's setting that train of thought completely aside, but more that he's placed it on the metaphorical backburner to keep turning it over while his focus goes elsewhere. Since they apparently have something like unlimited time in this warehouse, it can wait until later.
He sets the second crate down on top of the first, spends a second looking at it, then changes his mind and moves it to the ground next to the original one. Better to create a sturdier base to stand on, and it's not like they're lacking more around to use. Maybe he'll volunteer to come back and help put things away later - after making sure the door works first. ]
I had a delivery to make and then stuck around because Cyprian asked.
[ That's good enough since she's not asking out of genuine curiosity anyway, he's positive. Comments about any mess also get ignored considering the only reason there is one is because he'd tried to leave before any of this happened. Instead he turns to look at her more directly this time. ]
Are you going to do anything to help get us out of here or not?
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Their deliberate distance has fooled her into thinking she's actually made some steps towards that. Except there are idle moments where her mind will wander to him and what he's doing. Or worse, when she's working on something she'll absently wonder what kind of input he'd give or what he'd think about it. It's moments like that when she's especially grateful for a place to hammer away on a piece of metal as if the act itself will also stamp out any thought of the man with green eyes.
Unfortunately her tools of choice are nowhere in sight and she has to remind herself it isn't productive or well adjusted to do that to boxes. She blinks several times at his question before dryly asking – ]
That seems counterproductive to leaving you alone, doesn't it? You're plenty capable without me helping you drag boxes around.
[ But she doesn't want to be here anymore than he does, and the alternative of wasting away in the warehouse isn't her idea of a good time. Begrudgingly she sets down her box before wandering over. Hilda can see his intention but she squints before tugging away one of the crates he's set down. ]
Not this one. Cyprian hasn't had a chance to break this one down yet; the wood isn't holding up anymore.
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On top of that, finding himself reaching for his temper around her over and over is proving to be exhausting on so many levels both noticeable and not. As much as he doesn't want to stay barely on just this side of nice, the alternative's worse. For everyone. Claude inhales and lets it out in a soundless sigh to shake off any defensiveness. ]
Good news. The sooner you help me stack up things so we can get outta here, the sooner we can go right back to being not in the same room. Or even the same building, apparently.
[ Impassivity's the key there in keeping it from growing too pointed since what's said is merely a proven fact at this point as far as he's concerned. He returns from a couple feet away just in time to see her drag one of the stacked items away, resulting in a raised eyebrow from him until she explains. Upon a closer look out of curiosity - now that it's not interrupted by finding something to say back to her like before - he can see the subtle splits in the wood he'd missed. That would've been deeply unfortunate to find out when any farther above the ground. ]
Alright. [ Before setting the one in his hands down, Claude holds it out for her inspection. ] Is this one any better? It came from the same area.
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It's rude to eavesdrop you know.
[ It's said lightly enough to try and match his impassive tone, but there's a restrained sharpness to Hilda's that she's clearly tried to dampen. There's more she could say but it'll only lead to a dead end and she knows it.
With the faulty box out of the way, Hilda locates a different crate nearby that's a little bigger than the one she had put away. When she whirls around to hold it out to him however he's already got another in hand. ]
That should be fine. We can stack this one below it.
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He's not sure what he expected, so he spends a couple seconds staring at the shelves in pretend appraisal for something to do that isn't looking at Hilda and to reign in his frustration. There's only so many things he can invent to say about their task before being at risk of cycling through them, and right now he's not compelled to try finding more. But then again: no one ever said talking was required for stacking things when a clear enough end goal doesn't require any coordination. If they're lucky, it'll go by faster without pausing to say anything.
Wordlessly Claude sets the box in his hands down to take the one she's holding out to set it into place, and then scoops up the other he'd brought over to set it on top. One literal step closer to getting out of here. ]
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Truthfully her propensity for that childish anger is near empty. There's little for her to reach for in order to continue spurring her bratty tendencies. She's never gone this long being angry at someone, has never had to avoid someone she cared deeply for as she had for Claude for this long. If she thinks long and hard about it, she can't recall a time when she's gotten into a fight that lasted this long.
It's easy to get lost in thought about what that means when they're working in a tense silence. One of her favourite romance books had once said that love bordered on the edge of hate. That it takes just as much energy to love someone as it is to hate that same person. But that's a ridiculous notion because she didn't love him. And sure, she's angry with him but she doesn't hate him. Love turned to hate would make this all the more tragic and there's nothing in her life that reads like one of her romance novels.
With the other two boxes in place, Hilda goes in search of another. The ones along the bottom of the surrounding shelves are too heavy, filled with materials that would take more effort to take out than it was worth. Then she spots one, a box on the upper shelves that looks like it could fit perfectly...if only she were several feet taller. It could easily be solved by getting the ladder not mention safer to retrieve it too. Instead she casts the briefest glance over her shoulder towards Claude before pointing to the box in question and breaking the silence. ]
Can you reach that one?
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If only it was that easy. Instead it leaves more time to think about how things could be different even as he makes no attempts to change that. When she speaks he looks over for long enough to see what she wants as he then follows where her hand is pointing. ]
Sure.
[ It's a ways up there, but nothing that's not doable even if he's curious about why this box specifically. That'd require asking and rather than that, Claude places one foot on the lowest shelf to test how sturdy it is. Fairly so, given that it doesn't shift even when he places more weight on it. That's all he needs to climb up it before testing the next one in the same way, and then he's much closer to grabbing it.
Being up quite a bit higher than the floor requires wrapping an arm around the support beam since he's not trying to go crashing to the floor, and Claude stretches out his other hand to tug the box closer for a better grip on it. Whatever contents are in it seem to weigh less than the container - which is good news for him as he pulls it off the shelf before peering below since this would go faster with help. ]
Think you can climb up a shelf to grab this? Just one of them.
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As Hilda watches him scale the shelf, there's some opportunity for her to tease him about not wearing high enough boots or being taller. In times past she might have even suggested she just climb up onto his shoulders so that they could reach the box - but they could barely stomach being in the same room, never mind any actual physical contact.
Reluctant silence meets Claude's question however. Whether or not they're on good terms, what will never change is Hilda's reluctance to exert more physical exertion than necessary. Habit has her ready to whine about it but she bites her tongue before nodding and doing as asked.
In the act of reaching for the box, her fingers brush ever so briefly against his and she takes in a sharp intake of breath. It's no more than a second if that, but that's all it takes to feel a jolt. Annoyance flares at how ridiculous she's being and she's quick to brush it off, adjusting her hold to properly grab a hold of the box. ]
Got it. We'll probably just need one more after this.
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She moves to assist and he keeps a neutral expression throughout as if there's nothing to be interested in. Claude's about to look away, like there's anything to even look at except more storage from a different height, but before he can Hilda's fingers brush his. He has to swallow hard and unnoticeably as possible when that action not only brings a pleasant spark but longing and whispers to grab her hand with it. Like it's that simple. Like he even has that option, and like it's not a habit he wishes would disappear, among other untrue things he tells himself.
Instead the box changes from his possession to hers and Claude nods in response despite wanting to also raise an eyebrow over needing only one more box to make it out. That seems too pessimistic even while dealing with echoes of this almost being like something they would've planned together in the past because it's no more than that: echoes. Claude glances back up and grabs the box next to the one she'd pointed out to bring with him. That he moves one shelf below where he is by way of climbing down, then repeats that to a shelf that'll be within his reach and leaps down to the ground from there.
Nothing to do but bring it over to stack along with the other crate and survey it again before looking to her. ]
If you climb up there, I can give you a boost up to the window.
[ Probably. It should be close enough for her to get a grip on the ledge and climb up so they can see where to go from there if nothing else. ]
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She makes quick work arranging the box on top of the others. It only occurs to her belatedly to check what's inside because truthfully, she had no idea; she had only been going off the size. As Claude busies himself with the other box, she carefully cracks the lid open and her eyes widen. A familiar, polished jewelry box sits nestled in packing material. Alongside it sits another cardboard box and she doesn't have to open it to know what's inside. It's an unfinished project, one that she had started before their fight and completely forgotten about over the course of their fight.
Claude's approaching footsteps signal he's near and she hurriedly shuts the box with a definite thud before he can see. It's not very subtle and she can't help but wince. He'd normally ask - she would in his place - but she's banking on their mutual frostiness to stave off any potential questions. Before glancing towards him she tries to rearrange her expression into something neutral as he busies himself with the last box.
Unfortunately instead of neutral, her expression ends up looking a little more skeptical than anything else. ]
You aren't going to complain about how heavy I am are you?
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She doesn't - not about that as he sets down what's in his hands and takes a second to contemplate it. It's true, that might've been something he would've gone for - were they on speaking terms, if it would be taken as a joke like he'd meant whatever response given. Something he can't say he'd mean now, especially when the flat look he gives her in return vacillates somewhere between amusement and unimpressed in equal measure. ]
So I can end up on the floor again? Sure, let me get right on that.
[ If she's going to procrastinate, Claude's not going to wait. Resisting the urgh to sigh or roll his eyes since that'd be even less productive than allowing himself one (1) remark without any bite behind it and only something far more worn out, he takes a step onto the first crate. It's sturdy, so up he goes one more and then another to peer up at the window again. They'll probably be close enough, so nothing to do but look back at Hilda with an eyebrow raised next. ]
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But as he brushes by her towards the box without a word or cursory glance, she can't help but feel a little taken aback that he didn't ask. That moment of surprise is quickly quashed when he reminds her of the night in the maze. Right, why would he ask? They're aren't friends. That's why the box and that unfinished project are in the crate in the first place.
Hilda sniffs, flouncing towards the boxes before carefully climbing up after him. ]
If we end up on the floor it isn't going to be my fault.
[ When she's beside him she motions for him to hold out his hand so she can step up onto it. ]
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When Hilda steps up and makes the requisite motion to be expected, there's a second of hesitation from him. That flutter from earlier in their accidental brushing of fingers comes back to mind - if something so small could cause it, what will holding onto her hand do? He's about to find out since that's what he does. The answers is it tugs on all those intricately bittersweet threads laced through everything, and most of all: it hurts that it still feels like her hand is meant to be in his.
It's distracting, but not enough so that he doesn't hear the sudden sound of splintering beneath them. There's no time to look to find out which it is because next the mostly level platform of boxes they're standing on becomes considerably less so by the second. Claude lets go of her hand to on instinct wrap an arm around her waist to pull her closer in reflexes he doesn't question and to lean back against the wall in hopes that - if they're lucky - maybe they'll just have a slow slide to the ground when the planks underneath their feet crack entirely. ]
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His hesitation prompts a reminder, and her cheeks flush, embarrassed. Not just at the hesitation but at the thought that flashes through her mind unbidden that he might be balking at the thought of touching her. Claude has the propensity for pettiness. Has no problem cutting people out. She's seen it firsthand. It had just never occurred to her that she might be on the receiving end and the thought cuts deep.
But then he's grasping her hand and an all too familiar warmth rushes through her. She can't help but stare down at their hands, part surprise, part confusion. Holding her hand wasn't going to get them up to the window. What was he –
And suddenly the world falls from beneath them. Or the boxes do rather. Hilda feels her heart drop to her stomach as the sound of splintering wood and clattering of the contents of the boxes tumbling to the ground fills her ears. A small, startled sound escapes her lips and it's only when they tumble to the ground too that she absently registers Claude's arms are wrapped around her, bracing her from the impact.
Or most of it at least. Her elbows smack against the concrete and she hisses, the immediate prickle of hit nerves distracting from the fact that some of the items that had escaped where the ones in her crate. Inches from their heads lays the silver jewelry box – now dented because of a small anvil falling onto it – and the mildly crushed cardboard box.
She can't help but whine, not realizing that she's still wrapped in his arms, their faces are dangerously close to one another, and that her hurt, embarrassment, or whatever, is now scattered around them. ]
Ow, ow, ow! I thought the boxes we picked were fine.
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Though he'd tried to protect her, what he's managed doing in the same instant is reopening his own invisible wounds. Hilda's weight in his arms and the exact way she feels is something Claude wanted to believe he'd erased from his memory for it to never be part of it again. For it to be something he'd never have to remember, and yet it'd taken all of a second for all of it to come flooding back with her face right next to his in a way she's made clear is an impossibility for anything outside of this.
Those injuries will last longer than any bruises from this fall to the ground, and he knows it. ]
They seemed solid enough. Are you --
[ Claude was about to ask if she was alright as he carefully detangles himself from around her to start sitting up, but then his eyes catch on the contents of the box scattered around. Or rather: one item in particular in gleaming silver he recognizes quite well from being the one to proudly select it from the tables in the markets to bring back like a prize. It's been evicted, it seems, even though everything she's ever brought him still sits on his own shelves where it belongs.
He shouldn't be surprised. Hurt shouldn't run like a bolt of electricity through him with the current being as strong as any electrical spell ever aimed his way and landed. But for a second, Claude feels it so strongly it even slips through as a ripple crossing over his face, there and gone in an instant like it was never there at all when he wrangles all of his walls back into place and moves away to get more boxes to start over. Nothing else to do but to keep moving forward like always. ]
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It's only when Claude cuts himself off that she comes to her next realization. Her eyes dart from him to the surrounding items as a stark horror dawns on her. The box. There's a sharp intake of breath from her, heat rising to her cheeks building off the lingering heat from before. Hilda breaks her gaze away from the box and back towards him.
She's always been able to read his expressions, but she can't read the flicker of something in his face now. Time has caused a rift that feels like it's distorted her vision of a face that she knew as well as her own. The brief second flash of something unreadable on his face can't be hurt. Why would it be? It can't be because if it were, then the constriction of her chest and the heat on her cheeks that's quickly making its way down to her neck would be shame. And why should she be ashamed of removing something that reminded her of him?
But Claude doesn't say anything, the moment passes, and she's left swallowing a strange lump in her throat. Her eyes stay trained on Claude's back, torn between apologizing and saying nothing at all. The quiet clinking of objects fills the air like a clock ticking down as her window of opportunity to apologize begins to close. Her body seems to move automatically, fingers numbly taking a hold of the jewelry box. Absently they run over the dent in the box.
Her voice is astoundingly steady but only because her voice is quiet. ]
I guess the foundation of the wood wasn't strong enough. We should have checked more closely. [ Clearing her throat, she goes in search of a different box for her jewelry box leaving the other cardboard box on the floor. ] There's other ones over here that will probably be fine.
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Maybe Hilda's doing him a favor with this. That's the first rationalization he reaches for though all it brings with is more of that same feeling of being plunged into ice. It's better to know so he can let go in a way he'd been denying he'd have to eventually even if she'd already made it so clear before this instant. The signs were there. He just didn't want to read them for what they actually were until faced with one that can't be ignored or twisted into anything else and one that says more than any of the barbs they've leveled back and forth.
Somewhere he's certain the gods are laughing that all he wants to do is to talk to someone about it like that'll help him make sense of things, but that the only person he wants to do that with is the very person it's about who doesn't want to hear any of it. He'll just have to live with that, too. The far kinder thing to do after he's caused her this much pain is to finally leave her be. ]
Sure.
[ That's all he can manage in an equally quiet tone when even summoning forth one single word feels like an effort to keep it even and trim away anything else out of it besides an acknowledgement of hearing her rather than any of what's said. Even if he doesn't really, even if it's more because he's been silent enough and he doesn't want to argue over who should've checked what. He blinks and remembers he's supposed to be moving this box his hand is still resting on, and comes back into motion to yank it off the shelf.
Whatever else is on the floor that'd spilled out of the crate holding the jewelry box - he doesn't want to know. Ignorance really is bliss, he reminds himself, and sets the crate down without looking. First comes clearing the smashed pieces of wood so neither of them have to step on it and putting those aside to clear out later so Cyprian won't have to clean up more of a mess. Claude adds the new crate to the stack and then steps away to retrieve another one. ]
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