[ 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. ]
[ She doesn't enjoy this feeling of her heart splintering apart again. In her usual, Hilda way, she had patched the cracks back together with stickers, crystals and bright baubles in an attempt to tell herself that she was getting over it and that nothing was wrong. In vain she had tried to fill the absence of him with dirt and flowers like that would somehow nurture something else to grow in its place. The Feywilds had helped, with its pastel, dreamlike scenery. There hadn't been any moping or pouting from her, taking every experience in stride. The distractions helped so long as she didn't let herself stop to think about how that was possibly a once-in-a-lifetime experience that she would have loved to experience with him. It's catching up to her now: the denial, the flowers that refuse to take root, the feeling of how good it is to be held by him and how she'll never experience that again and it's for others to have now.
The original box she had come here looking for still stands stalwart on the shelf she had left it on. After a moment's hesitation, the jewelry box finds a place inside amongst her other supplies. The dent in the lid feels fitting somehow. It's not beyond repair. It still works. And objectively speaking, she knows she can fix it by hammering it out but that feels like a metaphor for something she doesn't want to dwell on. Steeling herself she tries to draw in a breath but finds it halting instead. Several more moments pass in an attempt to pull herself together, to stop unnecessary tears from forming before she turns around to retrieve her cardboard box.
Thankfully, nothing inside is damaged. The small pouch containing the beads he had picked out at the market lie nestled in their velvet bag.glinting up at her like wyvern eyes. The sight prompts her to draw the bag shut immediately. Her other project is in there too, waiting for the final finishing touch that she's been keeping at the Old Public Hall. She tries to compartmentalize everything she's feeling into the box as she closes the lid. They strain against the constraints of the box but she pushes down, hard. If he doesn't care, then she can't either. How else is she supposed to protect herself? How else will she ever get over this hurt she's carried with her for months? How else will she ever grieve the loss that is Claude?
When the cardboard box is placed alongside the jewelry box she returns to help him with the boxes. She doesn't want to argue. Hadn't even meant what she had said as an avenue for bickering. Uncomfortable silence accompanied by the fall of their feet and the soft shifting of boxes fills the air. When the boxes are situated again, Hilda motions to their little pyramid with a measured expression, devoid of anything on purpose. ]
[ It's while picking up another box that Claude feels like he's suddenly aged years all at once. More than what the war brought on, more than what arriving here had taken months to undo, far more than the pit dredged up of which he still hasn't addressed - the reality is that this realization simply takes up so much space it seems to crush all the fragile things he'd kept close in its finality. It's probably not a coincidence it feels somewhat like standing at the edge of a battlefield when it clears and looking at the wreckage left behind.
This time it's them. There's the faint memory he has of thinking during their fight how there'd always been the chance of losing her and that he'd steeled himself against it, thinking he could rely on all those old habits of not needing anyone to pull him through when he'd always managed on his own, and yet none of that anticipated what it'd actually mean. A fault in a calculation he can't correct, and now they'll both pay for it when unlike atter a battlefield there's no clear steps forward from here.
Homesickness suddenly flares, but not for a place. It's been too long since he's been home for it to fit there, and Fodlan feels more and more distant with every day he opens his eyes and looks out the window at Cadens. With it now comes longing as painful as any animal teeth when it claws its way through his chest with no regard for anything in its path. He's been on the other side of this enough by now to know what this is without needing any time to identify it: it's grief. Unlike before, now it's for someone who's still standing here when he swallows the feeling back and turns to look at her with a worn smile he can't bother to disguise. ]
I'll test it out first this time.
[ Said as he's already halfway up onto the first box and stepping towards the next row while placing his boot down on the edge to see if it'll hold. It does, so Claude climbs up onto it and shuffles a couple more steps around to complete his test. The wood doesn't give or give any signs it will. He doesn't even know if he's relieved so much as simply going through the motions towards the escape he'd wanted so badly minutes ago and now feels like it was in another lifetime with the rift between it and facing whatever else will happen once they leave.
With that same wooden expression on his face he holds out a hand to her to help her up to keep moving. ]
[ The tired smile catches her off guard and there's a brief moment she worries that he had seen the flicker of worry on her face. She had spent so long always fussing and worrying after him in her own way that the urge to do so now is still there. She shouldn't be so surprised. Habits like that rarely went away so quickly. And yet the realization adds to the scales that threaten to tip her over the edge into tears.
He's only climbing up the boxes in order to test their stability but it feels like she's saying goodbye to him. The urge to reach for his hand, to stop him from going crosses her mind and her fingers twitch, like she's about to. That's the opposite of what he wanted though, isn't it? He had already said as much that he wanted to get out of here, get away from her. Doing that would hinder him, cause ire that she doesn't want to stoke anymore. So her hand remains limply to her side instead.
Even when the stability of the boxes seems clear and he's prompting her to climb up, she finds that she can't. Every part of her feels heavy, filled with regret and a reluctance to move towards a curtain call that she had all but resigned herself to so quickly in the wake of their fight. But he's waiting. And somehow that makes her move. Somehow she makes it up the boxes, fingers curling into familiar (beloved) ones and she has to look down at her feet in a feigned move to ensure her footing is sound. When she's sure that her voice won't crack when she speaks, she looks up towards the window in order to examine the latch there. ]
How did you want to do this? I could step into your hand or I could climb onto your shoulders.
[ Said like they were discussing a plan to escape from Garreg Mach away from Setheth's always watchful eyes. Said like this is just another ridiculous scenario that they so often found themselves in in the past and not at all like it feeling like an ending. ]
[ The time in which it takes her to decide to step up can't be more than a few seconds in reality, but it feels like an eternity. At the same time it's too fast because it's more apparent than ever their goal is within (relative) reach, at which point... then what? He leaves to head back to the merchant, and Hilda either stays here, because she's staying here, or disappears to somewhere else within Cadens again?
The latter feels so much worse than it had when he'd been stealing his way through the warehouse's semi-shadows towards the door. When it'd felt easier to leave that behind like it didn't mean anything, like it hadn't had any cause and had spontaneously developed, and like it wasn't real if he just didn't pay attention to it. But now the thoughts rattle all around his mind with no resolution, and become even louder when her hand's in his. Practice keeps his face from flinching when the weight of it slipping into his grasp feels achingly familiar and for a second Claude stares at their hands like it's something he needs to memorize. As if that memory wasn't already taunting him while he's still living it.
And - oh. He hadn't actually thought this part through besides lifting Hilda up being a method of securing a way out, and he has to blink again to force his mind back into motion. A strange feeling and not one he's encountered often before, but fitting in all the worst ways for how it's ground to a halt now. ]
Which one would you prefer? We'll go with that.
[ One of those relies on a lot more trust than the other, after all, and he's not going to assume she has any of that towards him anymore. It'd be easier to let her climb up, and probably safer, but he'll leave that up to her to decide as he shifts his gaze to the window. ]
[ There's an ease to how well their hands fit together and there's that feeling again, rising up unbidden like a reaction she wishes she could rid herself of. A simple touch shouldn't elicit such a feeling of desire and want, but she feels the wave crash over her, threatening to drag her under. Everything is still unsteady, her centre of gravity off after they had fallen from the boxes and seen the jewelry box he had given her fall too. Coming with that uncertainty is that feeling of goodbye, like this is somehow the last time she'll ever feel his arms around her or her hand in his.
It takes everything in her power not to tighten her grip, to hold on so that he can never let go. To focus on the conversation and task at hand.
Both options aren't ideal, but she's further away from the latch on the window than he is thanks to her lack of height and he's just a couple of inches short from being able to nudge it open with his hand. ]
I'm not sure I'll be able to reach it if I'm just being boosted into your hands but we can try that first. It's probably less risky than me climbing onto your shoulders too.
[ The tumble they had taken earlier hadn't been that bad, but if she were on top of his shoulders - that was just further to fall. ]
[ If his mind was working properly instead of reeling around one topic to another and back again between them all, Claude might've noticed it seems like they're having similar reactions to the idea of leaving. To not wanting to let go, whether it's of something going unsaid or each others' hands or whatever else. Or maybe he does see it and sets it aside in the same breath because that's assigning too much meaning to things he now knows are no longer what he'd hoped, and there's only so long he can use hope as a weapon against himself.
The window is something tangible even if it's not in their reach. At least that's something to work towards than anything that won't be. Claude nods, still doing his best to not be pulled too off-kilter beneath what he knows are poor facsimiles of his usual ability to remain unflappable in the face of unimaginable chaos. Fitting, in some ways, given that he'd never predicted any of this in all those carefully laid out plans. ]
On the count of three, then?
[ That's the best way to go about it, surely, to make sure they're on the same page before he lifts her up. This is also familiar but more from late nights of looking in the monastery's kitchen cabinets for something, or to climb over a wall to get away from Seteth, or to climb into somewhere they shouldn't be. All those memories rush forward with the strength of any avalanche and put him in peril of being buried beneath their surfaces as he gets down on one knee with fingers laced, ready to start the countdown to lift her towards where they need to go and where it feels like he'll be left with only memories and nothing past this. ]
[ Focusing on the window makes it easier not to acknowledge how their hands slipping from one another's makes the wound he had left behind ache. Or how him asking her an incredibly simple question feels like a countdown towards another ending that she would realize with a startling clarity she doesn't want.
Claude kneeling down in order to boost her up in an all too familiar way overlaps in her mind's eye with memories from their now distant past. She can't help but be reminded that the first time they had tried to do this she had stepped on a tender spot on his thigh sending them collapsing to the ground in a heap of laughter. There's no chance of that today though. Hilda gives him a nod, pushing the numbers past her lips. ]
One, two, three -
[ Hilda steps into his hands, arms outstretched. Thanks to the momentum from Claude, one hand easily grasps the ledge to steady herself while the other stretches out, taking a hold of the latch. It unhooks with ease. The window is pushed out and with a strength she'd deny she has, Hilda pushes herself up onto the edge before flipping around to sit on it. And without thinking, the grin she gives him is bright and triumphant. Or at least she hopes it is. Gazing down at him, she suddenly has to fight the, overwhelming urge to cry. Words stumble over her tongue and past her teeth, injected with so much faux brightness that it even sounds incredibly fake to her. ]
Not bad, Claude. The second best archer hasn't let himself go.
[ It works, and he really shouldn't be feeling as sad about that as he is. What's the alternative - that they stay in here in whatever uncertainty's permeated everything past animosity? In another life, they would've celebrated this successful plot they came up with in seconds with no one believing it but them even if there wasn't anyone else around like right now. That's how it should be now, but it's not and the chances of that happening again seem so unlikely.
That too stiff smile comes back to his face when it's all he can summon up as he boosts her up and she lands in the window without any further trouble. It's a poor match to that dazzling grin which makes her whole face aglow. There's a second where he wants to memorize that sight too before Claude catches himself and stops - that'd just be another way to wound himself by picturing it again later, and he's supposed to be letting all of that go. ]
Well, I do what I can. Not just anyone can make it so effortless, you know.
[ The air of straddling the fine line between confidence and cockiness makes it into his voice even if he doesn't exactly feel it himself right then, but it's there for appearances' sake to this time be in sync with what she'd said even if he doesn't entirely believe it either. Falling into old routines back from a different time before they'd known each other feels easier to grab onto right then as he looks back at the wall and finds something that'll work as a foothold as he holds a hand up to her again. ]
Give me a hand up, will you? Then we can be out of here.
[ Her momentary praise is reminiscent of days gone by. Of a dynamic they used to have and might never have again. Seeing the stony smile on his face only confirms that she had made an awful mistake even trying to lighten the mood. Discomfort creeps across her skin and the urge to cry becomes that much more apparent; the familiar feeling of real tears pricks at the corner of her eyes and she has to will them away by reminding herself that she'd be out of his hair soon enough.
Were this any other moment than what felt like a finality to their relationship, what Claude had said would have been a perfect opportunity for banter, for her to say something witty that would make the gold in his green eyes dance. And even though the desire to see that is still there, even if it's one last time, she hesitates. There's no guarantee that would be the outcome anyway. And if it did, then, would that make all of this more painful than it already is?
Claude's outstretched hand decides it for her. What did she have to lose? Maybe it would be the deserving bittersweet ending to something she had held dear to her for so long. Maybe after that something else new would grow in its place. ]
Alright but we're going to have to rely on your second best archer muscles because I [ She pauses dramatically for effect, flipping her hair over her shoulder and slipping easily back into a persona they both know all too well. ] am a delicate flower.
[ And before she can second guess herself, her hands grasp his, hauling him up beside her onto the ledge. ]
[ It's not lost on Claude as he holds his hand aloft that Hilda could simply say no. If they're really so intent on getting away from each other - something he only is because he's convinced she feels the same - it'd take but a second for her to slip out of the window and leave him right here. Admittedly, there's a fairly good chance he'd deserve that for multiple reasons. It only now occurs to him he could've just sent Sylvain a message via that mind writing and spared them both from all of this, assuming the man in question wasn't busy.
Nothing to do about that now as he waits and seconds tick by into what feels like something so much longer before she moves her hair. As always the impulse to reach up and run his fingers through it is a strong one he ignores, willing it away when it absolutely has no place here and won't again. If there's the slightest shift in his smile towards something less impassive over a familiar refrain before she deems something worth doing anyway, Claude certainly doesn't notice it.
Her pull is as strong as ever, and with that foothold spotted before it gives him the leverage to pull himself up to the free space next to her, letting go of her hands as soon as he's sure of his seat. ]
I think it's hard to say whose muscles came in handier just then, but let's call it something like teamwork.
[ That hits more at a usual teasing tone, and this is the part where he should open the window and simply duck out of it. There's no reason to stay, not when Hilda's made it clear by his estimation that his company is something she no longer wants. Staying just draws the inevitable out for longer as he pauses with fingers wrapped around the handle to peer out through the wavy glass at what's outside. ]
Looks like there's some more boxes stacked up out here and taller than what we'd managed so it won't be nearly as far of a drop down on the way out.
[ Sitting beside him so closely feels so much like how they had sat together on the Aquila beach after they had successfully launched that stranded jellyfish out to sea. She's well aware that this setting is quite literally nothing like it.There's no sunset, no warm sand beneath their feet, no ocean breeze rustling through their hair. They most certainly aren't on good terms either.
The similarities she draws has little to do with all of the above and everything to do with Claude's allusion to team work. They did make a good team. They had made a good team.
So much of her life after leaving Goneril and attending the Academy revolved around seeking excitement and adventure - things she couldn't ever have under Holst's watchful but loving gaze. Claude had given her that in spades and had turned out to fit so perfectly into her life like someone had written it into the stars. But along the way, she realized that being by his side, even if it was just quietly basking in a content glow, filled her cup just as much as ridiculous plans and adventures did. She hopes that her smile doesn't falter even as the echo of a teasing tone from him is enough to make her heart shake. ]
Let's just say they were yours.
[ Because, what muscles?
She joins him in peering through the glass, unable to push the window open when he's got his hand on the handle. Secretly, a small part of her is relieved as it clings onto whatever is left of their time together. ]
It's still a drop though. One of us should probably head out first to make sure the other lands safely.
[ There's the old temptation to roll his eyes as Hilda more or less denies doing the bulk of the work there when there's no real way he could even spin it to make it seem like it was his doing alone. But that'd require them to be on better terms, for something else to have taken place like when she'd tease him about putting on some front she could tell was obviously false or any number of things he's having to remind himself will stay past tense. Not because they happened in the past, either, but because they won't happen again.
It's the sort of thought Claude's still desperately trying to put aside no matter how much it keeps looming over everything, and doing so (somehow) requires opening the window. At first it sticks but some carefully targeted jostling loosens it to crack open a bit and so he can press both palms to move it out of the way enough to where it won't catch on their clothing. Something else from all those times they'd made it into places where they shouldn't have been even as he pushes that nostalgia away when it doesn't belong. ]
You can just say I should do it, you know.
[ In another life that would've hit a different note, could've been another opening to another round of playful teasing in ongoing rounds as volleys back and forth, but now he can't muster up anything other than something far blander. Teasing doesn't have a place here in whatever this is, and he hasn't yet figured out how to define it or how he's supposed to behave. Nothing was ever in his plans for this.
Claude swings one leg out of the window to perch on the outside of the building as he takes a second to blink in the sunlight, then goes about turning himself around to lower himself down. The distance now is less than it'd looked through the window as he appraises it before letting go while holding his breath until he lands on the crates below. They're sturdier than their stack, what with far more of them being there, though he deliberately tests this one far more than the one inside to make sure neither of them fall from this height when there's still a climb down from here. ]
Looks like we're in luck and Cyprian just saves his far better crates for out here for some reason.
[ Despite the bland, flat reply, it doesn't deter her from continuing to try and buoy her mood in any way she can. The reply is every bit sing-songy, cheeky and light-hearted making the accompanying shrug that comes with it more playful in nature. She could say more. Like how his position as a leader is built exactly for that purpose. That if Holst were here he would have smashed a hole through the wall and while she isn't expecting that, Claude should at the very least try to emulate the spirit of it. But all that teasing trapped firmly behind her lips.
While it's true that she had already slapped and thrown him to the ground, that doesn't mean that she wants to see him fall from the boxes. There's a mild sense of nervousness in her body language as she watches him drop down onto the boxes below but when it becomes clear after several seconds that he isn't going to tumble to the ground below, she lets out a breath. ]
It's like he knew that someone would need to get out of this specific window.
[ She eases her body through the window, legs dangling over the edge, slowly creeping closer to the edge. ]
Ready?
[ The assumption is that he'll catch her but who knows, really. ]
[ They're so close to being rid of each other - or so he tells himself knowing that's how he should be feeling right now after all of Hilda's attempts to cast him off making it seemingly crystal clear there could be no other possibilities. All he feels instead is regret blended with glooms which threatens to take over anything else. His goal had been to get away from her, sure. It was the shifting of all the other pieces into place to form a better picture that'd made it feel like something else entirely.
Claude cracks an automatic smile at her joke, hardly a placeholder for anything else than it is to keep conversation moving. Maybe Cyprian's been stuck in the warehouse before himself and needed a way out is what he might've answered if he felt like joking, but it hardly seems fitting now. Instead he watches as she readies herself at the edge and tells himself he feels nothing at all. That the smile on his face is an unshakeable mask from all those years of practice honing it to be, and he can think about all of this later when he can put some distance between feeling like he's barely holding himself together at the seams and whenever that might be when it seems it won't be for a long while yet. ]
On the count of three again since usually works well for us.
[ This isn't anything like before, he reminds himself. It's something else where finality looms close as he stretches out his arms again to give her a vague target of where to jump to with the intent on making sure she lands in one piece. After this something he'd never imagined except for in the barest admission to himself there was always the chance she could walk away and nothing more when it was too painful to consider happening.
And yet: here it is. He counts to three when it looks like she's ready, and then waits. ]
[ She's busy readying herself to fall - into Claude's arms no less - that she almost misses the practiced smile affixed on his face. It might have been better had she missed it but she looks up just in time and recognizing it makes her heart sink in chest.
It's not like she had expected her joking to have any effect. She hadn't been trying to repair their broken relationship in this short, ridiculous encounter. She had just been trying to make it better for herself (and Claude by extension, although she would be hard pressed to admit as much). But perhaps, wistfully, she had hoped that he wouldn't have to wear that kind of smile around her. It's another reminder of how things have changed, how she has been relegated to someone who only gets the smiles that never reach his eyes.
As Claude begins his count down, she silently breathes it to herself under her breath. ]
1...2...3!
[ Hilda pushes herself off the ledge as if her heart ricocheting into her throat will somehow trick her mind into forgetting about her heart sinking in the first place.
She aims well - or his grip is sturdy - either way, she lands in his outstretched arms, eyes shut tight. When she doesn't feel the ground crumble beneath them, she slowly opens her eyes. Claude's face focuses in her vision and she has to fight the insane urge to reach out and cup his face, from brushing a thumb against his cheek. ]
[ Hilda jumps and he braces himself in determination to not have a repeat of crashing down to the warehouse floor. Especially not when the ground is now a good amount farther below and likely no more forgiving than the floor had been, but she lands in his arms. Safely, he thinks, then lets go of that word almost instantly, nearly in the same moment that he makes sure she's steady from the short drop before he lets go of her.
It's not enough to prevent the small current when she opens her eyes, some kind of magnetism he wills himself to forget when it has no place here. Something else he'll have to let go of as he takes a half step back and murmurs an of course in response before looking out to the alleyway they've ended up in. ]
Well, it's not the most exciting escape, but at least we did it ourselves.
[ Or some other meager consolation he's half-heartedly pretending he means while dropping down to the next crate in the stack to get ever closer to leaving like it'll help wash away any of this from his mind. It won't; it'll be there waiting to fester painfully with everything else. It's the kind of thing he promises himself while knowing full well all of it will circle around his thoughts tonight, tomorrow, for any number of days yet to come when he's reminded of all of it while looking at the fragments of her still all around his room.
He can't, he thinks, bring himself to remove them just yet even if Hilda's already taken that step for herself. ]
On the plus side, now you know a way out if that warehouse door gets any more ideas.
[ She's holding her breath up until the moment her lets her go. Hilda tells herself that it has nothing to do with the contact and being so close to him, and everything to do with having just leapt into his arms while he stood on a pile of crates.
Gracefully she climbs off after him, quietly mirroring his thoughts. While no part of him existed in the new spaces she had created for herself, she still feels his presence. It's annoying how it has soaked through to her bones. How no matter how much effort she puts in to forget him (more effort than she's ever put into forgetting someone), she can't shake him.
Could she? And if so, how? Did she want to?
She's pulled from thoughts, belatedly realizing she had been staring at the back of his head. It could probably be played off like she's staring down the alleyway and the crowd that passes by on the other side, blissfully unaware about her strife and the awkwardness at the other end. ]
As long as those crates don't move. Otherwise I'll have a further way to fall than just into your arms.
[ Briefly she lapses into silence, feet leaden and heavy again. ]
I should go tell Cyprian and get my things. Are you planning on heading back into the warehouse?
[ If he were, she could make up an excuse to linger in the workshop until he was done. How else did you say goodbye to someone you weren't speaking to? ]
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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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The original box she had come here looking for still stands stalwart on the shelf she had left it on. After a moment's hesitation, the jewelry box finds a place inside amongst her other supplies. The dent in the lid feels fitting somehow. It's not beyond repair. It still works. And objectively speaking, she knows she can fix it by hammering it out but that feels like a metaphor for something she doesn't want to dwell on. Steeling herself she tries to draw in a breath but finds it halting instead. Several more moments pass in an attempt to pull herself together, to stop unnecessary tears from forming before she turns around to retrieve her cardboard box.
Thankfully, nothing inside is damaged. The small pouch containing the beads he had picked out at the market lie nestled in their velvet bag.glinting up at her like wyvern eyes. The sight prompts her to draw the bag shut immediately. Her other project is in there too, waiting for the final finishing touch that she's been keeping at the Old Public Hall. She tries to compartmentalize everything she's feeling into the box as she closes the lid. They strain against the constraints of the box but she pushes down, hard. If he doesn't care, then she can't either. How else is she supposed to protect herself? How else will she ever get over this hurt she's carried with her for months? How else will she ever grieve the loss that is Claude?
When the cardboard box is placed alongside the jewelry box she returns to help him with the boxes. She doesn't want to argue. Hadn't even meant what she had said as an avenue for bickering. Uncomfortable silence accompanied by the fall of their feet and the soft shifting of boxes fills the air. When the boxes are situated again, Hilda motions to their little pyramid with a measured expression, devoid of anything on purpose. ]
Second time's the charm?
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This time it's them. There's the faint memory he has of thinking during their fight how there'd always been the chance of losing her and that he'd steeled himself against it, thinking he could rely on all those old habits of not needing anyone to pull him through when he'd always managed on his own, and yet none of that anticipated what it'd actually mean. A fault in a calculation he can't correct, and now they'll both pay for it when unlike atter a battlefield there's no clear steps forward from here.
Homesickness suddenly flares, but not for a place. It's been too long since he's been home for it to fit there, and Fodlan feels more and more distant with every day he opens his eyes and looks out the window at Cadens. With it now comes longing as painful as any animal teeth when it claws its way through his chest with no regard for anything in its path. He's been on the other side of this enough by now to know what this is without needing any time to identify it: it's grief. Unlike before, now it's for someone who's still standing here when he swallows the feeling back and turns to look at her with a worn smile he can't bother to disguise. ]
I'll test it out first this time.
[ Said as he's already halfway up onto the first box and stepping towards the next row while placing his boot down on the edge to see if it'll hold. It does, so Claude climbs up onto it and shuffles a couple more steps around to complete his test. The wood doesn't give or give any signs it will. He doesn't even know if he's relieved so much as simply going through the motions towards the escape he'd wanted so badly minutes ago and now feels like it was in another lifetime with the rift between it and facing whatever else will happen once they leave.
With that same wooden expression on his face he holds out a hand to her to help her up to keep moving. ]
C'mon, the window awaits.
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He's only climbing up the boxes in order to test their stability but it feels like she's saying goodbye to him. The urge to reach for his hand, to stop him from going crosses her mind and her fingers twitch, like she's about to. That's the opposite of what he wanted though, isn't it? He had already said as much that he wanted to get out of here, get away from her. Doing that would hinder him, cause ire that she doesn't want to stoke anymore. So her hand remains limply to her side instead.
Even when the stability of the boxes seems clear and he's prompting her to climb up, she finds that she can't. Every part of her feels heavy, filled with regret and a reluctance to move towards a curtain call that she had all but resigned herself to so quickly in the wake of their fight. But he's waiting. And somehow that makes her move. Somehow she makes it up the boxes, fingers curling into familiar (beloved) ones and she has to look down at her feet in a feigned move to ensure her footing is sound. When she's sure that her voice won't crack when she speaks, she looks up towards the window in order to examine the latch there. ]
How did you want to do this? I could step into your hand or I could climb onto your shoulders.
[ Said like they were discussing a plan to escape from Garreg Mach away from Setheth's always watchful eyes. Said like this is just another ridiculous scenario that they so often found themselves in in the past and not at all like it feeling like an ending. ]
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The latter feels so much worse than it had when he'd been stealing his way through the warehouse's semi-shadows towards the door. When it'd felt easier to leave that behind like it didn't mean anything, like it hadn't had any cause and had spontaneously developed, and like it wasn't real if he just didn't pay attention to it. But now the thoughts rattle all around his mind with no resolution, and become even louder when her hand's in his. Practice keeps his face from flinching when the weight of it slipping into his grasp feels achingly familiar and for a second Claude stares at their hands like it's something he needs to memorize. As if that memory wasn't already taunting him while he's still living it.
And - oh. He hadn't actually thought this part through besides lifting Hilda up being a method of securing a way out, and he has to blink again to force his mind back into motion. A strange feeling and not one he's encountered often before, but fitting in all the worst ways for how it's ground to a halt now. ]
Which one would you prefer? We'll go with that.
[ One of those relies on a lot more trust than the other, after all, and he's not going to assume she has any of that towards him anymore. It'd be easier to let her climb up, and probably safer, but he'll leave that up to her to decide as he shifts his gaze to the window. ]
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It takes everything in her power not to tighten her grip, to hold on so that he can never let go. To focus on the conversation and task at hand.
Both options aren't ideal, but she's further away from the latch on the window than he is thanks to her lack of height and he's just a couple of inches short from being able to nudge it open with his hand. ]
I'm not sure I'll be able to reach it if I'm just being boosted into your hands but we can try that first. It's probably less risky than me climbing onto your shoulders too.
[ The tumble they had taken earlier hadn't been that bad, but if she were on top of his shoulders - that was just further to fall. ]
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The window is something tangible even if it's not in their reach. At least that's something to work towards than anything that won't be. Claude nods, still doing his best to not be pulled too off-kilter beneath what he knows are poor facsimiles of his usual ability to remain unflappable in the face of unimaginable chaos. Fitting, in some ways, given that he'd never predicted any of this in all those carefully laid out plans. ]
On the count of three, then?
[ That's the best way to go about it, surely, to make sure they're on the same page before he lifts her up. This is also familiar but more from late nights of looking in the monastery's kitchen cabinets for something, or to climb over a wall to get away from Seteth, or to climb into somewhere they shouldn't be. All those memories rush forward with the strength of any avalanche and put him in peril of being buried beneath their surfaces as he gets down on one knee with fingers laced, ready to start the countdown to lift her towards where they need to go and where it feels like he'll be left with only memories and nothing past this. ]
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Claude kneeling down in order to boost her up in an all too familiar way overlaps in her mind's eye with memories from their now distant past. She can't help but be reminded that the first time they had tried to do this she had stepped on a tender spot on his thigh sending them collapsing to the ground in a heap of laughter. There's no chance of that today though. Hilda gives him a nod, pushing the numbers past her lips. ]
One, two, three -
[ Hilda steps into his hands, arms outstretched. Thanks to the momentum from Claude, one hand easily grasps the ledge to steady herself while the other stretches out, taking a hold of the latch. It unhooks with ease. The window is pushed out and with a strength she'd deny she has, Hilda pushes herself up onto the edge before flipping around to sit on it. And without thinking, the grin she gives him is bright and triumphant. Or at least she hopes it is. Gazing down at him, she suddenly has to fight the, overwhelming urge to cry. Words stumble over her tongue and past her teeth, injected with so much faux brightness that it even sounds incredibly fake to her. ]
Not bad, Claude. The second best archer hasn't let himself go.
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That too stiff smile comes back to his face when it's all he can summon up as he boosts her up and she lands in the window without any further trouble. It's a poor match to that dazzling grin which makes her whole face aglow. There's a second where he wants to memorize that sight too before Claude catches himself and stops - that'd just be another way to wound himself by picturing it again later, and he's supposed to be letting all of that go. ]
Well, I do what I can. Not just anyone can make it so effortless, you know.
[ The air of straddling the fine line between confidence and cockiness makes it into his voice even if he doesn't exactly feel it himself right then, but it's there for appearances' sake to this time be in sync with what she'd said even if he doesn't entirely believe it either. Falling into old routines back from a different time before they'd known each other feels easier to grab onto right then as he looks back at the wall and finds something that'll work as a foothold as he holds a hand up to her again. ]
Give me a hand up, will you? Then we can be out of here.
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Were this any other moment than what felt like a finality to their relationship, what Claude had said would have been a perfect opportunity for banter, for her to say something witty that would make the gold in his green eyes dance. And even though the desire to see that is still there, even if it's one last time, she hesitates. There's no guarantee that would be the outcome anyway. And if it did, then, would that make all of this more painful than it already is?
Claude's outstretched hand decides it for her. What did she have to lose? Maybe it would be the deserving bittersweet ending to something she had held dear to her for so long. Maybe after that something else new would grow in its place. ]
Alright but we're going to have to rely on your second best archer muscles because I [ She pauses dramatically for effect, flipping her hair over her shoulder and slipping easily back into a persona they both know all too well. ] am a delicate flower.
[ And before she can second guess herself, her hands grasp his, hauling him up beside her onto the ledge. ]
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Nothing to do about that now as he waits and seconds tick by into what feels like something so much longer before she moves her hair. As always the impulse to reach up and run his fingers through it is a strong one he ignores, willing it away when it absolutely has no place here and won't again. If there's the slightest shift in his smile towards something less impassive over a familiar refrain before she deems something worth doing anyway, Claude certainly doesn't notice it.
Her pull is as strong as ever, and with that foothold spotted before it gives him the leverage to pull himself up to the free space next to her, letting go of her hands as soon as he's sure of his seat. ]
I think it's hard to say whose muscles came in handier just then, but let's call it something like teamwork.
[ That hits more at a usual teasing tone, and this is the part where he should open the window and simply duck out of it. There's no reason to stay, not when Hilda's made it clear by his estimation that his company is something she no longer wants. Staying just draws the inevitable out for longer as he pauses with fingers wrapped around the handle to peer out through the wavy glass at what's outside. ]
Looks like there's some more boxes stacked up out here and taller than what we'd managed so it won't be nearly as far of a drop down on the way out.
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The similarities she draws has little to do with all of the above and everything to do with Claude's allusion to team work. They did make a good team. They had made a good team.
So much of her life after leaving Goneril and attending the Academy revolved around seeking excitement and adventure - things she couldn't ever have under Holst's watchful but loving gaze. Claude had given her that in spades and had turned out to fit so perfectly into her life like someone had written it into the stars. But along the way, she realized that being by his side, even if it was just quietly basking in a content glow, filled her cup just as much as ridiculous plans and adventures did. She hopes that her smile doesn't falter even as the echo of a teasing tone from him is enough to make her heart shake. ]
Let's just say they were yours.
[ Because, what muscles?
She joins him in peering through the glass, unable to push the window open when he's got his hand on the handle. Secretly, a small part of her is relieved as it clings onto whatever is left of their time together. ]
It's still a drop though. One of us should probably head out first to make sure the other lands safely.
[ Read: Preferably not her. ]
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It's the sort of thought Claude's still desperately trying to put aside no matter how much it keeps looming over everything, and doing so (somehow) requires opening the window. At first it sticks but some carefully targeted jostling loosens it to crack open a bit and so he can press both palms to move it out of the way enough to where it won't catch on their clothing. Something else from all those times they'd made it into places where they shouldn't have been even as he pushes that nostalgia away when it doesn't belong. ]
You can just say I should do it, you know.
[ In another life that would've hit a different note, could've been another opening to another round of playful teasing in ongoing rounds as volleys back and forth, but now he can't muster up anything other than something far blander. Teasing doesn't have a place here in whatever this is, and he hasn't yet figured out how to define it or how he's supposed to behave. Nothing was ever in his plans for this.
Claude swings one leg out of the window to perch on the outside of the building as he takes a second to blink in the sunlight, then goes about turning himself around to lower himself down. The distance now is less than it'd looked through the window as he appraises it before letting go while holding his breath until he lands on the crates below. They're sturdier than their stack, what with far more of them being there, though he deliberately tests this one far more than the one inside to make sure neither of them fall from this height when there's still a climb down from here. ]
Looks like we're in luck and Cyprian just saves his far better crates for out here for some reason.
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[ Despite the bland, flat reply, it doesn't deter her from continuing to try and buoy her mood in any way she can. The reply is every bit sing-songy, cheeky and light-hearted making the accompanying shrug that comes with it more playful in nature. She could say more. Like how his position as a leader is built exactly for that purpose. That if Holst were here he would have smashed a hole through the wall and while she isn't expecting that, Claude should at the very least try to emulate the spirit of it. But all that teasing trapped firmly behind her lips.
While it's true that she had already slapped and thrown him to the ground, that doesn't mean that she wants to see him fall from the boxes. There's a mild sense of nervousness in her body language as she watches him drop down onto the boxes below but when it becomes clear after several seconds that he isn't going to tumble to the ground below, she lets out a breath. ]
It's like he knew that someone would need to get out of this specific window.
[ She eases her body through the window, legs dangling over the edge, slowly creeping closer to the edge. ]
Ready?
[ The assumption is that he'll catch her but who knows, really. ]
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Claude cracks an automatic smile at her joke, hardly a placeholder for anything else than it is to keep conversation moving. Maybe Cyprian's been stuck in the warehouse before himself and needed a way out is what he might've answered if he felt like joking, but it hardly seems fitting now. Instead he watches as she readies herself at the edge and tells himself he feels nothing at all. That the smile on his face is an unshakeable mask from all those years of practice honing it to be, and he can think about all of this later when he can put some distance between feeling like he's barely holding himself together at the seams and whenever that might be when it seems it won't be for a long while yet. ]
On the count of three again since usually works well for us.
[ This isn't anything like before, he reminds himself. It's something else where finality looms close as he stretches out his arms again to give her a vague target of where to jump to with the intent on making sure she lands in one piece. After this something he'd never imagined except for in the barest admission to himself there was always the chance she could walk away and nothing more when it was too painful to consider happening.
And yet: here it is. He counts to three when it looks like she's ready, and then waits. ]
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It's not like she had expected her joking to have any effect. She hadn't been trying to repair their broken relationship in this short, ridiculous encounter. She had just been trying to make it better for herself (and Claude by extension, although she would be hard pressed to admit as much). But perhaps, wistfully, she had hoped that he wouldn't have to wear that kind of smile around her. It's another reminder of how things have changed, how she has been relegated to someone who only gets the smiles that never reach his eyes.
As Claude begins his count down, she silently breathes it to herself under her breath. ]
1...2...3!
[ Hilda pushes herself off the ledge as if her heart ricocheting into her throat will somehow trick her mind into forgetting about her heart sinking in the first place.
She aims well - or his grip is sturdy - either way, she lands in his outstretched arms, eyes shut tight. When she doesn't feel the ground crumble beneath them, she slowly opens her eyes. Claude's face focuses in her vision and she has to fight the insane urge to reach out and cup his face, from brushing a thumb against his cheek. ]
Thanks.
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It's not enough to prevent the small current when she opens her eyes, some kind of magnetism he wills himself to forget when it has no place here. Something else he'll have to let go of as he takes a half step back and murmurs an of course in response before looking out to the alleyway they've ended up in. ]
Well, it's not the most exciting escape, but at least we did it ourselves.
[ Or some other meager consolation he's half-heartedly pretending he means while dropping down to the next crate in the stack to get ever closer to leaving like it'll help wash away any of this from his mind. It won't; it'll be there waiting to fester painfully with everything else. It's the kind of thing he promises himself while knowing full well all of it will circle around his thoughts tonight, tomorrow, for any number of days yet to come when he's reminded of all of it while looking at the fragments of her still all around his room.
He can't, he thinks, bring himself to remove them just yet even if Hilda's already taken that step for herself. ]
On the plus side, now you know a way out if that warehouse door gets any more ideas.
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Gracefully she climbs off after him, quietly mirroring his thoughts. While no part of him existed in the new spaces she had created for herself, she still feels his presence. It's annoying how it has soaked through to her bones. How no matter how much effort she puts in to forget him (more effort than she's ever put into forgetting someone), she can't shake him.
Could she? And if so, how? Did she want to?
She's pulled from thoughts, belatedly realizing she had been staring at the back of his head. It could probably be played off like she's staring down the alleyway and the crowd that passes by on the other side, blissfully unaware about her strife and the awkwardness at the other end. ]
As long as those crates don't move. Otherwise I'll have a further way to fall than just into your arms.
[ Briefly she lapses into silence, feet leaden and heavy again. ]
I should go tell Cyprian and get my things. Are you planning on heading back into the warehouse?
[ If he were, she could make up an excuse to linger in the workshop until he was done. How else did you say goodbye to someone you weren't speaking to? ]
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