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Mhmm -

[ She begins to tap his shoulders in a panic as if that will somehow get her down faster. All the while she can't help but think that this wouldn't have happened if whoever had tattled on her had just let her be. Cadens wasn't wildly dangerous - surely she could fend for herself. Or maybe she could have stumbled back up to her room at the Sarstina if she were that desperate to puke and sleep off her drunken stupor.

Her legs unhook from around his hip as she hurries to get the ground back underneath her feet. Sylvain stopping seems to help some, but it's a false relief. The moment she wiggles out of his grasp, Hilda feels a lurch in her stomach as she drops the short distance to the cobblestone.

Let it be known that Hilda Goneril probably would have gone to the grave claiming never having puked in her life (not even as a baby!). She'd claim that she never knew what the feeling of acid and bile being projected out of her mouth would feel like, but if she had to guess, it would probably be worse than discovering someone else's blood on your favourite boots.

But after today, she can't confidently make that claim anymore. Despite her best efforts to hold it back, puke comes spilling out of her mouth in a wet splutter. That alone would have been bad enough to cause her sudden death by embarrassment but the added cherry on top is that she can't turn around in time to avoid getting it on her boots. Oh, and the back of Sylvain's pant legs.

The moment she's done retching and realizes what she's done, Hilda lets out another wail of despair. Immediately she wraps her arms tight around herself as she crumbles into a crouched little ball. ]

[ It happens so fast that he can’t get her all the way back down to the ground before she gets sick and then all he can do is reach to hold her hair back and keep it out of her way. Having been on the other end of this far more times than he can even count, she has all his sympathy.

Even if she didn’t manage to miss his pantlegs in the process.

That dismayed wail from her gets a sound somewhere between a laugh and a soothing croon from him as he rests a hand atop her head, trying to comfort her. ]

Sweetheart, hey. It’s okay. Do you feel better now?

[ At the moment, he’s far more worried about her than his clothes. ]

[ Even in the pit of her despair she hears the telltale sound of a laugh in his voice that she had unwittingly committed to memory. Somehow the amused tone of his voice makes the situation worse and she buries her face deeper into her knees. Cheeks burning with shame she had never wished to be smited into the earth more than she did now. ]

No, I don't! [ There's a loud, wet sounding intake of breath. ] I'm so disgusting. Why would you want me at all after this?

[ He knows the soft laughter is still somewhat audible in his tone, although he does his best to stifle it. He can’t quite help it, though, because she’s adorable, even like this.

Carefully, he crouches down in front of her and the look in his eyes is all fond affection as he deliberately tugs her face out of hiding. His lips quirk as he brushes her hair back off her flushed face. ]

Because you’re perfect, no matter what state I happen to find you in. Now come on, sweet, you don’t want to stay here. Let’s get you home and I promise I’ll fill your big tub up with a hot steaming bath and your favorite soaps, okay?

[ He definitely meets some resistance and when he eventually does unearth her face it's not a pretty sight. Her eyes are rimmed red and puffy from all the crying that she's been doing. There's faint streaks of dampness under her nose from the snot that she's wiped furiously away leaving the tip of her nose raw as a result. Her bangs are slightly askew from being pressed into Marshy's mane and her arms, and her cheeks are the splotchy sort of pink that she would never think is cute on her. Being this close to her, he might get the whiff of alcohol and bile on her breath too.

Whether or not he'll admit it his kindness is showing again, making her tear up with a fresh batch of tears on the horizon. ]

It's not even my home anymore. And the last time I had a bath an octopus fell on my head.

[ He blinks at that, because he has no idea what she’s talking about and then just assumes it’s something that makes more sense when she’s drunk.

Reaching behind him, he fishes a handkerchief out of his pocket and reaches to clean off her face for her with an indulgent fondness. ]

It’s still your home, sweetness. No one’s taking that away from you. Your room is there and waiting for you, just like how you last left it. And I promise to protect you from any more octopus…ses? [ Now is probably a bad time to try to remember what the plural of octopus is. Especially because she’s not in any state to appreciate terrible innuendo right now. ]

[ She hasn't had someone wipe her face in a very long time. The last time had probably been a nanny of some kind - either that or Holst. Who is less important than the feeling of being cared for however. The fondness that exudes from the gentle hand holding the handkerchief to her face to wipe away the tears - and her snot - only add to the disaster that are her alcohol-soaked emotions.

Had she not been in such a state, she would have explained that the octopus had fallen out of the rift in the bathroom ceiling and definitely hadn't been funny at the time. It sounds far-fetched, especially when she had been the only one in the loft at the time - but it's a story for another day. And maybe if she weren't as drunk, there's a very high chance she would have found his innuendo funny even if she'd act scandalized.

Several sniffles sound from her before she takes a shuddering breath in. ]

Just one bath. And then I'll go to the Old Public Hall.

Alright. We’ll take it one step at a time.

[ He answers her agreeably, even if that’s not really agreeing to that at all. He doesn’t think she’ll notice the difference, however, as he holds out his hands to help her up. ]

Come on. Do you think you’ll be okay to get on my back again, or is your stomach still too upset?

[ She's slow to grasp a hold of his hand, but eventually does. Her grip is firm like she's holding onto him for dear life even though she's only being helped to her feet. Through a quiet symphony of sniffles she nods. ]

I should be okay now.

[ At least she hopes so. There's a drunken determinedness to her like she dares her stomach to betray her like that again. Climbing onto his back this time around is no easier than before but she manages it. This time when she's on, she tucks her head into the crook of his neck and wraps her arms around his neck to hold on even though she doesn't believe he'll drop her on purpose. ]

[ He tucks his arms under her knees and holds her up, lets her settle comfortably against his back, even if she clings to him a little more tightly this time around.

He turns his head just enough to rub his cheek against the top of her head. ]

I’ve got you, sweetheart. Just hold on until I get you home.

[ Giving up on the pretense that he’d ever been headed towards the Old Hall - which he hadn’t - he turns down the last few side streets separating them from the loft. Climbing the stairs, he slips inside with her to the quiet apartment and carries her back the hallway towards where her room and bath are located.

Once inside, he turns until he can set her down on the edge of the counter holding her sink before turning to face her once more, making sure she’ alright. His fingers brush against her cheek, back her jaw. ]

I’m going to get your bath started, okay? Can you sit here for me until it’s ready?

[ The journey back this time is far less turbulent than before now that she had emptied what little there was in her stomach. With the contents of her stomach on the floor of the alleyway, her boots and Sylvain's pants, the gentle motion of Sylvain walking them home is soothing in a way. Her eyelids grow heavy as she quietly clings to him, the streets they pass by barely registering until they turn down the familiar ones that will lead them to the loft.

And as eager as she is to hop into the bath, another reluctance emerges: she didn't want him to be apart from her even if it was just to draw the bath. Her rational voice would protest, say that it's counterintuitive to have told him one thing but then want another. When he places her down and steadies her, she leans into his touch instinctively, the smell of him lingering against her clothing and her skin. Her lower lip juts out, as if readying a protest about how no, she doesn't want to wait.

Surely she can just hop in and that way he doesn't have to be far from her at all (never mind that the bath is literally so close she could reach out a hand and touch him if she really wanted to), but she nods instead, steadying herself by gripping the counter under her. ]

[ She’s not normally so clingy, but he picks up on the subtle hints of it all the same. He lingers for a moment, cupping a hand against her cheek and giving her a faint smile before stepping back enough that he can bend over her large clawfoot tub and start the hot water running for her. A moment later, the soft scents of rose and jasmine fill the air, carried by the steam already rising.

That part handled, he turns back to her. Leaning past her, he turns on the sink for a moment, filling a cup with water and bringing it to her lips. ]

Here, drink. The water will help. [ And he’s pretty sure her mouth probably tastes terrible right now, in the aftermath of all that ale and getting sick. ] Then we can start getting you undressed and into the tub, alright?

[ When some of her favourite smells begin to fill the air, whatever tension in her body that existed slowly begins to ebb away. It mingles so nicely with the smell of him that lingers on her and she absently goes from wanting him needing to be there right by her, to watching him fondly as he putters around getting the bath drawn.

Had his back always been so lovely and broad? His hair that red? Maybe she could find glass beads that colour - and if she couldn't, it wouldn't be that difficult to make them, surely. Not with Cyprian's contacts. Time passes so fluidly that she doesn't realize he's in front of her until he's offering her a glass of water.

There's another protest on her lips that she doesn't need to drink water but it's already being held to her lips. It's only when she's gulping it down that she realizes how parched she was and how good it feels against her throat. She finishes it all, placing it gently on the counter beside her with a murmured thank you before going to fiddle with her boots as if that were a signal somehow that she should probably undress herself. ]

Remind me not to not to wear boots with so many laces the next time I go drinking.

How about we just avoid drinking binges that leave you unable to unlace them instead, hmm?

[ Humor is layered in his tone once more as he lifts one of her feet to press it against his stomach so he can start unlacing it for her. Luckily, this seems to be the clean one, although he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to wash both their outfits after tonight. ]

Here, let me. Why don’t you get your top off? That should be easier to handle.

You're so smart, Sylvain. [ She says it so cheerfully and full of warmth. When Sylvain relieves her of her struggle, she goes to pinch his cheeks affectionately, speaking without thinking. ] It's another reason I like you.

[ It's unclear if she realizes what she's saying because she dives right into her task of undressing herself. Thankfully she'd had some foresight to wear a dress that day without fiddly buttons. Wriggling her dress from underneath her, Hilda tugs her dress off of her in one fluid motion dropping it to the floor leaving her in a shift and a far simpler - albeit pink - corset than he's probably seen her in. The hooks at the front make it easier for her to undo it herself, but her fingers still fumble, making slow but steady work.

Several moments later however she's free and lets out a content sigh as it's dropped to the floor leaving her in just her slip. Seconds later a happy giggle bubbles to her lips looking goofily at him. ]

I did it!

[ Her unexpected statement has his fingers fumbling for a moment on the laces, but fortunately she’s well distracted with the task he’d given her and misses it entirely. Casting a momentary glance up at her, he shakes his head with a crooked smile and goes back to unlacing her boots, stripping her of one and then the other before moving on to her stockings.

By the time she gets off her dress and corset, leaving only her slip, he has the rest of it off and the tub is nearly full. At her gleeful exclamation, he chuckles and ruffles a hand over her hair, mussing it with a smirk. ]

You did, indeed. I knew you could do it. Alright, sweet, come on. Your bath awaits.

[ Leaning in, he scoops her up into his arm and spins her towards the bath, moving to lower her into the steaming, sweet-scented water. ]

[ There's barely time to react to the ruffle and mussing of her hair because the grounding presence of the counter is gone. Her "Wait!" turns into a squeal as she's spun around. ]

Sylvain no, I'm in my shift still!

[ It's said like getting her clothes wet would be the biggest offence. She wiggles in his arms, tugging the shift over her hips, over her torso before it's pulled clumsily over her head, not caring that her hair is mussed more in the process or that her breasts are on full display. Her hands go to tug her panties off without a second thought, lifting her hips just enough so that she's left fully naked with the same proud smile on her face. ]

Okay, now you can put me in the bath.

[ He manages not to laugh, but barely, and when she turns to him, victorious in having lost the last of her clothing, his lips are still twitching from stifling his amusement. ]

As her Highness demands.

[ Carefully, he lowers her down into the bath, ignoring the fact that it gets his own shirt drenched in the process. ]

[ The water feels luxurious on her skin and she sinks right in, momentarily missing that his shirt has become soaked in the process. When she does turn to look back at him, she notices the soaked fabric and a furrow appears between her brows. Before he can straighten up, her fingers find purchase on his sleeve, stopping him from leaving.

Her momentary triumph at being able to remove her clothing hasn't completely erased the fact that she doesn't want him to go or that she's been an inconvenience to him. ]

Did I do that? [ Hilda hands immediately finds the buttons on his shirt. ] I puked on your pants and got your shirt wet - I should be the one bathing you. [ The first button is undone with relative ease. ] Come here.

[ He stills, so surprised by her movement that it catches him completely off-guard and gives her the chance to get his first button undone, and then the second. His hands come up to catch her wrists again before she can go further, giving a low laugh as he does so. ]

It’s fine, sweetheart, don’t worry about it. I’m pretty sure we’re going to have to wash everything anyway, so it was going to get soaked sooner or later. Let’s get you cleaned up first and we can worry about the clothes later on.

[ The pout on her face is immediate, mingled with a flash of hurt in her expression that she isn't entirely aware of. Not that she has any real reason to. Rational Hilda would know that she's not being rejected, but the middling effects of the alcohol hadn't helped matters. Thankfully it makes it just as easy to brush aside the sliver of hurt in exchange for more of a pout.

She twists her wrists out his grasp with the grace of someone who had been taught how before both hands cling onto his shirt. ]

No, please? There's so much room. [ There's a brief pause as her eyes search his. ] And I miss you.

[ He doesn't really struggle when she tugs her wrists free of his grip, or when she latches onto the front of his shirt again. Her words, however, do give him pause, and he blinks down at her pout, feeling that sudden stab of hurt that he knows wasn't his own.

Careful, Gautier.

His expression softens as he reaches out a hand and brushes his fingertips against her jaw once more. ]

I'm right here, Hilda. I'm not going anywhere. Let me take care of you, okay?

[ If she stops to think about her hurt, turn it over and dissect it, she would see that it mingles with guilt. She has no right to tell him she misses him after she had told him she didn't want him. There's no guarantee that he even likes her like that.

Just because he's kind and caring doesn't translate into affection. Is she being selfish? Is this mean? It would track with her recent behaviour. None of these things manage to make it to the surface with her drunken haze.

What does register however is the touch of his fingertips against her lips and the tender, soft quality of it that makes her want to cry. Her grip loosens on his shirt, gathering his hand in hers so she can press kisses to each of his fingertips. Another thought swims beneath the haze trying to break through, but she doesn't dwell on it either too focused on pressing apologetic kisses to him. ]

Okay.

[ Instead she offers him a conditional in exchange, murmured against his hands. ]

Only if you let me take care of you after. And only if you take your shirt off. You're going to catch a cold and then someone is going to get mad at me.

Edited (I saw a typo don't look at me or the timestamp ) 2023-07-28 07:44 (UTC)

[ He just arches an eyebrow at this outlandish statement, his lips twitching in amusement. ]

Sweetheart. You’re still talking to the heir of Gautier. Who’s currently stuck in the desert. I’m not about to be done in by a wet shirt in the middle of summer. [ He bops a fingertip against the tip of her nose. ] But if you wanted to ogle me, all you had to do was say so.

[ That, at least, is an easy enough thing to joke about, as he’s been making it most of his life. ]

[ Her nose immediately wrinkles at the nose boop and she pulls away mid-kiss from his hand to pout at him. ]

I do want to ogle you but that's not what - [ She shakes her head, tongue stumbling over words. ] I mean why.

[ The gentle press of her lips against his fingers resumes as the pout fades but still lingers in her voice. ]

I'm worried about you. I don't want you to get sick because you do so much to care for us but what have I done for you? [ The pout in her voice gives way to a thick quality, like she's trying to swallow a lump in her throat. More words stumble past her lips as she presses a lingering kiss to his palm. ] I really care about you, you know? I wake up sometimes in the middle of the night because I dream about how you looked in the Horizon and I never want to see that happen again.

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