[ 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? ]
[ There's something he forces at that meant to be a laugh, something to clear the air and probably would if it was anyone standing here but someone who knows him so well. Something he should change to knew, but that's also on the list of things Claude can't manage to reconcile even as they wait there for him to do so. No struggle he needs to involve her in when it's clear this is something he has to solve for himself.
It's almost offensive that the sun's still daring to share brightly and nothing about this day is as dim as it feels like it should be. The crowds pass by with all kinds of chatter, there's the calls of different shopkeepers looking to lure them in, and the breeze has the audacity to pick up then to carry away some of the day's warmth while he stands absently flexing his hands and willing himself to forget to the feel of her.
He could leave. There's nothing keeping him here as he's reminded himself several times in the space of a few seconds, but it's like something keeps him rooted to the spot. Until Hilda speaks and he blinks at the passersby he was watching without really seeing to look back at her, and then back at the building. ]
I suppose I probably should since I didn't actually finish what he told me to go in there and do. Wouldn't exactly be the best impression to leave there considering I'm here because of someone else in the first place.
[ He's stalling in ways that don't feel like something he'd do so Claude forces himself to take one step and then another like Hilda will fall into step with him like from other times, other places, and whether she does or not when it comes to where the shop and warehouse meet, he doesn't offer up a goodbye when it feels like this has been a long extended one enough already which won't bring them any closure at all. ]
[ Gods, she hates the sound of that hollow, forced laugh. It's all niceties at this point, isn't it? Claude's laugh will never again ring bright and sweet for anything she does again. That's reserved for others he's built and nurtured feelings for. For Sylvain. For Petra if she ever returns. They are deserving of it. They are worthy of affections she'll never have and her jealous, pining heart will simply have to come to terms with that some day. Her heart aches all the same and she has to force herself to swallow a mysterious lump in her throat. ]
No. It wouldn't.
[ Her quiet disapproval doesn't have bite to it, but it suggests that she better not hear about him leaving a mess for someone she's beginning to view as a mentor.
All of that masks her quiet hope that he won't leave, but that would be ridiculous because then they'd just be left standing here making awful small talk with no substance. Would that be so bad though if it means he's still close? As if he can read her mind he begins walking away, and of course her feet follow so dutifully like they have so often in the past. His stride is naturally longer than hers and she hurries to catch up, pushed along by the gentle breeze as if it hears her quiet desire to stay by his side.
In the past she used to whine about how fast he walked. And while the whining never really stopped, eventually, unbeknownst to her, she adapted to it, perfecting the pace at which he walked in her own stride. How many people had she done that for? The answer is clear as the sun that shone so rudely above them: very few, if any.
It doesn't feel right to say goodbye when they reach the junction between the shop and the warehouse. But as she turns to utter it to him, he's already continuing towards the warehouse staring straight ahead like he always had. Her mouth shuts. Pressure behind her eyes begins to build. This is right, she thinks. This is fitting. The answer to her question earlier becomes clear. You said goodbye to someone once held dear by not saying it at all. It's easier that way.
Hilda's gaze lingers on his back a beat longer than she should before she tears it away. Rolling her shoulders back she takes a centering breath before bursting into the workshop, a whine on her lips bemoaning to Cyprian about being stuck in the warehouse, not once mentioning anything of the heart ache she had suffered at the hands of a broken lock. ]
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no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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? ]
no subject
It's almost offensive that the sun's still daring to share brightly and nothing about this day is as dim as it feels like it should be. The crowds pass by with all kinds of chatter, there's the calls of different shopkeepers looking to lure them in, and the breeze has the audacity to pick up then to carry away some of the day's warmth while he stands absently flexing his hands and willing himself to forget to the feel of her.
He could leave. There's nothing keeping him here as he's reminded himself several times in the space of a few seconds, but it's like something keeps him rooted to the spot. Until Hilda speaks and he blinks at the passersby he was watching without really seeing to look back at her, and then back at the building. ]
I suppose I probably should since I didn't actually finish what he told me to go in there and do. Wouldn't exactly be the best impression to leave there considering I'm here because of someone else in the first place.
[ He's stalling in ways that don't feel like something he'd do so Claude forces himself to take one step and then another like Hilda will fall into step with him like from other times, other places, and whether she does or not when it comes to where the shop and warehouse meet, he doesn't offer up a goodbye when it feels like this has been a long extended one enough already which won't bring them any closure at all. ]
no subject
No. It wouldn't.
[ Her quiet disapproval doesn't have bite to it, but it suggests that she better not hear about him leaving a mess for someone she's beginning to view as a mentor.
All of that masks her quiet hope that he won't leave, but that would be ridiculous because then they'd just be left standing here making awful small talk with no substance. Would that be so bad though if it means he's still close? As if he can read her mind he begins walking away, and of course her feet follow so dutifully like they have so often in the past. His stride is naturally longer than hers and she hurries to catch up, pushed along by the gentle breeze as if it hears her quiet desire to stay by his side.
In the past she used to whine about how fast he walked. And while the whining never really stopped, eventually, unbeknownst to her, she adapted to it, perfecting the pace at which he walked in her own stride. How many people had she done that for? The answer is clear as the sun that shone so rudely above them: very few, if any.
It doesn't feel right to say goodbye when they reach the junction between the shop and the warehouse. But as she turns to utter it to him, he's already continuing towards the warehouse staring straight ahead like he always had. Her mouth shuts. Pressure behind her eyes begins to build. This is right, she thinks. This is fitting. The answer to her question earlier becomes clear. You said goodbye to someone once held dear by not saying it at all. It's easier that way.
Hilda's gaze lingers on his back a beat longer than she should before she tears it away. Rolling her shoulders back she takes a centering breath before bursting into the workshop, a whine on her lips bemoaning to Cyprian about being stuck in the warehouse, not once mentioning anything of the heart ache she had suffered at the hands of a broken lock. ]