au meme } running from the law | blythe

[piqued]

from here.

She isn’t His Consigliere. He isn’t her Soldier. But when it’s time to run, it’s Time to Run, and it doesn’t always get to be Clean and Simple as would be Convenient.

There will be time to sort themselves out properly. Until then, well, at least the di Spade and the Coppe families are more Allied than not these days. It means driving just a Hair above the speed limit down a dark country road with her in his car isn’t a Problem.

Just not the Most Convenient.

“I’m sure we’ll be there soon, Miss.”

Somewhere Safe. Relatively, at any rate.

Comments

[piqued]

Julien wouldn't be trembling. It makes him hesitate half a step, wonder what Exactly one does with a woman holding things together like this.

"...quite, Miss."

So he does what he would do with Julien. He reaches for her cigarette to flick away, pulls out his own pack to offer her a fresh one. It's a Small thing, perhaps, but it's an act of Care. Of Normalcy between people of their respective ranks.

"Whenever you're ready to rest, Miss, I'll see to your clothes."

[somuchheart]

With the last Boss poisoned and the new one just getting acclimated to the job, it's up to the Consigliere to keep things running smoothly. As always.

Her eyebrows shoot up when he offers her his pack. She slowly takes out a cigarette, twirling it between her fingers to feel the weight before lighting it. It smells normal. Feels normal. Brings the familiar taste to the back of her throat, nothing more than the usual calm to her mind.

"I'm starving," she says quietly. "I'd like... some food, first. Before I change."

[piqued]

The Arrangement of being together won't be Forever. The heat will ease up and they'll go back to their separate Realms. But for now?

It's good she takes the Cigarette. Trusts it enough to take the first Drag. It's the beginning of the Trust they're going to need until they can come out the other side of this.

"Shall I show you the kitchen or make it myself, Miss?"

[somuchheart]

"I'll make it myself," Blythe decides authoritatively. At least. She'll surely be able to throw something together. Waiting for his guidance, she follows him to wherever he leads her - though a question does strike her on the way.

"... what should I call you? Unless- you'd prefer Sir?"

[piqued]

There's a minute relaxing of his shoulders at stepping into a kitchen. Kitchens, at least, are always familiar in their rings. Always smell the same. Tomato, flour, just an underlying taste of peroxide. Wonderful.

"Everyone calls me 'Chives,' Miss."

[somuchheart]

"Chives," she murmurs, nodding. "Where's the bread?"

Because she can do a sandwich. Or, well. Putting spread on bread. That counts, right?

He's probably going to cringe.

[piqued]

Bread is gotten quickly. So, after half a second, are the tomatoes and the lettuce, the onions and the sliced meats.

Because really.

She said she was hungry. She ought to make an Actual Sandwich.

[somuchheart]

But then she'll have to use a knife. And while she can stab people, she's useless when it comes to slicing.

"... I'm fine, Chives."

[piqued]

He's fairly well Trained to accept what those above him say. And yet.

"...that can't be enough, Miss."

[somuchheart]

She huffs, but there's the slightest bit of amusement in her breath. "I can't do more than this in a kitchen, and I'm sorry, but I cannot allow a stranger to prepare a meal for me. You understand."

[piqued]

"...I can't cut tomatoes for you, Miss?"

That.

That's going to make their time together Tricky.

[somuchheart]

"My previous boss was poisoned. You must understand my... heightened concern."

She hesitates, then lets her shoulders slump. "Although I suppose-- one tomato can't hurt."

[piqued]

The knife is in his hand faster than would make a person feel quite safe. If he chops more than one tomato, if an onion and the head of lettuce follow, well, he's making Himself a sandwich as well.

"If it's any cold comfort, Miss, that's far from our style."

The di Spade were much, much better known for stabbing people from the front.

[somuchheart]

She snorts, her voice sharp and dry. "I know that. It's far from our style too, and yet the attack came from within."

[piqued]

"And that is certainly a shame, Miss. It only seems less than economical to have brought you here to poison your sandwich."

The Panic would have been a perfect time to blame the police for any of their usual, Overt sort of murders.

[somuchheart]

She hesitates for a final moment before relenting and tearing into her own sandwich with gusto. After she swallows, she manages to say, "no meat, please, and extra tomatoes."

[piqued]

Well. That's certainly Much Nicer, isn't it. A much more Sustainable position to be settling into for their first of what will likely be Many days together.

There's a faint Hum on his lips as he pops a piece of tomato into his own mouth, bobs his head as he pulls another two red fruits from the basket. Two sandwiches--one with meat, one with extra tomato.

A Good Start, surely.

[somuchheart]

As she eats this sandwich with more finesse, she looks up at him thoughtfully. "You should teach me. It's about time I learned to support myself."

[piqued]

"...to slice tomatoes, Miss?"

Give him a second to take that in properly. To think there were Grown-Up People who in fact ranked Above him and couldn't... slice tomatoes.

[somuchheart]

"I was thinking more along the lines of cooking in general, though slicing tomatoes could be a good start." She raises an eyebrow. "Just in case I need to fend for myself, it might be a good idea to be able to make something more than a sandwich. Don't you agree?"

[piqued]

He does. He very, very much Does.

"...we'll start in the morning, then."

[somuchheart]

"Good," she says, with an almost smile. "Once we finish up here, can you get me some nightclothes, Chives?"

[piqued]

That, at least, is easy enough. Both sandwiches made, his mind whirling the entire time, and one set before her on the counter. His own is ignored in favour of moving off again, finding the old woman who manages the safe house in their behalf to arrange for clothing.

[somuchheart]

She notices he hasn't eaten, files it away in her mind, but doesn't say anything. As long as she finds herself a bed and some decent nightclothes (read: not too revealing), she'll be set for the night.

[piqued]

He'll eat once he's certain things have been Arranged, unwind to a certain extent in the kitchen over his sandwich, finally loosen his tie.

This can't last long. It genuinely can't.