[ several days after their conversation, mia will find a special delivery to her suite: a cart loaded with a full-course meal, the presentation impeccable. tucked beneath one of the silver trays is a short note on creamy cardstock, written in a loping hand. ]
mister kindly has all my thanks for saving your life. enjoy your meal! ♥ -sanji
[ mister kindly mocks and sneers at mia for what she'd said about him, preening like the egotistical little wretch he is. you'd rather eat that boy for supper, wouldn't you? scheming bitch, he titters from her shoulder as she peruses what sanji's made up for her. it's fucking sumptuous, that's for sure. and she'll eat it all, falling back on old dining habits long rusted over in the privacy of her suite.
it takes naught but a moment to find his suite, and the morning after she's tucked into her meal, she slips a folded note under the door. ]
Sanji,
Don't tell Mister Kindly, but sometimes I'm thankful he saved me too. It does mean I get to enjoy a meal made by a passionate man. I'd love to hear you talk about some of your choices sometime.
[ He's pleased to have been recognized, though he refrains from saying as much for the sake of not having to chase the thread through to its end, i.e. that he and Set did eventually lose. ]
[ She definitely likes taking OTHER people into pieces. It's harder to get hers when she's the one being ripped apart, is all. Not impossible, just harder. ]
Actually, I got something really fun. Want to see it?
[ said mr. "has been here for a few months and still isn't necessarily thinking that a gift given by the house could at all result in negative consequences for him personally" ]
[ where she will be, five-foot-two of slender, gothic woman in leather pants and a loose blouse. no bra, no shoes. her mouth has been painted in a strong red, the pot long left behind. ( she has no problem lying to people, to get her way. ) her voice vaguely accented, somewhere between something unknowable, and the full vowels and bright consonants of italian. bold and heedless of social niceties, she leads without hesitation: ]
Ooh, salve. You look better up close, thanks for coming.
[ easily, she steps towards him — ready to greet him continental-style. ]
retroactively forward-dating this to mid/late jan, please do not look at the timestamps.
[ He'd seen her at the faire, of course, but seeing her in person paints a fuller picture. Goth is the first word that comes to mind — thought, for reasons lost upon him for the immediate moment, with less derision than it usually might be — but whatever else he thinks is— obliterated, in the next moment, by the brush of her lips against his cheek.
All anyone else would see is a smudge of red on his skin. Negligible, hardly worth nothing.
But he feels an instant flush of heat run through him, flickering in the pit of his stomach, like a switch turning on. He can't really hide it — has never had much of a poker face — his eyes widening as he draws back to look at her. It's not the first time he's lost control of himself, here, but certainly the first time he's lost control of himself like this. ]
Give him twenty seconds to stand there glowering out at her while trying to come to terms with the fact this is, in fact, happening. And then he'll give up on texting and just let her in. ]
Did you read the part where I told you I don't practice anymore?
[ You know that if you fall from a height, he's not going to be able to keep you alive long enough for the ambulance to arrive, right? ]
[ She hops her skirts free of the balcony's banister, shaking them out with both hands as she whips the bonnet off her head. There's less a reason to hide around people who've known her Prior to the Manor, if only because lying and misleading them is a fool's errand. Someone like Stephen's known her at her bloodiest, so she'll meet him sans mask. Well. Sans the mask she's worn for him, special. ]
Come on, Stephen. You know I'm not going to incriminate myself in writing. They can have "ate a koi fish" and "aha, she's actually sarcastic and not at all a wallflower" as my secret identity.
[ it's ok she won't fall ( unless it's into your arms pal ) ]
You know the real deal. It's business.
[ A heavy pause, and then incredulously: ] Did you really quit practicing?
[ Well, at least she's doing him the courtesy of honesty - and going out of her way for it, too, though he imagines it feels good to drop the facade for a minute. A lift of one hand shows the scars that trail his fingers, angry pink lines mapping the bones beneath the skin. His hand tremors where it's held up for her to see. ]
People don't want me rooting around in their heads anymore. Can't imagine why.
[ It means he'll no longer be coming down from on high whenever she invokes his name in the emergency department. His hand drops, satisfied he's made his point. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
— delivery
mister kindly has all my thanks for saving your life.
enjoy your meal! ♥
-sanji
( one, two, three, four, five, six. )
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it takes naught but a moment to find his suite, and the morning after she's tucked into her meal, she slips a folded note under the door. ]
Sanji,
Don't tell Mister Kindly, but sometimes I'm thankful he saved me too.
It does mean I get to enjoy a meal made by a passionate man.
I'd love to hear you talk about some of your choices sometime.
See you soon? Ciao,
Mia
✉️ text — un: homelander.
call it neighborly concern.
[ And not "I saw a nude girl walking around the tourney like she'd just been put through twenty MMA matches." ]
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Cute that you were worried, but I'd much rather be known for winning.
[ it's not that cute ]
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Nobody cares about losers.
Did I catch your eye? You want a belated go at it?
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besides, one of us would lose, and where would we be then?
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You were serving straight murder in the tennis matches, right?
I'll pass on that. I'm enjoying myself too much as-is.
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it is a little tougher to have fun in pieces.
win anything good from all that wrestling, then?
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Actually, I got something really fun. Want to see it?
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[ said mr. "has been here for a few months and still isn't necessarily thinking that a gift given by the house could at all result in negative consequences for him personally" ]
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[ where she will be, five-foot-two of slender, gothic woman in leather pants and a loose blouse. no bra, no shoes. her mouth has been painted in a strong red, the pot long left behind. ( she has no problem lying to people, to get her way. ) her voice vaguely accented, somewhere between something unknowable, and the full vowels and bright consonants of italian. bold and heedless of social niceties, she leads without hesitation: ]
Ooh, salve. You look better up close, thanks for coming.
[ easily, she steps towards him — ready to greet him continental-style. ]
retroactively forward-dating this to mid/late jan, please do not look at the timestamps.
All anyone else would see is a smudge of red on his skin. Negligible, hardly worth nothing.
But he feels an instant flush of heat run through him, flickering in the pit of his stomach, like a switch turning on. He can't really hide it — has never had much of a poker face — his eyes widening as he draws back to look at her. It's not the first time he's lost control of himself, here, but certainly the first time he's lost control of himself like this. ]
I—
[ Shit. What was he saying? ]
Couldn't turn a lady down.
@sstrange
What are you doing here Amelia?
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Seriously?! Stephen?!
I'm starting to think this whole thing was a set-up from the start.
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I've been sent here as punishment.
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I'm sure that's a thing in some circles, but I didn't know that was your scene.
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Whatever you want to imagine the disgrace is, that's fine. I've been pretending I ate his prize koi in a fit of insanity.
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One of the Balfours need a consult? That'd be juicy.
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[ If she's not going to give him a straightforward answer, he doesn't feel particularly obliged to either. ]
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[ yes she will phrase it That Way in writing ]
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Sorry to disappoint.
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Look out your window, btw.
[ she's crawling over the edge of the balcony, all dark hair and ring-esque limbs 8) ]
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Give him twenty seconds to stand there glowering out at her while trying to come to terms with the fact this is, in fact, happening. And then he'll give up on texting and just let her in. ]
Did you read the part where I told you I don't practice anymore?
[ You know that if you fall from a height, he's not going to be able to keep you alive long enough for the ambulance to arrive, right? ]
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Come on, Stephen. You know I'm not going to incriminate myself in writing. They can have "ate a koi fish" and "aha, she's actually sarcastic and not at all a wallflower" as my secret identity.
[ it's ok she won't fall ( unless it's into your arms pal ) ]
You know the real deal. It's business.
[ A heavy pause, and then incredulously: ] Did you really quit practicing?
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People don't want me rooting around in their heads anymore. Can't imagine why.
[ It means he'll no longer be coming down from on high whenever she invokes his name in the emergency department. His hand drops, satisfied he's made his point. ]
What business this time?
text, un: sunshine