maskormenacelogs | you know you could have it so much better

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you know you could have it so much better

WHO: SHADE and GILBERT
WHERE: Residence #004
WHEN: 3/7 evening
WHAT: One actual Victorian fellow and one not really Victorian fellow smoking a smoke and being classy and weird. Probably more weird than classy.
WARNINGS: tba

[ Sharon hadn't been herself before Gil had come to realize she had been infected with some mysterious virus whose origins were still unknown to him by the end of it. She needed rest after such a grueling and strange week and he tended to her without crowding her. It was never polite to impose too much on a young lady, especially the Duchess Rainsworth's granddaughter.

But then she disappeared and he was filled with temporary panic before it receded and was replaced by a touch of happiness and comfort Sharon was back where she belonged.

Then came bitter thoughts. He was supposed to be happy she was ported back home, to continue what they had all started out to finish regarding the Baskervilles, Leo, the Sealing Stones, and the mysteries of the Abyss. But while pleased for Sharon, he began to wonder when his turn would come. Three years away from Oz was rapidly approaching and his throat felt tight and head dizzy and heavy.

He needed to get back and yet here he was. All he could do was focus on cleaning the home, offering Aileen the now spare bedroom, preparing meals, and when the evening settled in and quiet fell upon the neighborhood he stepped out into the backyard and took long drags of his cigarette, watching the sun disappear from view. ]

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[ Shade really did prefer a certain style of life, and most of it began in the evening. Oh certainly, he was around during the day, but the man never seemed quite as active as he did at night. Lethargy melted away to the shadowy, shadowy man looking fully alert and active, his movements always more fluid, the ever-present smile on his lips just a touch more genuine.

He was at home at night, so it was no surprise that after dinner, when things were settling, and after everyone else seemed to wind down, was when Shade himself slipped into the dark to smoke as well.

He didn't do cigarettes, finding there to be no ritual to it, and Shade loved his rituals. Everything had a purpose, as he slipped from the shadows more like a spectre, a hand on his pipe, stuffing it with tobacco. ]

Gilbert. [ His greeting was soft, but conversational, hand reaching back into the darkness before reappearing with a match, one of the old sorts that struck on any surface. He lit it in silence, before tipping his head to him again. ]

You know, you don't have to cook every night, I'm more than happy to take some of that duty.

[ He was a gourmet. ]

[ Gil startles quietly before easing back into a more relaxed form, the cigarette dangling from the edge of a slightly open mouth before he reaches up with two long fingers to hold it in place. ]

Oh.

[ He starts around the cigarette, taking another drag from it before pulling it out from between his lips. Finally, he expels the smoke, a cloud of it circling his head before dissipating into Florida's winter evening air, a winter he's still not accustomed to without snow or bitter cold or icicles hanging from the edge of rooftops. ]

It's fine. I don't mind at all, Shade.

[ It gives him something to do, which he desperately needs. ]

Edited 2014-03-08 09:52 (UTC)

Nonsense! Simply because you don't mind it, doesn't mean it's hardly fair for you to do all of this work.

[ The Shade was a particularly tidy sort, all things considered, but he didn't like cleaning. What person did?

Cooking, however, he at least feel somewhat useful on, but he had a feeling that there was more to this issue than Gil was talking about. Not that he was the expert on this particular man, but he knew people. ]

Unless there's a reason I should defer all tasks to you?

It's hardly that.

[ "Hard" work that is.

He lifts the cigarette to his lips again, taking a shorter drag this time, but always the taste of nicotine as usual. It's such a disgusting, shameful habit, yet it helps him soothe those nerves of his to a degree. His first thought is to try and quit again and his second thought is that there's no point; he's tried around a dozen times already. ]

Like I said, I don't mind. [ He doesn't look at Shade the whole time he talks, blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth. ] At least preparing the meals. The others need to learn to take care after themselves.

[ People who can't cook is one thing, but messes? Absolutely not going to stand for that. ]

Indeed they do.

[ Shade was a low-mess creature, but then again, considering that he could simply sweep it to the darkness of his shadow, and it would fall into a pit that it wouldn't escape from, or see the light of day ever again in.

Not that Shade was using his shadows as a dump, just that he could. ]

But regardless, perhaps I should treat you to dinner sometime, as thanks. You are an excellent cook, and I don't give that compliment often.

[ He puffed at the pipe, drawing the tobacco in, letting the bright flame take light in the bowl, before fading to smoke, when he stopped inhaling, a duller ember still lit. ]

[ Before he can take another puff, he chokes on the air and takes a few seconds to recover, trying to wrap his thoughts around the mysterious Shade, a figure literally cloaked in darkness, making such an offer to him. ]

You're being too generous.

[ As the sun hasn't disappeared yet, the blood in Gil's cheeks is too easy to spot. ]

[ He looked at him, just a small aside, his eyes dipping to the side slightly. ]

Am I? It's nothing, I assure you.

[ He stands there, in the twilight, the shadows beneath him deeper and darker than for most people, like it's a pool of inky black that only he can walk the surface of, and he turned, to give him a look. ]

I think, Gilbert, you have trouble accepting aid.

[ No, comes a voice in the back of his head ― his own voice, small but sharp in defense. It's not that he has trouble, he thinks, it's that the others don't measure up to his standards of cleanliness or proper meals. They don't respect house rules the way he and Sharon did. And now, apparently Shade himself.

When Gil finally looks at Shade, the tips of his ears burn, and his lips and throat dry up. He feels very small suddenly, under the ever mysterious watch of Shade. ]

I... don't have anything else to take care of after work. It gives me something to do in the house.

Edited (how about i not use the same icon twice in a row) 2014-03-10 06:35 (UTC)

[ Shade's lips curled, in an eerie, knowing way, and he looked at him from over the edges of his sunglasses, gray eyes peering over them. Of course his eyes would be gray, the entire man seemed to so easily wash out to gray. ]

Gilbert. [ His voice was chiding, not like he was speaking to a child, but instead someone who simply didn't understand. ] I don't sleep. I have all the time in the world. Isn't there some hobby you would choose to indulge in, if you had the time?

[ He doesn't take the lack of sleep part literally. It's Shade, who knows what he means sometimes?

His arm rises, fingers digging into the back of his hair and scratching idly. ]

Hobby? Well...

[ He doesn't have many, honestly. He hasn't had the focus or drive to do anything specifically for himself lately after Sharon's departure. Everything he does, he needs to do for someone, otherwise he's just as useless as the others tease.

So, the reality is he's not just doing it for others, he's doing it mainly for his own self-satisfaction. ]

I read sometimes. And bake.

What sorts of things do you read?

[ He almost sounded earnest at that. Like he was genuinely interested.

Then again, the Shade was interested in those sorts of things. After all, Shade was the kind of person that was something of an author groupie. Those that favored literature, he was often likely to find himself near the sorts that did write.

Or collect their works, when they were long gone, and his 1st editions were missing from this world. ]

I brought quite the collection, you know, when we came from our last world.

[ He had actually forgotten, but even if he hadn't, Gil isn't the type to easily ask for someone else's personal items, books or not.

He taps the the cigarette, letting loose ash clinging to the end and watching it get swept away by the soft, evening breeze. The air is slowly thickening with the scent of ash and nicotine. He feels partly bad in case any of the other housemates step out into the backyard. They're going to be hit with the smell and smoke the second they do. ]

Holy Knight. [ It's automatic. ] Um, it's one of the more popular series of novels back home. [ He knows how this is going to sound, being a grown man. ] They're mainly adventure.

Adventure hm?

[ Honestly, he was surprised. Gilbert didn't seem like the type, for certain. He thought the boy a bit more of a droll sort, perhaps more interested in poetry than true fiction, but here he was, mildly surprised, and pleased by the development.

After all, he could work with that. ]

Perhaps I'll lend you a few of mine, to pass the time. Have you read Peter and Wendy? Or perhaps the Old Curiosity Shop, by Dickens.

Although that's a little less adventure, but a riveting tale nonetheless. [ That, and Dickens really was his bff ]

Dickens. [ The cigarette continues to burn idly as he pours through memory, trying to recall that name. He knows he's heard it... or read it somewhere before.

It clicks a few seconds later. ] Charles Dickens, you mean? No, I don't believe I've read any of his works.

I've read a bit of Tolkien's works. And Les Miserables I ended up seeing at the movies, but I know it was a famous book before that.

[ It really is an assortment he reads. ]

It was, yes.

[ He nodded, starting to get a feel for what he likes to read. He certainly didn't pick and choose, which was something that he could admire. Really, he could.

After all, most fiction was enjoyable, in one way or another. ]

I have some I think you might enjoy, then. Oscar Wilde may catch your fancy as well, mm, some of them, perhaps.

[ He puffed at his pipe a bit, considering. ] It's a shame I don't have all of the editions I had in Opal. You may have enjoyed my library.

You're already offering enough. [ He's not always good with saying thanks or accepting generous offers, but he begins to ease up around Shade then, and nods his head appreciatively. ] Thank you.

[ He wonders why Shade is offering in the first place. Is his depressing atmosphere spreading throughout the house? Is it because of Sharon? ]

... I've been worrying everyone again, haven't I?

Just a touch. It's a little obsessive.

[ He shrugged, because he understood. He'd spent days cleaning his own home once a year, but this was a new home, and not a dusty mansion on Paper street, that saw little use in some areas, depending on his whims. ]

This is something that happens often? Don't fret about the books, either. I'm lending them to you, not giving them away as gifts.

[ They were first editions, after all. ]

[ The cigarette is halfway to his lips and yet he chokes anyway, coughing aloud and quickly attempting to clear his throat to wheeze: ] I'm not o-obsessing!

[ His face and neck grow hot. He doesn't look at Shade, averting his gaze once more while the blush creeps back into his cheeks and ears. ]

... Of course.

[ He wouldn't keep them. They're what's left of Shade's belongings from the City, aren't they? He couldn't even dream of it. ]

Are you not?

[ He tipped his head in a way to Gilbert that clearly said that he didn't believe him. In the slightest. ]

I'd say that you may be. There's no need to cook so often, particularly when some of us are offering to assist with some household duties?

You haven't even tried my salmon mousse yet!

No.

[ He's about to take a drag from his cigarette and notices there's barely a stick left. He reaches over to the one table they have sitting outside, where an ashtray sits and puts out what's left of his cigarette and leaves it there. It's not long before he's retrieving his case from his pocket for another. ]

Alright, alright.

[ He'll concede. ]

You can cook dinner tomorrow night. I think we're the only ones who can anyway.

Likely, yes. Or the only two with any standards.

[ His voice is wry. Oh, he's sure the rest of them can take care of themselves, but there's a difference between fending for oneself, and actually cooking what either of them would consider proper meals.

Then again, Shade was also British, and that meant some of the things he cooked were probably not going to be well received. ]

I guarantee, you'll be pleasantly surprised. [ He paused, already plotting out, before he lit on an idea. ]

I don't think I know your favorite food.

[ It may be impolite, but Gil doesn't feel Shade is wrong about that. He was nitpicky back home to a degree and it seems there was less food to go around than it can now. So much processed foods and junk, it hurts the cook in him. ]

My favorite?

[ He lights the end of the fresh cigarette. ]

I don't really have one.

Nothing?

[ He almost sounded surprised. Curiously, he looked over, as if the idea of not having a favorite food was unheard of.

Most chefs had a favorite dish, after all. ]

Very well then, anything that you haven't had in some time, that you would prefer?

[ For a grown man such as himself, who also manages to stay in shape, Gil eats practically like a bird. Small meals or just coffee or tea before he has to go about his day. To most it would be an unhealthy lifestyle.

He mulls over it. ]

... Scones, but that's not a proper dinner meal.

[ Stress baking is easier than stress cooking. ]

Steak is alright if prepared properly. It's so expensive, though.

[ Now that Shade could do, and if Gilbert didn't know where the steak came from -- Shade's small yet growing reserve of funds -- or that there were scones perhaps for breakfast and a midafternoon snack instead of lunch --

Well! He'd be quite pleased with himself.

It wasn't as if he had needs, most of his money was spent on things like books, or the rarer, more expensive ingredients for his own meals. ]

I can assure you, I can properly prepare steak. Don't you concern yourself with that.

[ He was already starting to put together a menu in his head. ]

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