[ You're right, I b'awwed Oz's first instinct is to smile lightly, glad to see that the years he was he gone weren't filled with just emptiness and depression. However, that fondness fades when it registers in his head that that's his sister and servant and by gods who gave Gilbert the right to dance with his master's sister?! ]
[ And like that, Oz is up and off his feet, trekking across the cottage, but before he can get to Gilbert's room, he pauses, holding the Dreamberry tighter. ...But Gil was happy, wasn't he? Hadn't he been smiling?... ] Stupid servant [ it's a mutter, because he's torn between being happy that they're happy, and feeling protective of Ada, and then feeling disconnected, because they both had ten years. He didn't ... ]
[ He's about to just go back to bed and use this as potential black-mailer later if he ever needs it, but one look back to the screen reconfirms what happened last night. He had seen the maids and his Uncle's morning-after reaction to alcohol enough to know what was transpiring ]So
( ... )
[It takes a little while for the occasional clatters from the kitchen to sink into his consciousness, but he creaks an eye open when they do. It is rare indeed that any of the other household occupants are up before him, let alone up and actually doing something, and it is difficult to know whether to be surprised or concerned. Either way, it seems a good reason to try to move at last
( ... )
[ At that point, Oz has already pushed away most of last night out of his immediate conscious. Vincent's words, Gilbert's little drunken stunts and .. and then there's that conscious part of him that's trying his damnedest to make something decent for Gilbert, because hangovers must be horrible. And he was the one to get Gilbert to drink and --
And he really sucks as a master.
Needless to say, the cooking isn't going that well, but there's actual edible soup on the stove and Oz is unharmed, save for a few pieces of stray cabbage that has gotten in his hair. And a few drops of sauce splattered along his cheeks and collar. And was that Gilbert? ]
Out here, Gil~ [ Though there's a notable weight to his words, as if strained after everything lately. ]
[Whether it is because he is half-listening for it, or because it takes more than a raging headache to completely dull the Oz-sense, he catches the tension in the call. Tension that shouldn't be there, should never be there. And yet it is, all too often. Why, in a place like this, a peaceful place, is the tension there? How can he call himself a servant if he can't even protect the smile on Oz's face?
Both guilt and shoulders hitch a little higher, and one hand clutches at his chest, grabbing a fistful of the crumpled material of his shirt as he shuffles to the entrance of the kitchen.]
Oz, I- [He breaks off from both sentence and deep misery to stare at the little shreds of vegetable poking out from blonde hair, before lifting a hand to gesture at his own head in example.] Ah, you have...
[ Oz doesn't seem to catch on to what Gilbert is pointing out, and instead smiles warmly in way of greeting. Whether he thought the gesture was in regards to the soup or just a hello was still questionable. Regardless, he turned his gaze back to the brewing soup, nose wrinkling a bit in determination. He could handle this. He could make soup, damnit. ]
I made sure not to use any peppers, Gil. ♥ [ He gives the concoction another poke with the large ladle, inspecting it seriously as he stirs it. ] The maids once said that soup is the best for hangovers, right?
[ He glanced over his shoulder, the faintest real smile back on his lips. He'd prove to Vincent, no--to himself--that Gilbert was as devoted as he always had been. ]
[The peppers comment throws him further off track, though not nearly so much as the following realisation that Oz isn't cooking because he's hungry, he's cooking soup for a hangover. Oz is cooking soup...for him. For him. He should be angry or disappointed or any other normal reaction a master has when their servant fails to meet the standard, and instead he's...
[ A huff comes from Oz at once as he takes the ladle out for a second. He points it at Gilbert, brows raised and chest puffed out just a smidgen, eying him down intensely like he used to when they were both this age. ]
Ah... there you go, Gilbert. Telling your master what he should or shouldn't do. [ A smirk works its way higher on his lips as he puts the ladle back in and leans his back against the counter. ]
You were always so helpless. It's nice to see you like this once in awhile~ [ he hums it with that same tyrannical smirk, though it's a bit softer ]
[Gil responds to the brandished ladle and reprimand as if it truly is ten years and twenty-five centimetres ago, ducking his head like any scolded child. Odd how Oz can still do this to him - how time can suddenly seem such an inconsistent, unimportant thing when only moments before it had defined everything.]
[ Oz can only stop and blink at that, noting how easily Gilbert falls into place. He lowers his own gaze, allowing a small, "heh" to escape his lips before he brings his gaze back up. ]
Don't apologize, it's my fault you had to drink. [ He waves his hand to dismiss it before adding ] And it's not your fault you're a useless light-weight. I don't see anything else we have to discuss, Gil.
Unless you did something else last night I don't know about?
[ And like that, Oz is up and off his feet, trekking across the cottage, but before he can get to Gilbert's room, he pauses, holding the Dreamberry tighter. ...But Gil was happy, wasn't he? Hadn't he been smiling?... ] Stupid servant [ it's a mutter, because he's torn between being happy that they're happy, and feeling protective of Ada, and then feeling disconnected, because they both had ten years. He didn't ... ]
[ He's about to just go back to bed and use this as potential black-mailer later if he ever needs it, but one look back to the screen reconfirms what happened last night. He had seen the maids and his Uncle's morning-after reaction to alcohol enough to know what was transpiring ]So ( ... )
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And he really sucks as a master.
Needless to say, the cooking isn't going that well, but there's actual edible soup on the stove and Oz is unharmed, save for a few pieces of stray cabbage that has gotten in his hair. And a few drops of sauce splattered along his cheeks and collar. And was that Gilbert? ]
Out here, Gil~ [ Though there's a notable weight to his words, as if strained after everything lately. ]
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Both guilt and shoulders hitch a little higher, and one hand clutches at his chest, grabbing a fistful of the crumpled material of his shirt as he shuffles to the entrance of the kitchen.]
Oz, I- [He breaks off from both sentence and deep misery to stare at the little shreds of vegetable poking out from blonde hair, before lifting a hand to gesture at his own head in example.] Ah, you have...
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I made sure not to use any peppers, Gil. ♥ [ He gives the concoction another poke with the large ladle, inspecting it seriously as he stirs it. ] The maids once said that soup is the best for hangovers, right?
[ He glanced over his shoulder, the faintest real smile back on his lips. He'd prove to Vincent, no--to himself--that Gilbert was as devoted as he always had been. ]
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He's out in the kitchen cooking soup.]
You shouldn't be doing that.
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Ah... there you go, Gilbert. Telling your master what he should or shouldn't do. [ A smirk works its way higher on his lips as he puts the ladle back in and leans his back against the counter. ]
You were always so helpless. It's nice to see you like this once in awhile~ [ he hums it with that same tyrannical smirk, though it's a bit softer ]
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I'm sorry. For last night.
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Don't apologize, it's my fault you had to drink. [ He waves his hand to dismiss it before adding ] And it's not your fault you're a useless light-weight. I don't see anything else we have to discuss, Gil.
Unless you did something else last night I don't know about?
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