573. DON'T YOU LOCK THE DOOR? (Now on IJ as well)
You Should Have Knocked
So everyone has had this moment in their life, the one where they were so impatient or absent minded they went flinging a door open when they really shouldn't have. Sometimes its not your fault, how could you know your housemate and his girlfriend were having sex on the kitchen table!? Othertimes someone was in the bathroom ( Read more... )
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And Eights can, in their rush, take the key with them.
It's entirely Undignified, knowing someone has to rescue him from this. Hopefully it will be no one of consequence.
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She probably should have knocked. Instead, she'll blink and then stare for a moment, and then step inside and close the door. "...Chives."
It's probably fortunate that she wore her hair up today, and she plucks a hairpin out of her chignon. It can be sacrificed to the cause.
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"Miss Seven." His face doesn't particularly change. Shame, discomfort, awkwardness; these aren't particularly things that register on his face at the best of times, let alone at a time like This. "I hope I've not kept you or Master Victor waiting?"
Because what else is a person supposed to do or say while sitting half-naked and perched on the edge of one's bed, wrist red from being clawed at in impossible escape attempts?
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She doesn't smile as she bends her hairpin and then pulls another out - it's been a while since she's had to pick a lock, but she remembers how it goes. "No, of course not," she says as she sits next to him on the bed. "I was just looking for you to return your copy of The Art of War. Thank you, by the way, I have no idea where mine went."
Mention the fact that she's picking up his wrist to try to open the handcuffs he's gotten stuck in? Of course not. Don't be ridiculous. Not when she's perfectly capable of holding a pleasant conversation about anything else in the world.
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He can't help the slight jerk away from her. It's brief, quickly stilled, more a half-aborted movement than an actual tug away. It isn't a comment on her, or the situation. It's just an old instinct.
His breath is briefly a touch sharper. He'll appreciate if she'll also not comment on that.
"That's very kind of you, Miss." When he speaks, at least, his tone stays calm and even, as bland as ever. "Shall I have a word with the staff to be on the look-out?"
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It's possible that the reason she works so well with Victor, and Chives, and Sieben...is because she steadfastly doesn't mention those little things. They're noted, of course, but then ignored.
"That would be lovely of you," she says easily as she twists hairpins into the lock. "Can you hold this one and twist it counter-clockwise as I twist this one clockwise? Thank you."
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Because this is just Business. She's got a Task for him, and he's completing it as he carefully plucks the pin from her fingers to twist on her command. He might as well be pouring her a cup of tea or holding her coat at ready while she finished fixing her hair.
Simple, Everyday Things, here in the Castle Spades. Except maybe he'd find a quiet, wordless way to thank her for his emancipation before she left.
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She exhales as she hears it, and pulls out the pins with a satisfied nod as the cuffs spring open. "You'll want some ointment for your wrist, I think," she says in the same matter-of-fact voice as she sets the bent pins on his nightstand. "Should I leave you to it?"
Because Not Asking is clearly the way of the day. Not Asking and pretending this never happened at all, except that it did.
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"The second to lowest drawer, Miss Seven. If you don't mind."
Because as much as they'll both swear this Never Happened, one of the few ways Chives knows to thank people is to show an inkling of trust. And trust is shown by letting someone else look after your vulnerabilities. Or, you know. Letting someone else reach into your medical cupboard to pull out some ointment and gauze so you can say the 'thank you' words when they hand them to you.
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She doesn't ask if he needs assistance, but the tilt of her head is a question in itself.
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Because this is Trust. And Trust is letting one's face behave naturally. True, Chives' most organic expressions are still generally a bland mask, but, at moments like this, it's just a touch... Rumpled.
"Thank you, Miss Zoë. You've the graciousness of a saint."
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The cost of two sacrificed hairpins.
"You're quite welcome, Chives. No need to even mention it."
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