I held my breath

[population_ctrl]

Who: Juliet Montague (capuletnomore) and Jean Louis Duroc (population_ctrl).
When: 16.08 (backdated).
Where: The Duroc house.
Rating: PG.
Summary: Juliet being much too kind. And Jean Louis, being much too drunk.

Comments

[capuletnomore]

If there is one thing that will give Juliet enough courage to venture out unescorted, it is seeing a friend in clear need of help. she wraps her shawl tightly around her shoulders, and gathers a few things from the kitchen into her new basket - slightly smaller than the old one, but intact, thank God. There is some smoked meat, a small jar of crushed berries, and the last of those wafer-thin crackers. She also tucks in one of the two hard-boiled eggs, hard-won from one of the chickens running wild; the other she'll leave for either Bubbles or Spike. She also is sure to tuck her PCD inside safely, but near enough to the top that she may press the button to display where she is, should anything happen on her way.

Thankfully, the trip is brief. She walks quickly, eyes alert, and encounters no one. She spares one longing glance at her former home as she passes it, but does not slow her pace. She knocks on the door lightly, then tries the knob.

"Lord Duroc?" she calls as she steps inside. She takes care to shut the door behind

[population_ctrl]

The door squeaks very slightly on its hinges, alerting him to her arrival. He catches himself looking up a bit too quickly - a bit too eagerly. But the sound of her voice reminds him that he's being pitiful; pitiful and ridiculous. Sitting here, drinking like... well. For a second, he freezes, about to fill up the empty whiskey glass on the table. Then, uncaring about how it must seem to Juliet, he throws it against the nearest wall, watching as it shatters all over the floor.

If nothing else, at least he'll drink from the flask. Even when heading straight for the gutter, Jean Louis doesn't believe in dwindling. He also doesn't believe in looking that much like the biggest loser he's ever known.

He realises that she has called out his name; but it's a bit late for proper greetings now, isn't it?

[capuletnomore]

The sound of shattering glass lets her know where to find him, and the sort of mood he must be in. She walks into the sitting room carefully, her eyes taking in the scene before her. He is, quite frankly, a mess. Not that she blames him, after what has happened.

She curtsies lightly in greeting, then takes her basket into the kitchen to set it upon the table. Her eyes are downcast so she can avoid the broken glass on the floor. She isn't here to create a bigger mess. Her shawl, she drapes over the back of one of the chairs. Then, she turns to the sink and prepares a damp cloth. To her reckoning, he'll need it.

"I have brought over a bit of food, if you are able to stomach it," she calls over her shoulder. "If not now, it will keep until later."

[population_ctrl]

He pauses. Food? Then, he winces and pushes that thought as far away as he can. Definitely not. He's not surprised that she's brought him supplies, though; it's in her nature. This odd type of generosity that he can't entirely understand. He recognises it well enough, however, and he certainly knows how to make use of it.

"Then leave it." He hasn't raised his voice for hours. It sounds rusty, a layer of whiskey leaving the words somewhat fragmented. He doesn't normally drink at all - or if he does, only in strict moderation - and every single side-effect makes him feel ridiculous. "Did you come here by yourself?"

Last he heard, she wasn't overly comfortable with venturing about alone. He definitely doesn't want unexpected guests tonight - she'd know better than to bring any, of course, but he asks anyway. For the sake of conversation, perhaps, rather than gaining information.