(Untitled)
In fairness, Candice thinks, neither of them are very good at divulging relevant information promptly. She's been busy. He's been busy. It wasn't a big deal. She forgot. -- no, actually, none of those things are an excuse. Part of it was that she wasn't sure how to explain the hotel room, but honesty is the best policy, to a certain extent ( Read more... )
For going on the past few months now, Martel has been working on something of a vanity project - a useful vanity project, but nevertheless. It started as something to occupy himself with, then he simply wanted to see if he could.
Simply put: electric lights are useful. Martel has been trying to recreate that usefulness ... with magic. It's simple enough, to start with - but then the sheer scale of the castle itself and the addition of a trigger method that anyone could use... (Of course, he himself has more direct and wider control, but for the day to day.)
When Candice finds him, he's fresh out of a bath and looks somewhere between exhausted and elated. He did it.
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Martel is always, without fail, charmed by how consistently she allows for his shoulder. "Is that so?"
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"I met someone else with your face in the Nexus," she says, innocently, "not an alternate--shorter hair, from my time. Well, close to it, anyway. So, um...he was stranded, and I had this hotel room conveniently available..."
Quite a surprise for the cowboy.
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There's a pause, and then Martel laughs. Suffice it to say he's sure that that would, in fact, come as quite a shock. When he gets that under control, he inquires, "Not an alternate?"
What, short hair and modern still describes Aloysus.
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"His name was Nick Hardaway. His mannerisms were very different to yours, as was his life, I think--although he had died, prior to coming to the Nexus. He was still trying to cope when I found him." She sounds very sympathetic about that, not just because of Martel, but that's a substantial part of it.
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"Curious." And fascinating, actually. Martel watches his magic fire over there for a while, thoughtful. "Death's a strange thing." Says the dead man to his death-attuned psychic fiancee, yes.
"...as are strangers with my face."
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"I think you'd like him," she offers, and then mentally reassesses that claim. Actually, no, she has no idea. Candice certainly likes the both of them, but their shared inclinations toward vagueness and the fact that Nick is psychic might put a damper on interaction if they ever ran into one another. It's a bit of a wild card.
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It's hard to predict how Martel will react to Nick, aside from the easy money bet he probably won't like his hair. (Blond? Short? Looks like it desperately needs a comb? ...c'mon, now.)
"I might." Or, alternatively: he might not. It's not as though he's Mr Congeniality here.
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"You do tend to be unpredictable," she says, seriously, and then steals a kiss.
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"The word you want, darling, is 'contrary'." He kisses her again after he murmurs this, more wry than dry for once.
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"Difficult," she contradicts, almost laughing, "impossible, possibly."
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"Impossible! No," he does laugh, his fingers brushing down her neck and her back, "No, I'm not impossible."
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"No?" Candice feigns disbelief, sliding closer to him. "And how is that? I'm curious. How can I best ply you, caballero?"
That specific tone of voice has returned, evidently.
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Not even an hour, guys? Seriously?
"Well," Martel begins, with a thoughtful air, "that helps."
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Candice wants it noted she hasn't even done anything yet! (Yet.) "Go on," she prompts, leaning against him.
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"I think you'll find-" and he's so very innocently mild, "-the fewer obstacles in my path, the less difficult I become."
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