2019-07-22 - No Sugar Coating

Small towns gossip. They especially enjoy discussing the goings-on with their more prominent families. So even if he isn't particularly entwined with the local grapevine as yet, maybe it's not a huge surprise that it's the same night as her father's body was discovered when Hyacinth's phone rings this particular time, and it informs her it's Vyv on the other end. And today it actually rings, rather than simply announcing a text.

Hyacinth is curled up in her bed, one leg bent around the half of the other. Emotions are not something she's ever been friends with. Most go as far as saying she got a feeling once, did not at all care for it, and exchanged it for new shoes.

It could not be further than the truth and a lifetime of being informed of what she presumably cannot do had worn her into a constant state of ready mode.

Screw pity.
Pity is for the weak.
She can opt out, right?

The truth was she felt incredibly scared, very alone, and unknowing what to do with all these feelings she had itemized no practice with.

The broken glass in the hall suggests much was converted to anger when stray feelings sent stray things flying across the room.

But she really does love her stuff.
So she sits trying to couture out her world without her father in it.

Then the phone.
Strawberry Letter 22 rings on her opal finish Samsung. Vyv. She sniffs and uses the flat of her fingers to dry her cheeks and clicks the button in the glass. "Heeeeeey.". Brave she is not right now, but if someone or something does try to kill her they will have a fi-... Strongly worded argument on their hands.

"Hyacinth." There's a hint of relief in the concern there, though the latter still wins out.

And then there's a faint hesitation. Vyv is at least unlikely to be a source of unwanted pity, but for more or less the same reasons, he's less than certain what actually to do in this particular situation. Usually this sort of thing is someone else's problem. He's out back of the patisserie, pacing, and the sounds of downtown in the evening are faintly audible through the phone.

He gives up on 'correct' and just goes with what he actually wants to ask: "You're all right? Unharmed, I mean. I've heard there was another-- incident. Without much detail." A more intentional pause, and, "Would you like me to come by?"

Hyacinth leans back against her headboard just listening to the familiar voice. Something static and reliable in the world is good. Thank god for small town gossip so she doesn't have to be the one to make the call. Officially this categorized she is not reaching out and needing help on only the most technical of levels!

She sniffles. DAMMIT! She didn't mean to do that. Hell. "Vyv." It's not a question. The man has his own ringer. She sniffled she refuses to also sound surprised. She's too tired and it might be the last of her will she gets to impinge on the day. "I'm... mostly almost entirely fine. I cut my hand on a damn glass but no one's come to hunt me down." She sounds angry, but also mildly insulted?!

Swallowing she takes a deep breath and says, "My... My father was killed. At home. Mum called me. The... the police are there now. We..." Her words choke and sound strained, "We had things to do, Vyv." It hurts her and all their plans. Loss does that though. Vyv is doing the one thing he can do and she needed though: Vent with reckless imperial abandon.

Taking a deep breath she says, "I think... company would be good. If you can manage it." He will. And he'll bring something for her to consume wholesale no doubt. Funny enough chocolate is great for those brain things making you less miserable. I called Edison to start taking care of... just... all the things. People or ghosts I don't want them to get the idea it's perfectly permissible to ruin my locks or my furniture thinking they can lay hands on me too."

The injured tone creeps up in her voice manifesting in, "I don't think they even wiped their feet." Which to a woman who refinishes these places is possibly the highest of crimes. They are superficial details, but ones she's poured her life's work into minding.

"Then that's another thing they'll have to answer for," Vyv says, "but at least it might also be what trips them up. Evidence, you know." Look, he understands the importance of superficial details in the correct context, and one's life's work is always one of those contexts.

He's stopped pacing for a moment as he listens, and there's a just-audible sigh. "Well. This is awful. Yes, I think I can squeeze it into my schedule. I'll be there in," a slight pause, calculating, "mn, twenty minutes, I think. Thirty at the outside. Is Edison taking care of things there, or is he out doing so elsewhere?" Walking again, then; this time back into the kitchen, with the sound of other people moving about. His voice a touch more distant, as though he's moved the phone or put a hand over the moutpiece, "Mr. Tanaka. I'm leaving early, I can leave the rest to you?" It's only a question by technical format, and she can probably just catch the 'Yes, chef' that comes in reply.

Hya fights to keep herself together, at least in in tone. It's taking some mondo effort, but friends are there to bring out the best in you...or... something. Yeah. Yeah!

The promise of helping her undermind and revenge whomever or whatever has done this actually brings a small smile of relief. "He's presently elsewhere handling all off-prem responsibilities so I don't have to leave. I have to get an update but I expect him here." Which means he'll show at least when everything is managed and reaso slapped back into the world.

That he's leaving early and cutting a corner? It's everything. Fingers wipe her eyes again banishing loose feelings from wandering down her face, "Awww, Vyvvy,. This... is why you're my bestie. Call me just before you get here so I can verify it's you and not have the rest of my life turn into a stupid rich girl slasher film." Sighing she murmurs, "People talk enough."

There will be verification before any doors are opened.
Likewise, no one is running up any stairs.
See, movies really can teach people things!

It is in fact just about twenty-five minutes before the secondary call comes to confirm that someone is now here and that someone is genuinely Vyv, accept no substitutions. And so it is! He's looking entirely Vyvish as well, in a light-weight imperial blue suit over a white shirt with a blue and yellow plaid check and a plain yellow silk tie, accessorized with an almost water-colour-looking pocket square in the same general tones, amber cufflinks, and tan leather chelsea boots. Presumably he had to change back out of his whites and into that, so it's a bit impressive he's made it here in this time, carrying one of the pâtisserie's white boxes and with a properly broken-in tan leather satchel resting over one shoulder. Presumbly, he drove.

"Sorry about the delay," he says into the phone as he awaits at the door, "the old woman from 603 insisted on holding the elevator for her visiting grandson to catch up. You'd think that brat was practicing to lollygag for his country in the next Olympics. I've seen molasses move faster than that, and it didn't act like its eyes were surgically attached to its telephone, either." A pause. "Though I will admit it looked almost as sticky." Because what people need in this situation is the occasional dose of 'normal', right? Right. So really he's just being thoughtful.

The man gave up work, and brought food, and bothered to not punt a small child like a football, and to a point bothered to call at all.
That he didn't wait until tomorrow alone spoke volumes,
This is a proper tithe to their friendship.

The door unlocks and Hya is there more natural woman than fabrication and facade in her fluffy bathrobe, PJ and a ...well she couldn't tell you what kind of knife that is but it's sharp and from the kitchen. likely she pulled it because it goes better with the look she's trying to achieve. Who knows. It hangs by her side for lack of a place to put it. Her emotions start to rally as Vyv goes on about the tribulations of getting across town.

Fingers (not holding the knife) lift to touch the edge of his jaw briefly. "You are a gift to this world. It's sad they will never really appreciate how much they've gained." The door closes and the knife? Well that's... that can just go over there. She wanders back to the kitchen, but pretending life is anywhere near normal? Well it's difficult and it lacks her usual bombastic energy that generally goes into course correcting the day.

Absently she informs helpfully, "Molasses in enough volume can go up to 35-38 miles an hour. Did quite a number on the infrastructure of Boston." Looking up she muses, "If we're ever angry gods I feel, in a way, that's something we would do. Drown them in toppings and take their buildings away." Hrmmm... ideas. Hey vengeance takes many creative forms and she had her share she needed to get out dammit! The knife re-finds a home and her fingers rub her temples before her hands rest o either side of her face. "Vyv, what do we do?"

Very few people sufficiently appreciate the effort that goes into sharing small, enclosed portions of the universe with minors without preventing them from ever becoming majors.

Vyv glances at the knife, but it's only part of a look even more assessing than usual, yet less judgemental than many would believe. Fresh raw bereavement apparently wins one some leeway, at least if one is Hyacinth. And if one is Hyacinth, it probably isn't all that needed in any case; what are the odds she's been any less choosy in her pyjama and robe decisions than the others? The touch to his jaw gets a very faint smile, and he leans to claim at least half of the usual kiss of greeting, just quickly.

"Can it really?" he asks, following to the kitchen. "Well, then mine's really not been living up to its potential. You're right, though, it does sound like something we might do. I presume if we're angry Gods we can tidy it up afterward without excess residual stickiness, after all." Death and destruction, yes, but let's not get slovenly.

He sets the box down on the counter with a sigh, and turns to look at her. "Well. In the shortest term, I think we sit somewhere comfortable and possibly ingest far too many extremely well-justified calories, if you have any appetite. In the longer term... we find things out, we keep you safe, and we make someone appropriate pay." Goals. He hesitates, just for a moment. "I'm fairly sure that's what I'd want to do, anyway. I'm sorry this has happened to you." Another tiny pause. "I think generally one's meant to offer a hug around this point. I'm actually rather inclined to if you're of a mind to accept." And if not, there's pain au chocolat. Really, even if so.

Hyacinth sighs and does in fact come over and take Vyv up on the hug. She, as a GOOD Addington, however, has mastered doing this with the courtesy to wrinkle neither participant. She might be in a bathrobe but it's fluffy and adorable and she has every intent to have it remain that way. Everything is chosen in life for a reason because the choices one makes matters which... really makes selecting what to eat a bit of a challenge.

She lets him set he box down and peeks into it. Her eyes get a little shiny looking into it, but it's a sense of peace that follows, not tears. She reaches into find the roundest thing in the box and admires it from a few angles before biting in. When Vyv chastisez his molasses she pauses with a manicured finger to the corner of her mouth to safeguard manners against stray crumbs. "Hmm? Mmm, mmhmm!" Questiona nd a hum of agreement. When she's done just savoring the hell out of bite one she adds matter of factly, "Oh yeah it killed like 20 ish people in teh early 1900s. Same with I think it was Jackson beer company in New Orleans. I have to say Boston seems the better choice here for food floods. I do not want to imagine tanks of beer in teh heat and humidity of New Orleans. You ever been?"

The ability to hug sans wrinkles may be a Vydal trait as well... or it might just be Vyv, frankly. One might possibly find out if one met the rest of his family, but how likely is it there'd be many examples to judge by? So it's definitely not one of those fierce bear-hugs one might find elsewhere, which is probably to both their preference. How would getting mussed improve things? No, the message is in that it happens at all, and isn't purely quick and perfunctory. Even if he does automatically take a fleeting glance down to check the state of his ensemble afterward. He checks on hers, too.

The way Hyacinth looks into the box, and the attention to the look of the pastry, gets a faint, fond smile out of the pâtissier. Proper appreciation of the details even at a time like this is not a quality most frequently found. She has two options as far as the most spherical choice presented: the profiterole is the closest to a ball, but the chocolate-orange entremets is a perfectly smooth half-dome, aside from the candied kumquat slice set in it on edge, off-center with just a touch of gold leaf. Either way, he watches as she gives it a try, quietly pleased by the appropriate savouring.

"Mm, no, only old Orléans. I thought they did all right with it the first time, really. Ought I?" He considers the matter of a beer flood for a moment. "You're probably right. And it just seems less dramatic somehow, as well. Feels vaguely déclassé. Don't get me wrong, I quite like beer, but if you're going to drown people in bubbly alcohol, surely champagne's a more pleasing irony."

Hyacinth refuses to fall apart and it's the right friend that can offer comfort, companionship, and the subtle slap of 'pull yourself together woman' that their mere presence brings. Such efficiency!
Also: cannot talk. Eating. What is undersung about Vydal soaking his kung fu into tiny pastry that is oft overlooked is the sheer endorphins kicked on by chocolate done correctly. "I swear you are the only licenced drug dealer in town. These are...amazingly addicting. and... thank you for not leaving me here alone. War I can do but... I don't like knowing things can just show up now? Does that... " She pauses pressing her lips together.

This is really a different look and he might be one of the only people getting to ee her behind the completely put on social warpaint that is the Hya Addington Show. Lashes blink finding a thought. She reaches out to ball her digits around his hand for a moment trying to clear her head to imprint the image and the brief feeling of total and inexcusible vulnerability onto him. Given she's been grieving and cryig and angry all evening it's faint, but it works. "Imagine... you go into your kitchen to find someone using it to make tye dye t-shirts and pizza rolls and trying to tell you calm down it's no big deal. And then trying to cook in it with a distinct smell of fried foods still permeating the space...and everything you try to make for a while. I can't relax in my home. This is insane. I'm... this is mine."

Vyv is perhaps not all that well-practiced in comfort, but he does pride himself on efficiency! And pastry. So that compliment's an easy one to take; in fact, it briefly draws a bit more of a smile than most have seen. Hyacinth's particular way with words is one of the things he likes about her, after all. Also, clearly good taste.

The thanks is a little less comfortable, and he makes a small gesture that probably would translate to something in the 'don't mention it' family if it were words. It doesn't turn into any words, though, largely because that attempt to share that image and feeling with him works. And he does not like feeling vulnerable. Doesn't like the pictures she's painting, either. The signs are subtle -- small shifts in the tension of his shoulders and jaw, a slight tightening of the hand, the particular length of pause before he speaks again. And a flicker of an almost accusing look, in the moment it first kicks in.

One thing about those mental powers: they're definitely one way to make someone empathise properly. It's not that he wasn't trying his best, but he just doesn't have much knack for feeling people's pain. Just thinking it. And in that moment there's both. When he does speak, it's surprisingly quiet and calm: "I imagine I would stab them. Or push them into the oil, perhaps. Either way the clean-up would be inconvenient." His jaw shifts, just a little. "I don't know what to do about things." He'd still rather not admit it. "I would have you stay with me, but that isn't the point." It's her thi-- people and her place. How do you defend them from this sort of invasion?

Vyv speaks the details she needs. That's so damn rare. Everyone else generally finds it easier to call her a shrieking bitch and run as fast and far as they can. It's really not a bad tactic if they can't handle it, and Hya may be the first to agree. His fingers vaguely flip upwards and she says no more on it. Next item!

Her expression softens into a thoughtful look to him as if his aura around him shift into being a hissing hedgehog squeaking*'No, this is my truffle. Fuck off, don't touch it!'* Emotion creeps into her eyes while her expression keeps anything else at bay. Apologetic in tone she adds, "It's like that." Yeah that's not really an apology! The tone does have that 'I wish there was an easier way to explain without doing that to you... but here we are!' quality to it.

Her hand finds his giving it a squeeze. "I don't know what to do about all of this either. I feel like... if I leave it sends a signal to everyone that I'm afraid- that i can be gotten to. But..." She pauses considering Vyv's place, "I don't think Rebecca would want to sleep on the couch." Surely that wouldn't stop Hyafrom banishing her to it, but she does have the common decency to consider it as the woman just lost her sister. "I'd worry it puts you at risk too. And half the people who were murdered were in your building., soooo..." She pauses considering, "You are welcome to come here if you feel you might be at risk."

There would probably be more explicit protest if it weren't Hyacinth. Or, a touch ironically, possibly if he didn't now have a deeper understanding of her feelings. As it is, Vyv gives a very slight nod to the apology that isn't. Arguably an acceptance that isn't. But his own apologies are frequently precisely the same sort, so perhaps it feels more like one than it might to most.

Does he know whether the contact is actually necessary to send an emotion like that? Either way, he doesn't avoid the hand, and lightly squeezes back. "Rebecca's heading to California," he says, "to deal with-- all that." So the couch issue is moot! Which is probably for the best, because a guest in the guest room is one thing, but in the living room? What if he wanted to use it? "I can't say I feel too terribly at risk at home; I don't really fit any of the hints of pattern so far. But..." He trails off, considering his friend, and considering that bit of feeling she'd shared. "You've a point on potential messages, and I suppose generations of foisting the buddy system on children can't be entirely pointless. We could watch each other's backs. And if Rebecca's off, I suppose it needn't be at my place."

The offer is genuine, even if not quite as effortlessly smooth as he might prefer. Many wouldn't even notice.

See how very thoughtful she's being by not leaving him all manner of put out by making Rebecca's personage move to convenience her! ...someone may want to review the very definition of 'considerate' with Hyacinth some day.

...someone not Vyv likely.

The smile warms. She receives the message in her native language of subtle inference and matter-of-fact expectations entirely aware of how much may be moved or changed . Is that distilled adoration? Yes, yes it is. The smile follows, easy and lacking presumption. "I couldn't do this without the two of you." And in the tone of Thank you soooooo much comes the same sentiment with the words, "They are soooo fucked." Revengings... eventually. Somehow. They'll figure something out!