Log:The Air Up There

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The Air Up There
Characters  •   Desdemona Marchant  •  Zane Bloomquist  •
Location  •  Mona's Suite
Date  •  2019-09-17
Summary  •  Before the night when everyone expects the call to come, Zane and Mona take a moment to reflect on where things stand in life as the sun goes down.

It's almost strange to see parts of the room looking almost like a room, for a change. Even the couch and pair of chairs in the area reserved for fittings are visible at this point, now that only the prom gear is on the mannequins, and the rest have been shuffled off to the walls and closets. It's no longer a surreal blend of formalwear and strange costumes, though here and there it can be hard to tell one from the other when they're mixed as such.

It's possible to walk through most of the room without actually crashing into anything, and that means the cats are getting their exercise: Prance is caught mid-scuttle across the floor after a scrap of bright pink satin half-shaped in a bow, while Diva chases after him. Spook, naturally convinced she's about to be swarmed by the other two, is mid-pinball-zoom from one place where there recently had been a skirt to hide under to the next, frantic and despairing of the sudden open space.

Mona drops her seamstress utility belt by the door as she leads in, instantly turning to offer him a warm smile, stopping short as if to outright force a collision. "Hi," she says quietly, smiling up at him warmly. "How was rehearsal?" Not talking about imminent doom just yet. Not just yet.


Holy crap, there's things to sit on in here that aren't the floor or Mona's bed! Zane'd almost forgotten what else was under there, by this point. And poor terrified Spook, bereft of all that lovely camouflage... Zane would have more sympathy for the anxious kitten if he weren't a little bit distracted, first by walking in behind Mona, and second by the sudden stop when she turns. One subtle indicator of the former is the fact that he'd only just tugged that stray bit of lace from her rear pocket, which betrays where his attention had gone, and he blinks once before he offers the scrap to her.

"Hi," he replies, smiling back and managing to look only the tiniest bit sheepish. "It was good. I think we've really got act one solid, now. Tomorrow's supposed to be focusing more on two..." He absently reaches to set the chips and soda down on the shelf by the utility belt, freeing the hand to reach over and rest on the curve of her hip, instead. "And everything's all good with the costumes, huh?"


She takes the strand of lace with a tiny grin, almost sheepish, before leaning in to that hold and winding her arms up to his shoulders. "I honestly have no idea what they're going to do next year without any of us there. It's not like any of the current underclassmen are a tenth as dedicated," Mona notes, though it can't be said she seems to feel too badly about it.

"Pretty much everything is done on the costume front. Like, I think a few people need haircuts, still? But I can understand why they leave that to the last minute." One hand turns, catching a lock of his hair to twist between her fingertips. "I like yours grown out like this some, you know? You're one of those guys who could so do long hair." Pause. "Or short hair, or no hair, damn you and your gorgeous bone structure." Spoken like a true costumer, even if the growing smile and the tiny bump of the tip of her nose to his suggests there's a lot more to that assessment than just how lucky he might be regarding hair fashion.

"You going to grow out some scruff for the show, or going for clean-shaven? I mean, we can fake it with makeup, but it's up to you on that one. I didn't pencil either into the notes." It's getting more obvious: she's trying to distract somewhat from what's coming. Anxious about a show? Not Mona. Call it the family arrogance, but she knows she's got it down to a science. Anxious about the fact that tonight they may all be targets? Not her wheelhouse.


"Run around a lot wishing we were all there and then get it together okay two days before dress. Or first show, if they're less lucky," Zane predicts, drawing her a touch closer and wrapping his other arm around her waist. "They'll be okay, just, they won't be as good. For a couple semesters at least." Is that arrogant? They are good at what they do, the current crop, and everyone coming up is used to leaning on that, still. Not too much worry on his part, though; he has faith the show will go on.

The confirmation on the costume situation gets a smile, and a look that seems in the family of 'proud of her' before he's sounded derailed by the toying with his hair and the remarks that go with it. Yes, costumer remarks, but it's not quite the usual situation and not quite the usual tone, and it makes him go a bit pink, even if the expression that comes with it is pleased. Pleased with the nose-bump, too.

His gaze drops to her lips in a not particularly subtle indication of what he's thinking after that, but lifts again when she addresses facial hair. "Clean-shaven," he says immediately, "Valentin could have scruff, I think. Maybe more, unless the guards make them shave. But I think Molina'd hate that, on himself. Aurora wouldn't have it, couldn't. And I think he'd be Aurora if he could." No anxiety about the show either; it's what they do. It's in their veins and bones and souls. And it's enough to keep him from focusing on the too-near future, for those moments. Successful if it's what she's going for.


The smile at her lips takes firmer hold, as though the simple fact that they can talk about the show, and the certainty of its success, is precisely what she needs to stave off the uncertainty about what may come later in the night, and how outmatched they all are against it. Her own lashes lower by a fraction; she watches him speak much in the same way, clearly thinking of occupying their lips in a completely different way. "I like that," she says, gaze remaining where it lands; it would be easy to assume she was considering the facial hair question, and yet obvious she isn't.

"I hope it gets easier for them each time, rather than harder." She might be talking about the underclassmen, and she might not. "It doesn't seem like life gets to work that way very often," is another out-of-place deeper thought that could apply to either, "even if it seems like that should be how it works. Like, you learn how, and the rest comes naturally." The longer she goes on, the more alternative subjects might apply.

Her eyes lift, and she looks at him steadily for a space of seconds, the ghost of her smile lingering around the corners of her mouth. "I want to do something silly," she decides aloud as her fingertips start to thread together behind his head -- but then they find the scrap of lace still tucked into her palm, and she catches one end in either hand, letting her fingers skid down its length until it stretches across the back of his neck, and her hands dangle nearer his elbows, suspended. Even so, she leans in. "Maybe it's dumb," she admits, "...but I think I want to sit on the balcony a while. Watch the sun start to set. Have a clove." That there is a chance they won't still be there for the sunrise isn't lost on her, and there have been many sunsets just like that, out on the balcony, talking about everything and nothing at all.

"...do you think it would be safe?"


"I hope so too," Zane says, "...and yeah, it does. Isn't that kinda how they always told us things would be?" In a way it's a lot of the idea of school, right? And yet.

All his attention is on her right now, on the way her mouth moves and the way she looks at him, and when she reaches the end of her idea, and the question, instead of an answer, he leans in to claim that kiss that's clearly been on his mind through large parts of the conversation so far. And it very much is not an answer, this time. Nor a question. Just a kiss, in its own right and of its own thread in the conversation. It's slow and warm and if it has anything particular to say, it's nothing that allows the existence of vampires or finals or even shows. Not right now.

When he does draw away, there's a few seconds consideration before he picks the rest of the conversation back up. "Last time, it was almost nine. When-- when they started wanting to go. And the sun's set by eight," as far as they can really see, anyway. Arguably maybe 7:30, even. "So I think... I think 'safe' might be..." A pause. No, that sentence is too directly steeped in what he doesn't want to focus on. "It's probably okay? If that's what you want to do."


The kiss is exactly what she needs. How is it that he always seems to know precisely what that is? Another question for another day. For now, she returns the kiss as though they had all the time in the world, unhurried and comfortable and certain of this if nothing else at all. Her blood rises all the same, hammering at the sides of her neck, in her ears, at the base of her spine, like rising thunder.

As the kiss comes to an end, it is a moment before her wits realize it. It's only the words spoken that rattle her back to attention, and her smile remains, even through the oblique talk of what may be coming. "I didn't say," she notes, brows lofting in a dangerously playful manner, "it was all I wanted to do." The smile deepens at a corner, turning devious, even if the rest of her is turning pink in a way that utterly spoils the wickedness of it all completely.

"Nobody else is outside or inclined to go outside," she explains, as it's not impossible that someone might just plow into the room, considering the long history of nothing naughty ever happening there that is doubtless going to require a bit of adjustment time amongst their friends. "Though I will say this much now," Mona insists with a tiny bob of her head as if to assure her seriousness, "I'm glad we're here, tonight. Means... " Mischief sparkles in those stormy blue eyes of hers. "...no falling asleep on boots again."

"Morning gets welcomed in with bubbles. Lots of bubbles." Another nod. "I'm thinking champagne, and-" She does have that whirlpool tub, and only the briefest flicker of her eyes toward the bathroom is enough to get that part of the idea across. "...but right now?"

She leans in closer, drawing herself nearer by walking her grip up both sides of the lace at once, until she's on the tips of her toes and whispering in his ear, "I think I want to remind myself of just how beautiful you are in that 'magic hour' light."