un: gioia. flatmates wanted.

[trouvaille]

Name: gwenaëlle wynne-york
Date: 26th.
Format: text.

( afterwards—

she doesn't want to talk about what happened. she doesn't have to, it turns out, because when she's well enough to convince someone she's well enough to go home, there isn't anyone there except putin, distraught, and mercifully looking like someone has been feeding him. she knocks on a few doors to figure out which neighbour to thank and dispassionately catalogues in her mind how they all look at her (mirrorbound; traumatized) when they answer their doors in case some time it matters. )

I have some spare rooms in my house now for people who aren't weird about dogs since it's my house now.

( after the post has stood for a while, an addition is made: )

I'm also in need of someone to bond with or I'm going to end up less house-broken than Putinka. It's supposed to be witches and monsters, isn't it? I don't know anyone to bond with, so if there are witches who'd be interested in rolling the dice, let me know.

Comments

[trouvaille]

That's the boy.

[gunsmithed]

I'll remember that. Would you like me to bring it to you?

[trouvaille]

That would be great, I'll give you the address. There's a separate entrance to the basement if you go around the house, that's where we are.

[gunsmithed]

I can be there this evening, if that's preferable.

[trouvaille]

That'd be great. I'll expect you.

[gunsmithed]

I will be there in an hour or so.

[trouvaille]

( from the outside, the house does look—unlived in, albeit too well kept a property to be considered abandoned yet. but there are no lights or movement visible within, just stillness. an open upstairs window.

but there is a side-entrance, as promised, downstairs to the basement. )

[gunsmithed]

[ The building itself gets a glancing look, but Percy's seen stranger. He makes his way around to the side entrance without hesitating, shifting the bag tucked over his shoulder as he knocks on the door. ]

Hello?

[trouvaille]

( on the other side of the door, there is—immediately—barking, although only briefly, like an alert being sounded, and some one-sided murmuring, the sound of movements. it opens, and it's—pleasantly lit, for a goddamn basement. an enormous room, with stairs up to the house visible directly opposite the door, and a set of (closed) double-doors to the far left of the entrance. it's been cleverly sectioned by freestanding bookcases (mostly-empty, although beginning to fill with books and curios), creating a separation between the main area and what's probably gwen's bedroom, and there are a variety of lamps and candles.

bored rich girls doing interior design used to be an entire cliché. she's always loved the 90s. )

Hi, ( —and in contrast to her fastidiously neat surroundings, gwen kind of looks like hell. like she hasn't slept since before the abductions; curly hair in disarray emerging from what might have been a half-decent chignon in a past life, a shirt she's repurposed that probably wasn't originally hers in lieu of loungewear, lingering sign of her injuries. her wrists, in particular, are healing but raw and thin and it looks less like she's successfully holding putin back than that putin is carefully not straining her. ) We're—um, come in. It's just us down here.

[gunsmithed]

Of course.

[ For everything else about him, Percy has had certain manners drilled into him in a way that even years on the road haven't been able to shake. He dips his head, once he's been invited, and steps carefully inside. His eyes flicker briefly around the interior before fixing firmly on Gwen. He may not know her personally well enough to be able to read the signs around her, but he can recognize someone holding them together well enough.

He smiles, just a little. Trying to put them both at ease. ]

Where would you like me?

[trouvaille]

( it has a distinct look: just about clinging to sanity. she musters something that resembles friendliness, her best good faith attempt at it, and glances behind her as putin leans heavy against her legs, not aggressive toward percy but seemingly sensitive to her anxiety. )

Um, here is good, there's some space—yes, baby, the man has a present for you, ( which is probably for putin, and sounds more like slight distraction than adorable babytalk for pets. ) It's Percy, right?

( there's a brief quirk of her mouth, )

Like my horse. Probably short for something different. We love Persistence, don't we, Putinka? Percy does not love you, big baby. Uh—

( she directs him to where she's more or less created a lounge; chaise-longue, a low table that she pushes aside, a rug. the seating is mostly cushions, and probably had not been set out in anticipation of her having much company as it all seems very much tailor-made around her creature comforts. )

[gunsmithed]

Percy, yes. Percival.

[ Definitely not Persistence. One side of Percy's mouth curves up a bit higher. But he just moves towards where she's pointing, brisk and efficient, if at least trying to be somewhat friendly. It's the best he can offer, in the face of her anxious rambling. She's invited him in, he can at least be professional about it.

He sets the bag down by the foot of the chaise, and kneels down to draw out the leather inside. It's dark, carefully tooled together into something that will wrap around Putinka's torso and trail up over the dog's head. ]

I can still make adjustments, if something doesn't fit. Or there's something else you'd like.

[trouvaille]

( all things considered, he takes being thoughtlessly compared to a horse pretty well. persistence is a lovely mare, hand-picked for gwen by her father who had been charmed by how closely percy's colouring matched gwen's hair. putinka had been chosen more for bloodline and likely temperament, which is probably why he settles where directed and watches percy with interest entirely unrelated to the things he has in common with absent equines.

sometimes things just spill out of her mouth. it's a problem. it's not even a problem exclusive to bad days, but she's certainly been cut a predictable amount of slack recently— )

It looks good, ( she says, sitting down on the chaise near her dog, hands pressed on her knees to stop herself from fidgeting with nervous energy. ) He's used to a harness, so hopefully it'll just be a bit of added weight to get used to.

( the deliberate way she's slowing and calming her breathing is mostly for putin's benefit; the calmer she is, the less concerned he'll be about what percy's trying to put on him. )

[gunsmithed]

[ Percy's hands are steady and gentle as he reaches out to begin buckling the leather into place around the dog, frowning a little to himself as he shifts things to make sure they fit properly. Once you've tried armoring a bear, other animals seem easy enough. But Trinket was always something of a special case.

Usually he's more than happy to lose himself in his work, but something about the nervous tension in the air urges him to keep things from getting too quiet. He's not the best a small talk, never did see much of a use for it, but he can at least try. ]

I've tried to keep it as flexible as possible, I'm not sure what you'll want to have him doing. If you want a bit more protection, I can try adding more plates in a few places.