[OPEN] Striptease for me, baby~

[airshipswank]

Who: Lord Buckingham (airshipswank), a yellow-eyed pervert who looks suspiciously like him & [OPEN]
Where: The dining hall, Buckingham's private stable, the music room & the mansion's corridors between his room [001 on the 10th floor] and those places
When: June 14th - 17th
Rating: R and counting for sexual themes
Summary: ♫ All the ways you never ever had
I want, I want you bad ♫
The Story: Buckingham turns slowly in his bed and feels the first rays of sunlight on his face. Electricity is a marvelous thing, but it keeps him up longer than candles often could. He rarely needs to make up for the long hours in the morning, but he'll allow himself a few more minutes with his eyes closed, before he starts the day.

Simple pleasures rarely capture his attention, but there is something to be cherished about soft sheets and their smell, about the warmth of a summer morning caressing his skin, the light and gentle breath at the back of his neck, and lithe fingers running playfully along his thigh, pulling up his gown and reaching eagerly for his-- what?!?!

The duke jumps up as if stung, spins and reaches for the knife by his bedside, looking back and staring-- staring frozen with clenched teeth and an incredulous frown at the creature in his bed, at the yellow eyes that watch him with half-lidded curiosity, at hands that make no motion to attack or pursue him; that indeed do not do much of anything but stroke the exposed bed sheet lazily while the thing-- while the thing that resembles him more than his mirror ever did, while- while it stretches with a yawn and finally speaks in a sulky voice:

"Does that... mean you'll not come back to bed?"

Comments

[airshipswank]

A shame, that it cannot be as simple as all that. Wonderland's rewards are, on occasion, all too hard to come by, and the challenge of that is only its own reward as long as all surrounding circumstances do not vex beyond believe. But no, he supposes being rid of the yellow-eyed creature is its own reward, entirely sufficient for the time being.

(He certainly had no romantic notions in mind when he choose their escape route, and "as far away from the Shadows as possible" seemed the only direction that truly mattered at the time.)

Buckingham wonders whether they ought to dismount, but what if the concern spoken in jest has its validity after all? No, might as well keep riding for the time being.

(Especially since a valid reason to avoid eye contact might yet prove to be rather useful.)

"Who I could not say, but I know where, at least I presume as much."

He'd not dare to imply, after all, that the Shadow's line of thinking was quite so clear and simple to follow.

"Salcey Forest. Near Hartwell? A fine place for a hunt,... although I do recall a small riding accident there, some years ago, hardly... worth the mention."

Which is indeed true enough, as far as the sustained injury was concerned, although the circumstances surrounding it were rather more... elaborate than that. A horse, in short, is not a car, and any, ah, leisurely distractions attempted on one are doomed to fail in a manner as comical as it was painful. Oh, but it did seem like a perfectly sound idea at the time.

(As for his injury in Wonderland? Another small matter that came and went, and was barely more than a lingering whisper of discomfort by the time he met Miss Jones.)

Buckingham contemplates asking about the other Shadow's call in return, about that kiss the creature deems so remarkably significant, because curiosity would certainly demand it, but then Miss Jones's curiosity might demand further inquiry as well, and so, perhaps they... will agree on mutual silence instead.

[selfrespecting]

Martha is fine with staying on the horse for now. She may not know how to ride one herself, but she seems to be doing well enough as the passenger. She's got the leg strength to adjust to the horse's movements as it trots along, and while she suspects she'll be sore tomorrow because of this, simply due to not being used to it, it's a small price to pay.

The lack of eye contact is an added bonus.

Salcey Forest, right. Martha's never been there, and she doesn't think there's all that much to see there, but it must have been a popular spot for men to go hunting back during Buckingham's time. Hunting for sport is the sort of thing that leaves a bad taste in her mouth, but there's no denying that nobles at that time were expected to do it.

The way he speaks about the injury, as if it's something that happened to someone else rather than to him, is enough to make Martha smile to herself. Such pride, and for what? It doesn't seem to matter much when she can see right through it.

(Though if she knew the whole story, she would definitely be judging. Definitely. Positively. Absolutely. And likely laughing as well.)

But curiosity may as well be Martha's middle name, and so a follow-up question is posed almost instantly. "What was it? Did you get thrown from the horse? Too enthusiastic about shooting some poor deer?" The barbed comment is something she can't quite help.

[airshipswank]

Well enough indeed, in fact the feat ought to be praised in light of her inexperience in the saddle, and Buckingham ought to remember to admire the skill, the talent for balance in particular, especially at Ascalon's earlier speed.

...Why, it would make for a suitable change of subject right this very moment, because not only is his ever so graceful lack of inquiries not reciprocated in the least, Buckingham also has an ever so slight hunch that Martha's voice might just contain a certain air of disapproval.

"It was..."

A long time ago, and therefore should not at all raise suspicion when he trails of to-- to recall what occurred (rather than to fish for a suitable excuse to substitute for the truth, oh no, that would be absurd!).

"It was just that, although I blame my horse's fear rather than my own enthusiasm. She... did not have Ascalon's temper, and when a viper emerged from the grass she reared up and ran."

Ahh, yes. That was the old story, wasn't it? Buckingham smiles, unseen.

"I take it you think the accident well-deserved. Not an admirer of the sport, eh?"

The reaction is a small curiosity to him, but he finds little doubt as to her disdain, even though he cannot find an explanation to match. He knows of several men and women with no talent or stomach for the hunt, but none that he recalls have ever expressed distaste, although... none have lived in a century not his own.

[selfrespecting]

So a snake was to blame? Fair enough, she supposes. It's not as if Martha thinks he deserved it, necessarily. That would hardly be fitting of her considering she's a doctor. But the fact that he'd been trying to slaughter animals and had then been injured as a result of one does have a certain poeticness to it.

"Not exactly," Martha says in response to his question. "I am a doctor, after all. It's difficult for me to approve of any unnecessary death." She can only hope that they'd at least been eating the animals after shooting them. That makes it far easier for her to swallow.

They've reached the forest itself by now, and Martha can't help the urge to glance down around the brush in search of any animals.

"Let's hope that no snakes hiding around here." It's a tease. She knows there aren't any snakes, she's been in the forest enough times to realize that all of the animals there are more or less harmless. Still, the fact that she's still on the horse after hearing his story does show that she's allotting him a certain amount of trust.

Maybe if they spend a bit more time in here and then circle back to the mansion, they can avoid their shadows.

[airshipswank]

Buckingham laughs.

"I'll rather have a nest of them, if it rids me of Wonderland's--"

As if on cue with the name Ascalon gives a petulant snort and stops, trampling the ground in place uneasily. Buckingham pulls tight at his reins before he can rear up, and steers the animal to the right, back towards the mansion. His last attempt was so long ago, he nearly forgot its result, but the forest, so his stubborn steed has decreed with obnoxious clarity, is off limits, unless the duke wishes to explore it on foot.

"...too colourful surprises."

Satisfied that they will remain at the trees' edge Ascalon resume a leisurely pace, and Buckingham resumes his response, without addressing the episode.

"You are a... doctor, you say. You've not mentioned, but I thought I remembered from... a transmission. Times have changed the profession, I imagine."

It starts with her being one to begin with, assuming her role is truly that of a physician, not a midwife or the sort of quack that dons mask and robes when the plague sweeps the streets. Buckingham has little reason to doubt her word in that regard.

And perhaps that is the very point of intrigue, the truth and the glimpse he stole of the clinic once, having never quite found cause or inspiration to pay a thorough visit, but its function, its very appearance... it takes practice to hide how little sense he can make of it all.

[selfrespecting]

When Ascalon suddenly decides to get fussy, Martha has to tighten her grip on Buckingham for the split second it takes him to get control over the animal. It seems that even a horse can sense that the forest is not a place that should be explored too thoroughly. Martha shoots a glance down through the winding trees before focusing on Buckingham's words.

She can't blame him for being sick of the events, especially when she considers the fact that he's been enduring them for much longer than she has. Still, they've managed to make the best of it, and there's no sign of those shadows, so she's going to call it a win for now.

When her profession is brought up, Martha blinks, as it's true that she'd never told him. She's honestly surprised that Buckingham had even paid that much attention. All attempts at chivalry and polite manner aside, he does strike her as a bit self-absorbed.

"It... has, yes." She knows what he's getting at, of course, but he's not being nearly as tactless about it as America was, thankfully. "Women doctors are perfectly common in my time period. A woman can do just about any job, in fact." Which may be hard for him to grasp, but there it is.