Prompt: Belle cooks a traditional Selkic meal for Layle to test him (and to secretly impress him)

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reclusivexheart:

Somewhere.

Jerome was far from convinced, and all the more suspicious.  He knew more than a couple in his company that would use the same remark, for somewhere was the easiest way to describe their situation.  But that wouldn’t be the case with this man.  Obviously not.

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"Somewhere else," he spat.  It was an uncharacteristic remark for him, but it slipped out and that’s all there was to it.  He wouldn’t dream of taking it back.

Not bad, Layle thought, but he wasn’t going to commend this stranger. “Yeah? Well, maybe you should go ba-” A violent tremor interrupted him. 

"That doesn’t seem normal." He looked to the stranger for answers.

(Source: crystalclavat)

[[Summer’s been busy guys, but I’m back. Sort of. Unofficially maybe. We’ll see.]]

selkiesgosolo:

Towel in hand, she hesitated, hovering centimeters above the damp of a rosy cheek. It might have remained there indefinitely, had the infant not wrested a tiny hand free from Layle’s coat, which they waved about in aimless mirth. Unable to help but smile at sight of it, her apprehension eased in slight as a clap of thunder earned nothing more than a gurgle of intrigue, assuring the Selkie her touch couldn’t possibly distress the steadfast little thing.

So invested in this task was she that Layle’s fumbling about failed to distract— it wasn’t until the stench of seared flesh assaulted her nostrils that Belle turned to face him, features first slack with mortification quickly contorting in anger. Abandoning the baby, she stormed into the kitchen to inspect his handiwork herself, barely biting back the urge to give him a verbal lashing to rival the one he had suffered physically at his state, made visible in the firelight. Dropping to her knees before him, she hooked a finger through the singed denim, ripping it further. “Did you even clean this?!” she hissed at a whisper, easily concluding the cooling bathwater remained untouched by the blood still caked in his bangs.

"It’s fine," Layle replied as he hobbled away from her reach. "You’re not helping it." He turned his nose to the bundle on the bed. "Her, Him, whatever." 

He walked over to the bed, rolled onto it with a satisfied sigh, and threw his hands behind his head, The baby began to call. He relieved a hand, stuck his finger before it, and wiggled it to keep it occupied. “I assume you know how to handle this?”

He looked to Belle, “Because I don’t.” 

(Source: crystalclavat)

reclusivexheart:

crystalclavat:

reclusivexheart started following you

As he found himself in a foreign land, rather than admit that he was lost, Layle continued walking. The presence of someone in his proximity caused him to halt abruptly and turn. 

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“You need something?” 

 

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“No,” he replied coldly, crossing his arms as the other addressed him.  “Where did you come from?”

(Everything about this man is unusual.  I’ll have to keep my guard up.)

To avoid redundancy, Layle kept himself from asking the very same thing. He noticed the masked man’s crossed arms, and stern demeanor and just to be irritable, Layle kept his own lax. 

"Somewhere," he replied, simply. "And you?"

.

selkiesgosolo:

Though water pooled beneath both of them, the trail Layle left in his wake was dark in a way that made her knees weak. Stilling a quivering lip between her teeth, Belle put on a brave face for the wounded Clavat and strode to where he stood, lighting an oil lamp at her bedside before forcing the candle into his hands. “I haven’t rinsed yet,” she assured, tone low and even to stave a tremor. “Go clean up. We’ll be okay.”

Layle looked to the eyes of the cooing bundle, then looked to Belle.  With a nod, the Clavat pressed himself from the bed gently to keep the springs from creaking, taking the candle. He dragged throbbing haggard legs to the other room, and with unabashed hands, grabbed what he could to clean himself of all the blood stained upon his flesh and clothes— most not his own. 

Layle managed to wipe most of the red away, though some remained as streaks or encrusted clots. He emerged and threw a clean and dry towel at Belle. “We better dry him-her-it-whatever, before it gets sick,” he suggested as he walked out toward the stove, taking the fire iron from it and nonchalantly examined it in the candle light. A satisfied nod, then Layle summoned enough crystal power to chip off a burnt piece of wood from the stove and hold it over the candle until it blazed with a brighter intensity. He threw the burning flame into the stove and watched the cage light up. Soon the remaining wood began crackling, the room was hugged by a warmth.

Layle leaned over the counter with a breath stunted by pain. He held the iron over the fire until an ethereal blaze lined the tip. With his free hand, Layle moved the frayed twill of his pants and placed the burning tip onto the open gash for a quick second. He huffed as his skin burned together and pulled the iron away. 

"Sorry for barging in," he said insincerely, feigning a charisma. He put the iron over the fire again and hovered it over his leg. He honed in on one end, but the impetuousness of his actions caused him to haphazardly hold the burning iron to his skin. "And for the mess," he grunted. He pinched his skin to examine his handiwork, and decided to leave it alone, not wanting to suffer with the smell of his burning flesh. Either way, cauterizing or not, it hurt. Ignoring it, he thought, was the better option. 

With his elbows on the counter, Layle directed his focus on Belle and the baby. The image brought out a stare; the idea, a suppressed smile.  

(Source: crystalclavat)

selkiesgosolo:

“Do us both a favor and don’t,” she hissed, too anxious to properly express her relief at his rescue. The crab, plagued by pangs of hunger and reluctant to listen its prospective lunch bicker, loosed a shrill screech and leapt away in response— newfound agility allowed by dissipation of its carapace. Once settled at a safe distance, the fearful frothing of its mandibles increased in intensity, a stream of bubbles spewing forth and leaving a thick, oily coating over whatever they burst.

Layle pushed away from the bouncing beast, fell onto the soft sand and rolled to his feet. He threw his gaze upward, impressed by the distance between the earth and the crab. It blocked the sun and encircled both Layle and Belle. And when it spat out its pinguid spume, Layle grit his teeth in uncertainty at the charging bubbles. “That’s…!,” he couldn’t finish. He threw his body in front of Belle. 

Layle threw up a gravitational barrier, but the spray ate away at it and hit Layle in the spine. Its foam encased him, and pulled him to the ground. “Belle!” He shouted, as if he placed blame on her. He felt sluggish like his arms and legs were made of lead. Even his breathing seemed lazy, his inert chest rising and falling. Layle felt himself dawdling, to the point where he became frustrated with himself and decided to stay put. “Forget it,” he spat. The world warped around him, he saw the breeze blow slowly, the waves idle, but he knew time pressed on. He gave up on running.  

The beast huffed as it bounced on its legs, reading to spring above again. With a lazy hand, Layle beckoned for the nearest weapon but was unable to concentrate, his mind slowed as well. He blinked hard against what felt like a migraine, a faint blue light failed to form around his palm.

"Better get out of here," he ordered the Selkie, still concentrating on the broken blade sticking out from the sand. The crustacean heaved itself upward again. 

(Source: crystalclavat)

reclusivexheart started following you

As he found himself in a foreign land, rather than admit that he was lost, Layle continued walking. The presence of someone in his proximity caused him to halt abruptly and turn. 

"You need something?" 

 

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