lazingroyalty | (no subject)

[Oona's life had never really had consistency before. Despite being a mermaid, she'd found herself compared to a cat more often than not, simply flitting around wherever she chose to go; she slept where she wanted, ate what she wanted, and the only real consistency was work and only because she couldn't avoid that (and even then she didn't have to come in if she didn't want to, so there was freedom and choice in that).

She likes to think it's just because of how she is. More likely it's a side effect of having her life so strictly monitored and scheduled from her time in human hands; having nothing like that now was more a rebellion, a stubborn refusal to return to that.

Which is why it hits her as so strange when she acknowledges that she's chosen to spend more time at Adolf's place than her other friends' now. That she's started keeping things at his place, not quite moving in entirely but there are certain things that are without a doubt hers', and not simply borrowed. Things that don't leave when she does, like they normally did. Clothes, a few thing sin the kitchen. A mug that was almost assuredly "hers'" by now. Shampoo and other toiletries in his bathroom. The decorations and knickknacks she bought at random, furniture she brought to make the place look less like some basic militant-style place to sleep and more like, well. A home.

That realization, too, that she considered this a home is startling. Where were these thoughts coming from? It wasn't as though Oona was stupid-- brash and horribly impulsive, yes, but even she had her moments of quiet reflection and deeper thoughts. She just didn't quite indulge in them often, because it usually turned into things like this, making revelations about herself she wasn't sure she was comfortable with.

She sighs and steps out of the shower, rolling stiff shoulders as she pulls her hair up into a ponytail. Her work has her sliding into his house at all hours, though for once she was actually in at a decent time (she hadn't even bothered to go to work today was why, honestly). It didn't stop her from changing into more comfortable clothes.

Her gaze slid to one of Adolf's shirts, pilfered from his closet on her way. She had her own pajamas, of course, but they were mostly untouched despite any efforts on Adolf's part. He'd even tried just giving her the shirts she'd taken, but she'd only laughed and tossed them in his dirty clothes at the end of the day and took a fresh one again ("It smells like you, I like it" she'd said once and Adolf's face had done a funny twitch before his hand was covering it and he was walking away, Oona's laughter trailing after him for a little longer than was probably necessary).

She was too damn fond of that eel.

His shirt pulled over her head (she was practically swimming in it and something about that always put her in a much more chipper mood, and she even put underwear on just for him because otherwise he probably would be very opposed to her climbing on his lap anytime soon. Oona chose her battles wisely and this was one she had given up on fighting), she deliberately avoided glancing in the bathroom mirror before she exited to go search out her eel.]

Do you think it is strange? [it's the first thing she says when she finds him. What a good way to start a conversation, right in the middle.]

Threaded | Flat

[ Consistency is a strong suit of Adolf's; once you grow accustomed to a military lifestyle, you forget what it's like not to live on routine and necessity, on clockwork schedules that dictate where you'll be, what you'll be doing. He's not so inflexible that he doesn't know how to adjust to the irregularities of 'normal people' time (that'd been the whole point of the German military giving him a chance to go to school— to socialize their guinea pig), but he still finds some comfort in the familiar. In having things be expected of him, at a certain time.

So, by all consideration, this irregularity should be unwelcome. These new items, strewn around where he didn't place them. Reminders of someone else settled on mantles and furniture that he didn't buy, the unmistakable traces of cohabitation that are like small heart attacks every time Adolf stumbles upon a new trinket or other, left behind with no explanation. They're so reminiscent of another time, a time when he wouldn't question why his wife'd left her wedding band on the bathroom sink during her shopping ('forgetful', he'd think), a time when he could pick up after another person's mess and feel content. Fulfilled. Human.

These reminders should hurt. And they do, but they hurt less in Oona's company; a dull ache that he ignores because a part of him is as satisfied by her smiles as he is self-deprecating about them.

Ah, well.

He's in the kitchen when Oona plods behind him, sleeves rolled up over his forearms to reveal a rare glimpse of the safety grounds embedded right by his elbows. He's gotten used to how she addresses him, with questions and statements that come from left field, so he replies with a calmness that he's cultivated over the weeks that he's come to know her. ]

That you've taken another one of my shirts?

[ Settle down, sourpuss. ]

No.