cautelous

[cautelous]

There is a call for him. A brisk, bright call at an hour perhaps too early for most. But he has a job to do, so there will be a message waiting for him once he has finished carpe-ing the diem.

"Ah, a shame. I had hoped to reach you before you departed."

She hums, and there's a muffled creak as she leans back in her chair. Her office. Early morning. There will be a cup of tea on her desk. She'll be going over the details of the mission he's on, no doubt. Worrying about him, before she decided to call him.

"In that case, I shall first wish you well, and hope your travels go smoothly."

His work, too, what they've planned together, but she must be careful, in case these transmissions are intercepted or overheard.

"Mind the roads and skies," she says, and her own gaze will turn to the window, the wide office view of Piltover in pre-dawn light. "I am sure they'll treat you well and bring you back safely."

She adjusts her posture, eyes trailing to the calendar on Vi's desk. Yesterday's date is still plain in view, but Caitlyn knows what lies beneath. Even if Julian might have forgotten, in his preparations and his haste to depart on this urgent and trusted task.

"And secondly..." She takes a breath, and perhaps she smiles, that wry knowing look which he has immortalised in paint, the only portrait she has ever sat for. "Happy birthday, Julian."

A soft clink of porcelain, as she lifts her cup from her saucer. Perhaps she toasts the air with it - toasts him, wherever he may be - before she takes a sip and ends the call.

It's only the day after that Julian is able the listen to the message, yesterday having been fully seized - by himself and by his obligations. He plays it over a very early breakfast, the sun still hiding below the horizon, and has to set his mug down lest he drop it.

Well. Perhaps it isn't that dramatic. But he still feels an unsteadiness in his hands regardless, listening to Caitlyn's well-wishes and her congratulation. Julian has to imagine that she smiled as she said those words, a particular quirk of the lips that may as well be a grin on her face. He has to suppose that it's only expected that she'd know his birthday - his actual birthday, not the date written on his documentation - considering that she knows where he came from. Who he was.

Still.

It's a bit embarrassing, especially if he considers what happened on this day two years ago. She's most certainly connected the dots between it all, and has almost certainly had that same wry smile at the coincidence of his birth date and Heartseekers' Day. If Julian were feeling more poetic and less bone-tired, he might muse about predestination, but instead he just picks up his mug and takes a long sip of tea.

He replays the message and brings his mug up for a solitary toast, somehow knowing that she'd done just the same.

#sheriff caitlyn #IC ∵ ( on the canvas. ) #Curator ∵ ( the drink is sweeter when it's sour first. )

[cautelous]

not really here much anymore due to irl obligations so sorry to reblog a giveaway and run... you know how it goes

#OOC ∵ ( outside the frame. )

[cautelous]

HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE!

to celebrate all of you and the support you have given me,  i wanted to do a very small giveaway.  i’m sorry it won’t be much ;w; but i wanted to a little something to give back to this community for all you’ve done for me!  since i don’t have time at the moment to give my energy to make something special from scratch as a giveaway prize,  i thought the next best option would be to have the prizes come from my shop!

RULES.

you must be following me!  new followers are welcome!

no giveaway / throwaway blogs.  if it’s a personal resource blog,  that’s ok!

like and reblog this post for one entry each.  you can have up to two entries!

bonus entry if you’re following me on deviantart!  just be sure to IM me your deviantart username!

i have the right to disqualify your entry / winning pull if i see that you’re a bigot,  thief,  or don’t credit artists or creators!  just don’t be weird or nasty!

PRIZES.

1st  —  choose anything from my shop,  from psds to icon borders to banners to promos to carrd templates,  to create a little bundle of up to three items.

2nd  —  choose from psds,  icon borders,  banners,  and promos to create a little bundle of up to two items.

3rd  —  choose only ONE item from my shop,  from a psd,  an icon border,  a banner,  or a promo.

THE GIVEAWAY WILL END ON JANUARY 31!

again,  thank you all so so so much for the support you’ve given me this past year.  it’s been so exciting to grow as a creator and to be able to create things that other people enjoy.  it’s so rewarding to know that i can make people out there happy with the things that i make!

render credit.

#OOC ∵ ( outside the frame. )

[cautelous]

It’s a fascinating little museum - not small enough to be called quaint, but still a far cry from some of the grand buildings that the two of them have visited over the years.

Of course, nothing will be going missing from this one, so perhaps it’s grand in its own way.

“Well,” Julian replies, the seriousness of their conversation already fading, “if you look to your right, Sheriff, there’s a rather interesting story behind that landscape...”

cautelous​:

Years and lost time and a plan Julian had known almost nothing about. Politics isn’t his place, and he knows for certain that what was released publicly must be a mere fraction of the truth. He exhales.

“I look forward to it as well.” He can hardly imagine the two of them on the same side of the law. “I’ll be much more… straightforward in any communications with you than I was previously.”

The Sheriff deserves much more than some cryptic cards, after all she’s done. All that they’ve been through. He turns back to the gallery, a little piece of what was and what will be.

“I’d hate to put you out into the cold so soon,” he says with a soft smile. “Would you like a more complete tour?”

“I can keep your involvement off the books. I’d very much like to keep it all off the books, in all honesty, though I fear what that might mean for myself, authority, corruption, et al.” She sighs faintly, but manages a smile. This could be her last huzzah. Not how she planned it, but… well. Better to put things in motion for those who will come after her.

‘All of it’. She wonders how he’ll take the news that she’s assembled a team. Maybe they can speak of that later, once the pieces start moving in earnest.

“A tour would be most wonderful. I would very much like to see how you’ve settled in.” She takes a moment to look once more at the pieces before the two of them, to truly look at them as a patron of the arts and not just the Sheriff needing a distraction.

#sheriff caitlyn #IC ∵ ( on the canvas. ) #Curator ∵ ( the drink is sweeter when it's sour first. )

[cautelous]

Years and lost time and a plan Julian had known almost nothing about. Politics isn’t his place, and he knows for certain that what was released publicly must be a mere fraction of the truth. He exhales.

“I look forward to it as well.” He can hardly imagine the two of them on the same side of the law. “I’ll be much more... straightforward in any communications with you than I was previously.”

The Sheriff deserves much more than some cryptic cards, after all she’s done. All that they’ve been through. He turns back to the gallery, a little piece of what was and what will be.

“I’d hate to put you out into the cold so soon,” he says with a soft smile. “Would you like a more complete tour?”

cautelous​:

Julian certainly needs a minute to process. His smile has politely frozen, and he looks away from her to that… acquired landscape. It’s of the marshes. (She’d had mud up to her knees…) The fuss, yes. He remembers that.

And he remembers Trisha’s death too, how he’d said his condolences if he were no one other than a citizen. He’d wanted to say more, to comfort, but gods - what could one say, when the two of them are who they are? He hadn’t known the words. He presses his lips together instead, turning back to Caitlyn.

“Well,” he begins, still unsure of how to react. “You certainly don’t negotiate with Zaun.”

Good gods. Part of her soul in the hands of anyone else, much less a Zaunite councilman. The Institute was a farce, and this proves it yet and again. (He ignores how his thoughts go to what a heist that could have been. That’s behind him… isn’t it?) And to demand cooperation…!

“I’ll work with you, Sheriff,” he murmurs, meeting her gaze. “Did you really expect any other answer?”

There have been some vast changes. Nothing will ever be the same again. (The same could be said about anything, and anyone, but here they are, in Piltover.)

She hadn’t even properly asked the question, and he was already saying ‘yes’. Her smile gentles, something far more genuine, a touch of wryness in the corner. She understands that a comfortable position isn’t entirely the be-all-and-end-all. 

“I won’t think to dictate your methods,” she murmurs. “And I trust your judgement.” A lifetime with Vi has left Caitlyn with a practical understanding that not everyone works by the book. And C would not have evaded her for so long if she was a perfect detective, besides.

But then Caitlyn’s smile fades slightly as she focuses on the task ahead. “What happened to me has been an eye-opener. It is not just nations that are after the powers that the Institute hoarded, but also private collectors.” Her hand clenches slightly behind her back. “It’s been years. Years without progress in fulfilling Piltover’s promise at the Bastion. So… thank you, Julian. I look forward to working with you.”

#sheriff caitlyn #IC ∵ ( on the canvas. ) #Curator ∵ ( the drink is sweeter when it's sour first. )

[cautelous]

Julian certainly needs a minute to process. His smile has politely frozen, and he looks away from her to that... acquired landscape. It’s of the marshes. (She’d had mud up to her knees...) The fuss, yes. He remembers that.

And he remembers Trisha’s death too, how he’d said his condolences if he were no one other than a citizen. He’d wanted to say more, to comfort, but gods - what could one say, when the two of them are who they are? He hadn’t known the words. He presses his lips together instead, turning back to Caitlyn.

“Well,” he begins, still unsure of how to react. “You certainly don’t negotiate with Zaun.”

Good gods. Part of her soul in the hands of anyone else, much less a Zaunite councilman. The Institute was a farce, and this proves it yet and again. (He ignores how his thoughts go to what a heist that could have been. That’s behind him... isn’t it?) And to demand cooperation...!

“I’ll work with you, Sheriff,” he murmurs, meeting her gaze. “Did you really expect any other answer?”

cautelous​:

A series of events. Julian looks over to her, something flashing in his eyes. There’s the Sheriff he knows. The Sheriff he…

“On what sort of timescale, Sheriff? Some months?” Some years?

He doesn’t quite know what she’s offering him yet. She’s already given him this chance to start again, in one respect, and now this seems like… a return to what they once had. Is she bored? Does she need a challenge again, someone to chase across the world? He’d do that for her until his legs gave out.

But that isn’t quite right. He steps away from the figurine, moving towards the next room. More contemporary pieces - in comparison to these - from the start of Piltover as a nation. She knows, without a doubt, that a few of this museum’s pieces weren’t lucky finds. He considers them liberations from dusty collections where they were never seen. Kept only for their monetary value.

It’s hard to quit an old love.

“I would be interested,” he says over his shoulder, “although I would like some more details on the matter.”

She doesn’t quite answer immediately, finding the right way to phrase it. Julian Raines is not obligated to drop everything and do as she asks, though gods - dead buried or otherwise -  know he would. She wants him to at least think about saying ‘no’, or putting himself first; just to know he is welcome to accept or decline as freely as he should choose.

“One might argue it has been going on for long enough already,” she murmurs. “I do intend to expediate what has been left undone.” She follows him to the next room, and it isn’t until they’re still again that she continues, “There have been some recent inquiries in the past year. And a… hm.” 

She recognises this painting. She saw it up for auction years ago, when she was still Constable, when some white-tie casually picked it up for more than its fair price. Julian certainly has a knack.

She is almost smiling, for a moment. But then she lowers her chin, and her eyes fix on the middle distance instead.

“You may recall the fuss made when I crossed over the border a month ago.” Before Mother’s death. Before Blitzcrank. Back when all she could say was that she had been requested to meet with a Zaunite representative, and the press could only guess at what a civil servant/non-politician was doing over there. (There was even one paper that supposed she was still hunting C. As far as the world is concerned, she still is.) “I was not able to discuss with the general public my reasons for going there, and I am even less able to discuss what actually transpired. This information does not leave this room, sir.”

Caitlyn lifts her gaze to the painting again, then looks at Julian. “The soul crystal that bound my consciousness at the Institute of War had been in the possession of a particular Zaunite councilman,” she says, delivering the world-stopping news with brisk professionalism, a low tone that does not carry beyond the three of them: sheriff, curator, and painting. “It was returned to me, on the proviso that I consider it a sign of ‘good faith’ and that I involve Zaun in further assistance to recover other similar relics.”

She gives a very thin smile, the kind of smile that says ‘I shall do so when the Freljord melts and Shurima freezes over’.

She’ll give him a minute to process all this. And for herself to figure out how to ask what she wants to ask without her words being binding.

#sheriff caitlyn #IC ∵ ( on the canvas. ) #Curator ∵ ( the drink is sweeter when it's sour first. )

[cautelous]

The end of the year and the start of something new.

Commission by GreenOvium!

#Visage ∵ ( the portrait hall. ) #Curator ∵ ( the drink is sweeter when it's sour first. )

[cautelous]

A series of events. Julian looks over to her, something flashing in his eyes. There’s the Sheriff he knows. The Sheriff he...

“On what sort of timescale, Sheriff? Some months?” Some years?

He doesn’t quite know what she’s offering him yet. She’s already given him this chance to start again, in one respect, and now this seems like... a return to what they once had. Is she bored? Does she need a challenge again, someone to chase across the world? He’d do that for her until his legs gave out.

But that isn’t quite right. He steps away from the figurine, moving towards the next room. More contemporary pieces - in comparison to these - from the start of Piltover as a nation. She knows, without a doubt, that a few of this museum’s pieces weren’t lucky finds. He considers them liberations from dusty collections where they were never seen. Kept only for their monetary value.

It’s hard to quit an old love.

“I would be interested,” he says over his shoulder, “although I would like some more details on the matter.”

cautelous​:

This museum’s location is something Julian knows very well. It isn’t… precisely over his old lair, not quite, but it’s close enough that he sometimes has to stop his feet from taking him down the wrong side-street. When he’d applied for the grant to start this venture, this new leaf, it had been on the Sheriff’s… on Caitlyn’s suggestion. He supposes that the address was her doing as well. It’s a nice part of town. They both know that isn’t why he got the building.

For a woman who despises corruption, Caitlyn certainly knows how to have things play in her favor. (Not that he’d accuse her of corruption, all of this is for a greater good, a grander plan…)

“Business?” he enters the main hallway, looking over his shoulder at her. “Are you planning an event?”

It is Snowdown, but he rather doubts that she’s come to book the museum for a holiday party. He turns into the first gallery, a smaller room that stores antiquities from Piltover’s - Piltowre’s - past. Small sculptures and textiles are what’s primarily on display.

Stranger things have been found in the catacombs that lace beneath the city, but they aren’t out for public display. Julian stops in front of a carved figurine of a woman with the wings of a swan, admiring it for a moment.

Waiting for Caitlyn to speak.

She makes a hum at his question, as she follows him. ‘An event’. That is quite one way to put it. She does not speak straight away, following him to this room of Piltowre’s artistic history, to relics of a time when science had not yet settled on top of that hill. She could name a hundred tales from this shelf alone, though her eyes draw again to the centrepiece. A marvellous find. 

Or perhaps a ‘rescue’, rather than a find.

It’s quiet here. There aren’t people braving the cold to look at trinkets, not when there isn’t music and wine to lure in the crowds. Many museums do host such events, but… it feels better, this way, to speak of her own ‘event’ when there is no chance of interruption. Not even from Beth.

Her tone loses a little of the gentleness that public-facing manners brings out of her. “I am planning an event, yes, but it is one that won’t be advertised to the general public.” She folds one arm behind her back, her posture stiff around the familiar mannerism. “It might be more accurate to call it a series of events, in case your schedule needs to be… adjusted.”

If he is comfortable here, in this new life, then she won’t push. But a part of her knows that comfort and the need to make amends aren’t much balm when it comes to boredom. He needs a challenge. Perhaps. If he’s the same as she is, he’ll need a challenge.

#sheriff caitlyn #IC ∵ ( on the canvas. ) #Curator ∵ ( the drink is sweeter when it's sour first. )

[cautelous]

"It's too fucking cold," Ezra mutters, as he yanks the shared blanket closer to him.

It really isn't that cold, especially in Jules' living room, on their couch. But Ezra's got the fortitude of bundled up tissue paper. In front of them, Columbo's doing his spiel on the TV, and Ezra's watching attentively. "That murderer's sweating bullets."

"It really is," Julian says, and tugs the blanket back. He reaches for his mug of tea with his other hand.

Columbo's done his whole "turn-and-one-more-thing" a few times now, on account of them having watched a few episodes. It's getting late. Maybe another pot of tea is in order, or at least setting up the couch for an overnight stay. Can't have Ezra perishing out in the cold, snowy streets.

"Shouldn't have killed his wife, then," he adds with a shrug. "It's a wonder anyone tries anything at all with Columbo, isn't it? You'd think they'd have gotten the message a few seasons ago."

#novascuro #IC ∵ ( on the canvas. ) #Modern ∵ ( see it in panorama. )

[cautelous]

throws a paper wad at julian.

Catches it with one hand. Unwads it - there isn't even a note? - and rewads it again.

Watch out Ezra, it's coming for your head.

#novascuro #IC ∵ ( on the canvas. )

[cautelous]

This museum’s location is something Julian knows very well. It isn’t... precisely over his old lair, not quite, but it’s close enough that he sometimes has to stop his feet from taking him down the wrong side-street. When he’d applied for the grant to start this venture, this new leaf, it had been on the Sheriff’s... on Caitlyn’s suggestion. He supposes that the address was her doing as well. It’s a nice part of town. They both know that isn’t why he got the building.

For a woman who despises corruption, Caitlyn certainly knows how to have things play in her favor. (Not that he’d accuse her of corruption, all of this is for a greater good, a grander plan...)

“Business?” he enters the main hallway, looking over his shoulder at her. “Are you planning an event?”

It is Snowdown, but he rather doubts that she’s come to book the museum for a holiday party. He turns into the first gallery, a smaller room that stores antiquities from Piltover’s - Piltowre’s - past. Small sculptures and textiles are what’s primarily on display.

Stranger things have been found in the catacombs that lace beneath the city, but they aren’t out for public display. Julian stops in front of a carved figurine of a woman with the wings of a swan, admiring it for a moment.

Waiting for Caitlyn to speak.

cautelous​:

It takes Beth all of two seconds behind the Staff Only door to start snorting, giggling, and otherwise acting incredibly unprofessionally at her place of work. It’s hard not to - when your boss’ boss (not literally, but…) shows up at your place of work and asks for him, in the middle of a snowstorm no less, it’s intriguing. When your boss is Julian Raines and the woman asking for him is the Sheriff of Piltover, it’s nearly hysterical.

Right. Tea first. She makes her way into the staff room (a converted storage room) and puts the kettle on. Julian really needs to buy some more tea, since she was the one who ventured out into the cold for it last time. Maybe she can pull a sob story about not liking the snow anymore, after getting stuck up on Targon for ages. He’s a bleeding heart. Anyways, the Sheriff’s probably the type for black tea.

Beth reappears a few minutes later with the closest-to-matching cup and saucer she could find, offering it to Caitlyn. “I’ll go see about that appointment.”

Off she goes again. First order of business is to check Julian’s office, so she heads back upstairs. It’s empty, of course, and she flicks off the lights with a roll of her eyes. The second order of business is to check Julian’s hideaway, which means that she’s got a few more flights of stairs to climb. She makes her way to the clocktower, searches through her key ring for the right key, and opens the door. The temperature inside is several degrees cooler, and so she hugs her arms to her chest as she takes the stairs up.

It takes her about half a flight to hear music, some old big band record, filtering down from above. Beth sighs and keeps climbing until she reaches the door - closed, of course - and knocks.

The music stops. Julian opens the door a few moments later, looking faintly embarrassed. “Er. Do we have visitors?”

She nods. “Just one. But she’d like an appointment with you, if you can fit it into your busy schedule.”

“Well,” he clears his throat, glancing at the room behind him, “I really shouldn’t keep someone waiting in this weather. We’ll have to go shovel the sidewalks again in an hour or so, I imagine…”

Beth momentarily grimaces at the thought. “Anyways, you’re right to not keep her waiting. The Sheriff’s a pretty busy woman, isn’t she?”

She grabs at his arm at about the same time he makes an awkward noise of surprise, leading him down the stairs.

“It’s the Sheriff, Beth?”

She mh-hms and continues down the stairs, smirking.

                                                        —

When Julian finally appears by the front desk, he’s much more composed. Beth has gone off to water the museum’s various plants - more accurately, to stay out of whatever this is going to be - so it’s just him.

He stays behind the desk, although he does lean against it slightly. “I heard that you wanted an appointment, Sheriff. Fortunately, my schedule’s rather free today on account of the weather… what can I help you with?”

The Piltovian government has been generous in providing grants and support for those who wish to start new businesses, particularly those in the arts, since Piltover’s rebuilding. A museum such as this, which preserves and presents culture and history to the world, is a fine venture, and one justly deserved by one art teacher, a Mister Julian Raines. 

That is the truth of it. But there is more truth beneath. There’s always, always more truth beneath.

Perhaps, if the museum continues to draw modest crowds as it has done since its opening, it might be prompted to grow somewhat larger. Perhaps down into the basement, into the abandoned train station that lies under Piltover’s streets, under this very address.

There’s always more truth beneath.

Caitlyn thanks Beth for the tea, and her smile is soft and genuine. Still, the Sheriff reads the amusement in this particular daughter of Piltover, the bright eyes and barely-repressed smile of someone In The Know. The Sheriff’s presence here is an in-joke, because who is Julian Raines? Who else?

The sheriff cannot be sure of how much Julian and Beth have spoken, but there’s certainly something significant one must confess to a woman that had been left for dead by a man who has a bit of a martyr com– 

Caitlyn sips her tea and looks at the poster instead; she does not feel compelled to follow that line of thought. The point is, Beth knows enough. She probably finds the Sheriff’s presence hilarious.

Eventually, she hears the staff-only door open, and the hesitant-eager sound of his step (a paradox, but so is he, so is she), and sees the way he maintains a barrier between them (protection from who she is, what she could do, what she won’t do, perhaps also something to lean on because Julian Raines is a man prone to having his breath taken away) and hears how he speaks. Perfectly polite. Perfectly reasonable. A perfect performance, even though there is no-one in the audience but themselves.

Sometimes, even to an empty theatre, performance is all either of them have.

Caitlyn sets down the teacup in its saucer, and gets to her feet. “It’s a little bit of business,” she says, playing her role. “Which, given the nature of it all, can be a little time-consuming.” She smiles faintly at him, then inclines her head towards the museum. She was here for the grand opening, but she would rather like to see how he’s made this place his own since then. Walking and talking is amenable, is it not?

#sheriff caitlyn #IC ∵ ( on the canvas. ) #Curator ∵ ( the drink is sweeter when it's sour first. )

[cautelous]

i’m sort of back. hi. break has given me the ability to sit down for more than two seconds.

#OOC ∵ ( outside the frame. )

[cautelous]

It takes Beth all of two seconds behind the Staff Only door to start snorting, giggling, and otherwise acting incredibly unprofessionally at her place of work. It’s hard not to - when your boss’ boss (not literally, but...) shows up at your place of work and asks for him, in the middle of a snowstorm no less, it’s intriguing. When your boss is Julian Raines and the woman asking for him is the Sheriff of Piltover, it’s nearly hysterical.

Right. Tea first. She makes her way into the staff room (a converted storage room) and puts the kettle on. Julian really needs to buy some more tea, since she was the one who ventured out into the cold for it last time. Maybe she can pull a sob story about not liking the snow anymore, after getting stuck up on Targon for ages. He’s a bleeding heart. Anyways, the Sheriff’s probably the type for black tea.

Beth reappears a few minutes later with the closest-to-matching cup and saucer she could find, offering it to Caitlyn. “I’ll go see about that appointment.”

Off she goes again. First order of business is to check Julian’s office, so she heads back upstairs. It’s empty, of course, and she flicks off the lights with a roll of her eyes. The second order of business is to check Julian’s hideaway, which means that she’s got a few more flights of stairs to climb. She makes her way to the clocktower, searches through her key ring for the right key, and opens the door. The temperature inside is several degrees cooler, and so she hugs her arms to her chest as she takes the stairs up.

It takes her about half a flight to hear music, some old big band record, filtering down from above. Beth sighs and keeps climbing until she reaches the door - closed, of course - and knocks.

The music stops. Julian opens the door a few moments later, looking faintly embarrassed. “Er. Do we have visitors?”

She nods. “Just one. But she’d like an appointment with you, if you can fit it into your busy schedule.”

“Well,” he clears his throat, glancing at the room behind him, “I really shouldn’t keep someone waiting in this weather. We’ll have to go shovel the sidewalks again in an hour or so, I imagine...”

Beth momentarily grimaces at the thought. “Anyways, you’re right to not keep her waiting. The Sheriff’s a pretty busy woman, isn’t she?”

She grabs at his arm at about the same time he makes an awkward noise of surprise, leading him down the stairs.

“It’s the Sheriff, Beth?”

She mh-hms and continues down the stairs, smirking.

                                                        —

When Julian finally appears by the front desk, he’s much more composed. Beth has gone off to water the museum’s various plants - more accurately, to stay out of whatever this is going to be - so it’s just him.

He stays behind the desk, although he does lean against it slightly. “I heard that you wanted an appointment, Sheriff. Fortunately, my schedule’s rather free today on account of the weather... what can I help you with?”

The woman behind the desk blinks to see the Sheriff, and she gets to her feet. But Caitlyn raises a hand and motions that there is no need for such ceremony.

"Welcome, Sheriff," the woman doesn't sit back down, regardless. "How can I assist you?"

"Are you who I would speak to about making an appointment to see the curator?" The sheriff keeps a straight face.

Miss Elizabeth Hargreave has her professionalism slip for just a moment. Something very much like a knowing look almost crossed her face, but she restrains it, barely, letting it out only as the smallest and briefest of smirks. "You want to make an appointment, Sheriff?"

Caitlyn smiles back, her professionalism far more practiced and intact. "I feel a man like Julian Raines is quite busy with this new venture of his."

"Quite." Beth's smile quirks for a moment. "Could I get you a cup of tea, Sheriff? It might take a moment for me to consult his schedule." She gestures magnanimously to a seating area near the front desk. Wooden benches, posters, a holder of pamphlets, a couple of tasteful potted plants suited to the indoors.

"That would be lovely." Caitlyn starts to unwind her scarf. "Do not feel the need to rush on my account."

"If you say so, Sheriff. How do you take your tea?"

"Dealer's choice." Caitlyn smiles, then takes a seat on one of the benches, letting her eyes rove around the posters and the lobby, taking in the fresh paint and the new light fixtures. Quite a respectable little business. She cannot wait to take a proper tour, and with the weather as bad as it is outside, she might be likely to have the whole museum to herself.

She puts her scarf and gloves into her purse, and watches as Beth vanishes into the Staff Only area. @cautelous

#sheriff caitlyn #IC ∵ ( on the canvas. ) #Curator ∵ ( the drink is sweeter when it's sour first. )

[cautelous]

nox i am literally just waiting for roguefort to be added as a support or magic cookie to kingdom i am just waiting here i am just waiting i want to see my little [gender unspecified]

#OOC ∵ ( outside the frame. )

[cautelous]

@novascuro and i are mutually shutting down our blogs after it’s been revealed that we plagiarized our characters from the hit free to play mobile gacha running game cookie run: ovenbreak

#OOC ∵ ( outside the frame. )

[cautelous]

"You don’t really love her, do you?"

→ HARDBOILED NOIR SENTENCE STARTERS

"You're one to lecture about love,” Julian spits. “What do you think it is, if it isn’t love?”

Obsession? Devotion? Aren’t those the same, in the end?

“Oh, I’ve got it - you think it’s a passing fancy! That I’ll wake up one day and what, fall in love with the man who works at that little cafe down the road? That I’ll fall for an old friend?”

He knows damn well that Ezra doesn’t feel that way. But needling isn’t amiss, not when the other man’s so dead-set on questioning. On doubting. It is love. It can’t be anything but.

“I do. I do, and I always will.”

#novascuro #IC ∵ ( on the canvas. ) #Filled Prompt ∵ ( finished works. )

[cautelous]

"He just picked me up. I’m kind of cute sometimes."

→ HARDBOILED NOIR SENTENCE STARTERS.

"Only sometimes?"

Julian turns, fixing Ezra with an appraising gaze. “I’d say at least most of the time. And - now, forgive me for this - but do you mean figuratively or literally? I do know your type...”

#novascuro #IC ∵ ( on the canvas. ) #Filled Prompt ∵ ( finished works. )