Favorite Character of the OC Below (IC)

Rochester stared down at the cards before chuckling and grunting, “Oh, come on, Jack. It’s not that hard of a game if you know what you’re doing.” Was it now? She eyed him carefully while clicking her tongue against her palate, a frown on her face while she scanned his typical gloomy expression. “I could teach you if you want, but as always, there’s always a different reason why you’re here. First Mary, then some damn instrument, now… This-” The middle-aged woman trailed off to laugh wryly.

“Wait a minute!”

She set her deck on the table, fully showing the faces, before laughing and proclaiming, “Oh, come on, Jack! You’re the one who keeps finding me much of the time. I have no reason to be associated with you so often, and yet…” The scientist gestured vaguely with her hands while a small smile became visible on her visage. “... Here you are.” Rochester paused, then leaned back in her seat ever so casually. Good for her.

“You don’t completely hate me now, do you?” asked the middle-aged woman with a raised brow and playful smirk, “Otherwise-” Her voice suddenly became tense again. So much for trying to lighten the mood. Sitting herself straight again, Rochester folded her hands together and nodded. “... Yes, there is something fishy, but about what are you exactly talking about?”

And that was when her heart skipped at least several beats - when Skinner and Brown were brought up. Both of them! But especially Brown…

“I…” Rochester started with a slight crack in her voice, before shaking her head and grunting, “I mean… I would expect her to gain some influence from her husband, not that she’s been willing to accept it. But Skinner is one persistent son of a bitch, and he’d fucking do anything to keep her under his control. If one had to be worse, it’s definitely him. It’s… Definitely him-” Her muscles tensed further when the rumors surrounding her former intern’s disappearance were brought up. How she had run away from the household after a supposed argument with Skinner that day. Rochester didn’t know the details, and yet she felt two clashing forces inside of her. One part of her commended Brown’s courage, that she was finally able to get away from this situation; however, the other was… Worried, to say the least.

Jack was right. What would a proper lady like Brown be doing out in the woods? Sure, she had learned some basic survival skills when working under Rochester, but what if Skinner had quashed them? What if she had deliberately forgotten them to spite her, after all that she did? Surely, if she had no place to stay, then she’d certainly be dead- But then Rochester looked up and saw the detective smiling.

“Hm?” the older woman remarked before- She released a breath she had no idea she had been holding. Brown was safe after all. Thank the skies for that… Rochester’s eyes softened while they settled on the winning set of cards.

“That’s good, at least. At least you’re being careful with her,” mused Rochester tenderly with the slightest smile, “I don’t know what mental state she’d be in after that marriage, but… You know, anything is better as long as she’s out of there. Away from him. Obviously, don’t take my word for granted, but as her former mentor figure, I can say that she’s probably going to stay in that cabin for as long as it’s safe, and the Kingsmen aren’t at her doorstep. And trust me: she’d probably prefer you over him any day. I’m pretty sure she wanted to punch him for a long time, too… I wouldn’t be surprised if she considers you a hero in a way… I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you punching him again.”

Her brows raised when her peer mentioned the deal, prompting her to lean forward slightly and mutter, “Mm?” They raised even further after he mentioned the terms. Brown would be kept safe, while she had to give up some information. Rochester’s stomach turned; she had the feeling that this probably concerned Mary, and Jack was starting to get a hunch that she was hiding something- Not that she was adept at it by any means! “I… I will consider it,” the older woman attempted to fib while folding her index fingers together, “It just depends on what information you ask from me. You said we needed to be open, right? Then why are you placing more of the burden on me than yourself?”

Rochester’s skepticism only continued when Jack started bringing up his “secret” - his isolated lifestyle, his hypercarnivorous diet… She furrowed a brow when he rolled back his sleeve and revealed a bite scar. “Fifteen years ago” her ass. It looked like it had been inflicted just a week ago, with the uniquely acrid scent, as well as how red and angry it looked. Still, attempting to bite down her emotions, she looked up at him and nodded.

“I see.”

“I’ve heard of them, admittedly,” confessed Rochester to Jack with a raised brow, “but I’ve never seen one myself. Thanks for telling me, though.” Gee. That was one way to frame it. She was, however, startled when he told her he could detect the scent of applesauce on her - priorities, priorities. With widened eyes, she nodded and affirmed, “Yes… It did have cinnamon.” Great. So her former intern was going to be stuck with a potentially dangerous man now? Rochester bit down on her lip but heaved out a sigh.

A rock and a hard place, a rock and a hard place…

“I don’t specialize in the supernatural,” Rochester corrected him with a frown, “I only focus on what I can see, what I can touch. I study wolves, bears, and mice. Not…” She gestured vaguely at the sleeve that concealed his bite wound. “... Not that. Not even my girlfriend would be much help, so you’re kind of out of luck there.” Rochester, however, did pause while furrowing her brows and folding her hands together.

“Though… Admittedly… I think I’ve heard of a plant known as a curative for pretty much any sickness out there… Obviously, I think it’s bullshit. But if werewolves can exist, then so can this fucking mythical plant. I don’t know the name - because I don’t study legends. I, however, can eavesdrop on some of the townsfolk’s conversations if you’d like. I’m sure they’d know more about it than me, really.”

"Well golden you, look at that lucky streak," Jack said. As he threw his cards at the table. And though he and the renegade professor had been playing cards for a long time, Jack didn't seem to keep his focus all that well.
He scratched the edge of one of the playing cards with his sharp fingernail before throwing it on the pile. "You win, again," Jack said. Leaning back in his chair as he observed Rochester. "From all the new arrivals,  you seem to be the luckiest," the werewolf mused. "Or unluckiest, as we keep meeting," Jack seated himself better in his chair. Placing his foot slightly against the pokertable, while allowing himself to tilt his chair slightly backwards. He plucked the edge of his furcoat as he continued.
"But you we're right. There is something fishy going on," Jack said. What a detective he was! Jack eased his fingers around the fur and rubbed his facial hair instead. "Something Skinner isn't telling me. Something with Brown as well. I've met them both, briefly. Can't say I like them," Jack mused. "But I take it you're quite accustom with, at least one of them. Brown right? You told me about her," Jack stroke the edges of his drooping mustache before removing his hand entirely.
"I'm not sure where she went. Rumors goes that she dissipated. Would be a shame. A rich aristocratic woman, dissolving in these woods. The Kingsmen would comb out every inch of the province to get her back and," Jack smiled. Showing a hint of his fangs, "I think we both would preferred if they didn't. Besides, she seemed to be reasonable enough. Punched a hole in a door," Jack said. Removing his foot and allowing his chair to tilt back forwards.
"I offered my shack to her to stay in, but I'm not sure if she did. I'm not sure if she's still there. Why would she trust me, I punched her husband. Turns out right in front of her face," Jack shrugged. "Not that I won't punch that man again."
Jack's smile disappeared and his face faltered back to his normal-gloomy self.

"I'm willing to keep my end of the bargain. Your deal." Jack snorted. "I keep an eye out for her and you, well," Jack tipped his chin. "Start to provide me with some information. Sounds like a deal right? We can form an agreement. An bond." Jack eyed her. Waiting for the researcher to respond. Her expression was clear enough.
"Listen, I like it as much as you like it," he said. A hint of a smile on his face, actually he got quite fond of the other party. You know in a respecting way. Not that he would admit that though... "But we need each other. And we need to be open to each other."
Jack sat up straight. His hands started to shake as he took a deep breath. "That means I need to tell you something. My.. Secret, if you will. The reason why I go in hiding, the reason why I only eat meat. Come 'on don't give me that look, you've already figured out my strange diet patterns," Jack said. Then his hand grabbed the edge of his coat.

Slowly but surly he rolled the sleeve back, baring that bite-mark on his arm. "I've got bitten, 15 years ago. My patrol and I were scouting the south end of the province. We got attacked. In the middle of the night, full moon. I managed to get out, alive somehow." Jack softly rubbed the edge of his scars. The marks still looked so..Fresh. As if it happened yesterday. A week ago at it's very least.
"I don't quite remember what happened to me afterwords, but I.. I got cursed. I know, curses, witches. All superstition. Right?" Jack said. His smile strained on his face and looked more something a wounded animal would display.
"Well, not for good ol' Jack. I turned. I'm a werewolf. Big chunk of a beast, eats meat. Smells blood," Jack said. His eye scanning Rochester's face for any sign. Any expression, as he continued. "As for example right now, if I focus enough I can hear your heartbeat. I can smell the slime Spot left you on your left shoulder and the warm apple sauce you've eaten some 3 hours ago? It had cinnamon in it. Did it not?" Jack said. Then shook his head.
"I don't control this side of me. It's a curse. Not some, makeshift blessing in disguise. But as long as I'm control I try to use it for good. So, tell me, where do I start to unravel this mess I've created 15 years ago. By staying alive when I was supposed to, you know not be breathing anymore." 

  Mary chuckled nervously as she rubbed the edges of the paperback. "Alright, just.. Don't laugh at my mouth straining," she said. "It is?" She asked the knight. Then blinked a couple of times then smiled, "well you seem to know a lot about strong muscles," smooth.
"Le..Ver..verth," Nerine made it look so easy! "Va....Fack," Then she pressed her hand against her mouth. As if she just said something súper bad. Mary you are a grown ass woman. Then she started to giggle. She did just really said that. Fack.
Relatable expression while learning French.

"You think so?" She tucked a hair lock behind her ear. Her surprise quickly shifted in determination. "No, yes, You're right. I'll get the hang of it," she said. Going as far as clenching her fists, the edges of her many tentacles curled up too, in solidarity. "Did you learn French when you were younger Nerrie?" she asked the other woman. Her mouth made a perfect 'o' when her friend Nerrie said the shit word though. You just said fack yourself Mary, you cant judge.

Mary quickly adjusted her gaze back to the dictionary. Playing with one of the tentacles crowning her head as she softly muttered the French words to herself. And while Nerine may felt unnnerved, Mary was fully in the tranquil-mindset. It's been a long time since she tried to learn something. Even longer when she had a friend. A human friend, sorry Lamb.
Mary spotted Nerine softly massaging her head. "Are you feeling alright? I understand if my French is giving you a headache," she teased. Hate to break it to ya, It wasn't your French Mary. She smiled.

"Sure" she said and nodded as Nerine got up. "I've got some fruit-cookies in my bag or, biscuits au-hu-x fruits in my bag, feel free to take one," Mary said. "They are chuck full of uh," she pressed her finger on one of the papers as she said: "Sucre" with the worst possible accent, "in it. It gives you energy, and strenght!" Mary softly flexed her arm with that last word. As an encouragement. 

Flavio kept an eye on young Ennette thus far -- she wasn't weak by any means, though he knew that the journey to Vieillemont and then to the wall was an arduous one. Even if it came down to the fact that he secretly hated her father or something like that, he couldn't ever bring himself to despise her and leave her on her own, if partially because he was sure he would get that itch in his neck taken care of. Forever.

"Ah, you shouldn't be on that thing, anyway." Flavio remarked to the young woman, "It's a distraction."

Goddamn millennials and their goddamn cellular phones.

"I don't camp as often as I'd like -- outside of the war, at least. I find this refreshing, honestly." he carried on, "It's good to be out in nature like this. People can lose themselves in books and 'phones' all they like, of course, but no fantasy could ever be as beautiful as reality, and I would never even consider my responsibilities as fascinating." He glanced back at her, and then chuckled, "It would be stupid of anyone."

We get it, you like trees.

He brushed a tuft of his hair behind his ear at mention of the princess's father. "Yes, I did appreciate the flowers, dear. You'll mention that to him when you return home, will you?" he asked, "Or, perhaps when we arrive to the castle, you can draft a letter to him before we ride to Aurélie..."

Flavio fell silent when she pointed out the snow, and at which point his lip curled. Gods, it was only going to get worse as they climbed the mountain. He tapped lightly against his horse's side, causing the steed to trot faster uphill.

"We're almost there, don't worry." he said to her, "Let's just keep moving, and once we're there, just ask for some food, and also some boiling water and herbs immediately. You're starting to smell."

Don't be mean.

M. Pourife had been busy scribbling some notes in his journal after an aristocrat had finished talking to him. He clicked his tongue against his palate while carefully considering his options, since… Well… They may not have been scientific notes, but they were still worth remembering for later. Who knows?

That aristocrat may have been more familiar than first thought.

He was, either way, so wrapped up in himself that he didn’t even notice someone approaching him at first, so - when he finally heard footsteps - his first instinct was to jump into the air like a startled cat and clutch his journal close to his chest. He could feel the slightly damp paper press itself against his vest, but… Even if the ink smudged itself ever so slightly, and stained his clothes accordingly, everything would turn out fine.

Hopefully…

“Oh, I did not notice you for a second!” exclaimed the middle-aged man with a laugh when he turned around and finally noticed the young woman standing before him. Someone wasn’t used to the attention. “But yes… Monsieur, huh?” M. Pourife chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck while scrutinizing the other party. “That sounds lovely for a title… I would not mind if it were more common. The same goes for ‘madame’ and ‘mademoiselle,’ mm?” Then… He paused, then scratched his chin.

“Would ‘mademoiselle’ work as a title for you? You seem respectable in that regard, after all.” Aww.

Nonetheless, he did wince when his shoulder was touched, taking a step back before returning the grin somewhat sheepishly when he noticed her enthusiasm. Ah! A fellow science enthusiast! Finally. Some good fucking food.

“Oh!” he proclaimed again when she mentioned his studies, his eyes starting to shine while he clasped his hands together. “You have heard of my work!” Finally, after years of toiling in obscurity for the most part, he was recognized. Oh, what bliss! Eagerly, M. Pourife hobbled forward and took the other party’s hand before giving it a shake.

“But sure, of course!” chimed in the middle-aged man with a grin, though it did seem to quiver slightly at the tips, “What sorts of things do you study anyway, miss?”

"Tried? Sweetcakes oi did!" He said. Waving the rodent in his hand. "We did, koinde," Roswell nodded at his birdlike enemy.
Then he smiles. A pained expression.
"When doesn't she yell sweetcakes. I mean fair."
Roswell glared back with lifted up eyebrows. The rat no longer struggled and kind of accepted chilling in the leidsman's hand. As long as he didn't get fed too that bird, this fat rodent was fine.

"They don't call me a leidsman for nothin' I lead," Roswell said. They should call you a lijdsman as lijden meant suffering. That's your Dutch lesson with Fizz today. He leaned closer. "Yer welcome."
Roswell smiled from the peck on his nose. If he can't still holding this rat he would have oat her but alas.
The smile got whites clean of his face when his hair got pulled. Roswell's entire mood soured. Visible. The corners of his mouth dropped and his eye squeezed to a small slit.
"Void'se arse," he huffed underneath his breath.

"Maybe yer can ask her to let go of me or Oi maybe don't even see de day day Zeewolven and Jakes stop botherin' us alive," he whined. But correctly so. That shit must hurt.

Minou wasn't normally the type of bird to be playing favorites, but when it came to people to beat the shit out of... Her single avian brain cell had one clear victor (unfortunately).

"So let me get this straight, otterface," hissed Brown to Roswell with crossed arms, "You tried to catch the damn rat, but then..." She trailed off to gesture at the damage resulting from their impromptu operation: the cabinet rudely jostled several inches forward by Minou's thrashing, the dent on the floor where the fossil had impacted it, and (most jarringly) the damaged pieces of her ammonite situated on a nearby desk - to be repaired at a later time. "... All this shit happened? And Minou screamed just to get you in trouble?"

The bird, as if to be an asshole, chirped at her owner while standing just a meter or two away from the leidsman. Blinking coyly, she then preened her feathers before giving him another stinky eye, then hissed at him. Great. Brown then grumbled under her breath while taking his arms just to make sure Minou - or the rat - didn't scratch him up too badly.

In a rougher, more stern voice, the middle-aged aristocrat spat, "I was going to get some poison for the fucking rodent, you know. But then you decided to take things into your own hands..." As if expecting an order from Brown to beat him up, Minou hopped closer before sniffing at that atrocious stench of lard. Goodness, did the leidsman smell like pork. Fun fact: Minou liked pork... As food. She inched her neck towards his hair while Brown grunted, "Which is admirable, but never do that again. I'm only letting you off this time because you did get the vermin with Minou's help. So thank you for that 'good idea...' I suppose."

Not that Brown would keep too close of an eye on him for it, as she leaned in to peck a kiss on the tip of his nose. Thank fuck Minou wasn't sapient. She would've died inside if she actually knew what was going on.

"Besides, I hope Tabby and Minou haven't been too much of an issue with you," teased Brown with a chuckle, "They are both friendly if you take the time to know them, mm? Friendlier than me, to be honest." Ummm... Minou, being friendly? Even if she did have one brain cell, Minou thought that was stupid, because she gave this "otterface" fellow another sniff of his hair, then- Gave it a sharp pull, flapping her wings wildly while she did so.

Hissing under her breath, the bird took a step back before the aristocrat quickly added, "Okay, so it may take a while before the bird warms up to you. But she'll come around eventually. Hopefully by the time those Zeewolven and Jakes step back... Hm, otterface?", and reached a hand out to stroke his cheek. Are you... Sure about that? Minou shot the guest a glare while keeping the lock of lard-smelling hair in her teeth, but at least she wasn't pulling it anymore... For now.

How the hell Smithson even won this game astounded the older man considering that, well, he wasn’t really that adept at chess. But don’t tell him that, because his father probably had the same problem. Daddy issues were great.

For once, it probably would’ve been for the best that he inherited something from his mother, because at least Smith was decent at games (at least before the entire “separation” fiasco took place). The problem was that she chose not to play chess; instead, she indulged herself in “taboo” pastimes like cards. Oh, and checkers. Checkers was the worst, apparently.

With a surprised blink and cock of his head, the aristocrat carefully nudged her kingpiece with one of his own chess pieces and stated, “Checkmate.” Nevertheless,  his voice did waver a bit as he proclaimed his victory… Ever so slightly. Her voice already had that typical drawl when one was frustrated, and as steadfast as the older man was, he didn’t want to piss her off.

Sure, he was a bit attached to her, but he also just didn’t want his spine to get stomped on by those boots. Priorities, priorities.

“I practiced a few times, admittedly,” he told the teenager curtly while trying not to wince from her use of the word “shit.” No profanity allowed here. Only family-friendly content except for the occasional threat of violence… Not that it was in his head right now, while he folded his hands together and explained further, “Besides… It’s actually somewhat expected for an aristocrat from my region to be decent at something considered ‘proper.’ Chess is actually one of them. I’m surprised it hasn’t faded in popularity yet, but alas.”

Alas indeed, as the girl apologized, and… Huh. She never apologized before. Usually she’d just pout and act like a bitch, but now didn’t… Seem to be the case. Smithson still carefully listened to her just in case she was trying to offer some backhanded comment, but for the most part, he actually seemed relaxed. Aww.

“But that asides, it’s relieving to know that you were up for another game,” confessed Smithson with a raise of his brow, “if only because I rather like your company. Even if you beat me at much of our games…” Yea, and this round was going to be the one exception before she resolved to kick his ass even harder… As he deserved.

“And I see. Introspective activities are always valid.” Said the bitch who secretly funded murders- Wait a minute.

Sitting himself up slightly, Smithson crossed his arms when she asked for the jellyfish, merely stating, “Sure, miss. I think it’s starting to like you anyways. I can feel it moving around in its capsule more often when I’m near you. That doesn’t usually happen, you know.” That’s a bit too much information regarding your weird pets, sir, but that’s fine. At least it wasn’t about murder, or how the fuck he got those things in the first place.

Why wasn't she angrier, anyways?

Shrouded in guilt from a young age, Maribelle really, truly couldn't bring herself to despise him, nor those around her back then. She knew probably should have, but he was still so gentlemanly. Even if she tried, what would other people say about it? About her? And what of him?

"I don't see why it matters." she forced out, tone of voice quiet but steady, deciding on something simple, "I was too weak. I wasn't not like how I am now." Which brought up the question of: would she do anything now? That was still a likely 'no'. She couldn't think properly, a burning sensation in her stomach restraining her from saying much else. She needed to focus on other things, on better things, and so she concluded with a sluggish, "I don't know."

Maribelle rubbed at the side of her face, eyes falling to the books on her desk. She stared at them blankly for a moment, studying the gilded titles on their spines, easing in and out a slow breath. The Xenophile. Encyclopedia of Northern Insects.

"I can't talk about it, anyways." she droned, "I can talk about literally anything else, but I'll get into trouble for that."

She continued to look at her books, figuring that they were probably the best distraction she had at the moment. "If you're not here to give me a job, or talk about my insects or anything like that, then I don't want to talk at all." she told Gadriel, "I was about to... sort through my bugs again. I have a butterfly I'm needing to pin and label, you know. She's a cranberry blue."