toussainttwins // 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐀 𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐊𝐈𝐍
“What is allergic? Is it a compliment?” asks the trickster within a safe distance. It is hard to distinguish the next words, for she covers her nose, mouth and attempts to shield the eyes as well, tormented by the scent. “I taste your concern, but…I…I,” Nistana gathers all her will and vanity, mastering her voice, “I would rather taste a nice perfume too. It’s on the little table at the window. Roses ala Duchess,” she mumbles as quickly as she can. Elder forbid any customer knocks at the door now and see the mistress of the Dreamveil in such a sorry disarray! The horned coquetted sneezed doubly hard, poisoned by the possibility. The chatelaine rang a clear note of distress. Her curls definitely escaped the hairpins. She could feel it! One more sneeze like this and not only her sleeve, but the very glamour would slip off!
Nistana tries to reach for the little mirror at the end of the chain, grabbing blindly, adamant not to open her eyes or to keep the shield of her palm away from her face, wondering is she is blushing in a very ugly or in a very pretty way meanwhile.
“Ah…hurry,” she breathes in a dying voice. The dainty fingers part an inch, like a smart fan. Behind the cover, the trickster open an eye, trying to follow her sangbonbon’s movements.
❝ It is... hmm, a sensitive, physical reaction to a substance, often -- ❞ He attempts to explain, but is abruptly cut off by the next sneeze, and all of his is senses on high alert, his pupils are dilated with worry that he has been the one to harm his lambkin unknowingly. Concern, fear, panic -- these emotions all flood through him, and he only wishes to do but one thing by instinct alone: protect.
He obeys Nistana’s request without question, sweeping across the room towards the designated spot before she’s even finished with the request. He swipes the perfume off the table and returns to her side in only the blink of an eye, pressing the glass vial into her hand before he moves away to keep a safe distance between them once more, lest his foul scent aggravate her further.
❝ N-Nissa... are you... are you all right -- ? ❞ Oh, how he longs to reach out and cradle and comfortable her in his arms, tucked in the sure safety of them. But he cannot make it so -- ! For his very presence has become a danger to his beloved without having known a simple herb would cause her so much distress. To hell with garlic -- !
He swallows hard, thinking of something, anything to dispel the sense of urgency that has suffocated the air around them, liable to burst into something more dire at any given moment. It feels as if one could slice the tension with a knife. Dettlaff clears his throat as his eyes roam over Nistana’s frazzled figure -- her face is flushed, cheeks puffed, nostrils flared ; and her curls have flown every which way, freed from their confines. It looks as if a hairpin clings to one curl for dear life, hanging on by a single thread.
Nistana looks every part the image of an utter disaster, as if a tornado has swept through the room.
Dettlaff smiles, awkwardly, and one fang pokes out the side of his mouth.
❝ You look... lovely. ❞