[log] regret was waking up to realize some nobody takes those quiet walks with you now
The funeral is on a Friday, and aptly it rains on a cold north-westerly wind. Caius's speech is impassioned and from the heart; everything that Mina knew it was going to be, even if he did decide to write it at some absurd hours of the night. Cordelia's brothers act as her pall-bearers and Caius is photographed leaving with his youngest niece in ( Read more... )
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Mina is as she often is, at this hour and when she's without prying eyes--she's seated sideways in a chair, in her underwear and a thin tank top with nothing under it, in front of her computer with most of the lights off. The laptop is a quiet blue glow on her face, her skin, and she looks up when Caius gets in.
"You did it," she says, simply, fondly--she knew he'd succeed. They were meant to do that.
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He smells like church and cigarettes, and he's in the process of getting his loosened-tie all the way off when she looks up; he smiles at her, quiet and self-satisfied. "I've only got a few loose ends left to tie up, now."
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"People on the internet are already talking about you, Caius." Her voice is warm, glowing, almost. They work in part because they enjoy one another's successes, for the most part, and there's never any jealousy on Mina's side of things. (But then, they keep their goals in different regions, except when she's interfering on his.)
"They'll play soundbites on the radio, the BBC."
She rises out of her chair and moves toward him.
"I'm glad it went well, is what I'm saying. Hello."
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Tie in one fist, he wraps his arms around her and tucks his face against the side of hers, warm and close and comfortable. (They're cooperative, not in competition - it helps significantly.) "It went very well." For a funeral, you freaks. "Proud of me, are you?"
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