goddamngrenades | RP Open Post

Since York has claimed the couch in defeat, Carolina settles for smirking and slipping onto the armchair, oozing much like a cat into a comfortable position before adjusting her wings. They probably shouldn't be able to bend that way, but they do and they are, and her tail flicks back and forth at an even, steady tick as she watches.

And both ridged brows lift a little when the call connects. Oh. Oh ho ho. This might be good.

"...Hi mom!" Oh and here it is. A lot of questions he doesn't feel like answering and-

Oh.

Oh shit. "It's just for work, mom. It's debunking- what? Oh come on you know magic isn't real, right? It's just for show, sometimes I feel like using a few props to make it look like it's working but it's harmless. No one's getting hurt by this. Oh- her? She's my new roommate. Yeah. General studies. Transfer from overseas, still getting used to how things work on this side of the pond. Well- uh. Military brat? Look I- no. She's not coming for Thanksgiving. Because she's got her own shit to do? I'll ask but- Nnnnnnoooo I don't- Ma look- Ma. MA! I'm gonna hang up if you don't-"

That tail doesn't cease swishing the entire time York keeps talking. If anything, its her expression that begins to look further and further amused, and she relaxes back in the chair, linking taloned fingers together as his mother neatly railroads right over him. Yes, yes she can see why his clan as a strong matriarchal line indeed.

Her head does tilt at the series of Don't and threats to hang up, however. Now what is that about?

"Okay FINE just. Hold please." He presses the phone to his chest and scrubs at his face, muttering darkly under his breath. This is going to be terrible. "...She wants to talk to you. To make sure we're getting along."

"She does?" Well that is interesting. There's a slither before she's off the couch, rocking on the balls of her feet, before there's steady steps taken towards York. "Why would we not get along?" Is that loud enough? She's assuming that's loud enough to sound muffled in the background. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

There's a smirk before talons reach for the phone, but there's a serious in her eyes that belays the humour. What does this woman really want?

"Nooooo we get along like peas in a pod, right? Mutual boundaries and respect and all that jazz-" He hands the phone over knowing however this goes?

It'll end bad for him.

Shit.

On the other end of the line a crisp, calm voice murmurs. "He hasn't even told me your name- does he know your name? Has he been having problems with his memory again?"

"It's Carolina," she informs the prim voice, lightly swatting away at her summoner as he fusses and fumes, looking increasingly more distressed. Leaning past him, she pulls one of his enrollment forms out from under an increasingly large stack of books on the cabinet next to the couch. There's a glance up. "Church."

An ironic name choice.

Phone is shifted a moment, settled between cheek and shoulder, as she puts said paper down and starts scratching at it with one talon. "And outside of confirmation for rent purposes, I do not see why he'd have reason to mention me, ma'am."

"He's always told me who he was living with and what they liked so I could send care packages. Taylor isn't always easy to live with- it's not his fault and he is working on it but some people don't really understand him and I worry. Aside from what happened to him during his tour he hasn't ever kept secrets from me and I'm sure he didn't mean to this time- probably doesn't want me assuming things like I did with the last young lady he roomed with a year or so ago." She rambles and on the sofa? York cringes. Sighs. Buries his face in a cushion.

"That's kind of you, but I do not require anything."

There's a flicker, before the form flashes before her eyes, and the fully formed, completely valid and not at all magically created enrollment form sits on the table. Since York is too busy hiding his face, Carolina makes do by...sitting on his lap. Double the discomfort, though at least her wings are wrapped around her and well out of the way, the hand not holding the phone draping over the back of the couch.

"I like my privacy," which is true, to a point, "and my sharing this apartment was a matter of convenience for the both of us. Any secrets he may has, you'll have to take up with him." And no doubt will, because everything about this conversation speaks of Familial Obligation.

"Are you sure? It's no trouble and I know it'll make him feel better." Or at least she's always assumed it made her son feel better.

York, for his part, squeaks and covers his mouth with his hands, glaring at her for the sitting. What is she doing. What. The. Hell. Is she doing?

"I'm still surprised he hasn't mentioned you. How long have you been living together?"

"I am certain." There is nothing that she wants from this woman. Not at this time, however. "We rarely interact, save for rent arrangements and occasional meal overlap. We have very different schedules." She assumes. She glances at York when he squeaks, and smirks at him, relaxing against the back of the couch. He'll have to shove her off his lap to displace her.

Anyway. "He's turning some interesting colours out of nervousness, I should hand the phone back before he thinks you're revealing terrible childhood stories to me."

One does not SHOVE demons. Especially if there are weird ass power dynamics in play that you don't really understand. At all.

Ever.

He sits. He endures. He buries his face in his hands and tries to ignore her but it's not all that easy when she keeps talking and smirking like that.

"Well if you want terrible childhood stories I have plenty. There was the time when he tried to shave the cat with his father's good clippers."

There's something like a snort close to laughter, before Carolina says "It was nice speaking with you," and hands the phone back to the man squirming with embarrassment beneath her.

She remains seated there, for now. Though she props one elbow on the back of the couch as she leans there, watching York.

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