Madden Residence
Stutter... stop.
Anatole had unintentionally wound her up but she couldn't continue indefinitely, not like this but she soldiered on regardless, a mix of stubborn determination and self-loathing as she allowed harm to come to herself. Who would care after all? She couldn't go back to those cackling faces, those vultures who would delight in her misery as happily as a carrion bird feasting on her innards. Why give them the satisfaction? Why prolong things? Maybe she'd make it home like this, more than likely though, she wouldn't. Her carriage was around somewhere, nestled out of the way with the others belonging to the most important and snobbiest individuals in Vienda at the moment. She wasn't entirely sure where and she didn't have the energy or the will to find out, couldn't muster the social skills necessary to order someone else to fetch it. It would mean interaction. She wasn't capable of interaction.
Stutter, stop.
Drezda Ecks had more important things to focus on. She had her own thoughts and the unenviable task of navigating iced pavement in heels, which was difficult no matter how low they were. One slip and the little doll would likely hit the ground, fine porcelain sure to shatter in her presently delicate state. At the very least, she could easily manage to twist her ankle if physics went against her. So it was a matter of stepping with care, not putting her full weight anywhere until she was certain she couldn't slip, resisting the urge to bring her feet closer, make herself smaller as if she could somehow creep past unnoticed. Don't mind me, I'm very small, you don't need to make me land on my face... Instead, she kept her feet apart, feeling her way cautiously as misty eyes sought signs of bad ice and tried to find a safe path to traverse.
Stutter, stutter... stop.
The diplomat certainly wasn't in the right headspace for such an activity. Of course, if she was in anything approaching a normal headspace then she wouldn't be out here in the cold with next to nothing on, tipsy at the very least and barely on the right side of drunk at best. The young woman was also utterly intoxicated with her own misery and self-contempt, drowning in hopelessness and not even feeling like a bottle would be a solution, even if she had one to crawl into at this moment in time.
Just lie down and die, Drezda. Go on, save yourself all this bother, just lie down and die. If you're going to be like this then just get it over with, the voice derided her, wearing at whatever resolve was keeping her standing and moving forward in that stutter-stop fashion. It would be so easy just to have a misstep. It would take very little effort really and then she'd be horizontal and could have the icy ground as a forever bed. And it was funny really because she was cold, yes but she was numbed too, cushioned in almost warmth as air moved around her. She did almost feel as if lying down would be good. Just a little rest...
Stutter, stop.
That she had gotten as far as she had by the time Anatole caught up with her was something of a miracle. He'd caught her as she was considering having a little rest, lids drooping a little over onyx orbs and so his call came to her like a dream. It was surreal, felt almost imagined but she slowed.
Stutter, stutter... stop.
She turned a little, movements a little stiff and blinked owlishly. She had a hard time understanding how Anatole Vauquelin could be here, where he had come from. Everything seemed to have gotten so slow. She winced in response to his admonishment, a little jerk back from him as her gaze fluttered shut over wet and salty lashes.
"I-I-I know I-I-I'm s-s-sorry," she chattered out, icy white hands wrapping uselessly around her upper arms. Why was she apologising to him? Why had his tone gotten through to her like that?
Her bleary gaze fell on Anatole as he thrust her fur cloak at her and ridiculously, helplessly, she started to cry at the unbelievable kindness of it all.
Numb fingers struggled to manoeuvre the heavy material, shaking with sobs and cold so that it was more difficult to get it around her shoulders. It enveloped her freezing form and she shivered as her body rediscovered some warmth, hugging it to her and turning her head so that she could wipe away her tears in the fur. She sniffled, cringing a bit as she realised how pathetic she must look, how weak he must see her as being. The young woman dropped her gaze to the ground, clasping the warm outer layer to her as she tried to work out what to do or say. Thanking him would be a good start she supposed but she couldn't understand why he'd followed her out here, why he'd paid enough attention to even notice that she'd left without her cloak and why he'd chosen to be so thoughtful.
Anatole had never liked her. She didn't think that anyone liked her, not really. So why....
"Th-thank you... Anatole. You d-didn't have to- Why? Why did you follow m-m-me?" she questioned, gazing at him through watery, red-rimmed eyes. Her gaze skittered away, roaming back towards the house before glancing about the street. "We should p-probably get out of the cold b-b-but I can't go back... there. Not yet." Not ever, or at least not tonight.