Hubert was a patient man. His fury was a patient beast. The scorpion-soul was a patient predator. For all of the intrusive instincts he had to fight, biding his time was not one of them.
He listened to Dorothea and Ferdinand's recount. He did his research. As loathe as Hubert was to leave this carefully heated sanctuary in this Goddess-forsaken weather, he would never allow himself to think his work sloppy. And once he knew the place, knew the actors, knew the habits, he waited.
Once the noisy one had left (the ward, if Hubert remembered correctly), he advanced. Locks were rarely an issue for him now that he was more familiar with this region's designs. Hubert slips into the apartment on silent feet, habitually quiet even if the scorpion-soul didn't spur him to be. The natural soul dampened his presence, made it uninteresting and easy to overlook as long as he was still and it wasn't darkāunless, of course, he wanted to be noticed.
When Hubert's trichobothria sensed Jamil's approach, Hubert settled into an easy stance his four visible arms tucked into the small of his back (an undeserving mercy for Jamil that Hubert's long winter coat only had four sleeves, choosing to keep his insectile arms tucked to preserve warmth), his metasoma arched lazily by his hip, and waited.
It's not often that Jamil spends the day by himself--he's not exactly able to do his old job anymore, with how much more effort it is to perform complex tasks during the daytime, but he usually accompanies Kalim if only out of paranoia. Today, though--he'd just been in the kind of mood for space for himself (even though he's been just as clingy as Kalim), to putter around the apartment for the day and maybe expend some of his energy on tidying up since lord knows his roommates aren't doing it.
He's not expecting intruders, obviously. When he sees Hubert suddenly lounging in the corner of the living area he freezes, adrenaline flooding him like a rush of static. Where did he come from? How the hell had Jamil missed him? Moreover, Jamil recognizes him--vaguely from months ago, he knows Hubert is unfortunately an Arthropoda which is just his fucking luck, but also from a horrible non-memory of tearing limbs that he refuses to examine. He doesn't need to revisit that ever, especially not right now.
What are his options? His Soul doesn't grant him many offensive capabilities, but he still has magic--but the idea of fighting this guy fills Jamil with that same deep terror he doesn't understand. His eyes dart toward the doorway. He could run, if necessary--he's difficult to hurt or catch by normal means, and there's no one else here he needs to protect. He isn't so proud he can't recognize the advantages of cowardice. But Hubert hasn't made a move yet--whatever he's here for, it isn't to attack. Not outright.
"How did you get in here?" he says tightly, after several moments of silence. "What do you want?" There's only no tremor in his voice because of how tense he is, how much he refuses to betray any sign of fear.
Ah, there's his quarry. Hubert smiles thinly and there's nothing pleasant about the expression in the least. Spectrals, he's discovered, are difficult for his alien senses to readāperhaps because of their degraded biological nature or lack thereof in this caseābut the tension that ripples through the room is a delight to him.
"Ah, my greatest apologies. I must have crawled up the wrong waterspout by mistake," Hubert says, his voice discordantly draped in the tone of niceties. "How terribly easy to wind up where we're not wanted entirely by accident, isn't it?"
Jamil's eyes narrow as he stays frozen in place. He can read the meaning in Hubert's words--this must be about his little excursion last month. Jamil must have run into someone Hubert is attached to--great. Just his luck. He goes through his mental rolodex of victims, trying to find someone who would plausibly be associated with this guy, and comes up short. The clock spectral, maybe? The plastic golem? None of them really seem to fit the vibe.
"Get to the point," he says finally, measured while his mind's gears spin. He only doesn't step back because showing any sign of fear seems like a very bad idea right now, but it's a near thing. He's still primed to move at a moment's notice. "I'd rather not play games. Is it revenge you're after?"
Hubert waves a gloved hand half-heartedly in dismissal. "Perish the thought. I had to repeatedly give my word I would do you no harmānot that I intended such in the first place. No, I have already stated my point: it's horribly unpleasant when something unwanted appears unexpectedly in your space."
His hand rejoins the others in the small of his back. The metasoma betrays the nonchalance of his gesture by swaying left-to-right briefly. He sighs.
"No matter. This is still entertaining for me even if you've no interest in the game. know this, then, and know it well: Ferdinand von Aegir and Dorothea Arnault are under my protection. It is by Dorothea's good will and gentle heart I'm civil today."
Jamil's mouth twists sourly as he processes what Hubert's just told him. That ridiculous goat guy, really? Everyone has to have friends, he supposes; just Jamil's luck Ferdinand would have this kind of friend. Dorothea vouching for him is surprising, and he--files that information away to decide how to feel about later.
"Message received," he says lightly. Now that the shock of Hubert's appearance has worn off, it's becoming a little easier to act like he isn't spooked. He is now feeling like he would like Hubert to leave. "I'll make sure to keep my distance in the future. Is that all? I'm afraid I'm not equipped to entertain guests today."
Hubert's visible eye scans down Jamil's ethereal body, then casts judgmentally around the apartment. "Clearly not," he nearly drawls.
His pale eye returns to Jamil with a quiet sigh, the mild smile returning to his features. Hubert quarter-turns toward the door and pauses. "I'm not sure whether to encourage you to heed my warning or challenge you to defy it. I have been quite curious whether Spectrals can perish a second time," he says with almost a thoughtful wonder before proceeding leisurely towards the entrance.
Wow! It's hard to keep the house tidy when you only have hands part-time and your roommates won't do it, all right?? As Hubert turns away, Jamil's expression wrinkles further as he opens his mouth to retort--
--and falters before he can say anything, because as much as he's very sure Hubert can't do anything to physically harm him like this...some deep-seated sense of foreboding tells him he really, really shouldn't push his luck with this guy.
Also, he does remember that Hubert is a bug--very apparent from his extra set of arms, more visible now that he's turned to leave--and Jamil has no interest in seeing if Hubert gets the same kind of bright ideas Momo does.
So he simply watches Hubert go, silent, feeling distinctly as if he'd lost some game he didn't know he was playing.
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Mid-January
He listened to Dorothea and Ferdinand's recount. He did his research. As loathe as Hubert was to leave this carefully heated sanctuary in this Goddess-forsaken weather, he would never allow himself to think his work sloppy. And once he knew the place, knew the actors, knew the habits, he waited.
Once the noisy one had left (the ward, if Hubert remembered correctly), he advanced. Locks were rarely an issue for him now that he was more familiar with this region's designs. Hubert slips into the apartment on silent feet, habitually quiet even if the scorpion-soul didn't spur him to be. The natural soul dampened his presence, made it uninteresting and easy to overlook as long as he was still and it wasn't darkāunless, of course, he wanted to be noticed.
When Hubert's trichobothria sensed Jamil's approach, Hubert settled into an easy stance his four visible arms tucked into the small of his back (an undeserving mercy for Jamil that Hubert's long winter coat only had four sleeves, choosing to keep his insectile arms tucked to preserve warmth), his metasoma arched lazily by his hip, and waited.
no subject
He's not expecting intruders, obviously. When he sees Hubert suddenly lounging in the corner of the living area he freezes, adrenaline flooding him like a rush of static. Where did he come from? How the hell had Jamil missed him? Moreover, Jamil recognizes him--vaguely from months ago, he knows Hubert is unfortunately an Arthropoda which is just his fucking luck, but also from a horrible non-memory of tearing limbs that he refuses to examine. He doesn't need to revisit that ever, especially not right now.
What are his options? His Soul doesn't grant him many offensive capabilities, but he still has magic--but the idea of fighting this guy fills Jamil with that same deep terror he doesn't understand. His eyes dart toward the doorway. He could run, if necessary--he's difficult to hurt or catch by normal means, and there's no one else here he needs to protect. He isn't so proud he can't recognize the advantages of cowardice. But Hubert hasn't made a move yet--whatever he's here for, it isn't to attack. Not outright.
"How did you get in here?" he says tightly, after several moments of silence. "What do you want?" There's only no tremor in his voice because of how tense he is, how much he refuses to betray any sign of fear.
no subject
"Ah, my greatest apologies. I must have crawled up the wrong waterspout by mistake," Hubert says, his voice discordantly draped in the tone of niceties. "How terribly easy to wind up where we're not wanted entirely by accident, isn't it?"
no subject
"Get to the point," he says finally, measured while his mind's gears spin. He only doesn't step back because showing any sign of fear seems like a very bad idea right now, but it's a near thing. He's still primed to move at a moment's notice. "I'd rather not play games. Is it revenge you're after?"
no subject
His hand rejoins the others in the small of his back. The metasoma betrays the nonchalance of his gesture by swaying left-to-right briefly. He sighs.
"No matter. This is still entertaining for me even if you've no interest in the game. know this, then, and know it well: Ferdinand von Aegir and Dorothea Arnault are under my protection. It is by Dorothea's good will and gentle heart I'm civil today."
no subject
"Message received," he says lightly. Now that the shock of Hubert's appearance has worn off, it's becoming a little easier to act like he isn't spooked. He is now feeling like he would like Hubert to leave. "I'll make sure to keep my distance in the future. Is that all? I'm afraid I'm not equipped to entertain guests today."
no subject
His pale eye returns to Jamil with a quiet sigh, the mild smile returning to his features. Hubert quarter-turns toward the door and pauses. "I'm not sure whether to encourage you to heed my warning or challenge you to defy it. I have been quite curious whether Spectrals can perish a second time," he says with almost a thoughtful wonder before proceeding leisurely towards the entrance.
š
--and falters before he can say anything, because as much as he's very sure Hubert can't do anything to physically harm him like this...some deep-seated sense of foreboding tells him he really, really shouldn't push his luck with this guy.
Also, he does remember that Hubert is a bug--very apparent from his extra set of arms, more visible now that he's turned to leave--and Jamil has no interest in seeing if Hubert gets the same kind of bright ideas Momo does.
So he simply watches Hubert go, silent, feeling distinctly as if he'd lost some game he didn't know he was playing.