seveninchmotto | The Institute, New York, Tuesday

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The Institute, New York, Tuesday

Isabelle had been away from Idris for almost a month. Not by choice, of course, but because of duties in New York. Specifically, her mother had had to spend a little more time in Alicante.

Which had left Isabelle in charge of the Institute.

Not for the whole month, of course. Just a couple of days at a time, five in a row at most. But, still. It was a responsibility which Isabelle took very seriously, which meant that even when Maryse had been back in New York and in charge, Isabelle had stayed at the Institute, helping her mother and updating her on everything that had been going on. Not to mention learning things for her next bout of temporary leadership.

And to make up for her absence in Idris, Isabelle had of course sent Flick some letters. But, to really make up for it, she'd also made sure to send his phone a whole lot of alluring selfies - from the casually adorable to the downright dirty - knowing full well that he wouldn't see them until he made it out of Idris and to somewhere where mundie tech worked, at which point they would flood to his phone all at once. That was the point, see. To make him want to see her as soon as he saw all those photos that had accumulated over the past few weeks.

Except, there was a slight problem.

Okay, two.

One, Isabelle had no idea when Flick was going to get to come back to New York next.

Two, her version of New York was experiencing a truly outrageous heatwave that was testing even Isabelle's angel-given ability to withstand rough conditions. So she'd been feeling pretty gross for the past couple of days. The AC at their apartment had broken down this past weekend and no amount of threatening phonecalls seemed to be getting it fixed any quicker, while the Institute was starting to get uncomfortably warm as well. So as Isabelle sat behind her mother's desk at the Institute right now, hot selfies were the farthest thing from her mind. Instead, she was trying to find whether she needed anyone's official authorisation to cajole Magnus or another warlock into cooling the building down through supernatural means.

That was how bad this was getting.

[ooc: NFB, but open! This is me dealing with my own weather issues, omg.]

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"Who do you think you're talking to?" Isabelle asked, one eyebrow raised. "Of course I've called the landlord. Repeatedly." Something about her tone also suggested she might have been getting progressively less nice about it with each call. "He keeps making excuses."

Which was pretty brave of him, all things considered.

"Really? All that fucking money we pay him and he's making excuses?" Flick asked, frowning. He nodded at the menu so she could order whatever she wanted. "I'll pay him a visit before we check into the hotel."

Because he was not saying there to celebrate with her.

"And let him cut into our precious time together?" Isabelle retorted as she took the menu and began to look it over. She wanted a milkshake, for sure, and she wanted it as cold as possible. "I don't know."

"We're paying rent for a reason. He needs to fix the air conditioner and I'm going to tell him that and then we'll go," Flick tells her. "I'm not leaving without doing that."

"Well, if you think you can get it through to him better than I have..."

He was free to try! Isabelle hadn't yet spoken to the manager in person ~~because it had always been a manager instead of a landlord, and no one definitely forgot anything about their characters' living situation~~ so maybe he would actually succeed.

"It'd make you my hero."

"If it doesn't work, we'll buy a new one and I'll have someone install it while you stay in a hotel," Flick promised, nodding. "You can't live and work in a place that's going to make you sick. I don't want to hear about Shadowhunter training. That's not safe."

"Okay, baby," Isabelle replied, smiling at him. She even reached out across the table and patted his hand. "Okay. Thank you."

No, really.

There hadn't been anyone attempting to take care of her over the last while.

Flick nodded and then ordered something for himself before finding them a table and sitting down across from her.

"Congratulations," he said, smiling. "I knew you'd get here. I knew you would."

Isabelle looked pleased, but still shook her head as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. As coy as she ever got, really.

"It's just temporary."

"Is it?" Flick doesn't believe her. Doesn't believe her at all. "You don't to be a temporary head if they don't have designs on you in the future."

Isabelle shrugged. "All it means is that my mom trusts me."

Which... definitely wasn't half as small a thing as her idle tone tried to make it seem.

"And does your mom trust easily?" Flick asked, sitting back. "I bet she still doesn't trust me."

"I think she trusts you more than you think," Isabelle returned, tilting her head. "Obviously not the same way as she trusts me --" For so many reasons, both familial as well as to do with his continuing status as a mundane, as well as others. "-- but still. I think you might be the only mundie she does trust, even if it's only just a little."

"She gonna come to the wedding?" Flick asked, snickering. "I have a hard time picturing her at something like that."

And now he was getting a baffled look. With, actually, just a hint of hurt, if he knew how to look for it.

"Why wouldn't my mother come to my wedding?"

He know how. He frowned and cursed that that hadn't really come out right. "I don't know, I'm not saying I don't want her to come before you freak out. I do. I want your whole family there. I think just because it can be a formal event and some people I have a hard time picturing there."

Isabelle seemed to relax a little, from her state of being taken aback. But not all the way, not so quickly.

"Both my parents went to Jocelyn and Luke's wedding," she said. "Besides, formal is practically all they even know."

"Okay," Flick said, nodding. "Then, it's fine. I was more joking than anything. We should probably start planning that wedding."

At that, Isabelle paused. Chewed thoughtfully on her lip for a second, too.

"I don't know if I want to start planning before your Ascension."

"Why not?" Flick asks, frowning. "What if I don't make it? What if I don't...do that?"

"Thats exactly it." As much as she was not up for accepting the possibility that he wouldn't make it. He would make it, it was the only option.

But, all the same... She pushed her hair back, brows settling into a light frown. "I don't want to be superstitious, but... It feels like, maybe it's inviting bad luck to plan beforehand."

"Hmm."

Flick rubs at the side of his neck, thoughtful. "But if I don't make it, couldn't I die during the ceremony?"

"No."

Whoops, that came out... a little louder than she'd meant it to. In fact, she probably hadn't meant to say it at all.

"I mean," she hedged. "You could. But you're not going to." Because she wouldn't allow it.

That was totally how it worked.

That exclamation got a few turned heads and Flick glared at them to make them mind their own goddamn business.

"But, if the worst happens..." He trailed off and rubbed at his face. "If we wait, it might not happen. If you really want to wait, we can. I will."

"We're not getting married before your Ascension," Isabelle replied, now making sure to keep her voice down again. She hadn't really noticed the looks.

All she saw was him. "We can't. So what's the point of planning before that, either?"

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