Not your family

Who: Rafe and Rey
When: late morning
Where: the Delacourt house

Rey Delacourt wasn't an easy man to upset. In his century of life, he had walked among the horrors of war, had betrayed lovers and friends, had murdered his own father without batting an eye. So it was that on this particular day? In the doorway of his brother's studio? He was confused specifically because he was bothered by what he'd been seeing. Rafael was prone to obsession; a creature of extremes who swung like a pendulum between apathetic confusion and dizzying heights of enamourment. Rey knew as much, he'd seen it plenty of times. He'd helped cover up Rafael's indiscretions, had soothed his younger brother through fits of insecurity, always in the name of keeping him safe.

And this should have been no different, by all rights. The ruined canvases that were crumpled in the garbage, the erratic spatters of paint, they were familiar sights. Even the repetition on them was normal; Rafe had become obsessed with the peasant, the dirt farmer. He was wont to do so, but that fact was an unscratchable itch in Rey's mind. Maybe it was the newest canvas that irked him: it still sat on the easel, abstract as any of Rafe's compositions, but somehow more focused and intent. There she was beneath the swathes of color and the mismatched proportion; Chelo. Filthy commoner.

How dare she? Rey had sacrificed his own peace of mind, his security, his love of culture and beauty. He had come to this frozen little hovel of misfits for his brother's sake, for a hopeful calm to occupy the younger demon's thoughts until a task came to one of them. And now? Now she was taking him away from Rey, playing up the simple humility, the modesty of a fairer sex and Rey would not allow or accept it. Rafael was his brother, his burden, his only constant companion in a world that always changed around him. He nearly spat on the painting sitting in front of him as fury flashed across his eyes, containing the bitterness and stalking away from Rafe's studio. A morning tea would calm him, with luck. At least enough to compose his wits, to decide what had to be done about the woman who threatened his family.

Rafael had passed out finally, after an amount of time in the studio that he couldn't even fully comprehend anymore, but his sleep didn't last long. It never did in times like these. Five, six hours maybe, before he woke up disoriented and confused and kind of itchy. There was paint all over him, his arms, his bare chest, his face. He stumbled out of bed and into the hallway in the flannel pants with the hole cut out of them for his tail. Which were both also smeared with paint. Rubbing the corner of his eye with one knuckle, furry tail twitching around to keep his balance, he shuffled down the stairs toward the kitchen. Food, he needed food. Everything was blurry and kind of sparkly around the edges.

He gave his brother a grunt of a greeting as he passed him at the kitchen counter. It may have been 'good morning', but he wasn't sure. Was it even morning? He didn't know, didn't care. He opened the fridge and started to dig mindlessly through it, not even sure what he was looking for. Only that there was a yawning pain in his stomach and head, and a weakness in his hands that couldn't be abided by when there was so much work to do.

"You are hungry?" Rey asked shortly as he dropped a teapot onto the stove and clicked it over, moving to join Rafe at the fridge and shoo him to one side. Rey did all the cooking most of the time, telling himself that Rafael wasn't up to snuff for such tasks, and would likely just scramble his eggs and burn himself in the process. "Get mugs for tea, I shall cook," he insisted, subconsciously forcing for a small bit of control in a situation that was making him feel like he had none. If Rafe was good and smitten? He'd be resistant to Reynald's influence on him. "Will you need new canvases soon?" he asked innocently, "I noticed you've been going through a great deal recently."

Rafe shot his brother an annoyed look and his tail twitched about being pushed out of the way, but he obeyed anyway, going to fetch the mugs from where they were stored. He paused and looked at his dried-paint-smeared hand as though he was just realizing it was there. Then blinked and tried to refocus. He brought the mugs to Rey, setting them down on the counter near his brother's elbow. "Most likely," he answered. "I think I only have a few left." He honestly wasn't really sure. Supplies weren't something he kept good track of in times like these.

"I will place an order with one of the local shops," Rey told him, nodding as he gathered up a carton of eggs and some vegetables to chop. "I... happened to see your most recent still on the easel. A woman?" he asked, turning with an edged smile that was calmer than he truly felt. "Perhaps the bit of flesh from the masquerade?" It was best to feign ignorance, Rafael was usually suspicious of all the wrong things where his brother was concerned, and with luck Rey could get a little insight into just how enamored his brother truly was.

Though someone who thought normally might take offense to a woman they cared for being referred to as 'the bit of flesh', Rafe didn't give it a second thought. He got himself out of the way of Rey's cooking and went to sit down at the table and wait for breakfast, tail twining itself through the back slats of the chair. "Mmm," he grunted, shuffling through the morning paper without paying it much attention, really. He liked the smell of newsprint. "Chelo. She was here, a few nights ago. She sat for me."

She... She was HERE. He'd brought her to their home, an oddity Rafael hadn't indulged in far too long. And last time? He'd gone too far, scared the woman. Rey had caught her at the door and dealt with her swiftly. I should be so lucky, he thought darkly as he pulled a knife from the block and started slicing a pepper. "I pray that you remember the risks of bringing others here," Rey chided gently with a glance over his shoulder, dropping butter into a skillet and following it with diced vegetables, "And beyond that, I will not chastise. The piece looks to be shaping up nicely." Compliments on Rafe's artwork? Yeah, Rey didn't give them often, but thought it'd go a ways towards covering his own misgivings.

Rafe looked up from the table and met Rey's glance briefly, then let his dark gaze drop again. The comment rubbed him the wrong way for a reason that he didn't even bother wondering about. "I'm allowed to bring women home if I wish," he said, as though Rey had said he couldn't already. "It's only fair. I did nothing but paint her, and I plan to do so again. At least I don't make noise, brother," he added, switching over to Spanish at the end for emphasis. If Rey had brought a conquest home once, he'd done it a thousand times in Rafe's mind, and caused full nights full of aggravation and jealousy. The compliment on his art was bypassed completely, as though he hadn't heard it at all.

Rey scowled at the stove top, cracking eggs into a bowl diligently and feeling his temper flare up in neat time with the low beginnings of a whistle from the kettle. "I have never said you could not bring people home, Rafael. Simply that you must be cautious if you do so. Appraise me of the situation, I am the one who keeps us away from scrutiny after all," he explained slowly, struggling to keep even. Rey was quick with a whisk, channeling anger into the whipping of the eggs before he poured them into the skillet with a low sizzle, then turned to face his brother. "Perhaps you should attempt some 'noise making', Rafael," he teased more lightly, "Surely, there is no quicker way to shed the passion felt for a woman than to see her in the moments after your passion has spent, no?"

The younger of the demons looked up again, a consternated sort of frown on his face. Rey was suggesting that he bed her, and while that was appealing by it's own right ... he would rather paint her, sit close to her and smell her hair, trace her lines with his fingers, perhaps choke her a little, watch her skin flush. Any man could fuck her, it was so ... mundane. "Why would I want to do that?" he asked, genuinely confused. He didn't want to shed the passion, it was what kept him breathing currently. He was getting such good work out of it, and her death could be ... incredible. After a moment a change moved over his face, and his expression darkened. "You're not to touch her," he said.

Rey took a moment to feign puzzlement, reaching behind him to shake the skillet on the burner and work the contents around. He laughed in surprise a moment later, shaking his head at Rafe. "Please, brother, show me some courtesy? I have no need to undress your ragamuffin you plucked from the barrios, though she might thank me if I did," he needled, cranking down the skillet's heat. Rey expected an outburst for that offense, was waiting for it as he took the kettle in one hand and the dirty bowl in the other, moving to pour their morning tea. And whatever Rafe did? Rey would note it accordingly, factor it into his plans for Chelo, whatever they might be.

Rafe was up in a flash, anger that only halfway made sense flashing through him. It was pure possessiveness. Reynald getting that close to the object of his obsession was stomach-turning, and something he refused to bear. He got up in close to his brother, very nearly pinning him against the counter, face contorted with anger. "She would do nothing of the kind, you're disgusting," he hissed in his mother tongue, though part of him knew better. If there was a ladies' man between the two of them? It certainly wasn't the rumpled one in the flannel pants and paint smudges. "She is a woman of passion, brother, and you have none."

This was surprising, but Rey could only take it to mean that his brother felt he'd found a kindred spirit. And that idea? That reawoke the possessive feeling Rey had towards his brother, and his desire to keep this woman from driving any real wedge between them. "She may surprise you, Rafael," he murmured in a soft voice as Rafe hovered in his face, stretching one arm out to slowly pour water into the mugs behind Rafe. "I could have her legs around my head and my name on her lips in the time it takes for our meal to burn," Rey challenged, wanting to push his brother. The more excited Rafael got, the more prone he was to forgetfulness, to Rey's devious manipulation. "But I have no desire to, so rest easy. She holds no allure for me, brother. Your distraction is safe." For now, he amended silently, slipping away from Rafael to flip their omelet before it actually did burn.

Rafe's skin turned splotchy red with rage at the very suggestion, and the urge to hit Rey was as strong as it had ever been. It wasn't a practice of his, he never purposefully raised a hand to his brother. There had been accidents, of course, glancing blows when Rey had gotten in his path during a fit of anger, but those had been long ago. Now, however ... now, the urge to strike was there. But then Rey had moved, and Rafe's hand lashed out, knocking one of the freshly-poured mugs off of the counter. It crashed to the floor, shattering and sending near boiling water going everywhere -- including Rafe's bare feet, though the pain was hardly felt. He turned to stalk away, appetite completely gone. He was thoroughly awake, he was going to go paint again, perhaps paint Chelo's long legs wrapped around another head.

Catching his omelet in the pan as it came back down, Rey plucked a handful of cheese from a bag and sprinkled it over the eggs, nibbling a strand with a cold smile as he watched his brother stalk away. He didn't feel any better about the scenario yet, but seeing Rafael's fervor to defend this woman? Rey knew what he had to do. And that was definitely a promise to end the boredom he'd felt in this town. "He is my family, not yours," he murmured to no one at all, smiling thoughtfully at the handles of knives jutting from the wooden block. Oh yes, this would be enjoyable. The idea was so exciting that Rey wasn't sure it was breakfast he was hungry for any longer, thrilling enough that cleaning Rey's mess could wait. He would eat alone, then get to his computer. There were plans to craft.