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When the last of his power seals the Primordial Sea back into its hidden home, Neuvillette stands at the rail. The sound of rushing water has retreated, and for a moment, all he can hear is his own heartbeat in his ears - loud, elevated. His breathing, too, is above average in its pace - his respirations panting from his mouth as the adrenaline and exertion course through his bloodstream. He closes his eyes, pulling in a long breath to try and regulate it, letting Meropide filter back into his senses.
The pipes creak as they filter seawater and air and energy. The clanging of mechanical pieces at work resonates throughout the room, vibrating beneath where his hands rest on the metal rail.
He expands his senses further - allowing his draconic authority to expand its reach through the building. He can sense the dripping of small leaks, the hot steam of pressurized equipment, the shifting currents of the Fortress’s watery surroundings, the angry churning of the ancient water beneath his feet.
There is one specific ping to his senses that is achingly familiar. A specific amount of water, simmering at the moment, just a few more seconds away from reaching the roiling boil that he knows Wroithesley is waiting for.
For a moment, Neuvillette imagines that he will ascend the elevator out of the Forbidden Zone and hike up not just the first set of stairs, but the second, and then the third - leading up past the Duke’s office and into his living quarters, where he is preparing a pot of tea.
For a moment, Neuvillette imagines taking a seat at that small rectangular dining table, across from Chlorinde, and accepting the cup of tea that Wroithesley would extend. It would not be as comforting as plain water, but he’d long come to appreciate the meticulous way the Duke prepares the beverage - steeping delicate leaves for precisely the right amount of time, offering snacks chosen for their complimentary flavors to that which was being served. Perhaps the warmth would even be preferable, in the wake of the near-catastrophe.
In his mind, Neuvillette can hear Wroithesley and Chlorinde’s lighthearted bickering - the Duke’s ever-present complaints about his back, Chlorinde’s answering tease of old age and poor choices in his youth. They wouldn’t broach the topic of the Primordial Sea - this time is sacred, a place to put down those heavy worries. So rarely can Neuvillette bring himself to set aside his judicator responsibilities - but Chlorinde would make the attempt to ease his burden by commenting on Wroithesley’s pointed gaze upon Neuvillette’s arrival. Tease about where his pale blue eyes had gone, even in the face of their troubles - it would bring a faint warmth to Neuvillette’s ears, he knew, and Wroithesley’s easy confidence would answer back with a ridiculous statement, something along the lines of, “What can I say? Monsieur has an excellent ass.”
Perhaps Neuvillette would allow himself to be coaxed into bed between them - a rare opportunity, and an even rarer indulgence that he allows himself to act upon. He would relish the warmth of their bodies, take comfort in their steady, unwavering presences - the calluses that adorn either fighters’ hands, the smooth skin of stomachs and legs, the taste of salt and sweat and slick. He is sure that they would wring themselves of any remaining energy, working out leftover adrenaline, and collapse into a heap of spent limbs - decorum forgotten, properness abandoned for a precious few hours.
Another heavy exhale jerks Neuvillette from his imaginings. The kettle-shaped water has reached its boiling point, is moving like a fly in his senses as it is broken into two, and then three, and then four different spots of warmth.
Longing lances through his body, and Neuvillette experiences the rare wish that he could shirk his duties as Iudex - but somewhere above them, Furina and the Traveler are meeting with the Knave. He is unsure how long the parley will take, but he knows he must return soon to navigate the aftermath.
With a measured breath, Neuvillette adjusts his cravat. In the same motion that it takes to straighten his appearance, his emotions are neatly categorized and set to the side. After all, he is here as a witness to Fontaine - and right now, there are events which demand his gaze. So Neuvillette sets aside his selfish desires, his gaze resolutely forward as he rides the elevator and ascends the stairs, walking towards the sun.