Early morning, 54th Roalis, 2714
Arion Lux’s Apartment, Uptown, Vienda
Arion Lux’s Apartment, Uptown, Vienda
Niccolette made a noise that, on someone less delicate looking, might well have been a snort. She crossed her ankles, and when the hem of the bathroom fell open a little, did not bother tugging it back into place to cover them, or the slender length of pale calf exposed once more, although considerable cleaner this time.
“I do not see much point in being on an airship if it is not interesting,” Niccolette went back to her nails, casually, dragging the file along the edge of her thumb, and blowing gently against it.
Niccolette watched Arion retrieve his switchblade with no little curiosity, but made nothing resembling an effort towards helping him deal with the wick; she merely glanced longingly at her empty tea cup, resigned herself to the lack a little longer, and went back to shaping her nails. She looked up when Arion addressed her from the bathroom’s threshold, and raised her eyebrows as he spoke.
By the time he had finished his little explanation, Niccolette was grinning, and although her gaze did not longer, her whole face lifted in laughter at Arion’s glance down towards his pants. “I will remember it,” The Bastian said, and giggled.
By the time a knock came on the door, the would-be assailants had been safely stowed in Arion’s bedroom, Niccolette’s frequent longing glances towards her cup had been rewarded with a fresh cup of hot, bitter tea, and the two of them were sitting – not, perhaps, companionably, but at least without outright (current) arguing.
“I shall get it,” Niccolette said, grandly, as if she were doing Arion an enormous favor. She took a last sip of tea, set her cup down on his desk, straightened her bathroom, and crossed the room, opening the door.
“Francoise!” Niccolette smiled.
“Nicco!” Francoise’s eyes were wide; the Anaxi was a redhead, with long, slightly wavy hair that looked almost unstyled – as if she had simply brushed it before rushing out of the house. She wore herself a simple walking costume in pale green, and she looked almost breathless, as if she had rushed up the stairs. “Good Lady, are you all right? Jail? What in Alioe’s name happened?” She embraced Niccolette, and then pulled back, looking her up and down as if to check that all her limbs were still in place.
“Franci,” Niccolette was giggling. “I am fine, please! You have brought some clothing for me?”
“Yes,” Francoise glanced back over her shoulder; two human, one in livery and one in a maid’s clothing, stood behind her, the one in livery with a pale yellow dress draped over his arms and a bag, and the maid with a second, smaller bag. “One of yours, from the Belleverie, but – “ She stepped into the office, and glanced around, her lips pursing together as if she had eaten something sour.
“Mr. Lux,” Niccolette said, casually, gesturing at Arion, “this is Mrs. Francoise Rochambeaux,” she grinned at Francoise, who blushed faintly at the name, one beringed hand coming up to touch her lips, gently. “Francoise, this is Mr. Arion Lux. He shall be serving as my lawyer.”
Francoise bowed, politely, and took another, faintly grudging step into Arion’s apartment. “Yes, of course, good to meet you, Mr. Lux. Thank you for the note. Very well,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s get you dressed, Nicco! This is – even by your standards – a bit scandalous. You’re really all right? Circle, darling, were you in jail all night?”
“Yes,” Niccolette said, and shrugged. “It was quite clean actually, compared to some of those places in the Rose!”
Francoise giggled. “You can’t be serious.” She smiled politely at Arion once more, and followed Niccolette into the bathroom, waving the maid and footman in after her. The footman deposited the dress, bowed politely, and left, standing almost like a guard outside Arion’s bathroom.
Niccolette kicked her clothing into a pile in the corner, and carefully shut the window. She slid the bathrobe off without the faintest shame, taking underthings and a slip from the bag the footman had brought, and beginning to dress.
“Nicco,” Francoise said, sitting on the edge of the bathtub gingerly. She watched, lips pressed together, as the maid pulled the corset tight against her friend’s back. “Aurelien is an incumbent, you know. He must know a dozen lawyers better than this – this – ” The Anaxi made a little face at Niccolette's back, and shook her head, their eyes meeting in the mirror. “Just say the word,” Francoise said, firmly, “and we’ll get you the best lawyer in Vienda.”
Niccolette smoothed the shift over her hips, and took a deep, careful breath, adjusting the corset. She nodded to signal that it was comfortable, and began to step into her skirts, carefully, as Francoise fetched the pale yellow dress and handed it to the maid. She thought of Arion – the chair he had dragged through the jail cell, his decision to invite her to his home, his ready work with the poker, his mysterious hooker airship, and his suggestions on using Anaxi society to one’s best advantage.
Niccolette stepped carefully into the dress; the maid helped her to adjust it, and she eased her hair out over the collar, running her fingers through it, nearly presentable once more, examining herself in the mirror for a long moment.
“No,” Niccolette said, and grinned, glancing back over her shoulder at Francoise. “I think I rather like this one. I shall keep him.”
“I do not see much point in being on an airship if it is not interesting,” Niccolette went back to her nails, casually, dragging the file along the edge of her thumb, and blowing gently against it.
Niccolette watched Arion retrieve his switchblade with no little curiosity, but made nothing resembling an effort towards helping him deal with the wick; she merely glanced longingly at her empty tea cup, resigned herself to the lack a little longer, and went back to shaping her nails. She looked up when Arion addressed her from the bathroom’s threshold, and raised her eyebrows as he spoke.
By the time he had finished his little explanation, Niccolette was grinning, and although her gaze did not longer, her whole face lifted in laughter at Arion’s glance down towards his pants. “I will remember it,” The Bastian said, and giggled.
By the time a knock came on the door, the would-be assailants had been safely stowed in Arion’s bedroom, Niccolette’s frequent longing glances towards her cup had been rewarded with a fresh cup of hot, bitter tea, and the two of them were sitting – not, perhaps, companionably, but at least without outright (current) arguing.
“I shall get it,” Niccolette said, grandly, as if she were doing Arion an enormous favor. She took a last sip of tea, set her cup down on his desk, straightened her bathroom, and crossed the room, opening the door.
“Francoise!” Niccolette smiled.
“Nicco!” Francoise’s eyes were wide; the Anaxi was a redhead, with long, slightly wavy hair that looked almost unstyled – as if she had simply brushed it before rushing out of the house. She wore herself a simple walking costume in pale green, and she looked almost breathless, as if she had rushed up the stairs. “Good Lady, are you all right? Jail? What in Alioe’s name happened?” She embraced Niccolette, and then pulled back, looking her up and down as if to check that all her limbs were still in place.
“Franci,” Niccolette was giggling. “I am fine, please! You have brought some clothing for me?”
“Yes,” Francoise glanced back over her shoulder; two human, one in livery and one in a maid’s clothing, stood behind her, the one in livery with a pale yellow dress draped over his arms and a bag, and the maid with a second, smaller bag. “One of yours, from the Belleverie, but – “ She stepped into the office, and glanced around, her lips pursing together as if she had eaten something sour.
“Mr. Lux,” Niccolette said, casually, gesturing at Arion, “this is Mrs. Francoise Rochambeaux,” she grinned at Francoise, who blushed faintly at the name, one beringed hand coming up to touch her lips, gently. “Francoise, this is Mr. Arion Lux. He shall be serving as my lawyer.”
Francoise bowed, politely, and took another, faintly grudging step into Arion’s apartment. “Yes, of course, good to meet you, Mr. Lux. Thank you for the note. Very well,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s get you dressed, Nicco! This is – even by your standards – a bit scandalous. You’re really all right? Circle, darling, were you in jail all night?”
“Yes,” Niccolette said, and shrugged. “It was quite clean actually, compared to some of those places in the Rose!”
Francoise giggled. “You can’t be serious.” She smiled politely at Arion once more, and followed Niccolette into the bathroom, waving the maid and footman in after her. The footman deposited the dress, bowed politely, and left, standing almost like a guard outside Arion’s bathroom.
Niccolette kicked her clothing into a pile in the corner, and carefully shut the window. She slid the bathrobe off without the faintest shame, taking underthings and a slip from the bag the footman had brought, and beginning to dress.
“Nicco,” Francoise said, sitting on the edge of the bathtub gingerly. She watched, lips pressed together, as the maid pulled the corset tight against her friend’s back. “Aurelien is an incumbent, you know. He must know a dozen lawyers better than this – this – ” The Anaxi made a little face at Niccolette's back, and shook her head, their eyes meeting in the mirror. “Just say the word,” Francoise said, firmly, “and we’ll get you the best lawyer in Vienda.”
Niccolette smoothed the shift over her hips, and took a deep, careful breath, adjusting the corset. She nodded to signal that it was comfortable, and began to step into her skirts, carefully, as Francoise fetched the pale yellow dress and handed it to the maid. She thought of Arion – the chair he had dragged through the jail cell, his decision to invite her to his home, his ready work with the poker, his mysterious hooker airship, and his suggestions on using Anaxi society to one’s best advantage.
Niccolette stepped carefully into the dress; the maid helped her to adjust it, and she eased her hair out over the collar, running her fingers through it, nearly presentable once more, examining herself in the mirror for a long moment.
“No,” Niccolette said, and grinned, glancing back over her shoulder at Francoise. “I think I rather like this one. I shall keep him.”
