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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Niccolette Ibutatu
Posts: 552
Joined: Thu Jul 11, 2019 11:41 pm
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Fri Oct 11, 2019 7:32 pm

Afternoon, 28th Hamis, 2719
DeMontmancy Tailoring, Uptown
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Niccolette took a slow, even breath, and to her surprise it did not catch in her throat. She found the steady rhythm of them, in and out, and counted the beats to herself. Carefully, she turned and studied herself in the mirror.

“The cut’s a little - masculine, don’t you think?” Francoise was almost frowning, her brow just shy of wrinkled. “I quite liked the pale green gown, Nicco, why don’t you -“

“I like it,” Niccolette said. She fixed her gaze on her face in the mirror, the words easy to speak amidst her breaths. When she dared, she looked over the silhouette of the dress again, the high neck like a collar. She traced her hands along the small buttons marching down both sides of the front of the saffron silk before it shaded subtly into a richer orange at the skirt, almost red at the hem, the detailing along the front, the cut in the shoulders, and the faintest of lines at the waist giving it a look nearly like a coat and skirt. The Bastian turned to the tailor. “I shall have other buttons sent over. Larger ones, in gold.”

The tailor bowed, and Niccolette let the noise of his conversation with Francoise sweep over her; she did not listen to their discussion of what time the dinner would be, when the dress needed to arrive. And, too, she did not look again; if her hand trembled on her side, it was her business and hers alone.


Evening, 28th Hamis, 2719
Dining Room, The Rochambeaux Residence, Uptown

There was the clatter of spoons against bowls, the soft clink of beringed fingers against glasses, soft low laughter and a sharp high snort from across the table. Niccolette kept the spoon in her hand, as if at any moment she might take another sip of soup, her gaze fixed politely on the man sitting next to her.

“You have been in all our thoughts, Niccolette,” Incumbent Desverdes was saying. “It’s all right, isn’t it, if I call you Niccolette? I remember your husband so fondly. He was always a breath of fresh air at those interminable political affairs.”

“Yes,” Niccolette murmured.

“You seem to be - recovered?” The Incumbent set his spoon down, a little bit of pale gray green spoon clinging to the edge of it, the light of the chandelier overhead glinting off the metal. Niccolette’s gaze traced it down and lifted back to his face.

“Recovered?” Niccolette asked. Something fluttered in her chest, and she smiled through it. She lowered her spoon as well, her hand resting lightly on the table.

“After that duel!” Desverdes chuckled, and patted her hand. “Terribly exciting, my dear. It must have fatigued you something dreadful.”

“Yes,” Niccolette said. Her lips felt too dry, but she could not bring herself to lick them. “Quite recovered.” She held, still, and when Desverdes released her hand she tugged it off the table, hid it down in her lap.

There was a burst of noise from the other end of the table. Niccolette was sure she must have smiled before she looked away again, conscious abruptly of the heavy weight of her updo, the weight the pinned up curls seemed to throb through her head. Why had she let Francoise suggest she wear it up? The collar; the collar of the dress. Yes, Niccolette remembered now.

Desverdes was speaking again, leaning in a little close; Niccolette thought she could feel his warm, slightly damp breath brushing her cheek. She turned back and found it in herself to smile again.


Late Evening, 28th Hamis, 2719
The Rochambeaux Residence to The Lycat, Uptown

"I shall retire early,” Niccolette found Francoise in the hallway between dinner and the retiring rooms. Her hands were shaking, and she tucked them against her stomach, smiled, and found the rhythm of her breath, feeling the heavy gold buttons beneath her fingers.

“All right, darling,” Francoise was frowning again, and she reached for Niccolette - then turned, glancing over her shoulder at the sound of laughter from the room behind. “You’re all right?” She asked, turning back to Niccolette.

“Yes,” Niccolette said. “Of course.”

Francoise hesitated - she stared at Niccolette a long moment - and then she nodded. She reached forward and squeezed Niccolette’s hand, then turned and went into the retiring room; Niccolette could hear her laughter over the distant echo of conversation.

Niccolette stood in the phosphor lit hall a moment longer. She glanced right, up at the sweeping staircase that led to the room where she had stayed this last week. Then, with a deep breath, she turned and went left, before she could think any more about it; she took one of Francoise’s cloaks from the stand, eased it on, and nodded once, firmly, to her friend’s doorman when he opened his mouth. He shut it, opened the door, and Niccolette made her way out into the night.

It had rained earlier in the day, and the streets were still slick with it; Niccolette drew up the red hem of the dress, grasping it in one hand, and made her way over the cobblestones, the small heels of her low boots clicking steadily against the ground. She had to stop and catch her breath, once, resting against a pole, but it wasn’t the walk so much as the sudden, urgent need to weep. Niccolette shuddered, pulling the hood of her cloak up a little more, and kept her chin firmly down.

She had gone away from the bright lights and busy streets, into a quieter corner of Uptown; she did not know the area so well, this place where Francoise now lived, and she was not sure if she could find her way back. It did not seem to matter; all Niccolette could think about was getting away from the house, away from the crushing weight of it all.

The urge to weep passed, like the drifting of clouds in the sky overhead. Niccolette shuddered, her chest heaving with the weight of a few too heavy breaths, and kept walking. She walked until her still weak legs ached, until her whole body ached, and then when she could bear it no longer, she found a place to sit – a bar, quiet, a little corner of something that felt almost peaceful amidst all the glamour. The Lycat, Niccolette read on the sign outside, carved into the shape of the wild hunters.

Niccolette made her way over the clean wooden floor, and rested silk-clad arms against the heavy polished wood of the counter. She shoved her hood back, heavy coils of pinned up dark hair gleaming above the brightly colored dress. She took a deep breath, and realized, abruptly, that she had left Francoise’s without a single coin – no concords, not even a shill or a tally.

“Can I buy you a drink?” An Anaxi galdor perched on a nearby stool leaned over, grinning, his eyes flicking over her.

Niccolette held, stiffly, her red painted lips pressed together, her gaze flickering over him – the faint red blotch on his cheeks, the upturned collar, the smirk as he took her in – all of her.

“Just one drink,” The Anaxi offered, grinning a little wider. His curly blonde hair was thinning at the top, and Niccolette could see the faint greasy sweat against his skin, could feel the heavy physical mona of his field, pressing against her.

The Bastian exhaled, and released the subtle, polite dampening she had held all through the evening; sharp, bright living energy flooded from her, washing over the bar – seven, nearly eight feet from her, and strong enough that the galdor sitting there flinched back.

“No,” Niccolette said, coldly, her accent, as ever, distinctly Bastian. “I should rather die of thirst.”

“Bitch,” the Anaxi grumbled, glancing at her again, and turning away.

Niccolette shrugged, and propped her face in her hands for a long moment, not quite sure what it was she meant to do. It had all been so easy once, she thought, more than a little miserable – she could name the emotion for self-pity, she was practiced enough at it these days, but recognizing it hardly seemed to help. At least Niccolette knew it did not show in her field; she was no child, to bleed forth so at the slightest provocation. Whatever else, at least her ramscott was still crisp and indectal around her; she could take comfort in that.

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Drezda Ecks
Posts: 188
Joined: Sun Jul 15, 2018 12:10 pm
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Sun Oct 13, 2019 6:34 pm

Hamis 28, 2719 | Late Evening
The Lycat, Uptown Vienda
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The Hoxian had gotten into a terrible habit of counting days. When you were eagerly awaiting something and had a definite date when it would occur then you could count down the days. It was another thing entirely to just... count days. Admittedly, there was one thing that she was awaiting - a letter from her mother - but she wasn't entirely sure when that would come.

Frecks was quite some distance away although it was nearer in many ways courtesy of advances in technology. That being said, it would cost her four weeks of her life in travel alone just to pay a visit to her family - not that she was so inclined. But she had wanted contact with her mother and a letter was the next best thing but it had to travel too and she wasn't sure how long it would take for Ksjta to respond; she might sit on a reply for days. It should have reached her by now and obviously she hadn't deemed it important enough to contact her through magical means, which was fair because Drezda knew that she wasn't important enough for that, that what she'd written wasn't important enough for that.

Some part of her had hoped that what she'd written would stir an extreme response in her mother, what she had shared possibly more than she had ever shared with her in her life and she had shared much as a child.

A month before this, she had confronted Tom, also known as Incumbent Anatole Vauquelin, about the fact that he was a raen - a disembodied soul that had murdered another soul to take possession of its body. Once she'd had that confirmed, things had actually gotten worse for her somehow, the galdor making quite a fool of herself and successfully having something of a breakdown, especially once she found out that he'd originally been a human.

It had taken her a day or so to pull herself into some semblance of a person, mainly because she'd had more alcohol when she shouldn't have but then she'd decided to write to her mother. It had been a little timid at first, the initial scripted pleasantries so often written that they were hollow, honestly meaning nothing. She'd been quite accustomed to writing letters without any real substance in them, the sort of missives that would take up a few pages and allow her to fulfil her duty of being a good daughter. Thus, what did end up spilling out of her came as a bit of a shock to her and if it was a shock to Drezda then it would certainly have been that to Ksjta.

She'd explained about her backlash and had had to touch on less than savoury things about her relationship with Rosmilda, had written about her drinking problems and how Khymarah's departure had broken her. She had also jotted down page after page about Tom. When it was over, there were a staggering number of pages that made the envelope she placed them in bulge and she had sent them to Hox before she could talk herself out of it. For the first time in her life, she had bared her soul to her mother and she was terrified of being seen.

But she wasn't just counted days because of her mother; she was also keeping days since she'd spoken to Tom last. There was nothing stopping her from reaching out to him beyond her own pride or perhaps more accurately, her own sense of inadequacy and that was a burden that couldn't be easily shed. It was strange how much you could cover up under the guise of pride and narcissistic superiority.

In truth, she was now counting the days that she'd been trying - and failing - to be better. The diplomat was trying though, not just to go through the motions as she had always done, but to try to interact with people in a different way. In the political sphere, she still went through the same old motions but there was no room for change there; no politician ever wore anything close to their real face - maybe Tom had an odd advantage there. You couldn't be properly social within that nest of snakes but other galdori... they couldn't all dislike her and she couldn't dislike all of them.

In spite of her rather fraught relationship with alcohol, Drezda knew that she had reached something close to her best self when she had met Khymarah at the Paper Tiger so bars seemed as good a place as any to try her interactions. As yet, the Hoxian hadn't been able to work up the nerve to return to the Paper Tiger as the memory of the Bastian redhead being there was still too much for her to bear; it wasn't the only bar in Uptown though and that was why she found herself in the Lycat nursing a drink. No alcohol as yet but a plain fruit juice, red lipstick marking the glass rim. She would permit herself one glass of wine at a later hour but it was a matter of careful control and the knowledge that she could have something alcoholic but had the self-control not to imbibe more.

Thus far, she'd managed an hour in the place, sipping away at her juice and people watching. More than one man had tried to approach her, her ethnic features not enough to clue them in to the fact that they'd get a frosty reception. One man had actually used the phrase "exotic beauty" before she had rather rudely told him where he could place his proffered drink. He'd gone to sulk at the bar instead, the Anaxi ersehole. There were always those men who thought that a beautiful woman who took some pride in her appearance was doing it for them. Was it any wonder that a clever woman could use her looks to her advantage to give just that impression? Drezda had done it often enough over the course of her career; the notion of it sickened and shamed her.

The Hoxian was just polishing off her juice when a rather fancily clad beauty appeared at the bar counter, Drezda regarding her from beneath raised brows. There was dressing up for yourself and there was going out of your way to appeal to others but this was really quite a lot for this place. She doubted that the young woman - dark haired, Bastian by her look and oddly familiar - had done herself up with the intention of coming here. As she slipped a little mirror from the bag she carried so she could check her makeup, she eyed the other woman over the top of her own reflection, idly wondering what she'd left behind to come here, why she had felt the need to escape. As she checked that the colour on her lips hadn't bled or been too thinned from transfer to her glass, she continued her covert observations, resisting the urge to scowl as the man she'd shooed off earlier made a pass at the newcomer.

What was with this prick? Did he have a thing for foreign women? She couldn’t fault his taste though. She was also all the more stunning as she gazed at him with enough chill to freeze him solid. Drezda smiles privately to herself before returning her mirror to its place. She placed her bag on the table, leaving both her hands free while she smoothed down the silken material of her black and red floral wrap dress, straightening herself to her full, diminutive height before she collected bag and glass both.

A fresh assessment of the situation showed that the Anaxi’s advances had been very firmly rejected, the flood of the woman’s field something to behold as Drezda carefully released her own dampening as she approached. There would be no doe-toed nonsense for her, she wasn’t going to go creeping around such a strong gollymancer like some timid little creature with its tail between its legs. Once upon a time, that sort of power would have been an allure to her, something awesome but also envious, part of her hoping that mere proximity would grant her some of that strength. She had learned her lesson about that back in Hox and wasn’t liable to repeat old mistakes, even if she did have a weakness for stunning women and still found strength incredible seductive. However, these days she was far more interesting in making another succumb to her in spite of such strength rather than bow before it herself.

Drezda had plenty of opportunity to scrutinise that Bastian face as she approached though, the familiarity niggling at her as she tried to place where she knew it from, unable to leave it alone like a loose tooth probed with one’s tongue. Trying to gauge her age, she began to sift mentally through those she’d seen at school; Drezda had always been a good people watcher, learning about people even if she never interacted with them. Looks that striking, she couldn’t be readily forgotten even if the Hoxian had been rather… reluctant to admit things on those days.

As she passed the Anaxi man, her gaze slid to the side to blaze a contemptuous look into his back, the corners of her mouth twisting in distaste. She set her bag lightly on the counter beside the Bastian and set her glass down with a little more force, a quirked brow and the swift raising of a finger her way of signalling to the ‘keep that he was wanted.

”Some men can be irritatingly presumptuous, can’t they?” she remarked to the woman beside her, facing the barman but turning her head ever so slightly so that she could attempt to catch the other woman’s eye. If she caught her attention then there would be the barest roll of her eyes, the lightly lined top lids flicking down ever so slightly.

When the barman reaches them, she considered a moment as he stood before her, moistening her lips as she considered. "I’ll have wine, red. A, hmm… surprise me actually. Something decent obviously," the Hoxian informed him, watching him collect her used glass, his gaze flicking briefly and questioningly to Niccolette before he went to sort her order. She turned her attention back to the Bastian, scrutinising her face rather openly this time, black eyes roving. She was also considering her field, the sheer volume of Living mona an important clue and it was also a fact that caused a pleasant resonance between their two auras although Drezda’s was more Perceptive focused.

”I’d ask what you’re doing in a place like this dressed like that but I can hazard a guess. It certainly wasn’t for his benefit,” she added snidely, tilting her head in the Anaxi’s attention.

There was a flutter of triumph in her eyes, the warmth of self-satisfaction entering her field as she placed the other’s face. ”It’s Niccolette, isn’t it? We were in the same year at Brunnhold. Studied Living Conversation together actually although it wasn’t my main focus. I wouldn’t expect you to remember me but I have something of a gift for faces. Drezda Ecks.”

The simple introduction was met with a small bow on the woman’s part, enough to show respect, before she straightened, a hand moving to check the pins that held her hair in place in a bun on top of her head.

”Would you like a drink? Trust me, I’m not like that fellow over there. Tried it on with me earlier as well, would you believe! she laughed softly, shaking her head. ”I understand if you don’t want company but if you’d like to sit with me, you’re quite welcome.”

Part of her was quite eager to have Niccolette agree to everything - the alcohol, the company - because it would be a distraction for Drezda from her own thoughts. However, it would also be a test of her self-control, as much as she tested herself with the alcohol. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t chatted with beautiful galdori women before but it was often… safer if she did it. And perhaps a little better for her sanity as well.

But fuck it! If she wanted to interact with galdori then who else was there? What other alternative did she have? To sit and chat to some strange man? That’d go wonderfully.
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Niccolette Ibutatu
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Mon Oct 14, 2019 3:26 am

Late Evening, 28th Hamis, 2719
The Lycat, Uptown
Niccolette stood at the bar a few more moments, considering her options. She could go back out into the night, walk back to Francoise’s house, and hope that her legs held out long enough to make the journey. She did not even have the coin for a cab, but then she might be able to convince a cab driver that they would be paid upon arrival. It was the sensible thing to do; it was entirely what she ought to do, rather than hovering at this bar.

She could, Niccolette thought, do her best to talk the bartender into some sort of credit. If she had stayed just next to Francoise and Aurelien’s place, perhaps she might have tried, might have done her best to barter with the Rochambeaux name. It was not the alcohol, not so much. There had been wine with dinner, and she had drank - not too much, Niccolette thought, but perhaps half a glass more than was wise on the food she had eaten. She did not need to ease a headache or soothe the quiet storm in her chest with another drink, not just now.

Rather, she wanted something to do; she needed something to do. To go back felt like giving up; she would return to the well-lit house, climb up the stairs and collapse into bed to sob herself to sleep yet again. Niccolette had no illusions about how the rest of the night would go; she had long since left behind that particular sort of self-deception.

Niccolette felt the nudge of a field against her own, the soft feeling of perceptive energy mixed with a faint sharpness of living conversation, a pleasant unaggressive mingling. She glanced slightly to the side at the woman who had come up to the bar next to her when she spoke, catching the faint eyeroll.

“Quite,” Niccolette agreed, turning back towards the bar. The Hoxian was studying her, intently, and Niccolette turned back to the drinks behind the bar, avoiding the eye of the bartender a few moments more.

Niccolette made no answer to the non-question about what she was doing there, but she tensed at the mention of her name, at the woman’s recollection that they had been yearmates. Her right hand lifted to grip the bar, tightly. She waited for the rest of it: and how is your husband? is your husband here? I heard you had moved to Thul Ka? Oh! Are you the one who - I was so sorry to hear about your husband. My condolences.

It didn’t come; none of it came. After a moment, Niccolette glanced at the other woman again. “Miss Ecks,” Niccolette met the other woman’s bow with one of her own, accompanied by a gentle, polite caprise of the almost-belike field. She did not remember the Hoxian, but she could not summon up the energy to explain or apologize. She lowered her hand from the bar, tucked them both against herself, taking a breath or two against their tendency to tremble.

The offer of a drink - carefully caveated and delivered almost without expectation - was as strange as the rest of the encounter had been. Niccolette did not hesitate. “I should like that,” she said, turning more fully back to the other galdor, really looking at her for the first time. She was, Niccolette noted, quite lovely; her eyes lingered for a moment on the other woman’s bright red lipstick, and Niccolette smiled a little more.

“I can believe that he tried it on you,” Niccolette said with a faint, easy grin, one that felt almost like it came from times past. She could not be anything but the widow, not now, and perhaps not ever again, but - just a few moments, Niccolette thought. Just a few moments more.

This time, when the barkeep came over, the Bastian ordered. “Gioran,” she said. “Neat.”

Niccolette followed Drezda back to the seat she had offered. She crossed her legs at the ankle, and picked up her glass. She swirled it, gently, watching the pale brown liquid lap at the sides of the glass without taking a sip.

She would not, Niccolette thought, be allowed to stay in this liminal state long; better to enjoy it, to draw it gently out. How did one bring up the death of one’s husband with a non-acquaintance who recognized you from school? Oh, yes, I married eight years ago but then in Intas -

But then in Intas -

“Nights like this, I wish I still smoked,” Niccolette said, as casually as she could manage. She set the glass down untouched and settled back before her hands could start to shake again, tucking them into her lap. “It is quite satisfying to blow it in a man’s face,” Niccolette found another grin, a little wider, from somewhere she had nearly forgotten.

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Drezda Ecks
Posts: 188
Joined: Sun Jul 15, 2018 12:10 pm
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Tue Oct 15, 2019 4:11 pm

Hamis 28, 2719 | Late Evening
The Lycat, Uptown Vienda
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The Hoxian was searching for every little response in the other woman, doing her best to glean as much information as she could without resorting to her preferred Conversation; people could get so offended when you went poking around in their heads without their permission. So instead, she had to rely on her senses, including what her field could politely caprise, rather than utilising magic. She didn't see Niccolette grasp the bar but she did see the tension in her posture, the rigid set of her arm that suggested that she held onto something for dear life. Was she bracing herself for something? Perhaps Drezda's recognition of her was upsetting to her. The Hoxian had to fight a frown, worried that she'd misstepped but carrying on with her tack regardless. The worst that the Bastian could do was say no.

The woman's posture changed, returning the diplomat's bow and that bracing went away. When she turned to Drezda properly, she seemed calmer and a bit more open. At her full height, they were more or less level. The Hoxian wore heels and she imagined that the other did as well, their real height relation only likely to be clear if they both got out of their shoes; she couldn't imagine too many reasons for that. Still, some possibilities seemed more likely - and appealing - as Niccolette's eyes skimmed her, drinking Drezda in.

Steady, Drezda...

In spite of her own self-warning, she found herself returning the smile although with less intensity. Even if her rhakor had long since fallen by the wayside, the young woman wasn't used to the sort of grinning that the other displayed. Could her mouth even do that? It looked to be too wide of a stretch, the pull of lips in such a manner sure to look unnatural on her features, not to mention liable to be painful; there was no way that any part of her face was that limber.

All self-remonstrances aside, the Bastian's comment hardly helped her state of mind, the diplomat's mouth stretching wider despite herself as her brows rose, amused.

"Oh well... his taste is certainly more than decent," she retorted, eyebrows arching a little higher and then dropping before rising again, a twinkle in her dark eyes. It was a subtle waggle of eyebrows but still noticeable she was sure, as was the swift meaningful flick over the other woman.

Are you flirting? What are you doing? What are you doing?! she wondered desperately and yet it did nothing to dissuade her. Did she lean a little close as she moved to collect the wine that the barkeep brought? Did her field warm ever so slightly, the mona giving the lightest of tingles, not in annoyance but interest?

Maybe. No one could point to her actions as being anything intentional; the politician would feign innocence.

She cradled the glass in her hand, resisting the urge to take her first sip. If she did it now, it would simply be as something to do and she'd end up putting a noticeable dent in the drink's volume before they even got back to her table. One drink, that was all and if she chugged it down then she'd simply have squandered it; it wasn't something to be put away so casually. Instead, while her companion ordered her own rather stronger beverage, the diplomat did her best to savour her wine. She swirled the burgundy liquid watching legs form on the sides, droplets sliding down slowly. The fumes of the disrupted fluid wafted up and she brought it to her nose as she inhaled its scent. Its aroma was heady, a complex tangle of odours dancing up her nostrils in a combination that made her lips sigh apart. She inhaled again, fumes curling into her mouth as well as her airways. She could almost taste it and the scent alone was pleasant and near intoxicating.

Clock the Circle, it was good whatever it was. And it would want to be given the price, the woman's lips pursing ever so slightly as she passed over the appropriate coin. She carried her glass back to her table, trying not to salivate over the prospect of consuming it. Resuming her seat, she dropped her bag beside her and set the glass before her, ignoring the urge to cradle it, to let the liquid kiss her tongue. Too soon.

Deep breaths.

Folding her hands in her lap, she forced her posture to relax a little so that she didn't seem as if she was sitting with a rod rigid against her spine.

"I'd imagine it would be a good display of contempt. I can't say that I've ever indulged in such things. One or two vices are sufficient. More than that... well, I can't be greedy now, can I?" the Hoxian murmured, corner of her mouth quirking as she let a short, manicured fingertip tap the wineglass. Let Niccolette guess about what other vices she might have. "Any particular reason you stopped? You didn't smoke a pipe, did you? I'm sure that would be a sight to behold."

The woman chuckled softly, gaze and field alight with curiosity, head tilting slightly. "I don't think that's the sort of thing one is supposed to ask when they haven't seen someone in many years. Then again, we didn't know each other exactly and I don't necessarily do what you're supposed to do. Shall we just forego the hollow pleasantries about how things have progressed since leaving school? I also don't intend to reminisce fondly on Brunnhold days. If you're sitting here for that sort of conversation..."

The diplomat shrugged, reaching for her glass and taking the barest sip, enough to wet her tongue. Her eyelashes flickered shut briefly and a quiet appreciative hum emanated from her as she let the moisture soak into her tastebuds. Very good.

"Let's see, so we shan't be talking about school or bygone days - unless you're so inclined of course - so that leaves the here and now. I gather that your evening has been less than enjoyable, even before you encountered the ersehole at the bar. Social gathering, I assume judging by your dress. Which was more irritating, vapid women or pompous men? Any politicians? They're the worst. I should know; I am one!"

It was surprising to Drezda just how open she was willing to be but it was nice to forget so many of the silly social things she'd been taught and it felt more genuine, less stilted. It was quite entertaining. Furthermore, if Niccolette happened to become upset or offended then she wasn't entirely sure that she'd be too bothered. Wasn't it better that she could be herself and have fun doing it? No hiding behind rhakor, no trying to be something that she wasn't. If only she could turn so much of what she kept inside in a valuable direction. Perhaps if she could work out how to channel it properly, she might actually gain friends.
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Last edited by Drezda Ecks on Fri Oct 18, 2019 9:44 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Niccolette Ibutatu
Posts: 552
Joined: Thu Jul 11, 2019 11:41 pm
Topics: 38
Race: Galdor
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Wed Oct 16, 2019 12:02 am

Late Evening, 28th Hamis, 2719
The Lycat, Uptown
Niccolette felt oddly pleased by Drezda’s grin and the sudden flicker of friendliness in her field. It bolstered her, the thought that she could still make conversation with a near stranger - the thought that she hadn’t lost that too, along with all the rest.

The Bastian grinned again at Drezda’s comment about vices. “No pipes,” she shook her head faintly. No, she had stopped because - because -

Niccolette had stopped because Uzoji did not care for the taste of cigarettes, and anyway the ones in the Muluku Islands had not tasted the way she liked. There was a split second in which she did not know what to say; if she said it, if she said his name - it was like a spell being worked in the air around her, and if she tempered it she would summon his memory, stronger and sharper than she could control. The Bastian’s hands were still together in her lap, but she could not stop them from shaking.

No, Niccolette thought. No, she should - she should - but she was not ready. She could not bring herself to it - not just yet. She would be ready soon; it would come up soon. Soon, she would not be able to avoid it.

“I wished not to taste so much of smoke,” Niccolette said instead, with the faintest edge of wickedness to her tone; she had glanced down at the table at some point, she was not sure when, and she looked back up at Drezda with a smile. “Although I cannot seem to resist the occasional cigar.”

Not a lie, Niccolette told herself. Not a lie. Scandalous, perhaps, the sort of admission one should not make, but not a lie. The Bastian picked up her whiskey again, cradling it in both palms for a moment, her gaze dropping back to it, to the little circle of metal resting against the glass. Drezda did not wish to talk through the years between them, did not wish to reminisce fondly about their days at Brunnhold. Niccolette took a small sip of whiskey, and swallowed it against the knot in her chest - set the glass back down, and tucked her hands back into her lap.

“None of that false nostalgia,” Niccolette agreed, her eyes steady on Drezda’s face. “And you are right - the here and now is where we should stay.” Niccolette felt a little more of that tightness ease in her chest, something like relief. It would catch her - it always did - but she felt as if she had slipped the trap just a few minutes more.

Perhaps Drezda did know; perhaps she understood, and this was her way of doing the Bastian a kindness. Niccolette wished that she could let herself believe that, for it would have been a lovely excuse for her own behavior - the idea what someone might understand that she did not wish for their condolences. That their condolences felt, at times - as if she had been stabbed, some time ago, and they came along to jiggle the knife, to rip the wound open a little more, to send fresh blood spilling from her to the floor. Their condolences were for them, to satisfy the forms of politeness - or, worse, they had truly loved Uzoji as well, and when they spoke she could taste the pain on their lips, like an echo of her own.

Niccolette was shaking again; she let out something like a laugh at Drezda’s comment, but it was sharp and a little bitter. Niccolette left one hand in her lap, gripping the silk over her thighs; the other came up without volition, and found the gold buttons. She traced one, her finger stroking back and forth over it, slow and easy. It was comforting to feel it against her skin; it had been comforting to see them in the mirror earlier, to carry a little piece of him with her.

“You are quite tolerable, for a politician,” Niccolette said, because it was true, and it was all she should have said. She managed to relax her hand, to let go of the silk, to leave the one resting against her front still. She should have stopped there; she did not know Drezda, she did not -

If Uzoji had been there, Niccolette thought, Desverdes might never have dared. Or perhaps he would have, still, and she could have told Uzoji later, after the party, with an edge of indignation and an edge of laughter, a blending of the two that would have taken the sting from it, and he would have kissed her hand - kissed her - asked if she wanted him to -

There were tears glistening in her eyes, and Niccolette cleared her throat, looking away. “Do you know Incumbent Desverdes?” She asked, even though she knew better. “If so, perhaps I need make no other explanation,” The Bastian sighed, heavily, and blinked a few times, catching the edge of a tear against her fingers, wiping it away and tucking her hands into her lap again, both of them. “And, if not, you should endeavor to avoid him.”

“And you?” Niccolette did her best to smile at the Hoxian across the table again; the sting of tears in her eyes was fading, for now. For now. They would catch her eventually. It would all catch her; she could not but avoid it. But her field still held indectal in the air around her, and Niccolette found a bit of warmth for it - shy of goldshift, just a little friendly nudge against the other woman. “Who are you avoiding?”

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Drezda Ecks
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Fri Oct 18, 2019 5:40 pm

Hamis 28, 2719 | Late Evening
The Lycat, Uptown Vienda
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The chatter that Drezda had chosen to engage in was idle and playful, so unlike the way she had grown accustomed to speaking to strangers. There was nothing investigative, no subtle attempts to wheedle valuable information out of Niccolette. The question about smoking hadn't had anything to do with trying to pry into secrets but a simple curiosity. Women smoking was considered something of a disgusting habit, the act often viewed as unbecoming and sometimes unseemly like the wearing of trousers. If she'd smoked a pipe, it would have been thoroughly entertaining and wonderfully risque.

No pipe though, a slight disappointment perhaps but the diplomat found herself watching with greater interest and at least a little surprise - not that it showed - as the woman paused. Something like a dark cloud passed over the Bastian, the shadow of ill emotion in her eyes and a possible threat of some showers. But it was only there for a moment before she averted her gaze by looking at the table. Whatever it was, it passed quickly and the jump to wickedness took her further aback. It was wholly unexpected after the pain that had shone out of those hazel eyes as they'd been tinged more green.

Had there been some guilt there before she made that daring comment or was the wickedness meant to hide something? The young woman didn't know what to make of that but was willing to play along all the same - couldn't help but do it in fact.

"I don't believe I've ever tasted smoke," she commented, almost thoughtful as her tongue ran along the undersides of her front teeth, the gesture more than visible as she found herself smiling in return. "And of course as I've already said, I've never smoked. I wonder, is it something that I should try...?"

Her head bowed slightly, eyeing her speculatively through her lashes. Well, if there'd been any doubt in her own mind before that she was probing for signs of interest, there was no denying it now. If anything, she was aware that her careful choice of words had made a clear distinction between tasting smoke by way of actually smoking tobacco and tasting it on another. Scandalous.

Feeling strangely pleased with herself, she glanced down, watching the other galdor as she handled her glass, preparing to take her whiskey and that's when she saw it: the shining band of gold wrapped around her finger. Unmistakable, a wedding band that said Niccolette was joined to another, bound there until-

Anaxi could be quite tight about these things, these marriages and so often they were like business transactions, bodies traded for favours, destinies bartered and sold with surprising ease. In Hox, they weren't like that. Marriage was a serious affair indeed but not a necessary one. Unlike most of her native peers, Drezda was expected to marry because her father thought it important and her mother agreed; Ksjta was simply willing to go along with what he said rather than reminding her husband that their daughter wasn't chattel - not this one anyway.

But a married woman! Sitting here with her, laughing, eyeing her in a fashion that definitely suggested interest and... no spouse in sight. Did she have a husband or a wife? What were her tastes?

Does it matter?

There was a smirk to the internal comment and she had a hard time not replicating it on her face. That more daring side of her wasn't wrong. It wasn't as if monogamy was something that she'd ever considered to be important. Her relationships - if they could rightly be called thus - had never been binding and she'd never had that desire. She was fairly sure that her parents didn't follow monogamy - not that she wanted to think about her parents like that in any way whatsoever! But they were Hoxian and so such things weren't as - ironically! - set in stone. However, the fact was that Nicco was here and she was certainly interested in something. Maybe it was all talk and if it was, well talk couldn't do any harm. Either she was looking to have an affair or a one-time fling with her spouse's permission in which case discretion for the sake of appearances was necessary in this kingdom, or she was doing it without their knowledge in which case.... discretion was essential. It wasn't as if it could reflect badly on Drezda.

Her fingers threaded together in her lap but it wasn't enough. She pulled them closer, pressing them against herself, a subtle sort of hug and found her fingers resting against her belly. Even through the cloth, she felt certain that she could feel the ridges where her flesh was marked. That soured her thoughts a bit.

Discreet or not, she didn't know that she could bear for the Bastian to see her scars. It was possible that she could keep the simple upper undergarment on but then she'd have to explain- she'd have to excuse- Drezda didn't know that she could do that. Nicco was no Khy. There had been trust there and a feeling that she wouldn't be judged and that had made all the difference.

Maybe she was wrong to have been so hasty in her line of thinking.

The diplomat had to struggle to pick up a more acceptable line of thought, pluck up the thread of conversation once more. False nostalgia, yes. They were avoiding that. It was all about avoidance really. Drezda could avoid some of her own thoughts by asking the other who she was avoiding, who had made her escape to this little bar, which wasn't exactly a dive but also not the most high-end of places - one of the reasons why she'd chosen the Lycat.

The bitter laugh snapped her out of any carnality, the comment that followed showing that she knew politicians all right. Drezda certainly wasn't the worst of them, not these days although once... No, she'd never been as bad as some of them, as vile and despicable and underhanded as some like Toibin Madden and Anatole- No, she mustn't think of Anatole - of Tom - even if she'd be more than happy to think ill of the dead.

Her posture tensed a little at the mention of a new Incumbent, her lips curling back in the beginning of a snarl. Oh she knew the man all right. He'd never dared with her, not truly but she knew he'd seriously considered it. Still, she could be intimidating, she knew that and some men withered if you glared at them hard enough, made impotent.

"Yes, I know him. He's an entitled ersehole when it comes to women. You'd be surprised how many of them are like that. Actually no... you probably wouldn't be," she remarked grimly. She'd drink to that, a far more substantial amount this time - a mouthful. "I'm sorry. I hope that he wasn't too... unseemly. If he was well... I'm sure you can look after yourself but I'm also happy to teach him a little lesson in respect."

The woman smiled, the baring of teeth more predatory than friendly but it clearly wasn't meant for Nicco even if it was aimed in her direction. It grew fixed and wooden as a horrifying thought occurred to her.

What if... what if Desverdes was her husband? She hadn't heard of anything happening to his previous wife but he was the sort to marry a pretty young thing before the woman was cold. She could have died and he could have remarried. She had been out of the loop for a bit, not paying as much attention as she usually did but-

No, surely not! It must be someone else. Had to be.

The predatory look slid off her face and was replaced with something much more sombre as she regarded Nicco quietly, lips pressed firmly together. She wasn't going to pry, largely because she didn't really want to know. Didn't want to know at all. If you didn't want an answer to a question then it was better if you didn't ask it in the first place. She wasn't going to ask what Desverdes had done. Wasn't going to ask if it was his ring around her finger. Didn't want to ask whose ring it was.

And who was the Hoxian avoiding? She might have said herself but that was somewhat ridiculous; seemed she'd forgotten to leave herself behind at home so that hadn't worked. No, if anything she was hiding from a what, a lot of whats in fact.

"I don't think I'm avoiding anyone, Niccolette. Unless ghosts count." She flashed a quick, humourless smile. "Honestly, I'm doing less avoiding and more... embracing. I was hoping to find some acceptable company. The ersehole at the bar wasn't appealing but then again, men don't usually make good company at the best of occasions. I'm sure there are exceptions but uh... I haven't found many of them."

Tom had flitted unbidden into her head, the realisation that his company wasn't at all unappealing, a blush rising in her cheeks, muted by the layer of white powder on her face.
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Last edited by Drezda Ecks on Mon Oct 21, 2019 1:08 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Niccolette Ibutatu
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Fri Oct 18, 2019 10:17 pm

Late Evening, 28th Hamis, 2719
The Lycat, Uptown
Niccolette answered Drezda’s question about tasting smoke with a smile. “Oh, certainly.” There was something warm in her voice, and still just the faintest edge to it, just a little wicked. ”But then, I am a great believer in vices.”

It was not so easy to sustain the lightness, and they had both of them lost it. Niccolette did not mind; the heavy was where she lived, these days, and it settled back around her like a shroud. She could never throw it off long; sometimes she could not throw it off at all. Even a few moments reprieve felt oddly like a gift.

Drezda had met her comment about Desverdes with an expression like a snarl. Niccolette joined her in a small drink to her lack of surprise, a sip of the whiskey, rolling it around in her mouth and swallowing it. Uzoji had always - there were many steps to properly appreciate liquor, he had explained to her, and he had not made her ask. He had taught her the rules of it, and he had not minded when she had not wished to follow them.

The Hoxian showed her teeth again, and the offer was so unexpected that Niccolette giggled, properly this time, feeling an unexpected surge of warmth. For a moment she felt the irony of it - a Hoxian politician and a Bastian Bad Brother sitting in a bar, and the Hoxian had offered to take care of a problem for her! Niccolette had not felt much of a Brother of late, but for a moment it was not so bad.

“No,” Niccolette said, but she was smiling again, and the rawness was gone from her voice. Drezda’s polite anger seemed to kindle some of hers, and push back against the despair. The Bastian glanced down at her glass, and did not take another drink, not yet. “But I wish I could accept,” she said, looking back up at Drezda, meeting her eyes once more, “for I would very much enjoy to see that.”

There was a little flicker of something in Niccolette’s field then, twining amidst the sharp set of the mona. Not heavy sadness, not bright joy, but the feeling of conquest, bold and a little bloodthirsty. It was just an echo of it, and it was gone nearly before it could be registered.

It wasn’t like telling Uzoji, but to her surprise much of the sting was gone from it - the creeping discomfort, the way such things settled beneath her skin and made her wonder what she might have done differently. But Niccolette did not waste much time on regrets; she never had. Not even death could change it.

But the Hoxian had looked rather somber, and Niccolette found herself engaged, curious, her attention back in the present - back on the woman with the red-painted lips, nursing her wine as slowly as Niccolette was her whiskey. The Bastian had found she was stroking the gold button over her ribs again, one finger making smooth, small circles over the top of it. She could not manage to stop, but it did not take her away too far.

Men don’t make good company, the Hoxian said, and Niccolette smiled faintly again; she was not sure when she had stopped, but it took conscious effort to find the smile again. “Not in the general case,” Niccolette agreed, and sighed very softly.

Exceptions, exceptions. Uzoji had never been threatened by her, Niccolette thought, and that had made all the difference. Never threatened by what she could do, but not dismissive either - and nor had he claimed t as his own. He had delighted in it, but it had been for her sake, and that warm pride of his had always... The past tense of it ached almost unbearably, and Niccolette thought she would not mind even if he had the chance to fail again. She would take whatever she could get, any last scrap of him - one last kiss, one last look, one last word whispered in her ear. She would rip apart the world with her bare hands, claw her nails and fingers bloody, for even less.

And even he, Niccolette thought bitterly, had let her down.

“I am pleased to have been - acceptable,” Niccolette said after a moment, finding her way to the conversation again, and her smile widened a little more. She had managed to hold it this time. She held the last word delicately apart from the other, careful and deliberate, and she met Drezda’s eyes, and there was a little wickedness in her gaze once more.

Niccolette took her hand from its fiddling with the buttons, and set them both back in her lap, one on top of the other. Embracing, Niccolette thought, and found it a curious turn of phrase. Unwelcome? She was not sure, suddenly, and a different feeling ran through her, a sort of awareness, an odd sort of tingling sensation. She was conscious of having missed - having missed something she could not quite put her finger on, and conscious too of the faintest blush of color on her cheeks; she wore no powder, and it stained her even in the dim light of the bar.

Had they been... flirting?

Niccolette ran her teeth lightly over her bottom lip, not digging in hard enough to stain them with her lip color. She picked up the glass again, and took a slightly larger swallow this time, finding an abrupt need for it. Her hands settled on the table, and she ran her thumb lightly over her wedding ring, slowly, again and again.

“Of course men have some uses,” Niccolette took on a light, easy tone, but she met Drezda’s gaze again and did not look away. She let it linger just a moment, well aware of the obvious implication, made stronger by the slight curl of her lips. Then she broke the silence between them with a wider grin. “For example, they are quite useful if one needs a carriage hailed. I am sure there must be other times,” the Bastian waved a hand lazily through the air, shrugging her slender shoulders.

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Drezda Ecks
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Wed Oct 23, 2019 11:36 am

Hamis 28, 2719 | Late Evening
The Lycat, Uptown Vienda
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Niccolette seemed surprised by her offer, perhaps the idea of a strange lady ready to take some sort of vengeance wasn't something that she'd ever expect to happen. They might not know each other but they were both women who'd had to deal with the chroveshit of men, their sense of entitlement to their bodies and it was something that she knew was common between them. They both understood the hungry eyes, the "harmless" comments and subtle touches, and that sense that you had to grin and bear it and that they were the ones who had to behave, as if they were in the wrong. Drezda was sure that plenty of women had wanted to take action at one time or another but she was also sure that plenty hadn't been able to take matters into their own hands, not because they were incapable, but because the backlash against them could be so much worse.

Why suffer the risk of backlash when someone else could sort your problem without the repercussions?

She was glad to have made the Bastian giggle though, it was an exceedingly pleasant sound and she would quite like to hear it again. If they had to go into dark subjects to elicit it well then so be it; it wasn't as if the diplomat was any stranger to the dark. Maybe the other was familiar with it as well, her words not empty but backed up by a brief flash of something hot beneath the surface, maybe a little eager desire. It was the way her own blood sang when she raised a hand and watched someone cringed, or drew in her field to cast and saw others shrink back. It was that giddy desire and excitement that arose when she had the chance to deal out pain, to exert power or kindle fear.

As quick as it had appeared, it was gone but Drezda had recognised it, certain that that sensation had flashed through her own field on more than one occasion. Although Nicco's was a little muted, not as intense as what the diplomat had experienced previously. Should she poke at it a little? The idea of the Hoxian tormenting the Incumbent did seem to appeal to the other woman but... she wasn't wholly sure.

"A shame. I need more good reasons to kick men's erses," the woman commented, a sly smile and a slight raising of eyebrows giving some indication that she would enjoy such a prospect. If she so chose then Niccolette could ignore it, pretend that she didn't understand the significance of the gesture. Not that she'd necessarily notice, a grave air settling between them both, each dwelling on her own thoughts in a silence that was oddly companionable. It didn't feel awkward, not talking, and that was certainly nice, something that the diplomat could appreciate. There was nothing required here, no sense of feeling obliged to fill the space between them with empty words and hollower sentiments. It was possible to sit and eyeball her wine or let her gaze move languidly over the other woman, a casual appraisal.

She was able to nod along to the other's agreement, thin-lipped smile that continued to verge on the sombre. However, when Nicco called her out on use of the word 'acceptable', the Hoxian conjured up a sly smirk. "More than acceptable, I assure you."

Her black eyes were bright and glinting as she raised her glass to take another drink, gaze not wavering from her companion's face, which seemed to have regained some of its wickedness, a pleasant alteration from the morose look it had worn before. It was only then that the blush bloomed in her cheeks, something dawning on the Bastian just before it began its creep across her skin. Was she self-conscious now or had the full implications of what they were saying to each other finally struck her?

The Hoxian couldn't help but be amused, lips tugged into a warmer and more genuine expression as she regarded her. How very endearing. She'd thought her pretty in school, she recalled, but wild, aggressive, wildly preoccupied with boys and far too full of the emotions which Drezda had been trying to avoid at the time. The intervening years had been good for her, that wildness of spirit under the surface now, peeking out at the foreigner from the now beautiful rather than merely pretty visage. The politician appreciated the sauciness, she really did.

While Nicco turned her attention to the Hoxian, the woman's dark eyes flitted down and found her stroking her ring. She'd garnered the other's focus but her own had shifted. The curve of her lips drooped and became fixed, barely parted so that a fraction of her top teeth were revealed, less grin and more rictus now.

“Of course men have some uses."

Oh yes, of course, how silly of her. Niccolette had always been exceedingly fond of men, hadn't she? Why had she expected that to change? The flirtation? Oh that was easily done, no real harm in it and she'd known women to flirt before without actually being interested. Sometimes it was practice for them, sometimes something else that Drezda couldn't put her finger on but not every woman flirted with another simply because she wanted them. No, there could be power involved, playing with the dynamics between them and their quarry, being able to amass victories without having to actually experience true friction.

It took everything in her not to visibly recoil, not to pull a face of disgust. She couldn't understand such an attraction, couldn't fathom such a use for them and while she managed to keep her perturbation from her face, she didn't succeed with her field. The mona around her gave a squeamish little tremor like a half-hearted pulse or shiver and her black eyes were dragged off to the side, pretending to take an interest at the framed artwork by their table, despite having eyed dozens of times before Niccolette arrived at the Lycat.

Silver and blue lines, twined and dancing, twisted, turned and waved as they came together and drifted apart. It seemed to be a piece inspired by a confisalto dance, the figures of two dancers visible but almost obliterated by what appeared to be the drift and flow of monic particles around them. It was no doubt meant to be beautiful and tasteful, perhaps even deep and meaningful in its abstraction; Drezda found it chaotic and tacky. Whoever had painted it looked as if they hadn't quite known what they'd wanted to do, providing the observer with a whole host of mixed signals, not unlike how she felt with the companion. She was so turned about and befuddled that she didn't know what to make of the things that she saw or heard in front of her.

Dipping down into the doldrums as she was, the Bastian's casual but mocking comment on men's general usefulness caught her entirely off-guard. A delighted laugh bubbled up out of her in her surprise, a wilder, freer sound to it than anything else than had issued from her this evening. She found her gaze on Niccolette again, biting her lip while a smile twitched at the corners, face warm. Her expression said 'oops' but there was also every indication that she didn't really care, especially as her teeth lifted and the smile returned with blazing intensity.

"I doubt it. Really one is far better off hailing a carriage for oneself. You can't have them thinking that they are the Circle's gift to women and whatever would we do without them? To be fair though, making them think of themselves in such grandiose terms sometimes has its uses - it can be clocking amusing!"

Laughter again albeit not as free this time, dark eyes flitting down to the ring again. Would she
- could she - dare? In truth, she suspected that she had to be so bold. She didn't want to be but...

"Thinking of anyone in particular?" she questioned lightly, forefinger coming free from the condensed moisture of her wine glass to gesture to that small but exceedingly irritating golden band. She was trying to be casual about it, not to make too much of a deal of it but given that the glass had found her lips again and a hearty amount of liquid had been sloshed into her mouth so soon after the last mouthful, Drezda doubted that she'd succeeded.

Nicco had probably seen her glances, had probably guessed that the Hoxian had noticed that pretty little manacle that she wore, quite possibly made a prisoner of her own free will. The woman would be happier pretending that there was no jailor and that he - Drezda strongly suspected a husband now - never had to exist in her mind. She might have followed it up with a very scandalous comment about how she'd heard that men could be quite dissatisfying but those words stilled on her lips, the idea of admitting that she didn't actually know from experience making her feel suddenly too self-conscious.

Too much would be revealed in that so she leave it at that for the time being.
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Niccolette Ibutatu
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Wed Oct 23, 2019 12:45 pm

Late Evening, 28th Hamis, 2719
The Lycat, Uptown
Niccolette had not missed the way Drezda’s gaze had drawn away in the middle of her joke, that the warm expression on her face had slid away. She thought perhaps there were other things she had missed – she was increasingly sure of it – but that she saw, and she did not let it deter her. She finished her comment, and Drezda’s eyes snapped back to her, and the woman laughed – really laughed – wild, and free, and Niccolette grinned, caught up in the rush of it, and it felt nearly as if she was laughing too. She was conscious of her heart pounding in her chest, conscious of an odd feeling of pleasure.

Drezda was biting her lip now, small white teeth a pretty contrast against the bright red, and looked like she was trying (and failing) not to smile, and Niccolette grinned back at her, feeling that same wildness thrumming softly through her. It rushed through her like champagne, warm and fizzing in her veins, and she tried to hold onto it, fiercely.

Niccolette smiled at Drezda’s joke, but it was a little wry, because it was a little too true to be funny. Niccolette had never been so skilled at such games; she had little patience for them, and for the men that they seemed to work on. She thought –

Drezda’s comment caught her like a blow, and Niccolette’s eyes dropped to the ring – to the fingers that had found their way back to it. She snatched her hands off the table and hid them in her lap, and the last of that brief relief snuffed out like a candle’s flame. Here, Niccolette thought, drearily. Here, she – she had to –

The Bastian twisted, uncomfortable, and glanced around, finding an odd little piece of artwork by the table, silver and blue lines swirling in an odd tangle, two shapes almost but not quite looming out of it. Coming together or drifting apart? Was the mingling of what looked like vague fields around them meant to be unity or disunity? Niccolette found that she was shaking, and her hands were twisting in her lap.

It had been so nice, Niccolette thought, not to be the widow. For just a moment – for just – it had been nice, hadn’t it? To pretend? It couldn’t be more than pretending, not now and not ever again. A brief reprieve, because it was clear Drezda did not know, that Niccolette’s fantasies that the other woman was deliberately sparing her were only fantasies, nothing more. A brief reprieve, but it was ended now, wasn’t it? She felt like a ballonet pumped into the atmosphere, as if with five words Drezda had opened her bare and let her spill forth.

And then –

No, Niccolette thought, and she could not have said where it came from; no.

The Bastian took the ring in her fingers and she pulled – she twisted – it was hard. She had not taken it off in so many years – she had not – when had she last? 2714, maybe, when she had thrown it at Uzoji and stormed off to Vienda – and for a moment she thought it was stuck, but she was a little slimmer than she had been, and perhaps her fingers were too, because the little gold ring came off, and Niccolette slapped it down on the table so hard it sent a shock of pain through her hand, and sat back, staring at Drezda once more, aware of the bright unshed tears glittering in her eyes, the subtle heat behind them.

“Yes,” The Bastian said, defiantly, her chest rising and falling,. Her breath was catching in her throat, and she couldn’t help a little sort of gasping sound, just once. She wiped her fingers against her eyes, and she took a deep breath, and she lifted her chin. She took hold of her whiskey, and took a comfortable mouthful, and swallowed it, as if the burn could make her feel something like that brief joy again.

Niccolette swallowed, hard, and licked her lips, and she thought of taking another drink, because she did not think she had enough liquid courage, not yet, but –

“But I should prefer not to be,” Niccolette said, and settled back into something like stillness, blinking the tears away. Her tongue played over her lower lip again, and she looked at Drezda across the table. No, Niccolette thought, no – not even she had the courage for it, not after nearly bursting into tears in the middle of the Lycat; she did not have such a high opinion of her own attractiveness, and for all that the Hoxian had laughed at her joke, her composure was – wonderful. Niccolette found herself a little envious, an odd twist in her chest. No, she could not - could she?

Niccolette left the ring there, the soft golden circle glowing in the pale light of the bar, and she was still not sure if she was coming or going, and it irked that such a terrible painting seemed to have spoken to her. She stared down at again and she let anger and whiskey warm her, and she – she knew it was a mistake, but she looked back up at Drezda, and she offered what she had. She was composed again, and perhaps still more than a little defiant, and if it was not quite joy, there was a fierceness to her once more.

“Would you care to help?”

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Drezda Ecks
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Fri Oct 25, 2019 12:48 pm

Hamis 28, 2719 | Late Evening
The Lycat, Uptown Vienda
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Things had been going so well, they really had been. Yes, there had been those moments of misunderstanding when everything had grown somewhat bitter for Drezda but it had passed, replaced by the rush of good humour that had been granted unexpected entry. The tone had been better, more like it had been initially and some part of the diplomat had hoped that that easiness would persist. The mockery of men was such pleasant ground to be on, a subject that would be readily - and often gleefully - indulged in by other women. It fostered commonality between them as if the other sex was an enemy, which they so often were. So she'd thought that things were going well and while she was full of a playful energy and more than a little mischief, she refrained from asking anything too scandalous and her mind could have gone to some very, very scandalous places including her husband's incapability. However, given the response, it was a good thing that she'd kept things so tame.

Niccolette reacted strongly, her eyes darting down to her beringed finger as if she'd just discovered a hatcher clinging to it instead of a precious metal. Her hands disappeared from sight and her demeanour changed as if a pail of ice cold water had been dumped on her head. If she started shaking, Drezda wouldn't be surprised as she watched her shrink in on herself and hunch, the tense tremor in her monic aura another indicator of her distress. The movements of the particles were small, subtle but strong and fast, ready to set the air aflame with their friction or so it seemed to the Hoxian.

It hadn't been her intention to produce such a response but regardless of her intent, she had to deal with it nonetheless. Unfortunately for the diplomat, she wasn't sure how to handle it.

She stared at her companion, mouth drying as air entered through her shock-parted lips. Her glass was clasped with painful intensity, the coolness of the liquid within it bleeding into her skin so that her tightly curled fingers grew chilled, brittle feeling; she wasn't sure if they'd break or if the glass would under their white knuckled grip. The Hoxian didn't know what to say. She wasn't built to handle this sort of thing, especially as she wasn't actually sure what this thing was. Honestly, she seemed aghast although Drezda had no idea what had produced such a reaction. She was quite sorry for it.

What could she say though? Should she apologise for bringing up a spouse when the evidence was in front of her.

"Niccolette... I-" she began, breaking off when she realised that she had no idea what was meant to come next. How did you provide comfort for something unidentifiable?

The hand slammed on the table, the sharp clink of metal as the ring hit it, and the Hoxian visibly flinched. It was unexpectedly violent, shockingly so, enough to drive a gasp from her lips, leaving her pressed back hard against her seat with her eyes thrown open wide. Her gaze was fixed on the other woman, unable to miss the shine of tears and the blaze of something else that somehow didn't burn them away with its intensity. It wasn't exactly anger that was in the depths of those hazel orbs but something obstinate, a look that should only ever be accompanied by a defiant lift of the chin and an almost condescending glare down the nose. Sure enough as she watched, the briny tears were wiped away and the chin rose as she had expected.

The corner of the Hoxian's mouth twitched. The woman still didn't know what to make of this display, still feeling something unsettled and nervous beneath the surface. Even so, she admired the fire in the other.

Drezda remained quiet, allowing her companion to process whatever it was that she needed to process, certain that words would pour forth when she was ready and if she was not, if it didn't happen, well then... she'd worry about that if and when it happened, wouldn't she?

However, the ring had come off. Whoever it belonged to - or had belonged to - obviously not someone that Niccolette was feeling particularly favourable towards right now. Had there been a betrayal of some sort? It seemed as if that was the case and she wanted to forget. So what was she meant to make of that? Was the statement that she'd just fired at the diplomat meant to suggest that the subject was off-limits and she didn't want any reminders of it or was it an invitation for Drezda to... ?

Was she hoping that the Hoxian would offer to help her forget? If that was the case, what was her answer? And if it wasn't the case and she said something then what effect would that have? Assumptions could be tricky things indeed.

"Well!" she stated, noncommittal. It was a non-statement really, a word to be said to puncture the silence and the weight of expectation that seemed to charge the air. The feeling that Niccolette wanted her to say something to that but given that she didn't know the question, how could she risk offering an answer?

Gazing at that little circle of gold, she wondered how something so small and delicate could hold so much weight. It had certainly garnered quite a bit of the politician's attention so she supposed that she understood. Symbols were so much larger than they appeared and sometimes ideas didn't even need some visual signifier; sometimes considering an idea could be enough to feel as if the weight of the entire world had dropped onto your shoulders, perhaps the heavens as well, and you were somehow left a hair's breath from being crushed and yet left feeling breathless, endangered. Even if it didn't crush you, you understood just how readily that idea could smother and destroy you. Some things were like that and that little golden band... it wasn't as heavy as all that but the system it was connected to... no, that wasn't something on which to dwell.

And that's when the Bastian decided to come right out and say it, stopping Drezda from her guessing.

Well!

The Hoxian's head tilted, brows tugging in and down so that a contemplative crease appeared between them. If Niccolette was asking to forget her spouse by having someone else take their place - carnally rather than romantically obviously - then was that something that Drezda was willing to engage in? Admittedly, she'd decided that she needed to put herself out there more but she'd hoped to have the opportunity to make friends, not take casual lovers. After so many years of keeping things close to her chest, it would be strange to allow everything out on such a throwaway affair.

But gosh, she was a delightfully beautiful thing and she could remember what Ezre had said, child though he was, about how it was never too late to embrace life. It was... tempting but at the same time, she wasn't sure that she could bring herself to do it. Bring this woman home and-

She remembered how disastrous things had been when she brought Khymarah home. Things had been different then though, Drezda had been different then. If anything, the Hoxian was more likely to back out of things this time around rather than the other way around; Niccolette appeared determined.

The woman swallowed and stared and thought.

The other was emotional and gods, she knew how poorly things could go when you were emotional. You did things when you were emotional that you regretted, things that couldn't be scrubbed off and which you had to live with forever after. Drezda knew all about that. Regret.

White teeth worried on a pursed lip before she nodded, an almost curt bob.

"I would certainly be willing, Niccolette. But I can't make any promises," she intoned, dark eyes questing the other's face. "What exactly do you wish of me? Another drink for a start?"

She nodded towards the other's glass, which was seriously diminished. Her own was over half gone but she wouldn't get another one, she couldn't risk that. As it was, she'd asked that alcohol be stripped from the house, Cora told that a small amount could be kept for guests but she'd left it up to the housekeeper to decide if the household would be a dry one or not; Drezda felt too weak to make such decisions for herself.
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