Drezda’s Home, Uptown Vienda
Given how things had been going in recent months, waking with regrets wasn’t exactly new to the Hoxian. She’d had plenty of mornings where she would have quite liked to have her head chopped off to end the horror of a hangover, those mornings when she hadn’t been able to indulge in the hair of the dog. Compared to those mornings, she had considerably less to worry about but she had managed to do reasonably well in recent weeks and the new, higher level of alcohol in her system was having effects. Her head throbbed, her tongue seemed to have fur growing on it and she felt as if the world around her was subtly out of kilter, enough to make her feel dizzy if she moved too fast.
All in all, she’d gotten off lightly but the young woman was pissed off at herself for her weakness. Discipline and control had been key and she had fucked things up. However, while it was a slip and one that could be rectified (the diplomat intended to be harder on herself as a consequence), Drezda had brought more mementoes of her shame home with her than the poisons in her bloodstream; she’d brought someone home with her: Niccolette. It wasn’t as if she’d brought the Bastian home like that, they hadn’t shared a bed or anything, but there was still plenty of reason to feel scandalised in the sober light of day.
The diplomat recalled her unplanned visitor a minute or two after waking, although at least she could recall that things had been entirely above board, whereas Niccolette would have no such memories; the other woman had been unconscious when Jerome carried her into the house. Her companion had had more to drink than the Hoxian but she’d also seemed genuinely exhausted as it was. The chance of awakening the woman had seemed quite slim but Drezda had ensured that great care was taken with her although both Cora and Rosmilda were accustomed to dealing with an unhelpful subject when it came to nighttime routines.
The woman of the house had lingered for far longer than she ought to have done, far longer than would have been deemed appropriate but she had been oddly mesmerised by the gentle care performed by the two servants. She found herself unable to view events without imagining herself in Nicco’s position, as this must be how it had been when the two women had had to tend to her on her drunken nights. How often had she awoken the morning after a binge feeling confused, having no memory of undressing or tucking herself into bed? Even so, more often than not, she hadn’t had as many adornments to shed as her guest did. The servants had had to unpin her hair and work slowly and carefully with a wet cloth to remove the layers of cosmetics so that she would be undisturbed while still able to awaken fresh-faced. The mesmerising spell of the activity had only broken when the Bastian’s dress had been removed, the Hoxian starting guiltily as she realised that her eyes were roaming over the figure to which a white silk shift clung. She’d had no permission to see the other in such a position, so vulnerable and unaware, certainly not there to be an object of lustful admiration.
That she had lingered until that point brought the diplomat uncomfortable guilt and shame now that she was awake and sober. Of course, most of those emotions were roused by the excitement that tainted her recollections, the raven-haired woman unable to clear her mind of what she’d seen and the thoughts she’d had at the time, her imaginings. It meant that seeing Niccolette this morning would be an uncomfortable encounter but she could hardly avoid the woman. Besides, it must be awful to awaken in a strange bed and have no idea how you got there. Even if the other had managed to awaken before Drezda — highly unlikely — then she could envision the other hiding out in the spare bedroom, wondering if she should attempt to get ahold of a servant for something to take the edge off her hangover. It was that last thought of her guest potentially hiding out that drove the Hoxian out from between her own sheets.
Heaving her carcass up, she wrapped her nightgown-clad form in a silk robe and put on soft slippers before moving to ring the bell that would inform her servants that she wanted their attention. After that, she poured herself some water and gulped it down greedily, swilling some of it around in her mouth to clear it of that furry feel. She perched herself before her dressing table, an elbow on its surface and her face propped on her hand while her other one cradled her water glass.
A timid knock came before the door was opened quietly and the redheaded passive peeped her head in cautiously.
"You… you called, Mistress?” she questioned, inching her way into the room when she caught sight of where Drezda was sitting. Setting her glass down, the Hoxian gestured impatiently for her to approach.
"Rosmilda, I won’t drop dead if you move at a normal pace," the galdor informed her waspishly, she snatched up her hairbrush from the dresser and began smoothing the chaotic dark strands. She found herself wincing almost at once, not simply because of the knots that caught and either snapped or untangled, but also from the sensation of strands tugging on her scalp. She pressed her palm flat against her head, applying pressure close to where the strands were anchored and continued to brush.
“I need tea — strong tea — and some of that tonic — you know the one. I want enough for two and I want you to bring it here. Something light to eat as well,” she ordered, brushing her hair aggressively, mouth set in a grim and determined line.
"Y-Yes, Mistress. Do you want me to brush your hair?” Rosmilda questioned softly.
Drezda gave a quick shake of her head.
“No, simply do as I’ve asked. I may not be here when you — or Cora — return but you’re to leave it here anyway. If I need anything else, I’ll call, understood?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Have you heard anything from our guest? Any sign that she’s awake?”
A shake of the servant’s redhead.
“Fine. Go.”
Once her servant was gone, the Hoxian spent another minute or two on her hair before she rose and padded out of her room and along the upstairs landing to Nicco’s door. She considered returning to her room to grab a robe and slippers for Nicco, perhaps even a nightgown — she didn’t know if the other had been left in her shift or not — but she figured that Cora would have left such things ready; the human housekeeper paid attention to such details.
She knocked softly, waiting a few moments before knocking a second time, a little louder this time. She turned the doorknob quietly, grimacing at the little pings and creaks in the mechanism; the blasted thing could probably do with an oiling. Once it was ajar, Drezda made no move to enter although she cocked her ear towards the gap.
“Niccolette? Are you awake?” she called softly.