[Closed] The Morning After the Night Before

[Drezda Ecks]

Hamis 29, 2719 | Morning
Drezda’s Home, Uptown Vienda

What an odd little flirtatious game they were playing and how strange the path to it had been! How funny that she had been somewhat more sensible inebriated than she was proving to be while sober but then again, the alcohol could hardly have been purged utterly from her system by now, so hungover or not, she might well be drunk still. She hadn’t been miserable when she’d been drinking the previous night — not something that could always be said — but Niccolette had been. Well, perhaps miserable wasn’t the correct term but she hadn’t been in the position to make properly informed decisions. If it had been someone else that the woman had encountered in the Lycat then the Bastian might well have been in their home under rather different circumstances, albeit that might not have been a bad thing in her eyes. Drezda couldn’t claim that her careful distancing from any prospect of nocturnal shenanigans had been purely noble because there had been a definite reluctance on her own part to get involved in anything.

Evidently, she was feeling rather more reckless now, at least if one chose to believe what was coming out of her mouth. The diplomat had been known to say things that she didn’t act on, empty threats and empty promises. It wasn’t clear if her flirtations were empty or not now, especially given that she had started this and seemed to be doing a good job of sustaining it.

Truthfully, Drezda didn’t know if she meant any of it. Niccolette was undeniably attractive and the way that the Hoxian allowed her eyes to subtly trace her form through the thin robe that she wore showed that she knew. The woman didn’t go out of her way to do it but when her eyes happened to be in that direction, she couldn’t help but caress curves and lines with her gaze, drinking in her appearance as appreciatively as she had consumed alcohol the previous night. She’d always been able to admire beautiful things but she’d also been able to do so from a distance for quite some time; it was less risky that way.

She wasn’t keeping a great deal of distance at the moment.

When the Bastian commented that she could try not to make a mess, the diplomat released an exaggerated sigh.

“Oh well, sometimes trying to prevent something is more effort than it’s worth,” she remarked wryly, contemplating her tea with the ghost of a smile on her lips, seeing her dark reflection on the liquid’s surface. However, she set her own beverage carefully aside while she prepared some for her guest, perhaps a little self-conscious in light of her blathering on about tea. There had been a surprising amount to be said and in truth, many people who’d had dealings with the Hoxian over the years might have been surprised to hear her wax lyrical on such a subject — on any subject. Speaking on such a matter suggested that she was having a moment of sentimentality in spite of the double meanings that underlied her words; it was a surprise to her to find that she had been being sentimental.

“You aren’t the only one who could use stimulation this morning,” Drezda remarked. What little tea she’d consumed had hardly had a chance to take proper effect but those initial sips had inflicted an assault on her senses that had certainly gone some of the way towards enlivening her. That being said, Niccolette probably wasn’t referring to that sort of stimulation. Probably. At this point, it wasn’t entirely clear if either of them was saying what she appeared and how much might be beneath the surface. Drezda’s words hadn’t been a vehicle for any alternative meanings this time.

The Bastian hadn’t asked for sugar — as was proper — but she hadn’t made any comment on the snowberry. That being said, she had implied that she trusted the Perceptive’s tastes and as far as she was concerned, having this sort of tea without snowberry would be as criminal as taking it with sugar. She added a small amount of the syrup to the beverage, enough to lace it with additional flavour rather than overpowering it. A brisk stir with the spoon dispersed the syrup more evenly and then she was passing it to her guest, the other’s fingers brushing briefly against her hand as the cup was transferred from one to the other. The contact made her skin tingle, the raven-haired woman resisting the urge to touch the area after the fact. Instead, she settled back, picking up her own tea but focusing on her companion instead of drinking it.

It was strange that she should almost hold her breath waiting for the other’s verdict as if whatever she said would have any real impact on her life. Yet it felt as if whatever the Living Conversationalist said would hold weight. It wasn’t really the tea that she was concerned with but how it might reflect on her homeland, on herself. She had recommended it after all, had spoken about it highly while in the depths of some longing for home. If Niccolette disliked it, it wouldn’t mean anything serious though. It wasn’t as if a dislike for Drezda’s preferred tea would prove that there was too much difference between the pair of them — an incompatibility.

Why should it matter? she asked herself, watching the other smile privately to herself as she inhaled the scent as if it carried familiarity for her, the sight of that unconscious smile quietly captivating.

You aren’t likely to see her after this, you don’t make friends and it isn’t as if the two of you will…

The thought trailed off unfinished but her pulse fluttered, eyelashes batting quickly as she wondered how much the idea of being with Niccolette might appeal to her. Enough for her to regret if nothing occurred between them?

Her teeth pressed delicately against her bottom lip, allowing them to scrape lightly across its surface as she considered the other and wondered. Watching the other take another sip, her field seemed to lighten somewhat, something within her relaxing. There had been no puckering of lips after her first sip and the second one boded well, so much so that she didn’t take her initial response as being a prelude to a negative opinion. In fact, she had suspected that it appealed to her in some way, even before those hazel eyes found her black ones, an answering smile already seated on her lips.

“I’m glad,” Drezda remarked warmly, voice breathless in a way that surprised her. Had she forgotten to breathe there for a few moments without noticing? No, it almost felt as if the air in the room had thinned somewhat, which obviously wasn’t the case although perhaps it was a bit stuffy in here.

“It is an acquired taste, yes, perhaps not that different from Hox and its people,” she added, the smile faltering and the light in her eyes dimming. The buoyancy that had existed in her field but a moment before drained away and left the mona slightly heavier in its wake, more down to Vita. “I can’t say that I appreciated it when I was younger but then… I didn’t appreciate a lot of things.”

She sipped her tea and let the familiar flavours wash over her tongue, grateful for its warmth and the way it invigorated her senses. She cradled her teacup with a melancholic sigh and retrieved her toast, taking a bite and chewing without much enthusiasm. Once her mouth was empty again, she made a quiet admittance, surprised to be sharing such a thing with a veritable stranger. It wasn’t the first time that she’d said more than she ought to a Bastian woman; perhaps there was something about them.

“I miss it, you know. Not all the time but… more than I let on. Hox — home,” she explained, gazing into her teacup once more. “It’s ironic really. When I’m there, it’s the last place that I want to be but when I’m away… well, Anaxas is far from being an ideal fit for me but then… neither is Hox.”

One shoulder rose and fell in a shrug. She was lonely here but equally lonely at home, she knew that. She knew that her loneliness was what made her glad for the Bastian’s company right now but she had done this to herself, imposed a form of self-isolation upon herself.

“Anaxi are too emotional for me and I’m too- I’ve become too Anaxi for Hox. I’m sure that you can tell although I don’t… I don’t know how many Hoxians you’ve interacted with in the past. I’m sure that you haven’t encountered many that will be cool towards you one moment and then begin flirting and getting sentimental about tea the next.”

Her mouth twisted into a sardonic smile as she took a jab at herself, dark eyes rising to her guest’s face again at last.

“I assure you that I’m always delightful company, this morning not excluded. Alas, I believe that this is actually an improvement on my usual demeanour, less, ah… stony.”

Yes, she was definitely more reckless this morning while sober. Well, presumably sober at any rate.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Early Morning, 29 Hamis, 2719
Drezda's Bedroom, Uptown

On the third sip, Niccolette could taste the sweetness, the drop of whatever Drezda had so carefully stirred in. It was not unpleasant; it was not even fully a taste, not quite. It was, oddly, more like a balance; it was as if she could taste that it was not absent.

Drezda was smiling, now, and her voice was a little breathless when she answered. Niccolette breathed in, deep, the thin fabric of the robe Drezda had lent her shifting with the movement. For a moment, for just a moment, Niccolette thought she knew what she felt.

They were just close enough that she had felt the bastly buoyant rise in the other woman’s field; her own had shifted, as if to meet it, but had not quite gotten there. And then it was gone, and Drezda’s field as indectal as it had been, and Niccolette’s too, still calm and smooth with the remnants of her meditation, undisturbed by whatever had passed since.

Niccolette took another small sip of the tea. She shifted, a little, against the bed; her ankles uncrossed, and one leg crossed over the other at the knee. Niccolette held onto the tea cup, adjusting the robe, smoothing it and the thin pale shift beneath. The Bastian inhaled, faintly, at the word flirting, and smoothed it out as best as she could.

She felt oddly, abruptly self-conscious; she did not meet Drezda’s gaze, this time, her own flicking away. Niccolette reached out and set the tea down, carefully, on some stable surface where it wouldn’t still. “Mm,” she said, quietly, hands coming back to her lap. The right covered the left, carefully; her lips moved, and then settled still, again, pressed together – not hard enough to make a thin line, but closed together nonetheless.

Niccolette took a deep breath, careful. “I would not make any comment on how emotional anyone else is,” The widow said, quietly. Her voice was a little raw, ragged at the edges; she glanced back at Drezda, and managed something like a shrug. Her lips twitched closer to a smile; she did not quite reach it. Niccolette swallowed, and sighed a little. She came apart, slowly; her legs were still crossed, but her hands loosened. She tucked her left half beneath her legs, and ran her fingers through the hair, her head tilting back a bit.

“Well,” Niccolette said with another little shrug, “I am not sure where I belong, anymore.” She was quiet; her hand smoothed over the fabric on her leg, and she glanced up at Drezda. “I have not been to Bastia in nearly eight years. I – cannot see going back to the islands or Thul Ka, for the next while.” Her lips pressed together, then, and her nostrils flared, but Niccolette took a deep breath, and it passed, slowly – for now. Nothing showed in her field; the hand in her lap had clenched, tight, drawing the fabric abruptly taut against her skin. Her fingers relaxed, slowly, and she smoothed the nightgown and the silk beneath out once more, with a little sigh.

“Stuck in between, I suppose,” Niccolette said with a wry little twist of her lips. She looked at Drezda once more, the toast and tea both still set aside. A few strands of the hair she had pushed back tumbled, loose, over her shoulder, dark against the fabric of the robe. “There must be worse places than Anaxas, surely.” Niccolette did smile, this time, a little wider through the lump in her throat, as if extending an offering out into the air towards Drezda.

Hesitant, Niccolette slipped her left hand out from beneath her leg. She looked at Drezda, and, carefully, patted the bed next to her. “There is space, I think,” The Bastian said, softly. “I do not bite,” she shrugged, and her lips twitched in a smile at the obvious joke, faint and flickering, “usually.” Niccolette amended.

It was a little cold, in the bedroom; colder, Niccolette thought, than it had been. Colder than it had to be. She had patted a spot far enough away that Drezda need to touch her; even with the two of them both sitting, there was no need for them to touch. It was only – oddly lonely, Niccolette thought with a taste of something bitter, left in between. Carefully, she reached for the cup Drezda had offered; carefully, she took another sip.

[Drezda Ecks]

Hamis 29, 2719 | Morning
Drezda’s Home, Uptown Vienda

She’d shared things that perhaps would have been best left unsaid but Niccolette accepted her revelations in silence. The diplomat found herself somewhat unnerved by the seeming lack of response, all too aware that she had peeled back one of the tough, outer layers of her heart and exposed herself, making her vulnerable. It wasn’t something that could be taken back, there would be no closing things off from her now, not when she knew the way back. If she wished, she had the ability to inflict an injury to her that might not prove fatal but could possibly come clocking close.

Her lips settled into a neutral position, their levelness giving nothing away, not even a twitch as she waited, dark gaze not quite lingering on her guest’s face for fear that their eyes would meet; Drezda couldn’t conceal what her gaze would unwittingly convey. However, she wasn’t alone there, the Bastian’s attention diverted elsewhere as if she had something to hide as well.

Had she been made uncomfortable? Strangely, the Perceptive found that difficult to believe given how unflappable her companion had proved thus far. Undoubtedly, the woman couldn’t be beyond such things, she must grow awkward and embarrassed at times but it simply didn’t seem likely now, did it? No, Niccolette gave the impression that things like embarrassment and shame were things that happened to other people, not her.

With no judgement or commentary forthcoming, the Hoxian remained quiet, a minute pinch appearing between her brows as she continued to worry about that sucking silence. When a response came, the pinch diminished, small creases appearing higher up her forehead as her brows tilted upwards. Gosh, she’d been wrong about the Living Conversationalist; the other appeared somewhat upset and she found herself feeling rather more sympathetic and concerned rather than anxious about how she was perceived. She might be trying to smile but Niccolette’s mouth didn’t seem capable.

Drezda’s answering smile was grim and humourless.

“The islands? You mean… you’ve been to the Muluku Islands?” the Hoxian asked, surprised but genuinely interested. She didn’t really know much about them beyond them having something to do with spices and being relatively free of galdori. Feeling the size of her guest’s field, that palpable indicator of her magical ability seemed to make the notion of her venturing there truly ludicrous in Drezda’s mind. Actually seeing this fine Bastian lady made it exceptionally difficult to reconcile the notion that she might have spent time there and in Mugroba more recently than her native land. Belatedly, she recalled that one of her boyfriends had been Mugrobi, the last one, Drezda thought but perhaps he had been more than that. Had that man become her husband? It hardly seemed appropriate to ask.

At the mention of places worse than Anaxas, the raven-haired woman snorted softly.

“My parents would be inclined to say that Bastia is worse,” she commented wryly, one side of her mouth twitching upwards. “They were rather against the idea of me going there to study. My father didn’t consider it too bad for me to want to study abroad — he’d relish any information that I could provide that might be valuable for expanding his business beyond our borders — but my mother was disappointed that I didn’t want to remain at Frecksat. She wouldn’t be the only Hoxian to believe that what we have at home ought to be enough.”

It was her turn to shrug, both shoulders going into the movement this time before she brought her teacup to her lips. There was a noticeable slurping noise as her guest patted the bed, one of the black eyes twitching in a wince at the sound. She hadn’t expected the invitation and had sucked in the tea instead of a shocked breath; it was a wonder that she hadn’t choked.

The cup lowered but didn’t return to the tray, held in the air between them as if it could act as some sort of shield. She looked at the bed, her eyes oddly blank as she mentally reviewed the events of the last little while, trying to recall why she had moved in the first place. Oh yes, she hadn’t wanted to unsettle her while she remained in a delicate state and to provide a better setup for communicating. At least, that’s what she had told herself.

Her focus moved down to the tray, a short ‘hmm’ pressed out between tight lips. Her cup and saucer clinked gently as they were returned, freeing her hands to lift the tray as she stood. She made no move in any direction but simply stood there, head tilting to the side as if listening. The diplomat was actually considering what to do with the tray, not liking the idea of keeping it on her lap while she was seated on the bed; it wouldn’t provide the same stability as while she’d been on the stool.

The stool!

She twisted at the waist to consider her recently vacated perch then placed the tray on the dressing table while she bent and shifted the stool nearer.

“I don’t know that the same can be said of me. About not biting.”

Warmth crept into her cheeks, the diplomat surprising herself by having said such a thing. She could busy herself only so much with readying her makeshift table and thus, Drezda couldn’t keep her back turned to the Bastian, couldn’t hide her blush. In fact, it had scarcely left her mouth before the stool was conveniently placed and ready to fulfil its new purpose. It was the work of a moment to sit the tray on it and balance it there. There could be no putting off the inevitable after that mortifying remark had so readily fallen from her lips.

She seated herself beside her visitor, feeling the mattress sink further, creating a slight slope that encouraged her to sit nearer, leastwise, gravity wanted to drive them hip to hip. That downward pull didn’t improve as she wriggled in place, attempting to seat herself more comfortably, making a show of tugging delicately at her robe as if it had ridden up beneath her, despite the fact that Niccolette would have seen her tug it down taut over her rump before she sat.

While taking a moment for such ‘necessary’ adjustments, the young woman decided to allow gravity to win so that the space between them diminished — provided that her companion didn’t move away, of course.

She picked up the remains of her toast and pouted at it briefly.

“This is horrible and I don’t say that simply because I’m hungover.”

She took a large bite, horribly loud to her own ears and began chewing while pulling all manner of faces, purely performative as if that would ease any potential awkwardness or uncertainty between them. A light little fizz went through her field like a monic giggle but there was a delicate fluttering in it as well that mirrored the sensation in her belly. Was her breakfast sitting poorly or was she nervous?

Their fields were now overlapping and it didn’t matter how polite one chose to be, at this range, you could hardly avoid one another. It wasn’t quite intimate this way in much the same way that passive contact wasn’t quite intimate such as the way their legs had touched. However, it wasn’t possible to get away from the awareness of it all.

Tentatively the monic aura shifted, silently questioning as it slid delicately against Niccolette’s own. The desire to mingle was there, the Hoxian revealing that she was open to such a thing but was the other? The Perceptive was no longer simply reacting but making a small move of her own. It all came down to consent.

She sipped her tea, permitting her gaze to slide to the side, an eyebrow raised.

Do you want to?

The young woman knew that she seemed calm, collected, perhaps even somewhat casual about this but her heart felt as if it was shaking her entire ribcage with the force of its beats.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Early Morning, 29 Hamis, 2719
Drezda's Bedroom, Uptown

Niccolette’s eyebrows lifted at Drezda’s surprise. She paused, for a moment – it was a thoroughly surprising question. Some of the stillness went out of her, and she grinned a little more. Of course, she thought; they had not precisely made introductions the night before. Drezda – if she knew her last name at all – would still think of her as Niccolette Villamarzana. She did not even remember the other woman from school; she did not know if Drezda had ever met Uzoji.

“Yes,” Niccolette said with an amused little smile. “My husband’s family is in Thul Ka; we inherited a plantation on one of the smaller islands,” her hands were on the cup once more; she traced the handle back and forth with her fingers. “We lived there most of the years since Brunnhold,” the smile faded a little; she did not finish the thought aloud. That was where – that was where –

Niccolette did not finish the thought to herself either. She looked away; she could not quite bear it, not now, the thinking through. Three months and nine days by now, surely; what was the time? She felt it thrum through her; she didn’t know, and she suddenly felt she needed to know, more than anything, what time it was, and whether the ninth day had passed.

Drezda had stood; she was bending over to put the tray down when she offered her little comment about biting.

That too was a surprise, but a more welcome one. Niccolette glanced up, jarred from the unpleasant slow downward spiral of her thoughts. She took a deep breath, and set them away; she knew better than to think they would not return, but at the least, she thought, she had a little while longer. Drezda, Niccolette realized, was blushing; with no powder on her cheeks to cover it, the pale color was visible, and strikingly lovely. Niccolette smiled a little more, still holding the cup.

Drezda settled down, slowly; Niccolette’s legs were crossed at the knee, and the edges of the other woman’s knee brushed against the one tucked beneath. She didn’t move away; she was thoroughly aware of the warmth, perhaps even more so than she had been last night. She couldn’t quite explain it; she hadn’t expected it then, and she still did not. It pooled and coiled in her stomach.

The Hoxian’s grumpy faces at the taste of the toast were such a surprise that Niccolette laughed; it was sudden, and a little sharp, and it eased into bright giggles, like an echo of the feeling rippling through Drezda’s field. Niccolette’s own field caught them, too; Drezda was questing, questioning, nudging carefully at the edge of it.

Niccolette was still smiling; she leaned forward, and set her own cup down, out of the way, suddenly conscious of how the robe and the shift beneath slid against her skin. Some of the wall between them crumbled away, as if that light brush of pressure were suddenly more than it could bear. Their fields mingled, now, undeniably intimate; it was not necessary, to twine so close sitting together, but it was easy. Niccolette’s breath caught in her throat, somewhere between laughter and something else, and she exhaled it out, slow and careful. Niccolette raised an eyebrow of her own, and smiled at Drezda, conscious of the warm feeling growing on her cheeks.

Her field was bright and sharp all the way through; rippling across it was the last of the laughter Drezda had called up for her, almost soft. It was not an envelopment, what they shared, but it was deeply intimate all the same; it did not become less so with time, the careful exploration between them only deepening the sense of something shared. Niccolette found she was not smiling, not quite, not anymore; she was a little too breathless for that. Her lip was caught between her teeth; she let it go, and her lips held, slightly parted.

Niccolette didn’t speak; she wasn’t sure she knew what to say. She didn’t move away, either; she sat, and waited, and let herself feel.

[Drezda Ecks]

Hamis 29, 2719 | Morning
Drezda’s Home, Uptown Vienda

Niccolette had a plantation. She didn’t think that it was common for Anaxi to settle in Mugroba in such a manner and while someone sufficiently monied might be able to pick up such a plantation, Drezda imagined that they were probably in Mugrobi hands for the most part. Her husband’s family being in Thul Ka only gave further credence to the notion that she’d married one of those people. Not that she was going to voice any of her opinions on that matter because Circle save her, she simply didn’t like her dark-skinned neighbours and that would probably just upset the Bastian. What was more, if she aired her bias then her companion was bound to know what was so wrong with them from the Hoxian’s perspective and that was a tricky one to put her finger on, wasn’t it? It was a place full of wicks and passives and bad decisions and yet somehow—somehow—they were considered generally more civilised in many ways because they were progressive and prosperous.

Okay, perhaps there was some resentment for their success and their liberalism; it wasn’t really that difficult to work out the why of it. It definitely wasn’t something that she wanted to discuss with Niccolette and if the other woman had expected her to react with further interest then she would be disappointed. Oh she was still intrigued but it was a sort of morbid fascination, the diplomat unable to imagine how this beautiful pale-skinned creature could have lived in that veritable lava pit of a kingdom. She’d never been there but from what she’d heard, the temperatures were the stuff of horrors for the frigid Hoxian. It was a wonder that she didn’t shudder but it wasn’t too difficult as she watched melancholy settle on the other woman.

There was no way that Drezda would be mentioning anything that might touch off the subject of the widow’s husband. She really didn’t want to deal with that this morning, not again, not even if it was going to be a quiet and subtle thing as seemed to be the case with the Living Conversationalist. She might have preferred a big emotional outburst than quiet suffering because surely something big and emotional would blow itself out, and at the very least, she’d have every reason to back off.

Sitting beside Nicco gave her the chance to forget about such things. It was pleasant being close to her. Oh it was pretty nerve wracking as well but she liked the content, the intimacy of a field so close to hers, something that Drezda hadn’t properly experienced in quite a long time. She’d had something like this with Khymarah, brief and wonderful but now something that she could only view as bittersweet with a serious emphasis on bitter. The last time that she’d had this, she’d opened herself up and it had hurt, it had hurt so godsdamned much, and with that in mind, it would be all too easy to keep herself locked down, to be stoic as she was supposed to be. No, it was pleasant to act a bit of the fool, especially given her guest’s recent gloomy turn. It was worth it to make her laugh, even if it did feel more than a little ludicrous to act in such a fashion. And gods, it was good to do it and try to keep her face straight to add to the humour of the situation, all while her lips and cheeks trembled with the effort of not grinning.

Really emotional control wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be now, was it? The hilarity of her performance brought laughter to her own lips once she’d finished chewing, her companion’s laughter strangely infectious and the Hoxian felt invigorated by the freedom of it. Allowing her emotions to unravel when they were positive was really a marvellous feeling, as good as when that first bit of alcohol seeped into her system and brightened the world around her. That was what it was like, being pleasantly tipsy!

Perhaps it was more than that. She found herself giggling like a teenager and it did seem as if a decade of her life had dropped away, except that a decade ago, she hadn’t been like this. No, this was the way that teenage girls could be, she’d seen them. This was the way they were when they didn’t have to keep it in. Admittedly, she had had occasion to reveal herself, dropping the facade when she had been alone with Zyrai in Brunnhold and they had giggled if she recalled correctly, a mix of nervousness and uncertainty as well as eager anticipation as they’d explored each other.

The careful, almost shy way that she caprised the Bastian’s field reminded her of a time of adolescent discovery, which was wildly unexpected; she certainly hadn’t been that innocent for a long time now. Maybe it was the fact that she’d had a face appear from her schooldays or perhaps, it was the intimacy of another galdor after so long. What she’d had with Khy had had a sweetness to it but it had something less sultry to it. Then again, the redheaded Bastian hadn’t been sitting beside the diplomat in a shift and a light robe. A state of relative undress did alter the dynamic somewhat. Not to mention that this Bastian wasn’t anywhere near as shy.

She held onto her tea, the cup and saucer gripped before as something of a shield while her monic aura got up to something rather different. It was warm and lively, creeping lightly around the edges of her companion’s own field. She didn’t attempt to envelop it, didn’t try anything quite so bold although she feinted, teasing at being more decisive. The awareness of each other’s fields was a sense like any other, intermingling with her other perceptions to provide a grander picture, and a more alluring one.

It wasn’t a physical touch and yet her skin developed goosebumps, the hairs on the surface tickled as if a hand had skimmed lightly over the surface a moment before, not quite touching.

Drezda might have been gripping the teacup’s handle a little too tightly, her fingers throbbing as she eased it so she could take a sip, aware that she had ended up sitting there frozen for how long? Minutes, hours, houses? It could have been an eternity or it could have been no more substantial than the space it took to blink an eye.

The teacup clinked against its saucer as she set it down, the sound overly loud in the quiet room, something solid to puncture the sense of waiting that had grown up between them. That fluttering sensation in the Hoxian’s belly had increased and it had nothing to do with her breakfast. Her field began an almost sympathetic hum, a sensation that could fade into the background and go largely unnoticed and if it stopped, its absence would be startling.

She twisted slightly, knee turning into her companion’s so that it pressed a little more insistently.

“I don’t know that you remember me from school — I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t — but I remember you as… wild, someone who couldn’t truly be tamed. I didn’t like it, or rather I wasn’t supposed to like it. Too uncontrolled,” she murmured, thinking You’re talking so that you can work up courage, just do it, you clocking idiot!

She licked her lips, slow, and thoughtful, not considering how it might appear before she continued.

“Taboo really. There’s nothing more intriguing than something forbidden, is there? And now you’re so… calm but are you really?”

A hand moved into the space between them, some sense of daring flashing hotly through her, her face undoubtedly flushed with no way of hiding it. She couldn’t hesitate, but she could have altered its course. She didn’t. Instead, the galdor leaned somewhat nearer and let her palm light gently on the other’s chest over her heart. At the same moment, she whispered to the Bastian, dark gaze rising to Niccolette’s face wide-eyed.

“Is that wild heart still there?”

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Early Morning, 29 Hamis, 2719
Drezda's Bedroom, Uptown

Drezda had been giggling too; Niccolette was not sure what else she could call it. It was a nervous, tentative sound; it matched, somehow, the fluttering of emotion in her field. In both of their fields, Niccolette thought. There was a brightness to it, and to the caprise, too; Drezda’s reaching into her was slow, not tentative so much as deliberate, a steady, purposeful exploration.

Drezda shifted; Niccolette felt the press of the other woman’s knee against her leg, through the thin fabric of her robe. She breathed in; she was not quite smiling, still; she was not sure exactly what was on her face. Something crawled through, and she lifted her gaze from their legs, from her own hands, suddenly held tight, up to Drezda.

For a moment, she did not understand; a half-smile caught her, and Niccolette raised her eyebrows in amusement. Wild, she thought, was accurate enough; she did not mind the description. There was no shame for her in looking back at those days. Drezda was coming to something, Niccolette understood.

Get on with it, she wanted to say, suddenly – don’t make me wait –

So… calm, Drezda said.

The Hoxian’s hand reached out; her face was red, warm through the cheeks. Niccolette felt the brush of her fingertips, first, and then the soft, even weight of her palm over Niccolette’s chest.

Is that wild heart still there? Drezda asked.

Niccolette’s breath caught on her lips, caught and shuddered. She drew it in; she looked away. Her field sharpened in the air around them – it burned, bright like the sun, shining hot.

Niccolette knew she could feel her own pulse still; she could have set her fingers on her neck and counted the beats of it. She knew – she understood – she could have imagined her body as a diagram from one of her school books, pictured it and named every vein and artery. Here, she might have said, the carotid arteries, the left and the right; they pump the blood up, into the brain, neck and face.

Cut me, she might have said, and I know I will bleed.

The Bastian shuddered. Her field sharpened all through. “Wild heart,” she murmured; she stifled something that was not a giggle, not this time. She felt tired, all through herself; she felt the ache of it in all her bones. She felt a heavy weight in her chest, bitter and crushing, pressure squeezing around her lungs, as it not had for years. She felt as if she could scarce draw breath; had she been casting, she thought, with another odd pop of hysteria, she would have brailed.

Drezda must have already drawn her hand back; Niccolette was not sure. She pulled away, sharply; she rose from the bed, taking one step and then another on weak, trembling legs. She turned her back to Drezda, and held her robe tightly around herself. She was shaking, she knew; she could not seem to stop. Her field, at least, was back under control; there was no more flex, no more sigiling, although it was sharper and brighter than before, vivid enough to taste in the air.

“I watched him die,” Niccolette said, casually. She did not turn back to look at Drezda. She stood, there, in the midst of the other woman’s bedroom, the cup of tea forgotten behind her, the other woman’s robe clutched over her. “Not up close; not where I might have done something. I stood outside our home, dressed much like this, you understand, and I –” Niccolette’s breath caught in her chest; she could not breathe. She could not breathe; she breathed, anyway, took a deep breath in and shuddered it out, and another, and forced herself through. “He was a pilot. He was flying our ship, at the time – a routine – he was not far off the ground, when it happened.”

Niccolette turned back now; tears burned in the corners of her eyes. Her lips pressed together; her nostrils flared, and there was heat throbbing behind her eyes. Her hands were clenched, tight, in the fabric of the robe, pulling at it. “I am not calm,” the Bastian said, quiet; every breath shuddered in and out of her lips, and shook her entire body with it. “And there is nothing left in my chest.”

[Drezda Ecks]

Hamis 29, 2719 | Morning
Drezda’s Home, Uptown Vienda

In truth, the Hoxian didn’t know what she was doing. If she’d been in any way normal then she would have just kissed the other instead of speaking but she found herself hesitating. The young woman couldn’t bring herself to simply take action. Joining their lips would make this real and while she did want this — she believed so anyway — it was still nerve wracking to take such a step. She didn’t want Niccolette to make the first move, that wasn’t something that she could have accepted, but apparently she wasn’t ready to make a proper move herself either. So she stalled instead.

She instantly knew that she’d made a mistake and honestly, she didn’t find it all that surprising. Drezda had no idea how she had ever gotten along with galdori women before because these days, she seemed utterly clueless in these matters. Or at least, sufficiently clueless to cause upset. In fact, she appeared to have a talent for finding sore spots and prodding them harder than her companions could quietly endure.

That sharp intake of breath made her touch falter, not quite pulling her hand back despite it now feeling wrong to keep it there. Her teeth pressed into her lip, her gaze dropping as her guest’s field altered. It sigiled and she wanted to cringe away, to put as much distance as possible between the two of them so that she didn’t have to be inside its radius but she’d have to fairly move to manage that given the size of Niccolette’s indectal.

Disentangling her own field, the Hoxian doe-toed away from her, moving her body away with slow caution, her pride shrinking at the same time at having to make such a retreat. She couldn’t get far enough away but at least that small measure of distance eased things somewhat. Needless to say, the mood had irrevocably changed and she didn’t need anyone to tell her that, but that almost giggle certainly confirmed it. The sound of it gave her flesh new reason to goosebump, the diplomat suppressing the urge to shudder.

The Hoxian’s hands knotted together in her lap, the lines of her body rigid now as the mirth she’d so recently enjoyed fled. Instead, she was left with the sensation of having had a hole punched in her chest, her heart grasped uncomfortably in the offender’s hand. There were no more nervous flutters now and while something continued to move in her abdomen, it was more sickening than before. Her stony expression grew pale.

The Bastian launched herself to her feet, taking her oppressive field with her. She wasn’t beyond its sphere of influence but now, Drezda didn’t feel quite as smothered by it. The fact that control had been reasserted didn’t comfort her, not in the slightest, and she was reminded of the pressure and almost crackling atmosphere that existed before a lightning storm broke. She didn’t know what she had done but the consequences hadn’t played themselves out fully yet and she dreaded what must come, regretted thinking that she could handle the woman better if she had an emotional outburst.

Be careful what you wish for…

What came was unexpected but it put her further on edge, the nonchalance of her statement making the Hoxian a little bit afraid. She tried to swallow a lump in her throat but it didn’t budge, the young woman left feeling as if she might choke.

She’d wanted to avoid the subject of the husband and yet she’d triggered some memory of him — the memory of his death. Gods, what could she possibly have said or done to prompt this? And she hadn’t wanted to know, Bash give her strength, the diplomat hadn’t wanted any details, but godsdamnit, it seemed that she was going to get them anyway.

Her fingers curled into fists, twisting the fabric of her robe into knots that formed ugly creases and dragged the material up so that her legs were exposed almost to the knee. If the Bastian had been looking, she might have seen the wince that crossed her white face, or the tension in the muscles around her mouth as she clamped her teeth hard together.

Violent death, gruesome death. She didn’t need further detail to know, to have some sort of idea of what must have occurred. Not far from the ground suggested that something had happened to it, something that would have far worse repercussions than a fall, especially a shorter one. The only thing that she could imagine was that it had blown up and yet… and yet…

No, she didn’t want to consider what could have happened. She didn’t want to think about a man who she had never and would never know, a man who still held the woman's affections.

The widow. Yes, that’s what she was although Drezda had tried to ignore it, had conveniently sidestepped as if it wasn’t there because she had wanted-

Honestly, she didn’t know what she had wanted.

The other turned and Drezda only partially contained a flinch because she could see the emotion not merely simmering but boiling beneath the surface, impossibly contained.

She would have made a good Hoxian, she thought, gazing at the control that she still somehow held and which Drezda didn’t think that she herself could have mastered.

Not calm and no heart. Of course. She had mentioned her heart, why had she done that? Why in clocking hell had she said such a blasted stupid thing? To have allowed herself to be so sentimental simply to buy herself time was… ludicrous. What had she thought it would be? Romantic? She wasn’t the sort to spout poetry and woo a woman for the sake of simple gratification. No matter how lonely she might be, it had been a mistake. All of this had been a mistake.

Allowing her to come home with her had been a mistake.

Going to the Lycat the previous evening had been a mistake.

In spite of the measures she’d taken to combat it, the diplomat could feel her hangover tightening its grip anew. She felt sick, her head hurt and she just wanted Nicolette to go away. She wanted all of this to go away so that she could crawl back into bed and tug the covers over her head and pretend that she hadn’t fucked everything up again.

Perversely, she wanted her umah. She had written to the woman recently because she had needed support from her, had ached for it, and now she wished that she was here so that she could bury her head in her lap as she had done as a small child, clutching the broad leg of her loose trousers. What a ridiculous impulse for a woman of almost nine-and-twenty.

Comfort. She couldn’t provide the Bastian with comfort if that was what she wanted, her response probably seem heartless, cold, and terribly unsympathetic as she rose stiffly to her feet.

“This was a mistake, I shouldn’t have- I’m sure you have other places to be without me… keeping you,” she remarked woodenly, fingers resting briefly at a throbbing temple. “I should let you dress while I ensure that you have transportation. Choose what you wish.”

A hand waved airily towards her spacious wardrobe as the Hoxian avoided her gaze, finding some point above Niccolette’s head to focus. She moved to step past her, affecting to appear unhurried as she headed for the door, minute tics appearing around her mouth. She tried to hold herself together by simply tightening everything, as if she could sustain it by force of will alone if she could keep everything close enough around her. Her monic aura had also been drawn shockingly close, rigid and indectal, far too tight and still to be natural. And yet there was a soft buzzing, the mona irritated by how near she was to dampening her field altogether.

“I’m sorry about your husband,” she stated in the same tone one might use to remark that it was a shame about the weather.

If she could simply get to the door and concentrate on turning the handle then she could focus on putting the portal between herself and the Bastian. After that, it would just be one step after the other. Rosmilda could deal with her. The Hoxian could hide in the kitchen and the passive could tend to her and then she’d be gone and everything would be fine. The diplomat simply had to make it that far and then she could go back to effectively being a spinster in everyone else’s eyes.

“So sorry,” Drezda whispered, a tremor in her voice as her eyelids fluttered. A true display of feeling and yet there was no telling what precisely she was apologising for.

She had no idea.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Early Morning, 29 Hamis, 2719
Drezda's Bedroom, Uptown

I do not give a stripe for your apologies,” Niccolette said, coldly. She did not look at Drezda; she moved away from the door to give her space to leave, stalked across the room. Her field did not draw in, nor dampen in the least, but it was vicious and sharp in the air around her, as if to repel even the faintest attempt at a caprise

“I should rather not have them,” Niccolette’s jaw clenched, tight; she did not dare turn back, nor to speak. Heat burned behind her eyes; no, she thought, then, furious: no, no and no.

Had she not already cried enough? She had cried to fill the Tincta Basta; she had wept and wept and wept and it had not made a single godsdamned bit of difference. She felt no better; nothing changed. There was only endless, drowning, suffocating sorrow, and it filled her up time and time again, built up in her until it leaked forth, and with it – every godsdamn time – something of her slipped away, too, some drop.

She was sick of it, Niccolette thought, her nostrils flaring; she was godsdamned striping sick of it. Yes – damn the Gods; damn all of them. Damn Hurte, for failing to protect what She should have held dear; damn Hulali, too, because if the fish-headed god had ever done a godsdamn thing for Uzoji it should have been to save him. Damn Roa – damn Naulus – damn every single one of the Circle, clock them and stripe them all.

Tears were running hot down her cheeks, Niccolette’s whole body shaking. Drezda shut the door behind her; Niccolette did not turn to look. Her hands were clenched so tight in the robe, tight enough to hurt; it ached all through her palms and her fingers too. Her legs were shaking; the tiredness crawled through her, every inch of her. Her head hurt – her ear worst of all – and she supposed she would have been sick again, if she could have summoned up the energy.

Niccolette sank onto the edge of the bed, shaking; she gasped for breath, because there was no space for it between the tears, and then she was sobbing, breathless, her whole body shaking with the force of them. She did not look for a dress; she did not turn to look at the door, whatever passed behind her. She did not even let go of the robe; she couldn’t remember how. There was nothing in her but the tears, for as long as they lasted.

And then, in time, as always, they stopped. The flow dried up; nothing had changed, but Niccolette could settle back into stillness and numbness too. She let go of the robe; she ran her fingers through the messy tangles of her hair. She rose, on unsteady legs, and walked trembling to the bathroom, and cupped a palmfull of water against her swollen eyes, thirsty enough to drink some of it from her cupped hands. She closed her eyes as she did it; she did not dare to look in the mirror.

Niccolette found the rhythm of her breathing, then; she murmured to herself, monite beneath her breath, and watched the glimmer of sun flickering through the windows, gleaming on the panes of them, glinting off the floor. She counted her breaths, and drained herself of thoughts; she breathed as if that was all she knew how to do, and perhaps it was.

The passive helped her to dress; Niccolette could not have said what she wore, nor, upon leaving the room, could she have recalled anything in particular about the girl. She did not see Drezda again, as she left; she did not know, or care, what sort of carriage the other woman had arranged, whose or how it would work. Niccolette settled herself into it, sitting upright, hands clenched tight in her lap – and then she let them go, apart, loosened them, and smoothed the borrowed dress over herself, the silk she’d worn the night before bundled up neatly next to her.

The carriage began to move; Niccolette turned her gaze to look out the window, and was content to see nothing.