[Mature, PM to Join] Gravel and Some Wine

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 12 Hamis 2717
The Garden, the Richelieu Residence, Uptown

Yes,” Niccolette said with a fond, curling smile. Her hands rested together in her lap; her head tilted back, just a little, loops of glistening dark hair spilling back over the edge of the bench. She studied the murky, light-filled sky above, scarcely able to trace out more than a few bright spots amidst the clouds.

“Isla Dzum,” Niccolette said with a smile, sitting a little more upright to look at Lilliana once more. She took the bottle of champagne again, and drank from it once more, although more in the vein of a toast than anything, this time. “One of the smaller islands,” Niccolette said with a grin. “We have a plantation there, a wedding gift from my husband’s family.” Gold-clad shoulders shrugged lightly; her hand waved through the words, as if the plantation lay somewhere just beyond the fountain.

The situation had, naturally, been somewhat more complicated; the wedding, naturally, had been somewhat more complicated. But she doubted Lilliana was terribly interested in the drama of their wedding; she had noticed the other woman’s lack of interest in the subject of matrimony. Naturally, a discussion of the intricacies of her happy marriage would have been utterly taboo in Florne; no one wanted to hear about one’s devotion to one’s husband, of all things.

She was, Niccolette thought, a fool. For a moment the thought was bitter on her tongue; another sip of champagne washed it away, and thoughts of the island were pleasant enough to banish any lingering doubts.

“I am afraid it is terribly pastoral,” Niccolette said with a broad, amused grin; there was no mistaking the look on her face for anything but thoughts of home. “We grow all manner of crops. My husband can talk of nothing but kofi strains for hours,” her smile widened a little more at the thought. “It is quite lovely. Red dirt, white sand, crisp blue waves.” She ran her fingers over the pale, smooth skin of her face. “Rather a chore to keep from freckling, but,” Niccolette grinned. “Worth it, I should say.”

Niccolette could not but think longingly of the plantation, then, of the wooden house on the cliffside, the Eqe Aqawe tethered behind and drifting in the breeze, and the bedroom with its billowing white curtains. There were no distractions there, no temptations, nothing to come between them. More than any other place in the world that Niccolette had ever known, it was home; more than any other place in the world that Niccolette had ever known, it was hers.

“Have you spent much time in Mugroba?” Niccolette asked, curiously, smiling at Lilliana once more. “I am quite fond of Thul Ka, myself. It does not compare to Florne, naturally,” she grinned a little wider, “but, then, what city does? It can hardly be blamed in that regard.”

[caporushes]

12th of Hamis 2717 - Evening
The Richelieu Residence Garden

That was curious again. Ana could not imagine that it was work on the plantation that kept Niccolette's field so bright and sharp. The other woman seemed very fond of it; Lilliana could not imagine. She knew that the Steerpike holdings included something of that nature--she had never bothered to see the place, herself. That was the sort of business she left for other people.

Absently, Ana wondered if she had made that face thinking about anywhere in quite a long time. She didn't think as she had. She might have once, when she was younger. Not since school, at the very least. Perhaps once the Estate had been that to her, although she hadn't thought so at the time. She hadn't been back in quite a long time, not really. Ana couldn't think of a single place about which she would speak so fondly. No pastoral island plantations with accompanying husbands for her. No freckling, either, it had to be said, which was an advantage. She didn't know if what she felt was jealousy, quite. Ana took another mouthful of champagne to wash it out, anyway.

Lilliana shook her head. "No, I can't say as I have. I have been a few times, to Thul Ka--a lovely city. Although I agree," she added with a pleased grin, "it cannot compare." Almost, maybe, she thought this way of Florne. So much more so now than Vienda, the city of her birth and upbringing. Well, it simply couldn't compare--even in her expatriate status, Ana couldn't help but think so. After all, what did Vienda have on the Garden di Rhodon? On the Menagerie? Ana couldn't think of one thing to recommend the place, let alone one that would outclass either attraction. To say nothing of the day-to-day charm.

Ana tilted her head, curious in both glance and gentle caprision of Niccolette's field. She seemed so happy, speaking if Isla Dzum. And yet--it was not Florne. No place on Vita was Florne. So why that admittedly pastoral island plantation, and not the most beautiful city in the world? Ana herself could think of nothing that would make her leave, now that she was there. She didn't think she would be so rude as to ask directly; what kept Niccolette Ibutatu away from Bastia was her own business. Still, Ana couldn't help but want to know. The petite woman was a mystery. Ana did so love a mystery.

"Forgive me if I'm being rude, but I must ask--does one do much casting, in the running of a plantation?" Indelicately phrased; Ana really should have been more careful. It was so rare for her composure to slip in this way, though she did not allow herself the luxury of a grimace. This wasn't the question she had been thinking on, but it was a question and she did want to hear the answer. "I confess I have little knowledge of such business, so this may be a show of ignorance on my own part." Her eyebrows arched above eyes that glittered gold even in the dark. She didn't think she was merely ignorant, although she always allowed the possibility. It was important to be aware of one's limits, after all. How else could you exceed them?

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 12 Hamis 2717
The Garden, the Richelieu Residence, Uptown

Niccolette nodded her firm agreement with Lilliana’s assessment. She did rather like Thul Ka; it was a lovely city, sufficiently large. Very vibrant; there was a liveliness to it which she could admit Vienda did not quite have, and which she thought – perhaps – Florne did not have either. Of course, Florne more than compensated in other ways, with all its brilliance and beauty.

All the same – Niccolette thought fondly of sitting on the bench outside of Uzoji’s family home, watching the light spill over the joining of the waters. Hulali’s waters, naturally, but beautiful enough that Niccolette was confident Hurte must have had a hard in shaping the landscape.

Someday, Niccolette thought, Uzoji would see the Sancttedem di Hurte and the Menagerie di Tigressa; someday, she grinned to imagine, she would take him to sneak into the menagerie at night. They were shamefully old for such juvenile amusements, but Niccolette scarcely cared; Uzoji would enjoy it, from the climbing of the fence to the overgrown enclosure with its carved tigers grown over in moss, to the distant view of the city lights when one climbed up to the top of the manmade caves.

Niccolette raised her eyebrows at Lilliana’s question. The other woman had overplayed, and they both knew it. May be a show of ignorance, Lilliana offered, with eyebrows that arched high over glittering gold eyes, and neither of them believing it for even a moment.

Niccolette sighed, tilting her head back once more, eyes fluttering shut. She released the last of her dampening; her field washed brighter and sharper still through the night air. The living mona reached deep within Lilliana’s own field in an unhesitating caprise.

“You would be surprised, I think,” Niccolette said. “We have sugarcane fields, great things which one cuts with a machete,” she smiled at Lilliana. “Accidents happen, of course,” she shrugged her shoulders, delicately. "It is not as if there are true doctors nearby."

“And, too,” Niccolette said, her eyes searching the other woman’s face, “the isles can be an unexpected sort of place.” She smiled. “One never knows what sort of people one might encounter there, or who their neighbors might be,” the smile became a little more of a grin. “At times it can be rather… wild.”

“I am quite fortunate in my husband, naturally,” Niccolette said with an easy smile. She knew something of Mugrobi honesty, these days; it was easy enough to speak the truth, and let what was most interesting remain between the words, to be read or not. She made no mistake here; Lilliana was sharp and clever, even with all the champagne they had shared between them. Niccolette did not underestimate her in the least; it was only that she was terribly, terribly tired of hiding.

“I rarely feel unsafe,” Niccolette said with a little shrug. “But I shall admit I have… had rather more use of my learning than I might have expected, during my Brunnhold days.”

[caporushes]

12th of Hamis 2717 - Evening
The Richelieu Residence Garden

Niccolette searched Ana's face and field both. For what, the Anaxi was not sure. She had overstepped, to be sure; what she had stepped into was something of a mystery still. Ana hummed at the mention of accidents. Surely, they did happen. And there were unlikely to be many proper doctors on the islands, one would imagine.

Unexpected--yes, Ana could see how that would be true. The plantation she spoke of... Lilliana Steerpike was not a fool, not entirely. There were many things that were unexpected; pastoral island plantations were not typically among them. No matter; she could tell where she should not press. At least, not quite so indelicately.

"If I may be so bold, I would say that you are not the type to mind the unexpected," Ana said, returning Niccolette's grin with one of her own. The champagne had made her honest, but it had not made her stupid. Niccolette's field was dampened no longer; only now that she had stopped doing so did Ana realize the degree to which she had been. No--she couldn't imagine much that would make Niccolette Ibutatu feel unsafe. Husband or not.

In contrast, Ana herself felt positively pedestrian. This wasn't something she was accustomed to feeling. That was enjoyable too, in its own way. Novelty upon novelty. Certainly it did not make her feel bored--which was worse by far than feeling as if she herself were boring. She knew the latter to be impossible, after all, a temporary concern. Ana let go of the control she had held over her own field; it remained diamond-bright and rigid. Clear and precise. The aura of a woman who craved control; although Ana would have said it wasn't that she craved control so much as so often had to bring order to chaos. Potato, potato.

"There is much we could not have imagined in our Brunnhold days, I think." Ana felt restless suddenly, and came to stand. This party was boring, and Ana felt boring--she was both enthralled and repulsed by the feeling. The disadvantage, she decided, to being so far from the party was that parties usually had music, and at least a degree of dancing. Even one as dreadful as this had a little of both. Ana was positive it was not the party inside that she was craving, but the Anaxi woman felt filled with a need to move. To do something.

In absence of better ideas, she undid the pins that held her hair in place; that felt just a little better, a little less tidy. The locks of it tumbled around her in a cloud of chaotic red, a contrast to the rigid control to which she held all the rest of her. It also had the added benefit of being something her Miss Leonetti would have hated. That made Ana smile, and she turned to Niccolette as she did so; she showed rather more of her teeth than she had before.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 12 Hamis 2717
The Garden, the Richelieu Residence, Uptown

Niccolette laughed at Lilliana’s comment about the unexpected. She ran her fingers over the champagne bottle, teasing at the label, although not going to the extent of peeling at the faintly damp paper. The scripted letters on it shone through the faintly damp paper; a little bit of the ink was bleeding through at the top corner. She did not do herself the disservice of believing Lilliana had not learned from their exchange of words; neither was she in the least surprise when the other woman, socially astute as she was, let the topic lapse.

“Nearly anything,” Niccolette said with a slightly wicked smile, “is preferable to boredom.” She lifted the champagne again, and took another sip, her head tilting back slightly once more, eyes fluttering shut. She lowered it back to the bench, surprised and a little impressed by the excellent drinkability of it; champagne was often easy to over-indulge in, and this one was not in the least an exception. It fizzed all through her, still, rich and pleasant, and Niccolette shivered in the cool night air.

Niccolette stayed seated as Lilliana rose. She watched, a little intent, as the other woman slid the pins out of her hair, her eyebrows lifting slightly at the messy cloud of dark brown-red strands that tumbled out into the air, made even more wild in contrast to her neat posture and well-organized field. Distant lantern light from the garden spilled through, glowing yellow-orange, and sparked like fire against the red of it. It was waist length, a little longer than Niccolette’s own; against the bronze and pale gold of her dress, it was somehow both brown and red at once.

Niccolette took a deep breath, breathing in the night and the taste of the champagne. “You have lovely hair,” she said, her smile not fading in the slightest. The Bastian rose; she came a little closer to Lilliana. The other woman had not gone far enough away that their field shad ever quite stopped mingling; Niccolette’s caprise was deep, although still on the appropriate side of polite. For all the strength of her field, the brightness and sharpness of her indectal ramscott, there was nothing unpleasant about it, not the faintest trace of any untoward emotion nor sigiling. “May I?”

Once she had the Anaxi’s permission, Niccolette’s fingers stroked, light and gentle, through the other woman’s hair. She was smiling, just a little more, just a little wickedly; she drew back, carefully, the last of the other woman’s pins held between her fingers. “I think you missed this one,” Niccolette said, settling it gently into the other woman’s hand, her fingers just barely brushing Lilliana's palm before pulling back; there was nothing technically scandalous or intimate about the touch.

[caporushes]

12th of Hamis 2717 - Evening
The Richelieu Residence Garden

Nearly anything--but only nearly? Well, Ana did suppose death was boring in its own way. She was perhaps just a little unsteady. That was the risk one ran with pleasant champagne. Being so easy to drink made one inclined to over-indulge. Ana had not felt quite so tipsy before, but at least there was only so much damage she could do to her reputation out here in the garden. There were many worse things than pleasant champagne and even better company, even if it made her inclined to overstep.

Ana may have preened, ever so slightly, under the compliment. "You are too kind." Ana had too much fine champagne for much more false modesty than this. It was true, of course; Ana sometimes went through great pains to keep her hair so. If she had learned any lesson from her mother's mother, it was that a woman's hair was her life. She took this very seriously. For all that she kept it pinned up and out of the way, a strict order imposed upon it even in artful disarray. Such an unswerving self-devotion had yet to steer her wrongly.

"Of course," Ana murmured at Niccolette's approach. The Bastian was slightly shorter than Ana, by just a touch. What a lovely face--Ana had thought so before, of course, but it was different again when Niccolette's fingers went to her hair. Married women were not her usual realm of interest, not anymore. Ana reminded herself of this quite sternly. Not even when lantern light picked out the more charming elevations of their faces, or highlighted the color of their eyes.

No amount of time in Florne had made her tire of the seemingly inborn flirtatiousness, either. Nothing about the way Niccolette removed the pin from Ana's hair was scandalous, or overly intimate. Nor was the caprise of her field, deep though it was. Never did it stray too far beyond the boundaries of what would be considered polite. Ana took the hairpin with a grateful murmur. Her fingers curled around her palm. Married women are never worth the trouble, she told herself again. Well--not never. But only very rarely. She was simply very slightly weak to the wickedness in that smile. But what was a party without something just a little bit illicit?

It was Ana who stepped away. She was no stranger to that fluttering of her pulse; delighted in it, even. Lovely, fascinating, and just the right combination of approachable and mysterious. What was there not to like about Niccolette Ibutatu? Other than the husband, of course. So many women had that tragic flaw; Ana could hardly hold it against her. Ana didn't mind the feeling, but was smart enough to know that it was only something to enjoy in this moment and not again. Best to step away now with her dignity intact. She had not made this mistake in many years; she was not eager to repeat it.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 12 Hamis 2717
The Garden, the Richelieu Residence, Uptown

Lilliana murmured something too quiet to quite hear, graceful fingers curling around the hairpin. Niccolette’s smile curled a little more on her face, and she did not look away. They were standing close in the small stretch of garden path around the fountain; it burbled, softly, somewhere suddenly rather distant. They were close enough that the faint rustle of the breeze brushed Niccolette’s skirt against Lilliana’s, tangling the fabrics together.

Lilliana eased away, casually. Just right, Niccolette thought, still smiling.

The Bastian sat again on the bench, legs crossing at the ankles. She did not reach for the champagne; there was something sweeter and more pleasant to savor flowing through her. Lilliana lived in Florne; Niccolette knew full well that she understood how such things were meant to be done, else she would never have survived the city. Anaxi could be so tedious, reading so much into the simplest of gestures.

Niccolette opened her mouth to speak again, then paused, feeling the telltale tingle of a seerstone spell, the faint nudge at the edge of her mind like a polite, discrete cough. She closed her eyes.

“Beloved, where are you?” Uzoji’s voice was distinctly amused; Niccolette could hear him as clearly as if he were whispering in her ear. “I couldn’t have missed your beauty in the ballroom this long.”

Niccolette smiled; she knew she smiled. As fond as she was of Florne, Uzoji would be her undoing in the city within a moment; there was nothing quite so socially disastrous as being utterly enamored with one’s husband of more than five years.

The Bastian undid a careful button tucked into a fold of fabric on the neck of her gown, revealing a glimmer of pale skin. She drew out a delicate golden chain, with a small, elegant seerstone on the far end. She inhaled, and exhaled, carefully, and murmured the scrying spell into the stone. Despite how much champagne they had imbibed, despite the faint thickening of her voice as they spoke, the monite which emerged was clear, crisp and precise, every syllable flawlessly enunciated.

“The garden, darling,” Niccolette murmured, softly, into the stone. “By the fountain. Come and find me.” She tucked the small stone back beneath her gown, and did the button up once more, the seerstone as good as invisible beneath the smooth folds of the dress.

“Have you met Uzoji?” Niccolette asked, looking up at Lilliana. She smiled; there was not the least bit of shame or hesitation in her, nothing which even hinted at embarrassment. “I suppose he must be bored inside; he shall be on his way here, soon.” She stretched out, tilting her head back once more, sighing; she combed her fingers through her hair, back over her head, delicately down over her side, teasing at the faintest beginning of a snarl in one of the strands; it parted beneath her fingers, and the dark hair hung smooth once more.

[caporushes]

12th of Hamis 2717 - Evening
The Richelieu Residence Garden

When Ana moved away, Niccolette sat again. The Anaxi did not join her, not quite. She moved to approach the bench again but remained standing. Her restlessness had not eased. This was the real tragedy of her situation with the lovely Miss Leonetti. Simply nowhere to focus her energy. There were worse things than to be so pleasantly frustrated. There were also better.

Ana waiting in a sort of comfortable silence, letting the thrill settle in her before she would speak again. No more champagne, she thought. Lovely though it was, Niccolette was proving lovelier, and she didn't want to overstep. They were likely to see each other again, and it would be a shame if such a pleasant distraction soured. Ana wasn't a schoolgirl anymore; she could and would control herself. Besides, nothing here had been indicative of real interest. Just a diversion from an otherwise dull party.

She was saved then from having to reach this conclusion on her own. She saw the other woman's mouth open and then close again, followed by her eyes. A smile crossed her face--she was being called, it seemed. A button was undone and Ana did not look, although she did not avert her eyes either.

"You know, I must confess I cannot fully recall. Which makes me think I must not have." Internally, Ana sighed just a little. Oh, she was sure he was very charming, this Mr. Ibutatu. He must be, to have captured Niccolette's attention so. The dark-haired woman did not strike Ana as the type of unfortunate creature to have hitched herself to a lesser star. At least, Ana certainly hoped so. That would be a criminal sort of waste.

Such an unashamed and blatant attachment. For just a flutter of a heartbeat, Ana was jealous. Of the husband or the attachment? It hardly mattered. The feeling flashed in her mind and was gone again with little ruffle. The champagne had gotten to her, that must be it. A breeze fluttered the strands of her hair and rustled the silk of her dress. It seemed to carry the sounds and scents of the party with it.

"I have rather shamelessly been monopolizing the most interesting part of this party, it's true." Ana laughed and the sound came easily. She didn't, in the end, begrudge Mr. Ibutatu for missing his wife, or she for feeling similarly. The compliment was a little brazen, but not so much so that she thought it couldn't be easily set aside. The husband had not yet arrived; Ana allowed herself to indulge in following the motion of Niccolette's hands through her hair with golden interest. This, too, she felt could be brushed aside with no trouble.

After a moment she sighed, slightly dramatically. "I suppose that is enough of such diversion--I really must see to my Miss Leonetti. Someone must accompany her home, and I believe that cousin of hers has already left. He's rather vexing in that way." The smile didn't leave Ana's face. Now the trials of Miss Leonetti seemed hardly a trial at all. She would weep and carry on, and it would be unpleasant and showy. And then Ana could tuck her onto the arm of some waiting harmless young man or elderly woman who would see her safely home. The carriage ride back was not something Ana thought she could bear herself; she would spare herself the trouble.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 12 Hamis 2717
The Garden, the Richelieu Residence, Uptown

Niccolette smiled. “I would tend to agree, but then,” the Bastian shrugged delicate shoulders. “I must admit to a certain bias in the matter.” There was a faint crookedness to her smile, but it couldn’t hide the warmth in her voice, even as she made it the butt of her own joke. There was no pretense, there; Niccolette knew better than to try and hide it.

It was relief, Niccolette realized, cool, flowing through her veins. She had not been sure he would call; she had not wished to think about it. There were many distractions inside – glittering lights, rich drinks. People, Niccolette thought, to speak with. It calmed something in her, soothed it; the warmth in his voice had evened anything out once more, left her feeling much as she had when they parted ways, not so long ago.

Niccolette grinned. “Now it is you who are too kind,” she said, sitting on the bench and looking up at the other woman, and her beautiful, messy cloud of red-brown hair.

“It has been a true pleasure,” Niccolette promised, with a wealth of warmth in her voice. There was that wicked smile again, just the faintest edge of it creeping out from beneath something much more socially astute. She rose. “May Hurte smile upon your efforts,” Niccolette said. “I doubt you will remain undiverted too long.”

Niccolette sat again once Lilliana had gone; she closed her eyes, listening to the burble of the fountain, scarcely aware of the distant dim lights. She did not bother to dampen her field once more; she could not. It soared wide and vivid around her, in all the fullness of itself.

It was Uzoji’s field she felt first, tangling at the edges of her own. It brimmed bastly against her, and Niccolette’s could not but goldenshift, tangling deep into her husband’s field – living mona reaching deep into physical and static. His hands, next, both of them, tangling softly in her hair at the scalp, and then the brush of his lips against her head.

Niccolette sighed, softly, with pleasure, her eyes opening. She twisted, ignoring the faint tug at her scalp, and grabbed hold of his cravat, tightly. She grinned; her field reached deeper into him, enveloping him fully, like a prayer, like a promise.

Uzoji laughed, white teeth flashing against the night. “I yield,” he whispered, leaning forward to capture her breath with his own. “I would never defy you, beloved.”

“You are mine,” Niccolette whispered; she pressed against him, and pulled him down onto the bench beside her. The champagne bottle tumbled; it cracked against the ground, spilling the last of the expensive champagne into the rocks and dirt. Niccolette did not so much as look at it; nor did Uzoji, his hands having found, already, somewhere more comfortable to settle. “How could you?”