For She's a Jolly Good Mistress (Khymarah)

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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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Drezda Ecks
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Joined: Sun Jul 15, 2018 12:10 pm
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Sat May 04, 2019 7:40 pm

Ophus 25, 2718 | Evening
Drez's Home
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The Hoxian was in a melancholy mood but resigned to it. Another year was drawing to a close, less than two weeks remaining until they rolled into a new year, until Clock's Eve came around again. The final year of the Symvouli in Anaxi control leading to a time of political change and upheaval, no matter how much they might try to minimise issues. Soon, Brunnhold would be beginning new classes, welcoming the freshly tested galdori while sequestering and putting to work their newly identified passive brethren. It was a new year for Drezda Ecks too but for her the calendar was moved forward a little, the annual activity of reflecting on one's actions and looking forward to fresh events upon her already.

Today was her 28th birthday.

She was fast approaching her fourth decade, had graduated from Brunnhold over 7 years before and was on her third career path. She was no closer to achieving her ambition of learning her True Name, the necessary introspection only likely to leave her with a headache at best given the state of her sense of self. Her ability to control her emotions and embody the principles of her homeland had degraded rather than improved over time, and her ability to cope with life in general was definitely worn down as well. She had lost faith in her in her ability to use magic, to be a strong, independent woman who could break with tradition, and to see her worth in the political sphere as a worthwhile endeavour. She was caught in uncertainty, the young woman considering tendering her resignation and potentially returning to Hox to humble herself before her family and hope that something could be worked out but ultimately afraid that after all these years since graduation that she was ready to return to square one but with fewer prospects and more bitterness.

There was a great deal for the diplomat to worry about on a personal level and further afield but overall, she was aware that she was a failure, a failure who was finding it increasingly easier to pour something potent into a glass and down it as if it was as vital as air. She was a woman with the weight of her kingdom on her shoulders, aware that she needed to save face for the sake of others beyond herself. Additionally, she bore the guilt of what felt like dereliction of duty, a far more pressing concern that had made her desire to forget it all so much stronger.

Diaxio.

That her fellow Hoxian was suspicious had long been obvious. No determinable income, rubbing elbows without the right people and generally just seeming to do far, far too well. But it hadn't been Drezda's problem, hadn't been worth investigating and then she'd stumbled upon Rhys in early Achtus, had become reacquainted with Charity and learned something of the pair's situation. It felt like her fault. She ought to have done something earlier, have rooted out the rottenness that she'd known had to be the basis for Diaxio's success. But Circle help her, it wasn't an easy situation and trying to get at the woman now would take finesse and very careful manoeuvering; it was too much for the brunette. Instead of doing what she could, she'd spent more time hiding herself away, trying to keep confused emotions in check while she drank and drank and found herself almost too terrified to use her gods-granted magical abilities.

Drezda was a mess and she was struggling to pull herself back together again. Oddly enough, the entire debacle at Incumbent Madden's party on Ophus 18th was helping a bit, giving her more reason to get a grip and stop herself sliding any further down into the hole she'd been digging for herself. The unlikely camaraderie that she'd established with Anatole Vauquelin, the Incumbent who she had once found so sexually perverted, had helped in unexpected ways. The tears, the laughter, the emotion she'd displayed in his presence and the truths she'd so recklessly allowed to spring off her tongue had made her realise the futility of trying to uphold rhakor. It was an important part of her culture but it took too great a toll on her and it apparently just wasn't something that she could manage.

It was a significant revelation about herself in truth and she felt a little lighter for it even if in practice, it was proving a bit difficult, just as it was hard to modulate her alcohol intake. But it was acceptable to take a little in the morning to soften the edges and some in the evening to unwind, right? Nothing wrong with that.

Tonight, certain exceptions could be made where alcohol was concerned, her own newly made rules bent a little bit. After all, it was her birthday and she was set to spend it alone. Again. Not that anything else was to be expected of course; it wasn't like the woman had friends which was her own fault. The chances of her having Anatole - he was the closest thing she had to a friend - over to celebrate with her was about as likely as galdori deciding that humans were all right after all and they should all leave in equal harmony. Fat fucking chance of that! And Khymarah... well, the woman wasn't her friend exactly although she had the potential to be more than that, so much more than that.

So of course, Drezda had been doing a superb job of avoiding her.

She'd been feeling a bit more guilty about that in recent days, especially since she'd decided to give up on rhakor. After all, she had revealed things to the artist that she shouldn't have, placing a trust in her that she hadn't given to most people, including her family. However, despite being increasingly lonely, the galdor was all too aware what a mess she was, not wanting to thrust that onto the Bastian right now, not wanting any of it to bleed over into anything sexual. The last thing she wanted was to break the pretty redhead, not properly break. Break-in, mind...

The diplomat was doing a lot better though and she had been considering what to do about their relationship, how to proceed going forward but she had been very careful over the last month and a half to find very valid sounding excuses for not meeting up with her or having her over to visit while ensuring that she didn't seem disinterested. Over the time, she had had two gifts brought to the woman: a thin but exquisitely bound tome of poetry and a little bundle of prints of some Hoxian artwork. Neither had been particularly difficult to come by but they showed that she was at least paying some attention to the redhead's interests. Soon, she'd have to contact her again but she hadn't wanted to invite her tonight, hadn't wanted the other to make presumptions or assume that there were certain expectations on her. Some time in the new year would have to do for that.

So the woman was alone - not counting her servants of course, which she didn't - with a glass of First Light while she waited for her dinner. It was taking unaccountably long, Rosmilda only commenting that it was going to be 'special', which was enough for Drezda to roll her eyes and dread what that was meant to be. Outwardly, she resented the fuss. Inwardly, she was a mixture of pleased and saddened because she only had a few passives and a human to bother with her. Still, she didn't comment on it any further and did her best not to down her alcohol, sipping at it in a leisurely fashion.

Jerome and Luca were off doing something - probably each other - but it wasn't like they were any use to Drezda at the moment anyway, Cora was in the kitchens cooking up whatever the hell Rosmilda had thought up because the passive was definitely the mastermind behind that one, and the young redhead herself was in the parlour with her mistress as she waited. The lady's-maid-cum-secretary was poking needlessly at the fire, a definite restlessness about her this evening that was starting to get on her mistress' nerves in spite of the tranquil music playing softly on the gramophone in the corner.

"Sit down, Rosmilda!" she ordered sharply, seeing the girl's knees give a little jerk as if she was going to obey the order there and then. She moved hastily to obey with a murmure of "Apologies, Mistress."

"I can't stand to watch your pacing anymore. It's not like you're waiting for dinner," she added a little sourly. She watched the teen's head bow as she picked up her embroidery to work on that. They had a few minutes of silence between them with nothing but the gramophone and the crackle of the fire to break up the quiet before the door's bell chimed. The brunette's lips twisted downwards, definite confusion on her visage but Rosmilda was already hopping up as if she'd been waiting for it, scurrying out and shutting the door swiftly but quietly behind her before the Hoxian's suspicion could prompt any questions.

Who in the Six Kingdoms could that be?

Part of her considered following her out, doing her best to catch snippets of the exchange going on at the door, to identify the voice over the gramophone and through the closed door. She didn't have long to wait however, the passive returning soon enough, doing her best not to grin stupidly and failing utterly.

"I said that dinner would be special," the Anaxi announced triumphantly, stepping aside just as the Hoxian was opening her mouth to tell her to wipe that ridiculous expression off her face and ask what was going on. Her mouth shut again, words unvoiced as the glass in her hand wobbled precariously in her grasp.

Khymarah. She was here. Rosmilda had evidently invited her, interfering with her love life again.

In that moment, Drezda honestly couldn't have been more grateful.

"I'll check to see if Cora has things close to ready." And with that, the passive was gone.

"Khymarah, I- This is a surprise, I wasn't expecting- Not a bad surprise but- Would you like some wine?" the diplomat blurted out, clearly caught off guard and setting her glass down as she went to pour her unexpected guest some wine anyway as colour rushed to her face.

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Rosmilda had done something incredibly bold. Again. It was quite possible that her mistress would be furious, especially if things didn't work out and she heard about it later, but she was optimistic that all would go well. The last time she'd intervened on the diplomat's behalf by surprising her with a visit to Khymarah's, the woman had returned home in a better mood, her field seeming lighter and more relaxed as a result. It had been a worthwhile risk to take, even if the good effects seemed to have worn off by the following day. Whatever had happened, it had obviously had a profound effect on her mistress and while it was heartbreaking to imagine her loving another, giving the artist what she would never give to Rosmilda, the passive wanted her to be happy. That was a part of being in love, right?

She had seen the careful effort the woman had taken to obtain certain little gifts, the secret, delighted smiles when she sent off short notes with them to her love interest. And yet she had been worried by the avoidance, wondering if the other would keep her distance in spite of everything. With everything that had been going on, perhaps it was understandable and there had definitely been something eating at her since the bloodied Seventen and his terrified little wife had been brought back her, even though they'd left long ago. Something had changed more recently as well, the party she'd gone to less than a week ago seeming to alter something in her, a definite change for the better although Jerome had returned with her and tales of his mistress being soaked through and walking barefoot in the snow. Whatever had happened - no matter how alarming - it had wrought some positive change as her attitude to alcohol changed, making a concerted effort to control herself.

Nonetheless, Drezda hadn't contacted the Bastian artist but had been noticeably low-spirited in recent days. So in spite of the short notice, Rosmilda had written a letter a few days before and sent it off in secret. An invitation, her own name signed at the bottom, dangerously incriminating but apparently Khymarah wasn't the sort to turn on a passive if her servant was to be believed. Within it, she explained about the Hoxian's birthday, about her habitual state of loneliness on the occasion and a plaintive request that she'd consider coming to surprise her. She'd also been consider enough to add that being overly formal would be highly unnecessary and that simplicity would be the way to go. Thus, the artist was invited to dinner.

She'd had to beg Cora to make enough for two, not entirely sure that there would actually be two galdori for dinner but explaining that if there was only Drezda that they could eat it themselves. It wasn't like the galdor paid attention to what was brought into the house, wouldn't notice the ingredients for a meal for two rather than one so no one would get into trouble.

And now that the day had come and the human had spent so much time slaving away in the kitchen while Luca and Jerome helped her, Rosmilda was worried that Khymarah might not come. However, she was also anxious that she would. Hence, she was charged with nervous energy, doing her best to keep herself occupied yet trying to avoid moving too much. All the same, she did inevitably catch her mistress' attention, the snapped order making her knees collapse guiltily beneath her; she wasn't meant to keep secrets like this.

It came as a relief when the door chime came, the redhead hardly having done any work on her embroidery since she'd sat down and easily able to abandon it to all but dash into the hall. She was quick to shut the door behind her so that Drezda wouldn't gain any advanced warning before she went to answer the door.

The sight of the older woman on the doorstep prompted a bright smile from the servant, bowing to her as she stood to one side to permit her entry.

"Good evening, Miss Theraldon. I wasn't sure that you'd come but I'm glad that you have. My apologies for my audacity in corresponding with you directly but... I had my reasons. Again. Let me take that for you!" she murmured quickly, voice unconsciously low, a near whisper as she moved to help the woman with her cloak or coat once she'd shut the door against the winter cold. Covertly, the artist's appearance was examined and weighed; good Lady, she was quite a fine woman although she wasn't sure that Khymarah was entirely aware.

"She's in the parlour although you should be moving to the dining room soon as things should be ready presently," Rosmilda added, leading the way to the room in question and feeling some smugness as she made her announcement, the shock quite readily discernible on her pale features. Her work for the nonce sorted, she excused herself quickly and went to the kitchen to inform them of Khymarah's arrival before collapsing into a chair to bawl her eyes out.
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Khy Marah
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: Wicked Witch of the East!
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Thu May 09, 2019 6:34 pm

Ophus 25, 2718
VIENDA| EVENING
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Khymarah took a deep breath, and another. And another. Finally, she threw her hands over her face and groaned with frustration.

“Why isn’t there anything to wear?!” She whined, flopping down in the mauve armchair that commanded a corner of her bedroom, dressed in a dark corset and white petticoat. Across the forest green of her bedding, there were dresses and gowns of various shapes and colors, strewn haphazardly as the red head had put them on and promptly taken them off.

“Khy, calm down. You’re just going to work yourself up and then what will you be?” Florence said curtly from the doorway, tsking and striding into the galdor’s room as though she owned it, flinging the ornate wardrobe doors open and fumbling through what was there. With a self satisfied sound, she withdrew something black and long with lace and dark beading. Throwing it at the other woman, the passive nodded impatiently. Khymarah lifted the front and looked over the gown with wide mismatched iris’, blushing darkly and curling it against her chest.

”I can’t wear this! It’s the Bastian summer gown mother gave me, it’s…revealing. I can’t wear a corset and it has no room for petticoats. No this is—“

“Exactly what you’re wearing. You can just go without the corset, and the petticoat. Be bold Khymarah!” The look of horror on the young woman’s face was enough to cause Florence to roll her eyes, moving towards her and tugging the sorceress to her feet. She helped to unlace the corset as Khymarah removed the petticoat, carefully assisting the Bastian into the garment. It was long in the sleeves, and high throated enough to hide any improper cleavage, but it was a strategic combination of sheer and opaque black lace and silk. The back plunged deeply, displaying pale alabaster skin to the world, and the long flowing skirt felt too airy against bare legs. It was fitted, just enough to cling where needed, but it wasn’t tight. Beaded monite runes decorated the hem of the skirt to finish it off, clearly designed for warmer weather.

“This is improper Florence, I can’t wear this.” Khymarah said quietly, looking at herself in the long opulent mirror with a little turn this way and that to blush at the obvious curves that her missing corset and petticoat didn’t hide to the standards of Anaxi fashion.

“Of course you can. Now, be seated. I’m putting this up.” The older passive said curtly, gesculating at the galdor’s thick scarlet hair. Khymarah obeyed without a second thought, field jittering with nerves, eyes straying to the tome of poetry sitting on her vanity. As Florence’s deft fingers worked, the red head picked up the book and smiled warmly.

Drezda had given it to her.

Since their curious meeting in her studio, Khymarah hadn’t actually seen the older Hoxian, but not for lack of trying. She’d sent invites and written letters, but there was always something. The brunette was a busy diplomat, and so the artist couldn’t blame her. Just as she thought however that she’d misread signals again, a gift arrived. Hoxian art prints and the book of poetry. It was a small gesture, but it meant a lot to the Bastian. It meant that Drezda had paid attention to the little things.

It meant she cared.

When the invitation had arrived from Rosmilda, the galdor was both touched and concerned. She read the letter included, pondering heavily her actions. The passive was brash, acting without her Mistress’ consent, but Khymarah saw through the words. Rosmilda cared for Drezda, much like Florence for her. She’d not seen any indications the brunette was a sympathiser, but perhaps she was afraid of judgement.

Eitherway, the invitation was sent and the Bastian was going.


Standing on the threshold of the building she had only thus far seen when intoxicated, Khymarah rang the doorbell and clutched a modest black paper bag tightly. Nervousness hung thickly in her field, and she had to stop herself worrying at her lower lip, lest she spoil the red stain that Florence had so carefully perfected. Her cloak hid the improper Bastian garment from the carriage driver and the general public, to the woman’s relief, but as Rosmilda opened the door to greet her in what seemed to be a bit of an anxious rush, she almost gripped the thicker material to herself. Blinking, she removed it and handed it to the passive, her cheeks darkening as she stepped inside.

“No apologies necessary dear. You acted with care for her, which is more than can be said for most of the civilised world. I appreciate the honesty.” Reaching self consciously for her hair, Khymarah ran a hand over the carefully pinned curls and braids. Florence had a knack, a Bastian if ever there was one, and her long tresses were neatly caught in a rather intricate yet simple looking up do to keep away from the dramatic back to her attire.

“Parlour. Right. Yes.” She said quietly, fiddling with the bag and not moving. Her dual coloured eyes glanced at the doorway in question, before lifting her chin and taking a deep breath, almost jumping out of her skin when Rosmilda returned. Following the younger woman towards the aforementioned room, the red haired Bastian stood in the doorway as the girl introduced her with a rather flamboyant flair. As she looked at the stunning Hoxian, Khymarah couldn’t help but smile with delight, happy to see the woman finally. Butterflies swirled in her stomach.

“I hope it’s not a bad surprise, Drezda.” She tried to quip casually, moving further into the room and nodding.

“I would. Yes. Yes please. Oh. Here. I—” Shoving the black bag at Drezda, the galdor laughed awkwardly.

“Happiest of birthdays to you. May Hurte keep your beauty and Alioe bless your days.” If the brunette were to open the bag, she would discover wrapped carefully inside a gold hair pin, the top ornately decorated with small detailed flowers made of enameled metal. They looked realistic, each little petal carefully crafted, whites and blues of Forget-Me-Not’s and Baby’s Breath.

“It’s from Bastia. I don’t know if its…I wasn’t sure if you…if you don’t like it I can get you something else. I just—” Pressing her lips together, the jittery red head laughed and shook her head.

“Anyway. How are you? I’ve barely seen you these past weeks, but I did get your gift.” The blush returned to her cheeks again, smile warm and slightly starstruck.

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Drezda Ecks
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Sat May 11, 2019 7:11 pm

Ophus 25, 2718 | Evening
Drez's Home
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More than once, the Hoxian had been pissed off by her passive's decision to interfere in her life, to make choices on her behalf because she determined them to be best. Rosmilda had become a truly uppity little bitch and on more than one occasion, especially of late, the diplomat's temper had gotten the best of her. However, it didn't seem to matter any more, she appeared to enjoy the punishment that the woman doled out, thrilled to have sparked a response in her mistress. It was a frustration in itself and the politician was starting to wonder if she would have to rid herself of the redhead altogether. There was always that lingering feeling that she needed the girl, that getting rid of her would be too inconvenient. It wouldn't be worth it to find a new passive and mould appropriately to her desires. Ironically, this particular interference, the invitation to Khymarah, might well be the thing that allowed Drezda to let her go; if she had the artist then she wouldn't need the passive. Their last meeting had certainly provided some positive indications and her current state certainly suggested that she 'had' her indeed.

The young woman might be flustered, unprepared but that didn't mean that she wasn't pleased with the situation. Even as she moved to pour wine for the Bastian, she had a chance to let her gaze move swiftly and appraisingly over the other. A delectable sight indeed, delicious. Honestly, there was no nicer birthday present that she'd like to unwrap.

Steady on now... she warned herself.

At home alone (servants didn't count as people), her field was looser, more relaxed while at her ease. Now that she had company though, it grew tighter, tenser. It was nowhere near as controlled as when she was out in the world beyond but still noticeably guarded. It was difficult for her to be anything like herself around another person but she was trying; Drezda wasn't as guarded as she'd been when she saw the artist the last time. Perhaps Khymarah wouldn't really notice the difference, wouldn't appreciate just how much the diplomat was trying. There was less effort to hide certain emotions, a conscious effort that was the result of a decision made a few days before. Rhakor wasn't all that it was cracked up to be, especially for her.

When the redhead was in range, she'd be able to feel the warmth there, how pleased she was to see her guest, the approval as onyx eyes moved leisurely over the other's form. There were other feelings present, ones that she tried to keep under wraps because some things didn't need an outing, especially this early in the evening. Still, it didn't mean that lust didn't surface, that her pulse didn't quicken and the skin flush.

"Oh, not a bad surprise, don't you worry," she commented dryly, one side of her mouth pulling upwards, the accompanying raised eyebrow giving a slyness to her amusement.

Everything was warm, so warm, she was suffering from the the thoughts of a very overheated brain despite the fact that before Khymarah had entered, everything had been fine, mind finely balanced. She had to stop herself from saying something ridiculously inappropriate as she set aside her glass and poured out wine, already having decided that the woman would want some, passing the glass to the Bastian as the other passed her present to her.

Her gaze drifted to the dual-coloured orbs rather than the bag, moving over the rather natural curve of her chest and the high collar, the careful wrapping that promised so much and yet still managed some semblance of modesty. Her mind thought, Oh yes, I'd like to unwrap that present. Her mouth managed to offer something rather less suggestive and rather more polite.

"I'm sure this will be lovely, thank you," she murmured, accepting the offering with a warm smile, even as she allowed her field to dampen a little while she did her best to keep her emotions under control. Her attention shifted to the bag, opening it while Khymarah looked on, all too aware that if it wasn't lovely that she would give away a fair bit in the initial seconds when she opened it. She really hoped that it wasn't going to be something that she found disappointing.

Unwrapping the carefully wrapped gift, she unveiled the elegant hairpin, each metallic flower that decorated it beautifully crafted. Small and intricate, each one had been formed with care and skill. It really was exquisite. Beaming as she turned it over in her fingers, bag carelessly discarded, she leaned forward and slightly up so she could press a kiss to the other's cheek. The action was strange for her, a tingling sensation moving through her, a greater inclination to smile fighting towards the surface; she suppressed the urge with difficulty, bemusement flickering briefly through her field.

"Thank you, it's gorgeous. Not that I'd expect anything less from you," the Hoxian commented softly, leaning away from the Bastian with some reluctance as she picked her glass back up and took a sip. "Come, sit. There's no sense in standing while we wait."

The young woman seated herself, smoothing the skirt of the white wrap-dress she wore. The diplomat was tempted to say that she felt underdressed for her own birthday, not meant as anything less than teasing of course, but she felt that the woman might grow far too self-conscious. Her own dress was certainly flattering to her corset enhanced figure but it was simple in comparison to the Bastian's. The white silken material covered her from neck to calves although her arms and part of back were bare. Dark red embroidered flowers had been stitched to one side of the slash that started below the collar and extended far enough to provide a small glimpse of cleavage. She wondered briefly if she was as appealing to the redhead as she was to the Hoxian.

"I've... been busy. A lot has happened that... well, I suppose that it isn't worth getting into but maybe it's given me some valuable perspective on certain things. Hoxian things, personal things. I'm sorry that I didn't take you up on any of your invitations, it... wouldn't have been appropriate," the woman admitted softly, glancing away, a finger tracing the lip of her glass and showing off a scarlet painted nail that matched the embroidery on her dress. Discomfort stirred the mona around her.

Clearing her throat, she plastered a smile on subtly reddened lips, moving to rest her free hand on the artist’s knee. "Were my gifts to your liking, Khymarah? I came across them and they seemed appropriate. At least... they made me think of you. That's appropriate enough, isn't it?" she added with a gentle laugh.
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