Ana's Room, Brunnhold Campus
It was not precisely a surprise when Ana identified the passive as her sister. Niccolette inclined her head, gently, in something like a nod; there was a faint, high-pitched squeak from the door, which she did not quite know what to make of.
Aurelie apologized again from the doorway. Twice.
There were quite a few pieces falling into place, Niccolette thought, somewhat wryly. The need for the house in Muffey – a handful of comments made – not that she could quite judge the girl’s age, of course. Ana was a few years older than herself, so she assumed Aurelie could not to be too young. What was it Ana had said about attending Anastou…? That something had not mattered, anymore.
Ana shrugged something Niccolette assumed to be an apology. Niccolette shrugged back; she drew her legs up, tucking them beneath the blanket, and rested her head back against the wall with a soft sigh. Not interrupting anything, Ana said, and Niccolette barely suppressed the faintest of snorts. Not interrupting anything important, she might have said, but – clearly – an interruption had taken place.
It was – naturally, Niccolette thought, slowly, with an odd sort of feeling, many of these passives were someone’s sibling. She had never quite thought of it before. She had never had a sister or a brother, but – unbidden, Aremu’s face swam before her mind, and the thought was so vehemently distasteful it sent a fierce, violent shudder through her. She cleared her throat, quietly; she set it aside.
Niccolette cared very little for rules, spoken or unspoken; she had never before considered the one that once a child became a passive, they were cut from the family like an infected limb. She found, in retrospect, she did not much care for it; certainly not enough to think anything of Ana breaking it.
Niccolette glanced over the edge of the bed, at the cloak and dress and underthings strewn across the floor. She abruptly regretted her choice of wardrobe; she had so few front-lacing corsets in Vienda, and as she herself was staying in the Stacks, she had thought nothing of bringing one which laced in the back. Now, naturally, she thought quite a lot of it.
“I am happy,” Niccolette said, casually, her voice as thickly-accented as ever, “to leave the two of you to talk – however, I am… somewhat constrained, as concerns appearance.”
The Bastian, having made her presence known, shifted herself off the edge of the bed, one arm holding the blanket in place. She crossed to the small table, and sat there, instead, a little more distant from the other two women; she tucked the blanket more solidly into place, folding it over herself with an ease of practiced learned in Mugroba. Niccolette crossed her legs at the knee, and took the bottle of wine into her hands, studying the label; if she managed to catch Ana’s eye, she’d lift an eyebrow, and reach somewhat questioningly for the corkscrew.
Niccolette rather thought she could use another glass of wine; she suspected Ana felt not dissimilarly. Certainly Aurelie looked as if she could.