[Mature] My Color Comes Back

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 15 Dentis, 2719
The Partridge and the Quince, Brunnhold Campus

Niccolette had not spared the food even the meanest glance; she had scarcely looked at it as Panagiotis set it down, and while she had not exactly looked away as he spoke, neither had she really seen the food. When Ana answered, though, Niccolette’s gaze held. She smiled, faintly; not at Ana’s answer, exactly, but rather because she thought there could be no other possible answer. To leave Florne was to miss it; it had always been so, and would always be so.

The Bastian’s head titled ever so slightly to the side; she smiled a little more. This was not nearly the first time Ana had hinted at something weighing her down. The death of her parents? Uncertainties remaining with the estates? Niccolette was not sure, and she did not ask. It was not, of course, that she was not curious. She found she was, perhaps somewhat unexpectedly so, and all the more so at the soft, utterly charming sigh from the elegant Anaxi.

“No,” Niccolette said with a little shrug; she answered after the second question, and did not bother to specify which she was answering. Her mouth had moved faintly at the subject of the plantation, somewhere between a laugh and a grimace. She looked away, now; the hand in her lap tightened, although Ana would see only the faint shift of the fabric of her dress, the slightest pulling which relaxed after a moment.

There was a little moment of silence, a taut beat.

Perhaps Niccolette’s shoulders had tensed, ever so slightly. The widow sighed; she exhaled, and pulled her gaze back from the glimmering reflection of the candle in the window, looking at Ana instead. “Actually, I have taken up volunteering at Grand Mercy, in Vienda,” Niccolette said, almost idly. Her fingers came up to cup the wine glass; she swirled it, lightly, and set it back down, and lifted her gaze back up to the other woman.

“The plantation is in a rather more capable hand than mine,” Niccolette said with a little smile, more genuine. “I went back recently but…” she swallowed; she closed her eyes for the briefest of moments. When she opened them again, there was the faintest little glimmer, but it was swept away when she blinked again.

“One wearies of Vienda, all the same,” Niccolette said with another shrug. She did not take a sip of wine, this time, but pulled her hand away entirely, letting it rest lightly on the table. “I find myself glad Brunnhold is so close at hand. I am sure the girl I was in school would be utterly shocked to hear such things; in those days, Vienda seemed the height of amusement. Well,” Niccolette grinned again, back towards more familiar territory. “Given what is available in Anaxas, at least.”

There was still an edge to her; she did not seem quite comfortable on the chair. She held Ana’s gaze for a moment, and then glanced away; her smile flickered too, at the edges. Niccolette shifted, ever so slightly; the straight line of her posture did not diminish, not quite, but it did not look so easy as it had moments ago.

[caporushes]

15th of Dentis, 2719 - Evening
The Partridge and the Quince, Brunnhold Campus

The moment the question had left her mouth, Ana realized it had been a mistake. Foolish--she was mortified to have made it. Normally, she was so much better at this. Perhaps her time away from society at large, wrapped up in her own personal crusade, had dulled the edges of her instincts. Or perhaps it was all her time with a set that would never do anything so terribly gauche as to love their spouses. Ana herself wasn't sure she quite understood it.

Niccolette's reply had been short and direct, and non-specific. An apology sat on her tongue, for having brought it up. But Lilliana Steerpike was a woman ill used to apologizing for anything she did, and she couldn't quite bring herself to doing it now. A laugh or a frown? Ana couldn't tell, and Niccolette shifted to look out the window. When she looked back, the moment for Ana's apology had passed. Better to talk of Niccolette's volunteering at Grand Mercy.

"Oh? How noble of you." Ana was surprised. She had not taken Niccolette for a healer, not as such. Gracious Lady, her control must be slipping of late. That had come perilously close to being said out loud. She didn't know what to do with that brief moment of shine in Niccolette's eyes. She had been so relieved, before, to be spared the need to make the usual platitudes. She understood the sorrow of other people, but only intellectually. If this had been her sister--but no, she wouldn't have known what to do then, either. She hadn't known. And it was hardly the same. It was easier, when she thought very little of the person on the other side. She could slip into a more comforting version of herself then. Ana didn't know Niccolette well, but she liked what she knew--it made the lie of it more difficult.

"Schoolgirls are often shocked by the words of adults." Ana's voice was light with amusement; a twitch of her face gave her away.

The tension in the air was making her squirm; she didn't like not knowing what to say next or how best to smooth it over. The restaurant was quiet, but their corner was private. Ana frowned at her hand where it curled around her glass; she had yet to let it go. Ana drew in her breath sharply.

"I'm sorry if I..." She frowned; it was a rare stumble. She didn't look to Niccolette as she spoke. "I shouldn't have asked in... quite that way. It was thoughtless of me." There was more she could say. Or rather, more someone else could have said--for Ana, this was the only apology she could make. Already this was uncomfortable enough to bring color to her face and a tautness to her carefully neutral expression. She drank more of her wine and did not turn her gaze back.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 15 Dentis, 2719
The Partridge and the Quince, Brunnhold Campus

Niccolette felt the tension, hovering, sharp and taut in the air. Her gaze was back on the window, on the wavering line of the light against the smooth-paned glass. Just barely, against the edges of it, she could make out the smudges of their shape, the light orange of hers and the darker red of Ana’s across the table; the white line of the table glowed beneath it, as if it could stretch out and hover over the campus walkways below.

Niccolette took a deep, careful breath.

The candleflame wobbled, once, the tiniest flicker towards her then away.

“No,” Niccolette said, with a little shake of her head. She looked back at Ana, and smiled, faintly. “The only thing worse than meaningless courtesies are unnecessary apologies,” the Bastian said, in deliberate, crisp tones. “It was a reasonable question. That grief has rendered me unreasonable is, I suppose, unavoidable.”

Niccolette reached across the table, delicately, for just a moment; her hand passed over the plate of wholly-ignored food, and settled on top of Ana’s. It was a brief contact; it was there, and then gone, Niccolette’s fingers drawn back already. Still, perhaps, scandalous, for a public dining room; Niccolette had not so much as looked around as she made the gesture, and the little smile on her face had grown into its own and found a little wicked curl, as if to say she did not regret it in the least.

She had not lingered, particularly, on the word grief; she had not spat it, or let it drip, venomous, from her tongue. She had not swallowed it back, or softened it; she had pronounced it with the same, deliberate enunciation as the rest of what she had said, crisp and clear and utterly Bastian. The feeling and the word were no strangers to her now; she spoke of her grief as she might one of her limbs: simply a part of her, and unavoidable.

There was, of course, still no quite mistaking Niccolette Ibutatu’s field for that of a healer. There was a sharpness to it, to one who was sensitive to such things. Its brightness was, perhaps, just a little too harsh, the living mona in the air crisply indectal, but nonetheless – imposing, even when the Bastian let nothing slip through into the field around her, even when, as now, she was engaged in a perfectly polite, social caprise. She was not dampening, tonight, not even in the least; she had not done so in the library earlier, either.

“Of course,” Niccolette added, taking her wineglass in hand. She smiled, and there was no mistaking now the wickedness at the edges of it. “I suppose that ruins any pretense I might have made of being polite company.” She smiled over the edge of her wineglass at Ana, and took a deeper sip of the wine than she had before. She set the glass down, neatly, on the table, and left her hand close to it on the tablecloth.

[caporushes]

15th of Dentis, 2719 - Evening
The Partridge and the Quince, Brunnhold Campus

Ana looked at Niccolette when she spoke again in that wholly Bastian way she had. Ana didn't mind the crisp dismissal of her attempt at an apology. In fact, it made everything much easier. She wasn't sorry to be spared attempting to further navigate the uncomfortable position she had placed herself in. If that was how Niccolette wanted it to be, then that was perfectly acceptable to her. Even more acceptable was the brief moment when Niccolette's hand settled over her own. Not at all the sort of gesture one should make in even so private a corner as theirs--Ana couldn't contain the answering smile that stretched her full mouth.

"You're right, of course." Her hand was still a little warm where Niccolette's fingers had been. Ana's hand curved into a light fist. She let the feeling linger; it had been a long time. At least, longer than she was accustomed to. One of the many, many downsides of Vienda. And of her own increasingly tarnished reputation, she supposed.

This would certainly be a different way to tarnish it, if she kept carrying on this way. More pleasant by half than to be whispered about as if she had no ears to hear those who knew her speak of madness. Polite company indeed--as if that was what she had been when they met again properly, escaping out a window with champagne in hand. Though Ana had been the first to head out the window. She had been very, very eager to escape Miss Leonetti. And almost equally as eager to entertain Niccolette, if she was being honest. She could admit this to herself, at least.

"Ruin? Far from it. Polite company maybe not, but good company all the same. I suppose I have a story or two I could share." Ana leaned forward again, enough to set the carnelian in her necklace to movement. Almost enough to render the neckline of her dress less modest than was acceptable. It remained in place, a testament to expert tailoring. "Although many of them are best accompanied by demonstration."

Her voice was low and warm, full of amusement and promise. It was a bold thing to say, but also easy enough to dismiss if one wanted to do so. She did have a great many stories to tell about her time in Anastou that were, perhaps, not quite what she was promising with her statement, but nor were they fit for polite conversation. They were among some of her favorites to tell at certain kinds of parties, even. If their interests did not end up in alignment, Ana would be more than happy to share those instead. She would be disappointed, but only slightly.

"That would of course still have to wait. We are here after all, and you have spoken so highly of Guiseppe's skill." Ana leaned back again, smiling.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 15 Dentis, 2719
The Partridge and the Quince, Brunnhold Campus

Ana had smiled, sudden and wide; her hand had curled into itself, ever so slightly.

What else had she thought as a girl? Niccolette remembered railing against rules, against social structures; she remembered feeling contained, confined, as if all of her limbs had been wrapped up in rope. It was strange to realize she had not even known how much there was that had been forbidden to her; there were so many such rules that she had not even known to name, for it had never occurred to her to do things differently.

What was wrong with it? Would these stuffy old men and women combust, suddenly, if Niccolette set her hand on Ana’s? Would the very timbers of the restaurant shake and quiver, and the floor collapse beneath their feet? Why were they all so insistent on the absurd pretext that desire was something to be ashamed of?

Was it better or worse, Niccolette thought, bitterly, to have been free, and now, again, to find herself half-settled back into the ropes? Was it better or worse to have flown, once, just for a little while, now that she was grounded?

Ana began to speak again; she leaned forward, just a little, carefully, properly judged.

Niccolette found she could set her thoughts aside; she found she could be here, where she was. She found, too, that her breath was coming just a little quicker than it had, caught however briefly in her throat; she found that her gaze had flickered down to where the jewels caught the light, and that it was a conscious effort to raise her gaze, smiling, back up to Ana’s face.

“I find myself grateful,” Niccolette said, her voice, too, a little lower than it had been, “to have fallen so in your estimation. But you are quite right, and I should hate for you to deprive yourself of any enjoyment,” she smiled agreement. Niccolette’s hand settled on the base of her wine glass again; one finger traced a slow semi-circle around the edge of it, back and forth, the others hovering lightly above.

It was not long before Panagiotis returned, smiling. “Is all well with the food, ladies?” He asked, looking down at the plate.

“Naturally,” Niccolette sat back, looking up at him. “I suppose we merely wished to reserve our appetites.” She took a delicate sip of the wine.

Panagiotis bowed lightly. “A wise choice. We have several different options for your dinner – polpette prepared with mortadella, gnochetti with housemade sausage and fennel, a rich spezzatino di pescatore, and ravioli with veal. Of course, the chef can also prepare something to your taste, if you prefer…?”

“Polpette, I think,” Niccolette said, lightly, her fingers settled around the base of the wine glass once more. She did not much care; she had stopped listening shortly after the description of the second dish, and she preferred polpette to gnochetti. She would eat, she supposed; she was surprised to find herself very nearly hungry.

Once Panagiotis took Ana’s order as well, he would bow, lightly.

The sommelier would replace him moments later, the bottle of wine in hand; he would refill each of their glasses, and melt away as politely as he had come, his field delicately held away from a caprise, just as the waiter’s had been.

[caporushes]

15th of Dentis, 2719 - Evening
The Partridge and the Quince, Brunnhold Campus

Niccolette's finger traced the bottom of her glass, back and forth. Ana watched it carefully out of the corner of her vision. There was something immensely captivating about the action, simple as it was. As Panagiotis returned, Ana had to make some effort to focus on him. As it was, she fixed him with a patient and polite smile. The appetizers--she had forgotten about them entirely. It took effort again not to laugh when Niccolette suggested the two of them were reserving their appetites. The sound caught behind her teeth and was smothered by her smile.

"The spezzatino for me, please." Her smile was bland as Panagiotis bowed lightly and left them to the food they had yet to touch. The selection had been random; she enjoyed them all and had no strong preference that mattered in this moment. Something she had not had in some time. That she had only been partially listening didn't help, as she could only remember the last things he had said.

Ana moved as if to continue their conversation, only to be interrupted by the appearance of the sommelier. This was the trouble with places with attentive service, she reflected. It was difficult to keep on quite the same line of thought when some young man or another kept appearing at their tables to see to some potential need. It spoke highly of the restaurant, and not at all to Ana's preference in the moment. Still, she had finished more of her wine than she had thought, and was not sorry to see the glass refilled.

To that end, she took another sip of it, and also a little of each of the things on the plate between them both. It was difficult for her to have too much wine now, and no food with it. More than it had been in younger years. One of many things that had been easier in the past, really. Her ankles uncrossed and then crossed again, shifting.

"Do you find yourself in Brunnhold often?" Ana asked after a moment of idle commentary. "I had need recently to rent a house in Muffey. Although," she added with a considering frown, "I have certainly had need of it much longer than I expected. It's a charming little town, if one likes such things."

The question was phrased idly. Ana couldn't keep an unexpected note of hope from her voice. She was so rarely in enjoyable company lately.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 15 Dentis, 2719
The Partridge and the Quince, Brunnhold Campus

Niccolette watched Ana take a few squares of the delicate appetizer set between them. Yes, she thought, glancing at the glass of wine, her fingers settled on the rim once more, she was hungry; she was as hungry as she could remember being in some weeks, as if she had finished some difficult, intense cast.

The Bastian reached forward; she took one of the squares, not really caring enough to notice which one, and settled it onto her plate. She brushed her fingers clean on her napkin, and took another sip of her wine; they were small, each of these sips, but they had a way of adding up.

The living conversationalist was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol – a pleasant sort of lightheadedness, Niccolette decided, she would call it. A slight heaviness to the tongue; a warmth in the chest and stomach. She made note of them, as if they were symptoms; she tucked them away, deliberately, into the catalogue of her mind.

“Perhaps for a day or so every few weeks, of late,” Niccolette said, when Ana came back to something which seemed to have sparked her interest. “Muffey?” Niccolette raised her eyebrows, curiously, although she did not ask other than to confirm the name. “I cannot say I know it well,” The Bastian said with a shrug. She knew it, of course, but – “There was a dressmaker there I rather liked during my tenth year,” Niccolette said, thoughtfully. She shrugged again.

There were simply no libraries in Vienda which compared when it came to grimoires; especially, Niccolette thought, when it came to the sort of grimoires she needed. The well-regarded status of Brunnhold Hospital meant over the years there had been a number of donations by physicians of their own personal collections; it was a treasure trove, and one Niccolette had not been in the least prepared to take advantage of in her younger years.

Naturally, one could do better in Mestigia or Thul Ka, but neither was nearly as convenient to Vienda. Not that one could not still get books from Thul Ka to Vienda – or, even, of course, to Brunnhold. Niccolette’s face twitched at a small, secret smile, but she did not yield to it.

“Do you like such things?” Niccolette asked, as idly as Ana had. Only the faint, interested gleam in her eyes gave her away. She took another sip of wine; she set the glass down, picked up the little square of abbrustolire, and took a bite; it was small enough that even a delicate nibble meant half of it was gone. White beans, Niccolette noted; she set the rest of the square back down, and settled her hands back in her lap. She looked at Ana, her head tilted ever so slightly to the side; Niccolette smiled, once more, across the candlelit table.

[caporushes]

15th of Vortas, 2719 - Evening
The Partridge and the Quince, Brunnhold Campus

Muffey was not a place Ana was particularly surprised to hear Niccolette didn't know well. To be quite honest, Ana herself had not been particularly often before this rainy season. A handful of times at best. When she was still in school, it was a pleasant enough change of pace from Brunnhold campus and the Stacks--somewhere her mother would take her if she came to visit. She meant what she had said--it was a charming little town. But it wasn't much more than that.

"Mm, well. I have a need of late to move between Brunnhold and Vienda fairly frequently. And Muffey seemed more pleasant a residence than a house in the Stacks. Fewer students running about, too," she said with a smile.

She hadn't yet spent much time in it, her fashionable little townhouse. Had things gone as she expected... well. The question of custody wasn't one she'd thought to settle quickly. She had just also rather thought to have had a warmer reception to the idea from Aurelie. There was something of her absence from her rented home that had the ring of cowardice or hesitance. How deeply vexing. Ana set the thought aside in favor of focus on the more present moment.

"Muffey is..." Ana thought her answer over, then shrugged her shoulders a little dismissively. "It's very quiet, compared to what I'm used to. I have never handled quiet well. There is some--unpleasantness, of course." This too she dismissed. Ana was in town so little, it hardly mattered to her what sort of strife was bred in the streets. It wasn't home, it would never be home, and if it got to be too much she would simply leave.

"But certainly isn't without charm. If you ever find yourself with the time..." The thought finished itself. Ana smiled then, too, as invitingly as she could manage. There was little artifice to the look. Hopefulness, certainly; Ana loved to entertain. Why have a house at all, if nobody ever came to call? She might as well have decided to live out of a hotel, if that was going to be the way of it. The wine had started to make itself felt. Not intrusive, but present. The easy floating feeling made her smile that much more shining.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 15 Dentis, 2719
The Partridge and the Quince, Brunnhold Campus

Niccolette grinned. “Students would be a miserable disadvantage of the Stacks,” she agreed lightly. “I remember my own days too well to disagree.”

A need, Ana had called it. Niccolette took another sip of her dark red wine, and settled the glass back down.

Niccolette smiled, more softly, at the rather earnest invitation to pay a call on the other woman. “I should be glad to rescue you from such tedium,” she said, a little wicked once more. There was something, perhaps, a little too knowing in her eyes; it was, perhaps, harder than she might have wished to set aside thought of long lonely days in the Rose, or quiet nights passed alone in the Belleverie in Vienda.

Niccolette did not finish her abbrustolire; she had not done so through the conversation that passed before Panagiotis came to politely sweep them away and replace them. For her, there was a plate of meatballs in a thick red wine gravy, sautéed vegetables and a portion of rice. Niccolette inclined her head as Panagiotis set it down before her.

Ana was delivered a bowl of bright red soup, herbs, chunks of fish and seafood nestled all through, which sent coils of steam rising through the dimly lit air.

Niccolette lifted her fork, delicately; she cut off a piece of one of the meatballs, and tasted it. She smiled.

“Niccolette,” The voice was inescapably Bastian. The man coming across the restaurant towards them was as well, with an elaborate thick dark mustache, heavily styled, and thick black hair pulled back in a knot. But his eyes were wide, gleaming faintly with tears, and his hands outstretched.

Niccolette eased her napkin off her lap; she rose. His field was all static mona; it was not especially powerful, although both would feel the brush of its heat.

“Giuseppe,” Niccolette said with a faint smile. He took her hands in his and squeezed them, lightly; expressive lips trembled beneath his mustache.

“My dear gattina,” he murmured, softly. He tried another smile; his eyes gleamed more. “Come,” Giuseppe cleared his throat. “You have sadness of your own! You need not contend with mine on your behalf,” he cupped her cheek with one hand.

He was not quite tall for a Bastian, though he still topped Niccolette by an inch or two. He wore a well-tailored suit, although it was dusted with flour and the sleeves rolled back, revealing forearms with respectable muscles. When he smiled, properly, as he did now, the lines around his eyes and mouth revealed his age, but he was full of a youthful vitality.

“Ah!” He turned to Ana, with a last gentle squeeze of Niccolette’s hands. “And who is this? Welcome, my dear, to the Partridge and the Quince, my little offering of Bastia here in the heart of Brunnhold. I am sure we have not met before; I would not forget so lovely a face.” He bowed, deeply.

[caporushes]

15th of Dentis, 2719 - Evening
The Partridge and the Quince, Brunnhold Campus

"My hero," Ana said with a laugh and a raising of her glass. Her eyelashes fluttered, an absurd parody of maidenly overwhelm. She had been hopeful but not expectant, when she made such an earnest invitation. The response warmed her; Ana didn't think it was just the wine. Although that certainly helped. It settled in her limbs and brought a touch of color to her face. There had been something knowing and familiar in the other woman's face. Ana wouldn't press it, but tucked the knowledge away.

Ana felt that she'd hardly touched the food that had already been before them before Panagiotis returned. Ah well, she had managed a few bites of it at least. And it had been good, but she wasn't overly interested. The abbrustolire was neatly and politely replaced with their orders. Ana hardly recalled what she had selected, but was not displeased when it was placed in front of her. The steam rising from it carried the smell of seafood and bright herbs. Ana breathed it in and felt something she thought might be close to homesickness. Her mind's eye turned to the wallpaper she had so carefully chosen with the help of a now-distant friend, to the view from her bedroom window. Especially lovely when it rained. Ana took deep intake of breath, covered neatly by a bite of the soup in front of her. How strange, for her to feel so sentimental. It was just a house, after all. And it had only been hers for a touch over five years--barely a moment, in the scheme of things.

When she heard Niccolette's name from across the restaurant, Ana lifted her head away from her dinner. She turned to look curiously at the man who approached. This, she thought, was the famous Giuseppe. He seemed rather overcome; this was perhaps the most Bastian thing about him, although there were many to choose from. Niccolette rose and Ana politely looked away. She felt the heat of the man's field and kept her attention to the reflection of candlelight in the window. A smile hovered at the corners of Ana's mouth. Surprised to be allowed back, indeed. As if there had ever been any question--after this, Ana couldn't imagine there had been.

Ana rose to her feet as Guiseppe's attention to turned from Niccolette to her. Ana was just a touch tall, for a woman. Guiseppe was level with her own height. Ana returned the bow, a warm sort of politeness radiating from her. Her expression had shifted from the simple and open pleasure of the moment before to something more controlled, although no less bright. Her smile was generous, dazzling--the face most knew best on her. An expression for guests and parties. "We have not, I'm afraid to say! I have only recently returned from Florne. Lilliana Steerpike, sir." Ana's smile never faltered, holding an easy sort of laughter in it as she introduced herself. Her head inclined again in another easy half-bow. "Niccolette spoke of your cooking so highly, I couldn't possibly stay away."