[Mature] My Color Comes Back

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Mid Afternoon, 15 Dentis, 2719
Second Floor, Brunnhold Library

Niccolette sat on the hard seat next to the table, one ankle tucked behind another, the dark orange silk of her dress wrinkled across her lap.

There was a distant echo of childish laughter; she did not need to look up to know it came from the two girls twined together in the plush chairs near the window, gossiping comfortably over half-forgotten homework. Niccolette did not bother to look up, this time.

The book in front of her was old and heavy. Poisons and other medicines, the hand-lettered title page read, ink bled deep into the rough paper by the passage of time. It was bound in plain black, with leather straps that had held it shut; it was the sort of book one needed to go deep into the Brunnhold Library for; it was the sort of book locked behind glass, to be kept out of the hands of bright, curious, young students.

Niccolette turned to the next page, the gold ring on her left hand flashing softly in whatever bright, cloudy light filtered in through the windows. She had been at her reading since mid-morning; the library had ebbed and flowed around her, students trickling in and then back out. Two more books sat beside her, both now closed, turned over so the covers could not be read, with their spines pointed towards the Bastian.

It was not Aveste Esfandier herself who had penned this manuscript, who had drawn the word poison in slanting, curling letters. Whatever she had written herself was gone by now, her notes and journals long-since ravaged by age, despite whatever attempts might have been made to preserve them in Mestigia. A remnant of a less civilized age, Niccolette had read of her, once.

But transcriptions of the Hessean’s notes and lectures remained; thoughts on her thoughts, pale, shadowy imitations of what had been, by all accounts, greatness, and tucked carefully amidst them, some of the language she had used, some hints of the spells the Magister had written – and rather more descriptions of their effects.

Niccolette read, page by page. The words took her full attention, as the earlier books had not; she had lost the passage of time to them.

But know that the cure may be more dangerous than the poison; although in principle any harm that the mona can deliver so too can they remedy, the experienced caster will find that – often – to undo that which has been done carries with it a great deal of risk… only the passage of time will reveal what has been lost.

Niccolette studied the page; she settled her fingertips on the ellipses, red-painted lips pressed together for a long moment. She sighed; she sat back, and ran her fingertips through her hair, glancing up and around. She was abruptly conscious of the needs of her body; of thirst, although not hunger, and a cramping in her legs which had settled in too long. Too many words left out, the Bastian thought, with a flare of irritation that tightened her fingers against the page, but showed not a whit in her sharp, bright ramscott. Too much lost to the passage of time.

Niccolette inhaled, deeply, and exhaled. She rose; she went down the stairs to the faucet comfortably ensconced distant from the books and other papers, and drank from a small glass. She set it down, and rose up the stairs back to the table, back to the books; she settled herself against the seat once more, and let herself be buried in the words once more.

[caporushes]

15th of Dentis, 2719 - Mid-Afternoon
Brunnhold Library, Second Floor

Shrikeweed was by all accounts more than adequate by way of legal representation. Respected and senior in his field, and perfectly professional in their meeting. Cost a fair fortune too, as gauche as it was to consider that aspect of it. One could only hope that cost, in this case, was correlated to quality. Lilliana Steerpike, on the other hand, had no legal training to speak of. Truly, she could have found the lynchpin to her entire case and wouldn't have known it, such was the depths of her ignorance in these matters.

And yet, to sit idly by and leave well enough alone was simply not her way.

The library was not what had brought Ana to Brunnhold this day, of course. No, she was here to visit her sister. It had been some months since she had last seen Aurelie, and this apalled her. Their first meeting had been awkward, it was true. By all accounts Ana would say that Aurelie didn't want to see her again. The poor dear thing didn't seem to understand what it was that Ana was offering, or even how it could be achieved. Timid and uncertain, that was what her sister was. But that was no excuse to ignore her and not even pay a social visit. So Ana had returned to those red walls she grew to hate more with every passing moment, to search within them the key to their undoing.

Thus far, her search had been more frustrating than fruitful. None of it was aided by the fact that Ana simply didn't know what she was looking for. Evidence of wrongdoing? A legal loophole that would let her reclaim custody of Aurelie? Neither seemed likely in the same building that was frequented by the likes of the giggling schoolchildren that passed her by in her search. She could have asked the librarian, and perhaps made more headway. Somehow Ana doubted this--what was she to ask after? "Please, direct me to the shelf that houses your books on freeing passives from their obligation to the University?" Ridiculous.

Slim fingers trailed the spines of many leather-bound volumes as she stalked the shelves. She had been through this section many, many times. Nothing had revealed itself to be of much help or interest. She permitted herself a growl of frustration that rippled through her field. That in turn made her frown again; how simply embarrassing! Good that she was seemingly alone, at least in this section. Her control slipped so often these days. Ana was not taking proper care of herself. If Julietta had been alive, to see her hair so simply done, her clothes so somber (though hardly out of fashion), she would have fainted dead away from shame.

Good. I hope they're rolling over in their graves.

A grim thought; it brought a smile to Ana's face. She supposed she loved her parents abstractly, but it didn't matter now. They were dead, and what's more, if it weren't for them she wouldn't be here sorting through this clocking library when she could be--doing anything else, really. The irony that someone who had once sought a life of academia would be so resentful of time in an institution such as this was not lost on the elder Steerpike.

No, what she needed was not more books--what Lilliana needed was a distraction. She had made arrangements to see her sister later, and truthfully had come to the library to waste the time until their engagement more than to study properly. Now that she had begun the effort, however, the failure vexed her. Perhaps she should return, or go to the guest dining hall and get a cup of tea, or...

...Or, take in the rather unexpected sight of Niccolette Ibutatu, splendid in orange and seated upon a chair. Ana had not expected to see the Bastian woman when she turned the corner. Indeed, she had not expected to see Niccolette at all. She had not done so in quite some time. From a distance, she thought the woman looked much the same, if a little brittle around the edges. Ana had heard... many things. Of the loss of her husband to that dreadful accident. That she had beat a Da Huane in a duel, which was less sad and more fascinating. More things besides, in which Ana put little stock. After all, if she listened to rumors, then she herself had gone quite mad.

There was a moment where Ana found herself unsure. It had been quite a long time since she had last spoken to Niccolette. And not so long since Mr. Ibutatu had passed on. She drew nearer and debated how best to greet the other woman; she seemed sharper than when Ana had seen her last. No less beautiful, but changed. Grief, she thought, could have that effect on some people. Or so she was told--Ana had only grieved for one person in her life, and she grieved for her no longer.

In the end she settled for a quiet approach; her field announced her presence with a light brush before she called out softly.

"Niccolette...? That is you, isn't it? It has been a long time." Ana smiled, polite and restrained, but there was no hiding the slight light that came to her face.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Mid Afternoon, 15 Dentis, 2719
Second Floor, Brunnhold Library

Niccolette turned the page, a careful shift of yellowed paper. She shifted; she crossed her legs at the ankle, tucking them to the side of the chair.

The drawing out of poison from the body requires the caster’s deep understanding of the effects in full. A natural analogy is the counterspell; there are general purpose counterspells offered, and yet the most effective is one built precisely and deeply on the spell itself. Many poisons attack more than one part of the body at once; it is this very redundancy which makes them so effective. Time also is of the essence, for the very nature of the poison may...

Niccolette settled light fingertips on the ellipses once more. May what? She thought, abruptly. Anger pulsed in her veins; she inhaled, carefully, and exhaled it out, and it never touched her field. Her hand unclenched, delicately; she had not done any damage to the book.

Niccolette turned the page once more, skimming only briefly over the author’s discussion of Esfandier and counterspells.

The Bastian felt a polite social sort of nudge from behind her - much more delicate than a student might be capable of, and somewhat familiar. She returned the caprise, politely, not too deep, though her own field held sharp and bright and full in the air around her. Niccolette turned back to see a familiar figure in dark, somber clothes, rich red-brown hair pinned up. Her eyebrows raised lightly; despite the faint headache throbbing at her temples, Niccolette smiled.

“Ana,” she said, surprised and perhaps curious, but not in the least displeased. Niccolette settled the strap of leather against the page and closed the book; the title was not written on the broad black cover. She rose, although did not quite approach, half-leaning against the table.

There was nothing somber about her dress; the rich orange silk was fashionable, with the skirt and waist cut in a wearable daily version of the latest asymmetric style. Only the collar was a little unusual; it was high, and curved, and reminiscent almost of a man’s jacket, with gleaming gold buttons completing the effect.

“Some time, I think,” Niccolette agreed. She ran the fingers of her right hand through her hair, pushing it back and up off her forehead; it gleamed softly in the distant lamplight.

The Bastian studied the other woman for a moment. She looked down at her left hand, curled against the back of the chair, and the ring on it. A long time indeed, Niccolette thought. She did not think she had seen the other woman since Hamis 2718; she had scarcely been in Vienda the remainder of the year and certainly had not been in Florne. As for this year - well.

“I propose an exchange,” Niccolette said, smiling, looking back up. “You offer no familiar courtesies for my husband, and I shall offer none for your parents.” Her gaze flickered over Ana; her eyebrows raised, ever so slightly. She did not continue to explain, only offered; there was something warm and a little inviting on her face, although tentative too. She waited, holding there against the table, for Ana’s answer.

It was perhaps, Niccolette understood, selfish. She had spent the morning fighting her way through the treatment of Esfandier, searching hungrily for scraps of her words and combing through the text in the hopes of understanding what was truly hers, and what was only believed to be. Her head ached, just a little; she was not sure when last she had eaten. There had been tea, in the morning; had she managed more than a bite of toast?

Niccolette was not sure she could bear the formalities of grief, the polite condolences, the hesitant almost questions. Even Ana, Niccolette thought, might feel them required; but Niccolette hoped she might be just daring enough - or, perhaps, just weary enough - to eschew them.

[caporushes]

15th of Dentis, 2719 - Mid-Afternoon
Brunnhold Library, Second Floor

Niccolette had seemed absorbed in her reading. Ana could not make out the title from where she stood when she called out and had not strained herself to try. It had made her slightly conscious, though not apologetic, that she might be interrupting her when Niccolette would be more content to be left alone. The responsibility lay with the other woman to tell her so, if that was indeed the case. Ana was not concerned that Niccolette would hesitate to speak out of politeness.

But ah, she had returned caprise and greeting both, and didn't seem displeased to see Ana approach. Niccolette came to stand. As she closed the distance between them, she could see that the book held in the Bastian's hand bore no title. An eyebrow rose in curiosity, thought she said nothing. A black-covered book with no title, absorbing enough for Niccolette's attention? There was a delightful air of mystery there. That was one of the qualities of Niccolette Ibutatu that Ana always found most delightful; she could never quite figure the other woman out, no matter how hard she tried. Granted, they did not see each other often. It had been over a year since they had last done so. Ana had met others who took half as long for her to gather the sum of, and found them to be the majority.

Ana was dressed in dark wool, suitable for both the weather and the observation of mourning she would keep for her parents until the new year. It made her seem more pale even than she really was, an impression that did not displease her and was further enhanced by subtle cosmetics. Niccolette, on the other hand, was a riot of color. Fashionable and flattering, even the masculine collar. Not a feature Ana thought would have suited her, but on Niccolette the effect was pleasing.

Gold eyes followed to gold ring; she wondered what to say. Much had changed in the time since they'd last met, for them both. She had been preparing the script in her mind of the proper things to say, to school her face into the right expression of heartfelt yet detached condolences. Niccolette's proposal took her aback. Ana met Niccolette's gaze and smiled back, an answer to that invitation.

"I have no objections," Ana agreed lightly. She was not displeased in the slightest. For all that Ana made a great study of the minds of others, and indeed had to for her magical discipline, she found the grief of others tedious to handle. Almost as tedious as the expectations on her own sorrow. If Niccolette did not want that from her, Ana was too happy to oblige and save them both the tiresome script they had likely already heard too many times. She did not think that Niccolette's weariness was the same as her own; the other woman had seemed very much in love with her late husband. Still, tedium was not something she wanted associated with Niccolette.

"Another kind of courtesy then," she offered with an easy smile as she came just a little closer. "Whatever brings you to these hallowed halls of learning? Business or pleasure?" She felt no need for the pretense of shock that Niccolette wanted to sidestep the rituals of grief, or to keep a mask of sorrow on her face. There was just easy pleasure to see a friend she had not seen in a long time, whatever changes lay between them. Ana studied Niccolette's face--distinctly sharper, yes. And possibly unwell; Ana wondered how long she had been in the library, and if she had yet taken a meal.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Mid Afternoon, 15 Dentis, 2719
Second Floor, Brunnhold Library

Ana agreed, as politely and easily as if Niccolette had remarked upon the weather. The Bastian’s smile deepened, ever so slightly; so too did her caprise, the living mona of her field twining softly, curiously, with the perceptive mona of Ana’s, deeper than for a mere casual acquaintance.

That, Niccolette thought idly, was what she liked so much about the other woman. Every inch of her bearing spoke of rigorous control; her posture was textbook perfect, and her field diamond-bright and just shy of rigid. Every inch of her – from the dark wool of her fashionable-but-suitable-for-mourning gown to her neat, understated updo – marked her as a woman of taste and refinement.

And yet, within moments of their first meeting, she had grabbed a bottle of champagne and, in fact, proceeded Niccolette out the window into the garden. Now, she brushed aside the need for mutual condolences with an effortlessness that belied the careful concern her face had shown moments ago.

It was a relief, Niccolette thought. She felt she had heard every arrangement of condolences ever conceived of, and a few more which surely must have been invented just for the arrangement. She had grown used to them; they no longer stung as they once had. Never – never and from no one – had they brought her anything resembling comfort.

Ana came a little closer; Niccolette made no effort to withdraw. If anything, her smile deepened just a shade more. Niccolette knew she did not look quite her best; she had drawn on eyeliner and lip color that morning with a steady hand, studying her expression in the mirror. She had not thought she looked tired, then, and a bit of the cream had been all she thought she needed. Now, she rather wished she had thought to put on powder as well; although she knew a certain paleness of cheek suited her well, she, too, knew better than to look less than her best for the evening.

“Some of each, I suppose,” Niccolette said, thoughtfully. She felt – almost to her surprise – something a little wicked curl up the side of her cheek. She relaxed; she settled, comfortably, into it, and did not try to fight. She did not look down at the black book still sitting, prominent, next to the two others on the table; it was Ana, instead, she looked at. There was still space between them, a comfortable, polite sort of space; a ray of afternoon sun streaked through it, neatly segmented by the bars of the window.

“I rarely see a reason to separate them,” Niccolette said with a delicate little shrug of her shoulders. “And you? Business, pleasure, or both?” Her fingers curled over the back of the chair, careful; she knew she was holding on, just a bit. There were no other signs of strain in her posture, not particularly, although she was still leaned, ever so slightly, against the table.

[caporushes]

15th of Dentis, 2719 - Mid-Afternoon
Brunnhold Library, Second Floor

Ana had wanted a distraction, and it seemed like she had found one. They were never the two of them such close friends as to have encountered each other often, or even to have tried. From Ana's perspective, this was rather more to do with circumstance and geographical proximity than any lack of friendly chemistry between them. Ana had not seen a friendly face in a long time; she had left them all behind in Florne. She had been gone so long from Anaxas, there weren't many of those around anymore.

The intermingling of their fields turned slightly deeper than what would have been expected. This made the smile on her face deepen. Hers was, as always, orderly and neat as a pin around her--but not unfriendly or without warmth, now. Leaning even into bastly, if only just.

Some of each... Ana had not expected her casual question to bring that slant to Niccolette's expression. There was a wan cast to her face, but the look still sat well on it. She hummed a little back, pleased. Still--Ana didn't miss the way Niccolette's fingers held the back of the chair, or the way she leaned against the table. Slight little signals, and from someone Ana did not after all know particularly well. She made a point to pay attention to such signals, even if she ignored them.

"Do you mind if I sit a moment? I'm afraid I've been running myself simply ragged all day." If Niccolette could spot it for the lie that it was, Ana didn't mind. She could make of it what she would. Without waiting for a response, she sat herself. It had not truly been a request for permission to begin with.

She considered her own answer to the question: business or pleasure? Ana had made no secret of her business among her usual social set. Nor, it must be said, had she gone out of her way to share it. These things had a way of getting around; she was content to leave it to rumor. Anyone so inclined to ask her could. She didn't think many would. There was an air of madness about her activities to most. Madness! As if it were madness to want to care for her closest living relative herself, and not leave her to the keeping of an indifferent institution. Mostly, Lilliana Steerpike was unconcerned with the opinions of society at large, as long as they didn't stand in her way.

There was a difference between not caring for the opinions of people she largely would not bother to remember if she weren't expected to, and the opinion of the woman standing in front of her. She was not sure, precisely, what Niccolette would think of what she was doing. She was Bastian, after all, and there was a distinct reason Ana had closed the possibility of ever returning to her home there off in her mind. If Niccolette said anything about Aurelie... well. Ana enjoyed her company, and would be sad to lose it. But Aurelie was blood. Best not to find out, she thought; it made her just a little sad.

"Both--and neither, I am afraid. Personal, I suppose, but not..." She shrugged, leaving the statement in the air. The details weren't important. "I've hit a stumbling block for today, however, so I suppose it's best to leave it for now." This she said with a slightly dramatic sigh, followed by a slight pause.

"I was rather thinking it time to break for a meal. Have you eaten? I would enjoy company, if you have the time." The invitation was light, leaving room for an easy refusal. There was room for it too, in her expression; mingled in was hope that she wouldn't be.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Mid Afternoon, 15 Dentis, 2719
Second Floor, Brunnhold Library

Ana made no pretense of waiting; Niccolette was grateful for it. She did not offer agreement or murmur permission; she sat, instead, easing herself slowly into the chair, and resolutely ignored her own faint trembling at the end. Sitting was easier, more pleasant; Niccolette curled her hands one over the other in her lap, tucking her right over her left, and lifted her gaze back to Ana.

Both and neither, Ana said with a little shrug. Personal. Niccolette smiled, inclining her head gently. She did not mind if the other woman was no more willing to share than she had been; she nodded faintly in a general sort of understanding. If there was something on the other woman’s face, the briefest flash beneath her ironclad composure, it was brushed past as politely as the tightening of Niccolette’s hand on the chair had been.

Niccolette hesitated. She glanced at the not-too-distant grandfather clock, the pendulum slowly swinging back and forth. The hands ticked forward once more.

The Bastian turned back to Ana with a regretful smile. “I am afraid I have a prior engagement this afternoon,” she said. She could feel the tightening of her hands in her lap; it was a conscious effort to relax them. She shifted; she tucked her ankle behind the other, pulling ever so faintly at the line of her skirt, although not indecently so.

A prior engagement, Niccolette thought, with an unexpected flash of bitterness. She missed Uzoji, with a sudden, sickening wave of emotion; she would have given anything to have him there with her. She doubted, in fact, that she had time to go back and put powder on her face. Well enough; she remembered the trick of pinching her cheeks from her girlhood. She had done it then; she would do it now.

None of it showed on her face, and her hands did not tense again. Niccolette hesitated; she shifted, ever so slightly on the chair. Perhaps her smile had faded, slightly, but it returned. “But – if you do not already have plans – perhaps you would join me for dinner?” Niccolette did not quite hold her breath, and her invitation was no heavier than Ana’s had been, but her smile deepened, gently, as if there had been no interruption.

“I am fond of the Partridge and the Quince,” Niccolette said, naming one of the smaller, more elegant restaurants located within the campus’s walls; it was a place for Professors and Magisters, for visitors and dignitaries, which boasted an all-galdori staff and a rather well-known Bastian chef, in addition to a rather excellent (if expensive) wine cellar. “Although perhaps you have had enough of Bastians to last a lifetime?” She raised her eyebrows, lightly, teasingly, as if the thought was so incomprehensible that there was no choice but that it was a joke.

[caporushes]

15th of Dentis, 2719 - Mid-Afternoon
Brunnhold Library, Second Floor

Niccolette sat, and Ana was slightly relieved. For a moment she had wondered if she had misread, and that the other woman would remain standing. Even if she clearly needed not to do so, something Ana made note of but wouldn't comment on. Just like neither of them would comment on the other's circumstances, or offer trite condolences. That was a relief as well; there was something refreshing about not having to put on the face of what was expected of her. The role was easy enough to pick up, and she wore it well, but it could be tiring.

The invitation had been sincere, but she had put no weight on it. Ana would have enjoyed the company, but had planned to be without and could just as easily continue to do so. It would have been nice to talk. Disappointment crept over her; perhaps she had put more weight on it than she meant.

"Ah, how unfortunate for me!" She smiled and let a little pout show through. If Niccolette had accepted right away, Ana might have been disappointed as well. In a different way, of course. The offer had been friendly, mostly. "I will have to find some way to carry on." She smoothed her hands over her skirt and shifted her posture.

Perhaps, then, she would just take lunch in her room. The idea of dining alone and in public wearied her. Every blue uniform she saw made her just a little more so. It wasn't as if she cared for the circumstances of each and every one of them; they just all made her thoughts turn towards her Birdie. She did that enough already; any more and it would truly tip to madness.

Ana hadn't been sure if Niccolette's appointment was real. It was a convenient sort of lie, and she wouldn't have minded it. Ana rarely found her invitations rejected, of course, but they had been in the past and in less tidy ways Niccolette had managed. The offer of dinner surprised her. Not unpleasantly so, not in the least. Dinner was perhaps even better than lunch would have been. There was some time to return to her room and change, then, perhaps into something less severe.

Ana paused to consider. She had no evening plans, beyond waiting for her sister to become available. There was something frustrating about having to wait to see her own sister, but she could be patient. Too much interruption would only be selfish, and for the moment Aurelie was still beholden to the University and their desires. The prospect of a long evening alone held very little appeal.

"Impossible," Ana said with a laugh. "Dinner it is then." The laughter stayed in her face. There had been a brief consideration that she should turn the invitation down, but the pretense didn't suit her. There was no point in playing that sort of game when there was no expectation that she would have enough time to play it to the end. That wasn't coy, it was just stubbornness.

"Shall I plan to meet you there, then? I don't think that I've ever been to the Partridge and the Quince, at least not in many years." She knew of it. Small and elegant; a place for for faculty and guests of some distinction, not one of the more rambunctious (and markedly less costly) establishments favored by students. Something less drab than her daytime attire would certainly be called for, then. For the venue, and for the company. Pleasant excitement buzzed over her. It had been a long time since she had an engagement to actually look forward to. She didn't mind letting her pleasure at the invitation show. Ana leaned closer, though not by much.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Mid Afternoon, 15 Dentis, 2719
Second Floor, Brunnhold Library

Had Ana been the least been petulant or sulky, Niccolette would not have made the offer to meet instead for dinner; but the Anaxi accepted her declining with the same pleasant grace as she had made the offer, responding with words of disappointment paired with fairly light emotion, and an easy sort of smile.

And so – Niccolette offered. Ana made her wait, just a moment, although Niccolette had been rather certain as to what the answer would be. She did not mind the wait; her lips curled up in even more of a smile than she had had before, which did not fade at Ana’s soft laugh.

Niccolette glanced at the clock. Her right hand settled delicately against her waist, curling against it. She turned to Ana with a smile. “Yes, I suppose… twenty five o’clock, if it suits?” The Bastian raised her eyebrows lightly, still smiling. It would give her the time she required for him, and perhaps a bit more beside, but Niccolette knew better than to think she could plead a prior engagement for dinner and go.

“It is quite charming,” Niccolette said with a grin. “I am quite lucky to be allowed in,” she offered a delicate shrug. “The owner was very good to forgive rather a wicked incident in my youth, involving a bottle or two of priceless Bastian wine.” Now – many, many years later – the thought of it brought a smile to Niccolette’s face, and rather a wide one.

It was not unpleasant to think of the fury she had felt as a girl at the bottles of Villamarzana wine; neither was it unpleasant to think of the evening she had passed not long later – the one which had, rather unfortunately, been how they had known her for the thief – with a certain Rhys Valentin. That had been the last bottle of Villamarzana wine Niccolette had had in Anaxas, at least until last Yaris; if, she thought dryly, the airspace over the country counted. It was rather hard to judge; she thought perhaps they had nearly been over the Tincta Basta by then.

Uzoji had never tried it. Niccolette was not sure if she minded or not; it was an ache, but an ache like a pinprick. It weighed so little next to all the rests, and she found she could put it aside. She let go of herself; her hands curled back into her lap.

“If Giuseppe sees us tonight,” Niccolette said, with a wicked little smile as she looked at Ana, “I am sure you shall hear all about my schoolgirl charms, or perhaps the lack thereof. I find myself hoping that he has some other business to occupy him, and shall not be found bustling about the kitchen or the restaurant. Unfortunately, his cooking is even better than his memory.”

[caporushes]

15th of Dentis, 2719 - Mid-Afternoon
Brunnhold Library, Second Floor

Twenty-five o'clock--yes, that would do. Time enough for Ana to continue her pointless errand, and to change into something more suitable. Her wardrobe at Brunnhold was limited; she had not the room or desire to bring everything with her, of course. But she had thought at least to bring a few things that would be appropriate, some things more flattering than the somber wool ensemble she had on at the moment. Less again by way of ornamentation--but that would just have to do. A pity, but unavoidable.

"Twenty-five o'clock is perfect," Ana agreed with a smile. There was genuine pleasure in it. The opportunities for an engagement that she actually would be looking forward to had been rare since her return to Anaxas. Even before the start of her quest for legal aid, even before so many of her usual set had decided that she had finally crossed a line. Ten years away had not felt so long, but it was long enough. She had left all of her real friends behind her. The relationship she had with Niccolette was nothing so deep or weighty, but Ana enjoyed her company. And the Bastian had not asked about her parents, did not seem to know all of her business. That was pleasant enough by itself.

Both her eyebrows arched with a sort of delighted interest. Ana had not known Niccolette then, but she thought she knew her well enough now to be intrigued. She laughed a little, imagining a much younger--and, quite possibly more reckless--Niccolette. Ana brought a hand to cover her mouth when she did so, but in the hush of the library there was no disguising the sound.

"It sounds very much like that is why you're allowed in," Ana said with a glitter to her eyes. "After all, if you never came by, when would he have the opportunity to tell the story? And it sounds like it's a good one."

Ana tilted her head just a little. A lock of dark red hair, left free for artful softness, settled across her face. "I can't imagine you were ever much lacking in charms." She let the statement linger; a bit much, perhaps, for the quiet mid-afternoon library. Her smile lingered for just a moment before she turned to look at the books on the table instead.

All around them there were the soft sounds of schoolchildren ignoring their studies, the turning of pages. The smell of leather and paper and academia. Soothing, despite her animosity for the institution in which it was all housed. For just a moment, Ana felt a quiet sort of longing. She was not unhappy now, not even with the difficulty of the path she had set herself on. But things had been different then. Simpler, although she wouldn't have believed anyone who told her so. Nostalgia, that's all this was--a toxic emotion. Useless. Ana set it aside and focused instead on the current moment.