[Mature] My Color Comes Back

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

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

Niccolette had giggled when Ana fluttered her eyelashes; she had not expected to, in the least. It rose bright in her chest and bubbled out of her, and the Bastian covered her mouth with her hand, smiling with her eyes still, the faintest hint of color on her cheeks. It lasted only a moment, but it banished that faint lingering knowing from her eyes, and left something almost tender in the edge of her smile, for that little while.

“A true pleasure, Ms. Steerpike,” Giuseppe said, kissing Ana’s hand with all the proper impropriety made famous in Florne. “Just returned! I shall eagerly await your thoughts on this place.”

There was a brief pause; Giuseppe began to straighten up.

“Will you not join us?” Niccolette asked; this is a courtesy she doesn’t mind as much as others she could name. They have played out this little dance more than once; she thought of the time she first brought Uzoji here, and then put it carefully, deliberately aside. She shot a faint, apologetic glance at Ana instead, the barest gleam of it in her eyes. “Just for a few moments; I am sure you must be terribly busy.”

Giuseppe beamed. “So kind of you to ask! Just a few moments – naturally – ” There is a brief flutter of movement from the waiters, before one of them deposited a third chair at the table. Giuseppe sat, easily, his legs crossed at the knee, a glass of a crisp looking white wind in one hand.

“Now,” Giuseppe said, swirling the wine in his glass. “Please, please, eat! I am no hatcher, to keep you from your food! You must, you simply must.”

Niccolette was grinning, more despite herself; it was very nearly at Giuseppe, although he was smiling so widely that such a thing felt nearly impossible. She took another neat bite of one of the polpette.

Giuseppe leaned forward, raising thick, dark, expressive eyebrows. “So? Pleease, ladies, spare me this misery! I am on the edge of my seat.”

Niccolette paused, as if thoughtful; she let the moment stretch on. “I shall continue to speak highly of you,” she said, finally, setting her fork down with a smile.

Giuseppe laughed, loud and boisterous in the small candlelit room. “And you, Ms. Steerpike?” He turned to smile at Ana.

The conversation meandered on, briefly, and then wound, slowly and steadily, as Niccolette had known it would, around to the subject of the wine bottle.

“Now,” Giuseppe said, taking another sip of his wine. “You must remember that I was but a young man, with considerably more hair and very little experience with these students,” he smiled; that his hair was still thick and dark seemed not to register in the least. “For me! For me, the story begins with a rare shipment of wine. From Bastia, naturally. We had set the crate out on the bar – one of my sommeliers was beginning to put the wines away, when he was called across the restaurant, abruptly. When he returned! When he returned, he found two bottles of wine missing.” His eyebrows lifted. “A rather rare vintage – a 2700 Terenadetto, not actually a purchase but a gift from another winemaker.”

“Well!” Giuseppe shrugged, spreading his hands out wide; the white wine in the glass jumped, but did not overtake the rim. “What could I do? Such things happen; the young man had been quite sure he’d seen the bottles, but, alas. I reported the theft to the school, naturally, but did not expect much to come of it.”

Niccolette took her glass of wine, lifting it to her mouth, and took a delicate sip of the dark red, still smiling.

Giuseppe grinned. “Imagine my surprise when weeks later, a messenger tells me the bottles have been found! Smashed to pieces on one of the paths. They bring me to meet the little culprit,” he turned to Niccolette with a fond grin. “This little gattina. She does not deny it for a second, and she utterly refuses to apologize!” He laughed again.

“I did drink most of a bottle before dropping them off the roof,” Niccolette said, casually. She took another sip of the wine. “I was, perhaps, not in the most sober state.”

“And yet so charming,” Giuseppe said with a smile.

“I am sorry you never had the chance to try the wine,” Niccolette shrugged. “It was quite a good vintage; I let it settle a bit before drinking it, of course, so the disturbances of the journey had time to fade.”

Giuseppe laughed aloud. “I did, in fact,” he said, then smiling.

Niccolette glanced at him, sharply; she set her wine glass down, eyebrows lifting.

“I did not make the connection at the time, I am embarrassed to say,” Giuseppe said, turning to Ana with a smile. “Little Niccolette Villamarzana, as she was known then. The bottles, to me, were Terenadettos; by the time I found out what had become of them, I had forgotten entirely they were Villamarzana wine.”

“Your father sent me a crate,” Giuseppe added, lightly, looking back at Niccolette, “along with a note.”

“Did he,” Niccolette said, quietly. Her hands were together in her lap, beneath the table; nothing but a faint, even smile showed on her face. "How was the wine?"

“I sent it back unopened, I am afraid,” Giuseppe said, lightly. He smiled at her. “My dear gattina. No,” he was quiet. “Not so much a gattina anymore, are you? A tigruccia, instead, and not so much mine.”

“You never mentioned it,” Niccolette said. Her hand came back up to the table, and curled, lightly, around the stem of the wine glass.

Giuseppe shrugged. “Because it spoke much more of him than you.” He took her hand, lightly, in his, and squeezed.

Niccolette’s lips twitched; it was a brief flicker of a smile, but it caught and held. She turned to Ana, raising her eyebrows. “Well,” she said, clearing her throat. “Are you thoroughly dismayed by my scandalous past?” She grinned, finding her balance once more.

[caporushes]

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

Ana had always kept her mannerisms distinctly Anaxi, but wasn't uncomfortable with that showiness so characteristic of Florne. There was some value in being so distinctly foreign in one's social circles after all. A kind of novelty that could be a great advantage, if one was clever and delicate about the application. "Please--the pleasure is all mine."

There had been no question that the man would join them. Ana had been promised a story, after all. Niccolette gave her a look of apology and Ana deflected it as unneeded with the smallest of gestures. A third chair was brought swiftly by a waiter who placed it and disappeared. Ana took her seat again after Guiseppe did the same. She hadn't seen the wine come into his hand; that too seemed terribly Bastian. She was charmed, utterly.

Charmed too by watching the easy rapport between the man and Niccolette. The fondness of it made her smile, though she couldn't have quite said why. She didn't need to be told twice to continue her meal; the little she'd had was very good. Another bite disappeared, followed by yet another after Guiseppe turned to her. "And I shall have to start," she assured him.

The conversation flowed around them. Ana kept that brightness in her face. It wasn't difficult; Guiseppe was charming and Ana was well-practiced. Eventually the topic turned to the wine bottles, just as Niccolette had promised. The Bastian man was quite the storyteller, animated and expressive as he spoke. He had a receptive audience in Ana, the generous curves of her mouth and manicured arches of her eyebrows providing no small amount of feedback. She laughed aloud at the image of teenaged Niccolette, an unapologetic wildcat of a girl, being brought in for her crimes against Bastian wine. Her glanced crossed over to the woman now for just a moment before it flicked back to Guiseppe.

For this part of the story, Ana restrained her reactions. It seemed less a story now, for this part. The edge of her gold gaze fixed once more on Niccolette, though she didn't turn her face from Guiseppe. Villamarzana... The name tugged at something in the back of Ana's mind that refused to be placed. A name she had heard, although she couldn't quite remember the context. She considered and sorted through the stores of her memory. When the fingers of Niccolette's hand came to curl around the stem of her glass, Ana found it at last.

She had absolutely heard the name Villamarzana. Not in connection to Niccolette before, not directly--Ana had never known her maiden name until now. They were certainly the sort of family that hers had always kept track of; "important" as her mother would have put it, by which she would have meant wealthy. But she had heard whispers of a daughter, and more of whether or not she was a daughter any longer. Little pieces of conversations they had before this moment came to her and made more sense all at once. Yes, she could certainly imagine Niccolette being such a daughter to a prestigious enough family. One that felt as if they had a child to spare, maybe. Or that a crime too great to bear had been committed against them. Ana wondered idly what it could have been.

Something to bring up, perhaps, at a future time. If there was a future time. Her own parents would never have disinherited her, even if they were alive to witness what Ana was attempting to do now. That they hadn't the spine to do so, especially not after Aurelie, was something Ana had taken too long to realize. If she had... Well. She hadn't, and it mattered no longer. She had played their perfect and only daughter well enough.

Ana put the thought to the back of her mind and turned her attention once more to the woman seated across from her. Names, she resolved, hardly mattered at this moment. Not Villamarzana, not Ibutatu either--just Niccolette. Ana found a wide grin easily enough to return. Her head tilted to one side, considering.

"Utterly," she assured Niccolette. Her expression spoke truth to the lie. "And here you tried to promise me this story would dissuade me of any notions I had of your schoolgirl charms." There was a light in her eyes as she looked across the table and took a sip of her dark red wine. It seemed for all the world as if she had forgotten Guiseppe entirely, so focused was her attention. Perhaps she had.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

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

Something went across Niccolette’s face; it was not even a flicker, not quite. It was there, and then gone, and her smile as smooth and rich as if it had never been interrupted. The Bastian did not shift in her seat; she did not inhale; her long fingers did not tighten on the stem of the wine glass. She didn’t frown, not really; she didn’t even quite look away. But something was there, for a moment, something ever so slightly pinched.

But once it was gone, it was thoroughly gone, and Niccolette laughed, softly, sitting back against her seat. “I was really quite wicked,” she said, insistently, smiling, laughter threaded through her voice. “Was I not?” She turned to Giuseppe, raising her eyebrows.

“Oh, yes, absolutely,” Giuseppe smiled at her once more, and at Ana as well.

He did not linger much longer; a waiter came up the stairs, and whispered politely in his ear. He rose; he bowed over both of their hands, kissing them each with a soft, dry brush of his lips. “Enjoy your evening, Ms. Steerpike, Niccolette.”

"Thank you, Giuseppe," Niccolette said, smiling.

He smiled back at her, fondly, and then he was off, striding through the restaurant.

The chair and the wineglass were whisked away as unobtrusively as they had been deposited.

Niccolette laughed, a little curl of breath; she ran her fingers through her hair, combing it back off her forehead. She had eaten some of the polpette, at least, a meatball or two and some of the vegetables, and a bit of rice mixed with the gravy; she had set her fork down before Giuseppe began his story, and had not quite look at it since.

“You see? He enjoys it too much to deprive him,” Niccolette said, with a little grin. Her hands settled into her lap, together; there was a little tension in her arms. Her gaze flicked to the window, and went back to Ana, studying the other woman’s lovely face. She felt oddly bare, and a bit cold, as if the dark orange silk was suddenly transparent, and her skin all rippled with gooseflesh.

Niccolette had learned a decade and a half ago that shame was something one could not be made to feel. No one could put it on you; it came from within. If you refused it, if you did not allow it, there could be no shame. These last months had tested her, and tested her again, worse than any dueling failures on the Lawn or in Vienda, deeper and more intimately. This did not; here, Niccolette knew – had learned, steadily, and over many years – there should be no shame.

The Bastian’s teeth dragged, lightly, over one lip; the color had faded a little, bits of it left here and there soft on the wineglass, and a little more eroded away with the meal. She smiled at Ana once more; she acknowledged those feelings inside her, and made her peace with them. “I cannot help thinking of your misadventures at Anastou,” Niccolette said. The wine glasses had been refilled, once more, finishing the bottle, as they talked with Giuseppe. Niccolette had not drank much of her third glass, but she ran her finger around the base once more, slow and steady. She looked at Ana, and she smiled, a little frank and a little crooked.

[caporushes]

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

Guiseppe didn't linger long after the story had been told. Ana bid him good evening as he departed, the smile on her face not in the least false. A good storyteller was one of Vita's great treasures, after all. The chair and wine vanished with barely a whisper as if they had never been there at all.

"It would have been terrible cruel, I do see that now." Another laugh followed her agreement, another bit of her wine. The glasses had been refilled at some point, though she wasn't sure when. Ana couldn't quite remember how empty her glass had been before. Not more than half, she thought. But she couldn't be sure. The dry darkness lingered in her mouth as she considered Niccolette's sharply lovely face and her posture as she sat back in her chair. The painted color on Niccolette's lips had started to wear off through the course of dinner.

Ana's own mouth quirked in a sudden wicked thought; she kept it to herself, out of consideration for the setting they were in. The form of respectability, if perhaps not the function. Ana didn't much care for the opinions of others, not these strangers she would forget as soon as they were out of her view. It wasn't shame that kept her under such rigid control, that kept her just on edge of propriety, nor was it fear of censure. No, if Lilliana Steerpike had ever felt such a thing it had been a fleeting emotion easily forgotten. There was just a certain practicality in keeping to the outward expectations placed on a woman of her station. As long as it didn't stand between her and something she wanted more, of course.

That crooked smile brought renewed warmth to Ana's pale face. "Is that so?" Her eyelids dropped; she had painted them lightly with a dusty rose cream that deepened the effect and caught a snatch of the candlelight. The shade of her long eyelashes, darkened with a judicious application of kohl, darkened the gold of her irises almost to bronze. Something a little like hunger came over her face. Ana didn't pay the slightest bit of attention to her dinner, though she had eaten only half. One of her hands came to reach across the table to touch Niccolette's at last, light and purposeful.

"I have a guest room for the night, on campus. And wine still, I believe, I had brought intending to share with an old professor who turned out to be unavailable. Not so fine as this," Ana said with a smile and withdrawal of her hand back to her half of the small table, "but it would be a better venue, perhaps, for me to tell you about them. If you should like." Her smile was easy and confident as she looked to Niccolette for a response.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 15 Dentis, 2719
Ana's Room, Brunnhold Campus

Niccolette watched with a smile the slow warming of Ana’s cheeks; it widened a little as the other woman looked down. Her finger still traced along the edge of the wineglass; her hand stopped and held beneath Ana’s drifting light touch, and she felt the warmth of the other woman’s fingertips tingling against her skin.

Niccolette smiled; color rose on her cheeks as well, all natural. As if there had still been any doubt; Niccolette wore no blush nor powder, not tonight, not with the way the other woman’s touched warmed unexpectedly through her, and blossomed on her face.

Ana withdrew her hand, gently.

“Yes,” Niccolette said, smiling. “I would be glad to share a bit more wine; I am sure it has a…” she smiled a little more; it was her turn to look down, for just a moment, and back up, with a careful broadening of her smile; her cheeks reddened just a touch more, “lovely taste.” The Bastian said, very softly.

Panagiotis refused, staunchly, any efforts to pay for the wine, with a smile that said it had not been his decision to make. Niccolette paid for the rest of the meal, and they left what they had not finished behind. It was cold outside, a crisp evening following a warm enough day; there was the faint taste of rain in the air, and a drifting of clouds blurring already-hazy stars on the horizon.

Niccolette found she was smiling as she stepped out of the warm, well-lit restaurant into the evening; leaves and gravel crunched softly beneath her boots. She breathed in the cold air, shivering, and drew the folds of her cloak over herself. She glanced around the lantern-lit path, and back at Ana, and smiled, a little wider. “After you,” Niccolette said.

She let the Anaxi lead her, through the winding paths that led from the Partridge and the Quince towards the guest rooms, deeper into the campus. Once or twice they ducked beneath branches; once or twice, they were out of sight of all the rest, quiet, secret moments.

Once, carefully, in such a place, Niccolette reached forward to brush Ana’s hand with her fingers, as if to emphasize whatever words were coming out of her mouth. She lingered, just a moment; but there were voices, then, bright, chattering student voices, coming from around the bend, and Niccolette eased her hand back with a smile. There was nothing to give them away as they passed the students.

There was no time alone, then, as they rejoined the main paths; it was early enough in the evening that a handful of students were still making their ways to class beneath the bright lights, books clutched to chests, bags held tight; others were hurrying into the dining halls, or coming out more languidly. A group of boys walked past with a burst of loud laughter, shoving one another boisterously, ties askew.

They veered away, again, and Ana led her down the hall into the guest wing. Niccolette stood back, slightly, as the Anaxi unlocked the door; she followed her into the small bedroom.

Niccolette held, for just a moment, at the door; she reached to shut it behind herself, but it was Ana she was looking at. Carefully, very carefully, Niccolette closed the space between them; she kissed Ana, softly, one hand settling lightly on her side.

“Have I overstepped?” Niccolette asked, softly, easing back. She smiled again, a little crookedly, a blush of color on her cheeks once more. Ana tasted of tomato and herbs, and faintly of wine; Niccolette felt entirely drunk, but she thought it had very little to do with the Palazzi do Terre.

[caporushes]

15th of Dentis, 2719 - Evening
Ana's Guest Room, Brunnhold Campus

The cold bit in to her arms as they left the restaurant. Ana had dressed more for form than function, even she could admit that. Or rather, a form that followed a very distinctly different function than protection from the elements. That purpose she thought it had accomplished handily enough. The idea warmed her sufficiently enough to start leading the way to her room. The dark coat she fastened more closely around her did less.

They spoke on the walk over. Ana kept her voice low and quiet in respect to the hour. She knew the students that occupied the whole of the campus weren't so considerate, but she did it anyway. Quiet voices and moments of darkness beneath the shelter of trees made Ana want to quicken her pace, but she knew better. There was nothing good to be gained by being too hurried. Her steps were even and measured. She even stopped to roll her eyes at the group of boys as they passed, though half a smile lingered on her face. Her chatter stayed acceptable, should ears overhear them--most of the time.

"Here we are," Ana declared brightly. The key to the door was somewhere in the pocket of her coat. She carefully removed her gloves, kid leather and dyed to match her coat, and placed them in her left pocket before taking the key out of her right. It was quieter, if only just, here in the guest wing. More adults than children, Ana thought dryly, tended to have that effect.

The room was without much to recommend it, but it was perhaps slightly nicer than one might have expected for a woman of no obvious importance to the University itself. The perks of an old family with deep pockets--the Steerpikes had made significant financial donations to the institution over the years. Brunnhold had a long memory. The bedroom was small but well-furnished; there was a fireplace, unlit when they arrived but with a neat stack of wood next to it. The bedspread itself was similarly neat as a pin, though it certainly hadn't been when she left. There was a free-standing wardrobe, for her clothes, and a similarly small bathroom that adjoined. In the corner was a single chair and a small side table, where the promised bottle of wine sat. Two glasses were set carefully next to it, though she hadn't known she would have need of both of them. To the side of the room was a desk, which had also been much less neat when Ana had left for dinner.

Ana's full mouth pulled down into a frown, thinking of blue-uniformed hands straightening the chaos of her papers and texts. Had it been--no, it wouldn't have been Aurelie. Aurelie had left before Ana had dressed. She had made certain of that. Someone else must have done it while she was out. Some tension had been in her shoulders; it released at the thought.

Niccolette lingered in the doorway while Ana busied herself with turning on a lamp mounted to the wall. Blue light washed over the room. When she had finished, she turned back to look at her. The Bastian woman shut the door behind her; Ana smiled. She hadn't been quite sure what to expect when they had made it this far, and was pleasantly surprised when Niccolette closed the space between them. Ana hadn't entirely figured her for the shy type, but one could never be certain. There was a difference, after all, between the public sphere of a party or even dinner and how one felt behind closed doors. Ana had been disappointed by many a bold would-be paramour who turned shrinking violet when out of public view.

Ana had returned the kiss enthusiastically enough, if just as soft. When Niccolette eased away, Ana had laughed at the question. It was not an unkind sound. That Niccolette had not chosen to wear much more than a light dusting of powder was evident now as color spread across her face.

"Not at all," Ana said through the laughter. "Although--I really do have wine, if you should like." One well-manicured hand gestured to the small side table where it sat, with the two glasses. Ana smiled at Niccolette, her face tilted down slightly. One hand lazily drifted up her side. The choice, truly, was Niccolette's--the wine, and everything else. Such a pretty face, and just her type--Ana was just as happy to continue conversation over the wine on the table as she was to do anything else.

"Please do sit, if you would like." Ana gestured to the chair with her free hand. The other didn't leave Niccolette.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 15 Dentis, 2719
Ana's Room, Brunnhold Campus

Ana laughed, and Niccolette felt the color on her cheeks heighten. It wasn’t the least unpleasant; she was smiling, quite broadly, despite the laughter and the blush. There was something almost schoolgirlish about it; Niccolette did not feel young, nor in the least inexperienced, but she felt uninhibited, as she had, once, when she was too young to know any better. It was not a feeling easy to reclaim; she held onto it, tight and did not think of second-guessing.

Ana gestured to the table, and said she did have wine, in the end; Niccolette laughed, too, despite the faint pinch of surprise. She found she did not quite know how to say she hadn’t thought otherwise; she felt, again, a strange and unpleasant sort of surprise that Ana would feel the need to clarify. But she did not know how to say it; more importantly, still, there was no need at all to do so, not, she thought, on either side. Ana smiled down at her; one hand settled, gently against her side, and the other offered her the choice of a chair.

Niccolette did not so much as look away; she was still smiling with all the warmth of the laughter that had rippled between them, and the warmth of Ana’s fingers, perceptible through her dress and all the layers beneath. “Perhaps later,” she murmured, quietly, without the least indication of whether she meant sitting or the wine, and without in the least truly caring whether either would happen. Her chin lifted slightly, and she looked up to meet the taller woman’s gaze, and smiled once more, more than a little wicked. Niccolette’s fingers curled lightly into the fabric of Ana’s dress, holding on. She kissed her again, more firmly this time, and she closed the last of the distance between them.

It was cold in the room with the fire unlit, very cold. Niccolette was scarcely aware of it; there was too much else to focus on. Her cloak pooled on the floor, first, half on top of Ana’s; the two of them found their way by touch and taste, washed in the blue phosphor light. If Niccolette’s fingers were stiff with cold, she found ways to warm them before they went to the task of laces, buttons and ties; there was a thick carpet on the floor, so that when boots joined cloaks bare feet did not have to worry about the pinch of cold.

Niccolette let herself flow into the current of the desire pooled between them; she held nothing back, far more intoxicated by the passion than the all the excellent Bastian wine she had drank. It was simple and easy; it was a warmth like being free. In the end there was heat enough between them, and no hesitation to cool or temper it; in the end Niccolette dissolved into it, and was warmed all through.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

15th of Dentis, 2719 - Late Evening | Ana's Room, Brunnhold Campus

Aurelie had to apologize.

She didn't want to apologize. Which meant that she wanted to apologize for that, as well. She should want to apologize, shouldn't she? To not want to was proof of character failing. And yet, she couldn't seem to want to make the initial apology, no matter how much she scolded herself. Around and around again the thoughts went. If it had been someone else, Aurelie would have been content to take the coward's way out--after all, she knew that the other party would never demand she say anything. But it was Ana, so surely that meant she had to try? Or didn't it? There was no procedure she knew to follow. Never in her life had Aurelie been so angry with her sister before.

As she stood in front of her cutting board, regret washed over her. Yes, the conversation could have... could have gone better. But. But it was--why did she--

"Ouch!" Aurelie yelped; she had cut her finger instead of the potato. A few curious eyes turned her way, a few eyebrows raised. Aurelie smiled and shrugged; they turned back to their work. Her breath released. She needed to calm down.

"I spoke to a lawyer, after I left. He seems to think we could make a case. I'm not sure if--"

Ana had hesitated, there in her small, well-appointed guest room. Aurelie had been standing in the door, unsure of how far into the room she could really go. Ana gestured impatiently at her to sit, and she did so with a sort of mechanical stiffness. Ana stood next to her and a hand smoothed over her hair. Aurelie leaned into that touch, familiar and strange at once. Motherly, Aurelie thought, though if she ever described her sister as such to anyone else she knew they would laugh. Protective might have been more the word for it.

"Ana, why did you--I already said, didn't I? I can't--it's not--" Aurelie was still leaning into Ana's hand; with a frustrated sigh, Ana removed it. The loss of it seemed greater than not having had it there at all. Aurelie's eyes had almost closed. She turned to look at Ana now, who frowned at her. Something dropped in the pit of her stomach. Her sister's field was unreadable as it had been before, a crystalline wall.

"I didn't come here to argue about this Birdie. Just to tell you that I--I've been in legal consultation. I think there's something I can do." Aurelie opened her mouth to protest, and Ana waved her hand. "I know you're worried about me, and it's sweet of you. It really is. But Aura, darling, you don't need to be. You can't possibly hurt me."

That should have made her feel better. Aurelie knew that had been what Ana wanted, to make her feel better. So it should have made her feel... something. Anything, other than this... this...! Aurelie's knife came down again hard, the sound seeming to reverberate through the kitchen. Nobody turned to look this time, so it must have been quieter than she thought. This wasn't helping, thinking about it. She would finish her work, and she would apologize to her sister afterwards, and everything would be fine. Maybe there was a way to make her listen. Ana had to listen. Maybe she just hadn't said it the right way, or...

Or she will never listen, because why would she want to hear any of the nonsense that comes out of your mouth? The voice in the back of her mind was so much more confident than the rest of her. A deep breath in and out; she wanted to run her bracelet under her fingers, the way she did so often now, but she would get her blood on it and had work to do yet that needed the use of her hands. Besides which, that had been part of the whole-- No, she didn't need to think about that. A few more breaths and she felt steady enough to keep at the work. She would get lost in it, the repetition and the familiarity of it, and the hours would pass. When her work was finished and Matron gave her permission to leave, Aurelie turned not towards dinner and a bath but towards the winding path to the guest room Ana was staying in.

Apologize. She would do that first, and then--and then she could do the rest. Perhaps if she apologized, she could explain herself, and then Ana would understand. Then Ana would hear her. Oh, she would, wouldn't she? Because Ana loved her, she had to-- Anxiety twisted in her heart. She wasn't so certain that her sister's love was infinite after all. And if even Ana didn't love her, then nobody did, and--

Apologies first. Anxieties later.

The path led her at last to her sister's temporary door. Aurelie stood for long, fretful minutes. She would turn around and leave; no, she wouldn't. She would stay and she would make things right. However she needed to. Whatever Ana needed to hear. If Ana wanted her to be a child then-- Well, then Aurelie didn't know what she would do. But they would figure it out, together. Wouldn't they? The time stretched and Aurelie went back and forth in her mind, in her path. In the end, she took a deep breath, steadied herself, and opened the door...

...To find that she really, really should have knocked.

Wrapped up as she was inside her own head, she simply hadn't thought. Had rejected thinking, in fact, knowing that if she thought too much she would never have spoken to her sister at all. She hadn't considered the hour, and she certainly hadn't considered--

"OhbellsandchimesI'msosorryI--" Aurelie squeaked, clapped her hands to her face and spun around to close the door with a click that was far, far too loud. Her entire face was alight. She hadn't seen--well she had seen too much. Her sister was very pale, and so was the other woman. Were they getting dressed, or undressed? Certainly neither had their corset on-- Ana was built very differently from her-- Aurelie's mind fizzled out and popped, overwhelmed. From behind her she heard movement. Rustling of fabric, though it sounded like--perhaps not like clothing. That would have been too fast. Oh bells and chimes. Clocking-- Alioe--

"Aurelie! What are you doing here, Birdie?" Aurelie's eyes pinched shut. Yes, what was she doing here? Other than making everything worse?

"I wanted to--to apologize, er, for... earlier, I wasn't... I just wanted you to... I'm so sorry, I didn't see anything! Well that's not true, ah, but I mean... uhm! I'm sorry, er, ma'am. Ana. Uhm." She should leave, but she didn't want to open the door. Not yet, anyway. What if there was someone in the hall now? She was lucky there hadn't been before. Instead she pressed her head against the dark wood, kept her eyes closed, and wished very, very fervently for the ground to open up and swallow her.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 15 Dentis, 2719
Ana's Room, Brunnhold Campus

It was not, in fact, the quiet click of the door opening that Niccolette heard; she was rather preoccupied.

The high-pitched squeak of words which emerged from somewhere near the door, on the other hand, Niccolette heard very well indeed, followed by the loud thud of the door shutting rather quickly.

The Bastian sat up, breathing slightly hard. A sharp pulse of tension went through her field, a quick sharp sigil more instinctive than anything; as intertwined as her field was with Ana’s, she knew the other galdor would feel the sudden brightness well. She exhaled it out at the sight of the small figure clad in a passive’s uniform trembling against the door, her lips quirking in a faintly amused smile.

Asked at that moment, Niccolette would have confidently guessed the girl had been given instructions to clean the room or some other errand to a nearby room, and had chosen a particularly inopportune moment.

It was the deep, sudden stillness of Ana next to her which made her think twice. Aurelie, Ana called the girl - standing, Niccolette could not help but notice, with both hands clasped over her face - and then, much more surprisingly, Birdie.

Niccolette shifted delicately on the bed; although not precisely shy, she was growing to realize that this would likely not be resolved quite as quickly as she might have hoped. The Bastian reached for one of the smaller blankets disarranged at the foot of the bed, and draped it over herself, tucking it in wordlessly beneath her armpits.

The passive Aurelie was talking, very quickly, doubling back on the insistence she hadn’t seen anything the moment it passed her lips, still facing the shut door. Even in the pale blue light, with the girl’s head tilted forward, Niccolette could see the telltale signs of a deep red blush on the back of her neck. Niccolette suppressed a faint, amused smile. She was not in the least embarrassed. That too was sort of shame no one could force upon you, and she was thoroughly of the opinion that she had no reason to be.

She was, admittedly, rather curious, and she rather felt there was ample reason for that. The Bastian said nothing, but she turned to Ana, and raised both eyebrows in a silent expression of said curiosity. She did not move to touch the other woman, nor to make any sort of claim on her; she held the blanket in place with right hand, and combed the fingers of her left through her well-mussed hair, wedding ring glinting lightly as she pushed the tangle of locks back off her forehead. She at least managed to tame the smile to something neutral; she was no so distracted as to fail to understand - or to feel - that Ana was rather deeply affected.

[caporushes]

15th of Dentis, 2719 - An Inconvenient Time
Ana's Room, Brunnhold Campus

This was not how Ana had expected this evening to end. She had not heard the door, but the sound of that familiar-unfamiliar voice of her sister's coming from the front of the room made Ana's attention snap suddenly towards it. The last thing she had wanted to see was her small blue-clad figure, and yet, there she was. There was a sharp pulse from Niccolette, a sudden flare of sharp light from that distinctly un-healing aura. Ana lost her composure entirely, shock clear in the shift of her field. It was possible even Aurelie could feel it and understand it. There was not much distance between the bed and the door, after all. Ana's control slammed down, but it was incomplete. Even if she had not gone still and tense, her discomfort would have been read handily enough.

Niccolette shifted away and Ana let her; she had not yet turned to look at her. Ana's eyes were fixed on Aurelie, who had turned to face the door. After squeaking and stammering some apology. Ana was not a woman given to vulgar language, but the temptation was strong.

"Aurelie! What are you doing here, Birdie?" It was simply all she could think of to say. Her voice had been more harsh than she intended.

Ana's eyes flicked away then to Niccolette. She had reached for a blanket to wrap around herself. Near the bed was a robe, meant to be worn over a nightgown. It was thin, and hid very little, but Ana threw it on with haste. There was something so utterly mortifying about it being Aurelie who had wandered in. Had she been any other passive, would Ana had felt such a need to cover herself up? Niccolette certainly seemed calm enough. This was good, because Ana had no spare thought for her feelings. All of her attention and energy was targeted squarely to the small shoulders of her baby sister. The back of her neck was so red, Ana could see it even in the dark.

"I wanted to--to apologize, er, for... earlier, I wasn't... I just wanted you to... I'm so sorry, I didn't see anything! Well that's not true, ah, but I mean... uhm! I'm sorry, er, ma'am. Ana. Uhm."

"Apologize--Oh. Oh Birdie, you..."

Finding herself so at a loss was rare. So sweet, her sister. And she shouldn't have seen--it was inappropriate. Not just as her sister, but did Aurelie even understand what she had walked in on? Ana frowned. She might. She thought, earlier, of the tension over her bracelet. The frown sharpened. Something of it honed the edges of her field, as well. A problem for another time. For now, Ana remained half-perched on the end of the rumpled bedspread. She glanced to Niccolette, who looked at her with eyebrows raised in silent question. If the other woman had moved any closer, Ana didn't think she could have stood it. But no, she stayed blessedly distant. One less thing for her to concern herself with.

Ana's eyes closed and she inhaled. A long, deep breath. They opened again, and some of the tension had left the lines of her expression. She could not keep it, quite, from the set of her shoulders.

"Niccolette, this is my sister." There was a squeak again from the door. Ana could not for the life of her place what that sound meant. Was she--ashamed, to be identified so? No, that couldn't possibly be it. If anyone had any face to lose... Well. Besides, the sound had come after "Niccolette", not "sister". How very, very strange. Time enough to ask her about that later, she supposed. If there was a later.

"Aura--Birdie, I--" Ana huffed a frustrated sigh. The girl's timing really couldn't have been worse. A hand came to press at her temples; she could feel the beginnings of a headache. If Niccolette thought anything of her admission, Ana could deal with that then. It wasn't as if the evening could go more off-track than it already had. That was a grim sort of comfort.

"I'm sorry," Aurelie offered again from the doorway. "I can--I can leave, er, I really don't want to interrupt, I just wanted t-to talk to you, a-about earlier today. When, er, ah. To apologize f-for getting so-- and t-tell you-- explain--" Aurelie's babbling stopped, eventually. Ana didn't quite know what to say to that. But--she had something to tell her? Perhaps, at last, sense had seen fit to grace her sister. If that was the case, that was more important than... than anything, really. Certainly more important than an evening with Niccolette, no matter how pleasant.

"No, Birdie, if you want to talk..." Ana looked to Niccolette and shrugged in apology. She crossed the room to her sister and put a hand on her shoulder. Not too long, and the other held the rather inadequate robe closed. But those shoulders seemed so... "You aren't interrupting anything." Ana's voice was soft, warmed with a rare and genuine gentleness. Ana did hope that this hadn't frayed Aurelie's nerves too terribly. She was such a delicate thing.