Some Kind of History [Memory, PM to Join]

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris, 2711
Hama’s Hands, The Stacks

The Stacks on the night of an eight were like an explosion. Students spilled from the Gates of Brunnhold into the Plaza, and from there seeped out into the city, on foot or by carriages. The flow started as a soft trickle in the early afternoon, and strengthened steadily to a rushing waterfall by night, a preponderance of red heads mixed with dark and blonde. Some wore their green uniforms, although on a hot Yaris night few wore all of it, and more than a few bits and pieces had been left behind. Many others had changed for the night, and the crowd held not only Anaxi and Bastians in their neat summer coats and dresses, but Mugrobi in vibrant wrapped silks, Hoxians in long flowing robes, Hessean in crisp white lined with gold, and even the occasional Gioran. They were not all students either; plenty of young researchers and even Professors found themselves swept out to the Stacks to celebrate the beginning of the weekend.

By late evening, the streets were crowded, the bars too; eating halls were still serving, food and alcohol both. The twisted, narrow streets of the small adjunct city were teeming with laughter and other loud emotions. There was, among the students at least, a sense of expectation: the week has finished, and now we are free. The young ones had no need to look beyond, to remember that in just two days time the doors of classrooms would open to them once more, that there would be lectures and assignments and exams. Not tonight, Brunnhold cried! Not tonight.

Niccolette was no exception. Not, in truth, to any of it. The hasty goodbye she had said to Uzoji fizzed on her lips and in her veins, and the Bastian was no less antsy than she had been a few hours earlier.

“Pemberton,” Niccolette said firmly, setting her half-full glass down with a loud and deliberate thunk, just inches from the edge of her mostly full plate. The small table of students fell silent, and the Anaxi in question looked over at her, blinking owlishly.

“You are an idiot,” Niccolette said, calm and cool. “I think perhaps no one has told you before, but it is best you know now. I shall not endure another moment of your company.” Niccolette glanced down at the glass on the table in front of her. She pressed her lips together for a long moment, considering, then tilted her head back and drank it all in a long swallow, throat moving softly beneath the high neck of her dress.

Niccolette set the glass back down, rose, her chair scraping back against the floor, and shoved her way through the narrow tables that ringed the eating house’s floor, disappearing from the table in moments. She found the closing door and caught it with her hands, rushing outside, and shuddered, feeling the cool air on her face. If she had to listen to one more moment of discussion of marriages, Niccolette thought, she would truly be sick.

“Nicco!” A women’s voice came from behind her.

Niccolette did not look back, taking a few steps to the side, arms crossing over the chest of her vivid turquoise dress. She shone in the street lamps, pearl buttons glittering over the front and along the sleeves.

“Nicco,” A blonde Anaxi followed her those last steps, her eyes wide and worried. “What’s going on with you? We said we’d all go out together. If you come back and apologize -“

“You stay, Dahlia,” Niccolette shrugged. “I shall find my own entertainment.” The Bastian ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it back off her face, tilting back slightly to stare up at the roofs of the building beyond.

“What’s wrong, Nicco?” Dahlia asked. “Is something -“

“No!” Niccolette snapped. “And I am sick of the question,” she spun on the blonde. She inhaled, the words bubbling up - then with a scowl, Niccolette shut them off, pursing her lips. “I shall see you at practice.” The Bastian did not give herself another chance; she began to walk again, striding quickly down the cobblestone streets, almost running to get away from the small bar.

Niccolette knew the Stacks well, after so many years at Brunnhold, but it was ever changing, unknowable, and the same path traversed twice did not always lead to the same place. Without much thought, her feet led her through twisting narrow alleys, over uneven paving stones. The liquor fizzed in her stomach, lost and a little lonely. Niccolette stopped at a small staircase leading down, a burst of music from a cracked open door at the bottom enough to call her attention.

The Bastian glanced around for a sign; the lack of one did not deter her, and she grasped the unsteady metal railing and descended the narrow steps cut into stone, stepping into the room beneath the streets.

The soft melodic strains of an oud rose up over the smoke-hued room, the crowd softly lit by dim phosphor lights along the walls and ceiling. It was busy, yes, but the music seemed to calm the worst of the conversation, lending it an odd sense of peace. Niccolette glanced around, and made her way slowly to the smooth wooden bar, heels clicking softly against the floor.

Niccolette waited, resting her cloth-covered forearms against the wood, and ordered a glass of something softly orange and fizzing. She settled in at a recently abandoned table, took a sip of her drink, then set it down and fumbled in her reticule. Finally, she found a hand rolled cigarette and drew it out.

A few more moments of exploration, and Niccolette realized she did not have matches. She sighed, glancing down at the slim white paper held between her fingers, then glanced around, red-painted lips pressed softly together, looking for a light.

[Genevieve De Silver]

🙞Hama’s Hands, the Stacks

Late Evening, 28th Yaris, 2711.

Genevieve was glad it was the end of the week, she loved teaching but it was a strain. However now it was eights and time to unwind. Cadoc Murphy, her manservant, driver and most trusted confident met her at the entrance to her building.

“Home Cadoc, thank you.”.

Cadoc raised a bushy eyebrow in question.

“Hard day Miss Genevieve?”

With a deep sigh she nodded as she climbed up into the back of the carriage.

“Yes Cadoc, it has been a day, to the apartment please.”

As the carriage rolled from the University into the Stacks they moved past crowds of students let loose and hoping to grab whatever respite they could before it all started again, and she was going to do the same. Behind the thin curtains on the windows she relaxed back into the leather cushioned seat and stretched.

Cadoc’s knock on the roof shook her from her doze, they were in the stable that adjoined the rooming house in which she rented a suite of rooms, or at least her brother did.

“It’s clear.”

Genevieve pulled on an overcoat and a hat to cover her identity as she moved for the back stairs.

Later in the oak panelled dressing room she relaxed in a leather armchair with a glass of brandy and a slim black cigar, she was dressed in a black trousers excellently tailored with a subtle light blue pinstripe and crease sharp as a knife. The shirt was in the same light blue, the cuffs and high collar loose as she relaxed. She finished the brandy in the glass and placed the cigar in a crystal ashtray and stood before the mirror, from a draw she selected a pair of silver cuff-links, from a rack she picked out a black velvet cravat which she tied expertly and held it in places with a silver stick pin.
A waistcoat to match the trousers was pulled on and buttoned, and then there in the mirror stood Jean De Silver, gentleman about town.
This felt right, one day perhaps she would not need to dress like a man to live in the manner she wished, but society was not yet ready for that.

A dark blue frock coat with black silk lapels and cuffs, her short hair was swept back with hair oil which made it seem darker. As walked from the dressing room, highly polished black boots clicking on the boards she withdrew a ebony cigar holder and a black leather cigar case, monogrammed J.D.S and a silver match case.
Cadoc looked up from where he was sat cleaning crystal decanter.

“So Cadoc, will I do, do you think?”.

Cadoc smiled and nodded.

“Aye Mr Jean, most handsome. Will you be needing the carriage tonight?”

Genevieve smiled and shook her head.

“No that’s alright Cadoc, it’s a pleasant evening I shall walk. You may have the rest of the evening off.” .

"Thank you sir, I wish you a lovely evening.”

Genevieve smiled at the stocky wick and turned to go.

A fresh dark cigar in the black holder she walked down the busy streets of the Stacks, she could feel the odd appreciative glance as she walked, she answered a few with a roguish smile here and there.

When she walked into Hama’s Hands a tavern she had drank in a few times she was surprised to see one of her students, Niccolette, normally she would have left, but she looked so forlorn and troubled sat there. When she spoke her voice was pitch slightly deeper, the Giorn accent slightly more pronounced.

“May I offer you a light madam?”.

She held the silver match case out in an elegant manicured hand, a warm charming smile on her face.

🙝

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris, 2711
Hama’s Hands, The Stacks

Niccolette was studying her cigarette, lips pursed. It was not, she decided reluctantly, a noble use to light her cigarette with a static spell - no matter how easy it would be. She sighed, softly; if she had lit up in company, at least one of her companions would have had matches. Uzoji did not smoke cigarettes himself, but he was partial enough to cigars and he always carried matches for her, even if he did not care for the taste. 

Niccolette’s lips pressed firmly together. She would save it for another time, then, she decided; she was not hardly in a mood to go begging for a match at some strange bar, was not -

The offer for a light was unexpected, but not unwelcome, especially when accompanied by the brush of a field laden with quantitative mona. Niccolette glanced up, eyes widening slightly. She inclined her head, delicately accepting. The Bastian had forgotten her matches, but she had her cigarette holder at least; they had not caught on in Anaxas yet, perhaps because it was still uncommon for galdor women to smoke cigarettes. Niccolette thought of what an outcry would result if it was ever known she had tried one of Uzoji’s cigars! Even she was not so bold as to do it in public.

But Niccolette had purchased a cigarette holder during the time she had spent in Florne during the term break, one made especially for women, and Niccolette thought it was utterly magnificent. She withdrew the long slim silver tube, faint flowers delicately etched into the metal, and tucked the cigarette in at the end of it. Niccolette raised the tube to her lips, resting it gently between them and glancing up at the other galdor with a raised eyebrow, waiting for him to light the cigarette.

Niccolette inhaled easily, the end of the cigarette glowing cherry red in the smoky air. She sat back, the silver holder clasped between her fingers, smoke trickling from her lips.

“Thank you,” The Bastian said; there was something faintly cool about her polite, mannered words.

Niccolette caprised the other galdor’s field, deliberate and polite. Despite the look of something between sadness and disappointment on her face, her field was indectal; not the faintest hint of whatever it was that she felt bled over into the mona around her. There was only the sharp, bright sensation of living mona, well-organized and hovering in the air around the tenth form - strong, for a student’s field.

The caprision was part and parcel of a normal greeting, and, for Niccolette, accompanied by a curious look at her rescuer, eyes trailing from the slick backed hair, all the way down to the smoothly polished shoes. Niccolette shifted back in her chair, comfortable enough, her arm extended at a graceful, delicate angle, the cigarette holder kept pointing slightly up with the ease of long practice.

There was a second chair at the table, but Niccolette did not invite the man to sit; it was not done, and she was not so sure she was in the mood for company. If he wanted to sit, Niccolette decided, he would need to ask; she supposed she would say yes. The Bastian pressed her lips together, lowering her gaze. Something about him tickled at her though; Niccolette could not place it, but she might have sworn she knew him. He was a Gioran, she supposed; they were few enough in Brunnhold, and yet she could not think...

He did not, Niccolette decided, have quite the accent of a full Gioran; there was something very Anaxi about it. She was glad he was not punctuating his speech with all those Gioran words, like verahay. Something about that word always seemed to drag at her nerves; Niccolette could not like it. She pushed the thought away; it was for another time. But she could not place this man, let alone put a name to him, and yet – and yet she could not have sworn she had never met him.

“Have we met before?” Niccolette asked finally, arching a delicate eyebrow at the galdor who had offered her a light once more. Her tone was mostly that of genuine curiosity, but there was a faint, tiny hint of censure, as if to imply that he ought to have already given her his name - if, that is, they had not yet been introduced. Niccolette did not preface the question with an apology either, as many might have done; she simply asked. She took another soft drag from her cigarette, waiting for his answer.

[Genevieve De Silver]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris, 2711

This was the first time she had interacted with one of her students in the guise of Jean, it surprised Genevieve that Niccolette did not recognize her.
The younger woman still seemed troubled, which pulled on Genevieve's heart, as it had earlier.

She took a drag on the fragrant cigar in its ebony holder and blew a bloom of blue grey smoke towards the rafters to join the heady clouds there.
She admired Niccolette’s cigarette holder, very fine piece, she must ask her where she had it made.

She had forgotten her manners, but then that was fine part of Jean’s character after all.

At Niccolette’s question she crooked an eyebrow and gave her a charming half smile and said.


"I do not believe so madam, I am certain I would remember."

She extended a hand. ‘This ought to be interesting’ she thought to herself as she said.

“I am Jean Cyrus De Silver, and you are? Oh also, is this seat taken?"

With her free hand she tapped the back of the across from Niccolette.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris, 2711
Hama’s Hands, The Stacks

Niccolette offered a soft, polite smile in response to the man’s words. He was, she thought, old – too old to be a student, certainly, and too polite as well. Perhaps a researcher? But he was not unattractive, even if she did not think him nearly so fine as Uzoji. Niccolette accepted the polite flattery without hesitation, confident that it was no less than she was due. She extended her hand to Jean when he offered his, letting him take it and bow over it if that was his wish.

Once her hand was returned to her, Niccolette would bow as well. It was not so easy to bow while seated, holding a cigarette holder and more than slightly tipsy, but Niccolette did her best regardless. She thought it a fairly credible effort; nothing was set on fire, and she did not dip anything into her cocktail. Certainly, she had not wished to rise.

Niccolette was hardly unused to being approached at bars; she had spent much of her weekends in the Stacks – and a not inconsiderable number of week nights, in truth – ever since sixth form, when the curfew had been lifted. Well, that was not to say she had never gone out in fifth form; of course, she had, but not so often to the Stacks. It was risky enough to try to sneak back into one’s dorm room; sneaking on to the campus was even harder.

But so long as there was no harm in it, the Bastian did not mind, and in truth she had needed the light. And this was, as of yet, nothing more than politeness, and Niccolette had every confidence in her ability to keep it from going further. She was not approached so often when with Uzoji, of course, but it was not as if she always went out with him. Of course, she had gone out in Florne without him – he had been in Thul Ka, after all – and of course there were other nights when he was busy. More than one night since the term had begun, he had begged off, either for extra flight practice, or for calls to Anoze. Niccolette did not know why Uzoji needed to speak so often to his eldest brother, when he never had before –

Niccolette did not know why things had changed. She did not know that things had changed, not really, but – in her heart she knew it was foolish to pretend that these last few weeks had been as joyous as the year that had proceeded the break between terms. She should not have told him, Niccolette thought, morosely. That had been her mistake. She should not have told him about any of it. The look on his face when Niccolette had said –

“Niccolette Villamarzana,” Niccolette responded, unaware of the soft frown that creased her face, but doing her best to blink away the faint sheen of moisture in her eyes, the tiniest hint of glistening in the dull yellow lights of the bar. She studied the Gioran-like man standing in front of her, propping the cigarette off to the side and picking up her drink again, taking a long sip from the pale orange liquid.

“It is not,” Niccolette said, finally, glancing at the seat, then back at the man. She added nothing else, still offering nothing like an invitation, eyes lingering curiously on Jean’s hand for a moment, as if checking for a ring. She looked back up to his face then.

“You are related, perhaps, to Professor De Silver?” Niccolette asked, delicately. "Of history," she added. Her lips made a faint, thin line at the name, and tightened further at the subject matter. She glanced away, fixing her stare across the room, at a distant table tucked against the wall. She inhaled another lungful of her own cigarette, and blew a thin line of smoke out into the air. Perhaps, Niccolette thought bitterly, if she had had more time with Uzoji today – if only.

[Genevieve De Silver]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris, 2711

A small voice in her head was telling her that this was utter foolishness and she should walk away this instance. However, if she was going to establish Jean in society, and if she wanted to stop herself from losing her mind then that was necessary. That and she could see Niccolette was hurting inside, she no idea why but perhaps she was more likely to confide in Jean than her professor.

Genevieve pulled out the chair and dropped into it with the indolent grace she had cultivated for Jean over the years, after all no expected good posture or poise from a rake.

When the question came, as she knew it would, she paused. Arranging herself in the chair, right ankle on left knee and left arm draped over the back of the chair, she was ready to answer. With a theatrical sign she said a look of distaste.

“Oh you mean my sister, she is a frightful bore is she not?”

She took the cigar and holder from her mouth and signaled with it to a passing waiter who came over.

“Ah welcome back Mr De Silver, what can I do for you this evening?”

“Yes, I will have a… Wait no where are my manners.”

She turned to Niccolette raised an eyebrow and said with a grin.

“Niccolette, what would you like? Order anything.”

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris, 2711
Hama’s Hands, The Stacks

Niccolette glanced back at Jean as he drew the seat out and dropped into it. She considered objecting – he had not asked, after all – but it seemed too much effort. And, despite all the effort she had put into getting this way, Niccolette was not sure, entirely, that she did wish to be alone. Those few moments with the cigarette had left her feeling some way she would rather not think on too long. Some conversation was better than nothing, was it not?

And Jean’s answer caught her off-guard. Whatever else it was, it was not boring, and Niccolette liked that – very much.

The Bastian student sat up a little straighter, and studied her new table partner, carefully. In truth, she wanted to make sure he was serious; the idea that he was Professor De Silver’s brother had occurred, but Niccolette did not wish to agree with him, only for his mention of how boring she was to have been a joke. Then, either he would go and leave her alone, or Niccolette would need to leave and find yet another bar. At least, she supposed, she had a cigarette for her troubles.

After a moment, as if unable to hold it back any longer, Niccolette grinned at him. She was still not sure, but she thought… “I suppose it is not her fault,” she offered, and giggled. “Perhaps so much studying would make anyone dull.”

Niccolette picked up the glass, and finished the last of her drink, setting it neatly back down on the table. She glanced up at the waiter as he approached, then back at Jean. Niccolette glanced down at the empty glass, then looked back up at the waiter.

“A Holaga sunset,” Niccolette tapped the glass with her nails, gently, and shifted the empty one towards the edge of the table. She sat back, her cigarette dribbling lazy smoke into the air, and raised an eyebrow at her table companion. “Orange bitters, club soda and Mugrobi whiskey, with a hint of sugar,” Niccolette told Jean, and shrugged. “A bit sweet, perhaps, but…” she took another drag of the cigarette, easing back to a more relaxed posture against her chair once more. Her free hand rested flat against the table, then shifted, fingers drumming softly against the wood.

A drink, of course, that Uzoji had suggested for her. Niccolette pressed her lips together for a moment, thinking of it. It was thoughtful of him; he knew she did not like them too sweet. He was, Niccolette thought bitterly, always thoughtful.

“You are not a professor, then, I think?” Niccolette glanced back at Jean once more, smiling slightly. “I shall tell you – I am in your sister’s class,” she shrugged again, not interested tonight in pretending to be older. It could be fun, at times, but – Niccolette was not in the mood for such games.

Perhaps she should be, Niccolette realized. Perhaps she should teach Uzoji a lesson, about what might happen if he left her alone. Perhaps – but she could not summon the energy, and even after two drinks Niccolette knew it for a poor idea, the impulse of a moment quickly smothered. She dared not, in truth. There was too much to lose. Perhaps that was her real mistake, but then it had been one made over a year ago, and Niccolette knew she could not turn back the hands of time. She shifted again, adjusting her legs and skirt, and smoothed the turquoise dress with her free hand, tugging it to fall more comfortably over the edge of the chair.

[Genevieve De Silver]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris, 2711

She laughed at the younger woman's words, it was true after all. She had thrown herself into her studies and then her teaching. The life she had wanted denied by conventional Anaxas society. That was until she had hit upon the idea of going out dressed as a man, and now that was how she spent most of her leisure time.

"Yes indeed, afraid she is rather more interested in books than people.”

She laughed again and shook her head at the question.

"No indeed not, I like to think of myself as a gentleman of leisure. Or as my sister would no doubt say a wastrel and rake."

She grinned broadly, now thinking that perhaps two glasses of brandy, instead of a decent meal wasn't the wisest choice.

She watched the younger woman as she pondered her order and listened to the description, while it sounded sweeter than she would normally drink. She decided to be adventurous and nodded her approval.

"Sounds delightful! You heard the lady Max, two Holaga sunsets if you please."

"Of course Mr De Silver."

She leant back took a long draw on her cigar and exhaled a great plume of smoke upwards.
As they waited for their drinks she wondered if she should attempt to find out what was troubling Niccolette, she had been surprised to see her out alone on an eights night.
She decided to let it be, for the moment, instead with a smile she asked.

“So, as well as my sisters frightfully dull lectures, what else are you studying?”

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris, 2711
Hama’s Hands, The Stacks

Niccolette giggled again at Jean’s description of himself. She was relaxing steadily now, some of the stiffness draining out of her as they conversed. She looked less tense than she had during lecture, and less tense, too, than when Jean had first entered the bar. There was a bright light in her eyes, and a little smile on her lips, even if her expression still seemed to have a tendency to fade towards the morose.

Jean ordered two Holaga Sunsets, and Niccolette sat back, taking another drag of her cigarette. She ashed it delicately over the tray set on the table for that purpose, the motion careful to avoid upsetting the long silver holder.

Niccolette raised an eyebrow at Jean’s question, and took another drag of her cigarette. Rather than respond with words, she pulsed her bright, indectal field, the living mona caprising the quantitative ones around Jean once more - more friendly than aggressive. She exhaled another long stream of smoke into the air, and giggled again.

“With a focus on the body,” Niccolette said, casually, and shrugged. “Naturally one has a practicum in the final year. I am placed in the Brunnhold hospital.” She grinned at Jean.

The waiter returned with their drinks, setting down two more glasses of orange liquid. They fizzed softly, the faintest hint of noise lasting for only a moment. Niccolette acknowledged him and the drinks with a little nod.

Once the waiter had left, Niccolette lifted her glass. “To beauty and joy,” she offered, not in the least shy about offering the rather Bastian cheers here in the midst of Brunnhold. She waited for Jean’s acknowledgment before taking a sip, and set the glass down once more. “How do you like it?” She asked, smiling.

It was a quiet place, this pub. The oud player still strummed his notes in the corner of the room, sitting on a stool in the corner. The songs rose and fell with the volume of the room, but most of the melodies that trickled out were slow and soft, soothing. There were a scattering of Brunnholders about - not students, with their wild, chaotic energy unleashed on the weekend, but other inhabitants of the school and town: professors who wished to sit and drink in peace with a cigar; a few couples locked in conversation, some grasping hands across the tables; others chatting lightly about some matter, perhaps academic, perhaps social, but never serious enough to warrant s raised voice.

“Shall you think me unforgivably dull if I tell you the hospital can be quite interesting?” Niccolette grinned at Jean, finding her way back to the question he had asked. She glanced around the pub once more, curiously, but most of her attention was focused on her tablemate. In the soft phosphor light, her eyes were more brown than green, still rimmed with painted black eyeliner, mascara clinging to her lashes.

[Genevieve De Silver]

Late Evening, 28th Yaris,

As the living mona danced around Genevieve she gave an answering chuckle and smile.

"At the Burnnhold hospital you say? So you are a healer?"

She leant forward in genuine interest she was about to ask more when Max returned. Setting to merrily fizzing orange drinks before them, she thanked him and then regarded the drinks delighted. It was indeed a change from the brandy of wine she ordinarily drink. She took the cigar holder from her mouth and ashed it into the tray and took up the glass with her free hand.
At the proposed toast Genevieve took her glass smiled broadly meet Niccolette's eye and echoed.

"To beauty and joy."

It was very sweet, but not unpleasantly so, she could still taste the rich smokiness of the whisky. It was actually very pleasant, and dangerously drinkable. She set the glass down, after taking another long drink and grinned.

"That is delicious, thank you for the recommendation. You have excellent taste."

She regarded the younger woman, and noticed she was taking in their surroundings and decided to do the same.

The clientele of Hamas was the main reason she had started drinking there. It was quiet, and mostly avoided by student's. Crucially none of the history faculty drank there, that and the service was excellent.

Genevieve looked back to Niccolette, took another long sip from her glass and smiled.

"I would never call spending one's time helping others dull, i call it commendable."

She put her glass down and took a drag on her cigar, exhaled rich smoke and said.

"I would love to hear about it, if you don't mind that is."

She smiled warmly and made herself more comfortable in the chair.