Certainly Sometime After Midday
Sub Rosa Hotel, The Stacks
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“I would have to take somebody else’s — as would you — but it would be rather messy for me, wouldn’t it? I could certainly slice someone’s face off and I suppose if my Living Conversation was good enough, I could… graft it...” she commented almost dreamily, the corner of her mouth tilting up ever so slightly. For a moment, it was clear that she was genuinely thinking about it. Leastwise, she considered how one could replace one visage with another, possibly all in one piece — with the mona’s good graces. Even that would be a mask, one of living flesh but no less false.
Drezda sighed. Her mouth twitched into some semblance of chagrin flashed momentarily in his direction before she looked away, dwelling dismally on the prospect of one’s face being a reflection of one’s soul. Bash give her strength, she didn’t like to imagine what that would be like! She found it difficult to believe that the resultant countenance would be a pleasant one. That was something to be shrugged off, ideally never to be considered again because damn, she didn’t need to wonder about the state of her soul; her thought processes had been weighty enough this morning without piling some more on top.
Obviously the answer was more wine. The problem was that the wine was growing scarce and the diplomat was possibly a bit tipsy. At least, when she moved her head, her surroundings blurred a bit at the edges and she’d felt ready to giggle at the thought of defacing people.
The young woman was feeling things more keenly, which hardly seemed possible given the intensity with which she’d been experiencing emotions thus far this morning. The urge to giggle before, an urge to sob at the possible state of her soul and now a twisting anxiety that gave way to misery as she considered the nature of her relationship with the raen.
Regardless of what was going on in this room between them right now, whatever that weirdness was, she didn’t truly know what sort of relationship they had. Hell, the diplomat wasn’t entirely sure why they were together in his room, not because she had an issue with being here — how odd that was — but rather bewildered by why he had wanted her here. Evidence pointed to the fact that Tom liked her for some reason and Drezda couldn’t imagine how that could be.
If she hadn’t been sliding over the edge of sobriety, the Hoxian might not have asked him if they were friends.
The food arrived at the worst possible time. If it had arrived just a little earlier than perhaps she wouldn’t have voiced her question at all and could have been distracted by sustenance and whatever else floated into her head. If it had arrived just a few moments later than she might have gotten an answer out of Tom and her mind might- Well, not be set at ease precisely but it might have settled her somewhat. Instead, the woman was left on the end of the bed with a bottle propped up on her knee while her eyes followed proceedings without any real interest.
Gods only knew what the human thought of the scene but for all her talk of how this might seem to others, Drezda found that she didn’t particularly care after all. Instead, she discovered that she only cared about being left alone again. However, when they got their privacy, her companion seemed more concerned with the soup.
“Yes, it makes sense in Anaxas… other places as well, I suppose. It wouldn’t be pleasant at home,” the Hoxian pointed out indifferently, shrugging before she settled for finishing off the Nassalan. Her breath hummed musically in the bottle’s empty confines, a pathetic score for her attempts to shake some final drops of moisture from it when more didn’t appear to be forthcoming. At last, she gave up. She dropped the vessel onto the bed where it rolled dully on its side as the mattress shifted beneath her, settling against the heap of bedclothes. It received a brief glare — as if it was to blame for being empty — before she disregarded it and turned her attention back to Tom, who had recalled her question after all — not that that was immediately apparent.
Her eyes widened and fixed on his face, the diplomat more than a little alarmed about why the man would mention a fistfight. Did the raen want to get into a physical altercation with her? Tattoos? Passed out in alleyways?
When he said the word ‘friendship’, understanding dawned but it was so ludicrous! There was a shriek of laughter — high, incredulous and unfettered — and it made the Hoxian jolt in surprise. It took her a moment to cop that the sound had emanated from her own mouth, particularly shocking because it had sounded so wild and free, totally unlike her usually restrained mirth when she permitted its release.
“Well if those are your measures...”
She regarded him dubiously, wondering if this was a human sort of standard (Don’t start thinking about him in human terms or you’ll go absolutely moony.) or some peculiarity of his sex. Yes, men did seem to get up to… antics and those sorts of experiences seemed to shape their friendships. Honestly, she didn’t really know what other women did when it came to friendships. Other Hoxians formed attachments, it wasn’t as if her people couldn’t but some of her most important formative years had been in a strange kingdom with strange people who were wildly different from what she’d come to expect of her peers. Instead of embracing them, she had walled herself off to keep them at bay and then of course, when she’d returned to Hox, she’d managed to carry some taint of where she’d been and she didn’t fit anymore.
If she could be said to have ever fit in at home…
Slowly she rose, hair still sweeping across her face and obscuring her expression, gaze aimed downwards as she considered what he’d said.
“I thought it went without saying...”
Had she managed to sound as if she was entirely off her orbit by asking? Quite possibly. He’d believed it to be obvious so what did say about her view on the matter? Could friendship really be so alien to her that she couldn’t recognise it when it was literally staring her in the face, gentle sympathy in those grey eyes?
She stared at the spread of food, nothing striking her as appealing but she went to work on the bread anyway, reasoning that it would help to soak up some of the alcohol and balance her somewhat. She prepared a slice of it for herself, spreading an exceptionally soft cheese over its surface and topping it with salmon, leaning on the table beside her companion. She took a bite, chewing without any real pleasure, grimacing. While one hand was obviously occupied with feeding herself, the woman had made an unconscious effort to cross her arms, her other hand gripping the other arm at the crook. If she hadn’t been eating, Drezda would probably have been almost hugging herself, an elbow clasped in each hand. If someone were to suggest that her body language was defensive and self-comforting then the Hoxian would have denied it coldly.
“I don’t know, Tom,” she admitted quietly, taking another bite of her repast, taking time to digest his query a little more. After a few moments, she shook her head.
“I thought I could- I honestly can’t remember knowing that someone was my friend. I had my siblings and then I had… acquaintances at school. In Frecksat and in Brunnhold, I never grew particularly close to anyone, not even…”
Colour crept into her cheeks, wincing subtly before tilting her face slightly away. No, she shouldn’t say that aloud, the word ‘lover’ didn’t need to cross her lips. They hadn’t really been friends, no matter how close they had technically been, how much they had shared with one another. Even then, she had kept enough of herself closed off.
Onyx eyes flicked from side to side, her breathing quickening as she tried and failed to think of anyone who could be said to have seen enough to-
She thought of Rhys Valentin witnessing her self-wounding after a disastrous duel and flinched. He’d seen more than most but he certainly hadn’t been a friend, not then and not now, even though she had gone out of her way to rescue him after she’d found him beaten bloody in that alleyway in Uptown. The same could be said of Charity who was his wife now, the former D’Arthe someone for whom she had shown care in the past as well as in more recent years. No, they hadn’t been her friends.
She thought of Khymarah and was caught unawares by the constriction in her chest, bread balanced precariously as she pressed her forearm over her heart with a grimace. Damn, she hadn’t expected that to make her feel anything after all these months but then she had shared her scars with the woman, had-
The diplomat gulped. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out, not even a whisper. She closed it again, trying to moisten her tongue before she tried again.
“Someone who has seen more than… more than others. Someone who I’ve allowed to see- There are things about me that you’ve seen or that you know that I haven’t- Not even my lovers have-”
Her mouth snapped shut, the colour in her face heightening further, the Hoxian feeling the flush creeping down her throat.
Releasing her elbow, she slid a finger under her neckline to circulate more air. She started brushing crumbs off her blouse, taking the time to finish off her bread before she spoke again.
“Yes, I suppose it is obvious, isn’t it? You are my friend — or my worst enemy,” she joked weakly, her smile wobbly, fragile. She bit her lip to stop the expression shaking apart.
“Maybe that’s it. A friend is someone who knows enough about you to destroy you. I suppose I… I meet that criterion for you as well.”
Drezda gazed at him soberly, a finger delicately cleaning the corners of her lips.
“Not that I would. I suppose that’s it too. I wouldn’t choose to use what I know against you. And if you can say the same about me then I think that really is proof that you aren’t like him. He would have destroyed me. Toibin Madden would as well.”
She shifted her gaze to the floor, quietly horrified by the idea and somewhat ashamed to have said such a thing, the mere suggestion of it in relation to Tom feeling like a betrayal.