[Mature] A Rainy Night in the Stacks

[Genevieve De Silver]

Evening, the 9th of Loshis 2720.

Niccolette’s words stung, as did the sheer weight of magical energy that pressed down on him, she was of course right he should have told her. However she was not throwing him out into the cold, Jean felt somewhat relieved. With care he removed his damp and bloody shirt, he let out a small wry chuckle even Cadoc could not save the shirt.

Jean gingerly moved over to the bed and with some trepidation he unwound his chest bindings. As he laid face down on the bed he said softly.

“Thank you."

He braced and made ready for Niccolette to begin, afterwards they would talk. Though in his heart, now he was willing to face the truth he knew something. He had never been Genevieve, she was the lie and he was done with lying.

Jean also wished he had a drink, he let out a slow breath.

“I’m ready."

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Night, Loshis 9, 2720
Niccolette's Room, the Palazzo di Rhodon

Niccolette found the rhythm of her breath first, looking down at the sawed through shaft of the arrow in Jean’s back. All the rest she left behind, lost to the rhythm of her breath and the steady inhalation and exhalation, the lamp flame flickering towards her and away on the sweep of it.

She felt around the wound first with her fingertips, probing carefully; she cast, next, chanting steadily through a quantitative spell to tell her the shape of the wound and the depth of the arrow; she cast to ask the mona how to guide her hands, and took what little they gave her and fixed it in her mind.

Her hands were steady as she worked, unfaltering, with the scalpel and the pincers. She chanted quietly as she worked, soft repetitions of meditative phrases in monite. She breathed the world in, and exhaled it back out, just a little changed, and deepened her connection with all its parts.

By the time she was ready, blood flowing sluggishly from Jean’s back even with the press of towels, the arrowhead and shaft lying off to the side, she was glowing with warmth; it hovered from her and into the air beyond. It was not the heat of sigiling, not the angry warmth of a tense field, but all the brightness of her field made into energy around her, as if her own intensity was too much to be simply felt.

Niccolette began to cast. She went to the mona and commanded them to heal him, wrapped it in layers of soothing and care.

It would hurt; it would hurt, as if all the heat of her field were a cleansing fire, purging from him infection; it would hurt even worse than the cut of the knife, than whatever she had put onto the edges of the wound, and that was only the cleaning, but it was not unbearable, at least.

Niccolette crosses the leybridge; her fingers touched Jean’s back, warm against his skin, and she described to the mona the shape of what she saw, and asked them to work to heal it. Before her eyes, the depths of the wound began to knit together, the muscles and tissue inside becoming whole once more, and still she cast, steadily.

In time, the last of Jean’s back came closed; he might have been shot a week ago and just had the stitches removed. It would be tender and sore, but it had closed.

Niccolette curled the last of the spell. Gently, carefully, she traced her warm fingers over the red bare skin of Jean’s back. She rose, and stepped away; she stripped off the last of her wet things, heedless of her own nudity, and wrapped herself in a robe.

When Niccolette returned, it was with a bottle of wine and two glasses. She set it down on the bedside table, sitting cross-legged on the bed next to Jean, paying little attention to the drape of her robe of the flash of her bare thigh.

She opened the wine, and poured two large glasses; she handed him the first, and raised her eyebrows.

“Let us try your explanation again,” Niccolette said, taking a deep sip of the dark red wine.

Rolls

Quantitative cast: 2
Surgery: 4
Healing spell: 5

[Genevieve De Silver]

Evening, the 9th of Loshis 2720.

While Niccolette worked on his wound, the pain and the heat rose to an unbearable height. Then it passed that point and Jean thought he would lose his mind, he gritted his teeth so hard he thought they would crack, and then mercifully he blacked out.

The twin sounds of Nicco’s voice and clinking of glass brought him out of his faint and he carefully rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes. Jean carefully moved his shoulders and then sat up against the headboard, there was still a little pain and stiffness, but it was better.

He went to speak but his jaw ached terribly and he had to work it till it clicked.

"Is that wine?"

Jean held out a hand and took one of the glasses and drank half of it down in one, with a sigh he rested his head back and closed his eyes, for a time he said nothing and then in a resigned tone.

"So, where to start? Everything I said was true, very few people know my secret. I should have told you earlier I know. However, I wasn’t really lying, now I think back on it. The name doesn’t matter, but I am not a woman, however my body happens to look. Yet this is the body I am stuck with."

He let out a sigh and drank more of the wine.

"But I am alone, I told a man once, in the hope that he might understand and maybe…"

Jean let out another deep sigh and trailed off, he finished his wine.

"I am afraid you see, if my secret became known I would be ruined, so it is very hard for me to trust people."

Then he realised he was still naked to the waist, he put the empty wine glass down and got up from the bed. He rewrapped his chest before going to his waistcoat and taking his cigar case from a pocket. Jean took a cigar from the case and bit the end off, he regarded Niccolette, somewhat warily.

"So, there you are I suppose, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

Jean lit the cigar from one of the lamps and lent against a chest of draws, he held up the case to Niccollette. He gave a wry smile and asked.

"Cigar?"

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Night, Loshis 9, 2720
Niccolette's Room, the Palazzo di Rhodon

Nicolette shifted; the coverlet of the bed was damp, though not so bloody as the towels lying on the floor, though she did not much mind. She joined Jean against the headboard, stretching her legs out and crossing them at the ankle, twitching the fabric of her robe over her legs.

Jean drank half of - his wine, Niccolette thought. She studied him, curiously, in the silence, not quite this time with the same impartial clinician’s eye. She wasn’t sure what she saw; she didn’t know, quite, how to reconcile it with the man she had thought she knew.

His eyes were closed, his head tilted back. Like this, without the trappings of best and cravat, she could see the strong line of his chin was more masculine then feminine. She thought, briefly, of tracing her fingers along it, and then took another sip of wine instead. Such feelings she thought as much the adrenaline than anything else, just then.

“It is safe with me,” Niccolette shrugged her shoulders, the robe shifting over her. For all she had not gulped her wine as Jean had, she had drank more quickly than perhaps wise, and her glass was not much fuller than his. “I shall not reveal your secret - Jean. Not to anyone.”

Niccolette watched a little curiously as Jean wrapped his chest once more. She drank the last of her wine, and poured them each another glass, setting the now mostly empty bottle aside, and angling his glass on the table towards him.

Niccolette could not remember the last time she’d had a cigar; she nodded, and took the one Jean offered her. She did not have a holder or anything of the sort; she did not much care. Unhesitatingly, she imitated him in biting the end off, firm and decisive.

“It is perhaps wiser if you sit,” Niccolette said idly, glancing at Jean, chest wrapped and still wearing his dress pants. “You will be weak for some days, from the injury and healing both. With rest you shall be fine.” She drank a little more of the wine; liquor might have been better, but she could not bring herself to be picky. Her fingernail tapped lightly on the glass, and she set it down, trying the cigar again.

“So when you came up to me in that bar,” Niccolette said, slowly, glancing at Jean, “when we first met - Circle,” she laughed. “I suppose we met on the first day of your class! Or whenever it was I first attended; I do not really remember which ones I missed.”

Niccolette shifted back against the headboard, drinking a little more of her wine. Her own face was a little pale too, her wet hair hanging loose against her robe. She closed her eyes as well for a moment.

“Why did you not tell us?” Niccolette asked again, quietly. “Surely you know of onjira - those in Mugroba who live without gender. Uzoji never minded such; I think he should have... understood. He told me you had a secret,” she leaned over to ash out the cigar, sighing a little.

“Now he can never know,” Niccolette said, quietly. She set the wine glass down, and the cigar too, for she knew what was coming. The first sob was wrenching, and then she began to tremble, drawing her knees up, arms folded over them, her face pressed into all of it as she sobbed.

[Genevieve De Silver]

Evening, the 9th of Loshis 2720.

When Niccolette mentioned Uzoji his face fell all over again and he slumped into a chair.

"That is one of the greatest disappointments of my life, he was a great man. The fact I lied not only to you, my dearest friend but to him as well. But you're right, I can't tell him now.."

Tears once more came to Jean's eyes and he shook his head. When he saw that Nicco wept he was lost for a moment unsure what to do, he had spent so much time with his own sorrow he had no idea what to do.

He stood unsteadily and walked to the bed, cigar still between his teeth and tears still wet on his pale cheeks. Jean climbed back onto the bed and lent back on the headboard besides Niccolette. Their shoulders touching, he reached for his wine and took a drink.

"Gods but I have been the world's own fool haven't I?"

The tears rolled down his face unbidden, then almost without thinking he put a comforting arm around his friend's shoulders.

"I should have tried harder, but I was so caught up in my own business. I've been so damned selfish these last years, barely been living even."

Jean took another drink of wine.

"I don't want to live as Genevieve anymore, she has become a milestone about my neck, but I have no idea what to do..."

Then he lapsed into silence, holding his friend, as they both grieved.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Night, Loshis 9, 2720
Niccolette's Room, the Palazzo di Rhodon

Niccolette felt the brush of Jean’s field, strange slippery quantitative mona, before she heard or saw him. She did not look up; she felt the bed shift as he sat beside her, his shoulder resting lightly against hers. She heard the catch in his voice over the sound of her own sobs; she was breathless and shaking with the force of them, still.

His arm draped over her, gently. She was still, even so long after casting, noticeably warm, something of that energy left in her, though it was not the dry heat of fever. She didn’t lean against him; she didn’t shift in the least. Neither, though, did she push him away with her body or her field. She only cried, sobbing into the soft cloth over her arms until - in time, like the squall of the storm, it passed.

If ever she had felt shame she did not now; she was long past it. She was past, too, the months when she had wept daily - often more than once per day - when she had not known how long the weeping lasted, when it might have been minutes, hours or even houses. If ever she had tried to fight the tears, that too she had long since given up. At first she had counted the hours between bouts, and then the days; sometimes, these last months, it had been as much of a week. At last she had let go too the count; all the same, when the sobs took her, she did not try to fight them, for she remembered well how little purpose there was.

As it often did, the weeping left her a little nauseous and more than a little shaky. She breathed in, deeply, testing herself; only when she was sure the fit of sobbing had ended did she straighten up once more, resting back against the headboard. Perhaps, then, she leaned into Jean, just a little.

Niccolette’s eyes were red and swollen; she pushed her hair back off her face, breathing deeply. She still felt no shame for the tears, nor embarrassment either; she was drained of that too, if it had ever been in her. Her breath was even and clear now, with no more hitching left to it. She took a last deep breath, steadying herself, and then let that go too, as if she could return to normal as easily as that.

“How do you live as both?” Niccolette asked, shifting a little to look at Jean. Her voice was faintly scratchy, but otherwise she behaved largely as if the tears had not occurred; her hand trembled a little, then steadied as she picked the wine glass up and took another sip of the rich dark liquid.

“In a practical sense, that is,” Niccolette turned her glass around, watching the wine gleam in the light. She paused. “Your reputation as a rake!” Her eyebrows shot up, and she nearly grinned, an unexpected lightness opening up her face. “How...?”

[Genevieve De Silver]

Night, the 9th of Loshis 2720.

Jean took a long drag on his cigar and let his eyes close as he leant back against the headboard. Beside Niccolette, with a cigar and a glass of wine it was like the years fell away.

At Niccolette’s question he opened his eyes and regarded her thoughtfully.

“It’s exhausting to be honest." He rubbed at his sharp nose with a knuckle and then took another sip of wine.

“As for the practical side, it’s fortunate I’m wealthy and that I have Cadoc. I have the apartment, or rather Jean DeSilver does, and Genevieve has her rooms at the University.” Jean laughed a little bitterly then and shook his head.

“Well currently Genevieve is stricken with some manner of debilitating illness at the country estate.” He drained his wine glass and put the empty glass on the table beside the bed.

“Now as for the reputation, that was a joint effort between Cadoc and myself.
I would be seen in the most fashionable bars and the like, with some society woman or other and we have a lovely time.” He grinned slightly around his cigar.

“Society folk do like to make assumptions, the rest was carefully engineered gossip spread by Cadoc around the other servants and the like.” With a half shrug he leant back against the headboard again.

“We took care that no one else's reputations were tarnished of course well, as best we could.”

Jean let out a long sigh, it had been hard. He had tried to have meaningful relationships with people, but he couldn’t trust someone that much. Or expect them to understand, he had to keep his guard up, keep them at arm's reach.

A brief wave of melancholy washed through him, he had trusted Tom and he had kept his secret, as far as Jean knew at least. It was then he realised he still had an arm around Nicco’s shoulders. He wasn’t used to being this close to someone yet it felt comfortable. He took the cigar from his mouth and put it in the ashtray and smiled slightly at Niccolette.

“I missed you.”

Jean had no apologies left, there was no way he could make up for the lost time the sorrow showed in his eyes. He grinned and let out a wry chuckle then.

"Though I wish we'd again under different circumstances."

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Night, Loshis 9, 2720
Niccolette's Room, the Palazzo di Rhodon

Niccolette raised her eyebrows; she took another drag on the cigar, the fragrant smoke seeping out into the hotel room, creating a haze in the air through the lamp and firelight. She shifted the cigar aside and set it down, picking up her glass of wine and taking another long sip.

Niccolette leaned back against the headboard as well, her eyes closed and her chin tilted slightly up. “A shame,” she said, still grinning a little, when Jean spoke of a lovely time. Both of her hands were curled around the bulb or the wine glass, long fingers spread out over it, the golden ring she had worn nearly as long as Jean had known her gleaming on her finger.

“I missed you too,” Niccolette said. She shifted, sighing a little, though not pulling away from him. She lifted her glass and took a sip of her wine, about halfway through it. She settled it back down on her lap, and one finger rose to trace the rim, making slow, steady circles along the edge of the glass. The last of the tears from her sip ran down the clear edge, dark color washing over it. Carefully, she licked a droplet of wine from her finger, then went back to the slow, steady motion.

“Quite dramatic,” Niccolette said, a little dryly, though with more than a touch of amusement in her voice. She lifted the wine glass and drank another mouthful, sighing again

Her stomach still ached, just a little; there was a warm and wonderful lightness to her head. The result, Niccolette supposed, of drinking most of two glasses of wine so quickly. Over the summer it had taken her most of a bottle to get this far; she supposed she had done the right thing by trying to drink somewhat less. It was, at least, convenient.

She did, rather, want to be drunk. Not all the time, not anymore, but particularly just then. She was coming down from the last of the spell, the heat slowly leaving her body and field, though there was still a brightness - a intensity, a vibrancy - to her field which was an after effect of the powerful spell she had cast, and which should linger for some time. Jean, at least, did not seem to mind.

Niccolette cupped the glass in her lap once more; she leaned over for the cigar, and settled it back between her lips, coming back to settle beneath Jean’s arm once more. The room already had a heady layer of the smoke, above the smell of the fire, of blood, of disinfectant. It was a familiar enough mix; it had never bothered Niccolette. She took another drag, and set the cigar down once more.

”What will you do now?” “ Niccolette shifted a little more against Jean, both hands curled around the wine glass once more, and tilted her chin to look up at him, a little smile on her lips.

[Genevieve De Silver]

Night, the 9th of Loshis 2720.

Jean watched the swirls of blue grey smoke curl up from their cigars and join the cloud banks that eddied around the rooms high ceiling. He looked back to Niccolette, watched her fingers on the wine glass. At her words Jean laughed softly.

“Indeed, it was rather dramatic.” He rested back next to her then, as she leaned against her.

For a time he just smoked in silence, he had not been this relaxed with anyone possibly ever. Jean looked at his hands where they sat folded in his lap and then looked Niccolette’s hands.

At her question Jean shook himself from his reverie and looked round at her face he met her smile with one of his own. While he pondered his answer he reached for the wine bottle and realised it was empty.

“Well, first I see about getting us another bottle of something.” He grinned around his cigar as he put the bottle back down. He drew on the cigar and let the smoke curl from his nostrils. He took the cigar from his mouth and leaned back again, and then turned his head so he could look into Niccolette’s face.

Jean suddenly became very aware of how close their faces were and his mouth went dry and he looked at her lips and then into her eyes. He dragged his eyes and way and looked at his hands again and gave a shrug. When he spoke his voice was a little breathy.

“I don’t know, I can’t carry on as Genevieve I know that.”

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Night, Loshis 9, 2720
Niccolette's Room, the Palazzo di Rhodon

Niccolette made a soft noise that on anyone else might have been called a snort when Jean spoke of getting something more to drink. She wasn’t opposed to the idea, all the same.

“The rest of the wine and liquor are there,” Niccolette gestured lazily with one hand across the room, from where she had fetched the bottle of wine. In true Bastian style - honoring, the concierge had once said solemnly to her and Uzoji, the spirit of the late King Rhodon, maybe the Circle keep his name spoken - there was a healthy collection of wine, a small bottle of port, brandy, whisky, and a few other spirits. Niccolette hadn’t yet stayed long enough in any one visit to learn what would happen if she finished a bottle, but she was rather curious.

She was not, of course, Jean’s doctor. She had warned him he should be tired, but if he felt well enough to get up and fetch them something to drink, she saw no harm in it. His gaze had met hers a long moment, and then shifted away, and something widened a tiny fraction in Niccolette’s smile.

She settled back against him, comfortably, and lifted the glass of wine to her lips once more, draining the rest of it. She shifted, pushing her drying hair back off her forehead with her other hand, and letting out a long sigh.

“Immediately, you might consider a bath,” Niccolette said, glancing at Jean and raising her eyebrows. She had done what she could for the blood on his back, of course; her own hands were clean, and having changed into the robe she had left the bloody clothing behind. All the same, she was still wet from the rain, rather than anything more hygienic; all the same, there was still a good deal of blood now dry on the bare skin of his back.

“There is rather a nice claw foot tub,” Niccolette added. She had requested this room especially for the bathtub, which she particularly liked. She reached for the cigar again, taking a deep drag on it.

“From the country home,” Niccolette said, idly, leaning forward to tap the cigar against the edge of the ashtray before setting it down once more, “all you should need, really, is a doctor to testify she has died of her illness. There are a few Mugrobi who practice in Vienda, who might be more sympathetic; I expect so long as you are honest...” she shrugged her shoulders, the robe slipping about somewhat.

“I can wash your back if you like,” Niccolette added, smiling, not in the least concerned about moving between subjects so.