[Mature] A Rainy Night in the Stacks

[Genevieve De Silver]

Morning, the 10th of Loshis 2720

Jean chuckled softly, yes for him by recent standards this was a positively pleasant morning, then he frowned slightly he should probably cut down on his drinking. As Niccolette squirmed against him and nuzzled her neck and kissed it softly, he was tempted to fall back to sleep.

However at the mention of coffee Jean’s eyes opened and he realised two things, one for the first time in a while he was actually hungry and the other was he was close to mooning over Nicco like a lovesick teenager.

“You read my mind, also food I feel like I haven’t eaten in a year.” He let out a laugh. “And they do have excellent room service here, after all.”

Jean did not want to get out of bed, it was comfortable and warm and with Nicco pressed up against him, he kissed her shoulder. As worried as a part of him was that worried he would somehow ruin this in some way, he also felt like he had a lot to catch up on.

He let his hands roam lazily, tracing some of the same paths from last night, though he knew one of them would have to get up to deal with room service.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Morning, Loshis 10, 2720
Niccolette's Room, the Palazzo di Rhodon

Niccolette had something of a headache; the lingering dregs of her dream she tasted like ash in her mouth, bitter and strange and dry. Jean’s lips coaxed her away from the memories of it, and his hand as well, and she let herself leave behind the strangeness of it, and the knowing too. She shifted against him, and then her hands, too, began to slid over his skin, no shyer than she herself was. She found the paths with which she had made herself familiar the night before, and set about exploring them all the more.

By the time Niccolette rose her headache was nearly gone, a distant dull memory, and there was a flush to her cheeks once more. She wrapped herself in the same gray robe from the night before, a little too large in the shoulders though hemmed to be the right length for her. She tied it at the waist, hands lifting the long dark masses of her hair out of the edges of it. She rang the pull cord for room service by the door, and drifted into the bathroom.

Niccolette cared not in the least for the clothing left there on the floor, for the damp tiles by the bath and the lingering water in the tub; she did not bother to straighten any of it up, nor to deal with the bloody towels or bloodier clothing in the hotel room itself.

It was not long before there was a polite knock at the door; several members of the staff filed in, and set down gleaming silver trays on the elegant table, uncovering them to reveal a substantial breakfast spread – elegantly Bastian in nature, with delicate folded crepes, coddled eggs, fresh crumbly white cheese, cups of olives and more besides. They were too well-trained, Niccolette knew, to do more than look briefly startled at the mess or at Jean, if he let him be seen; they filed back out without remark, asking only if they needed anything else.

Niccolette felt no shame; she saw no point in it.

Niccolette sat, legs crossed at the ankle, at one of the seats at the round table; she took one of the cups, and poured herself coffee from one of the steaming silver pots. She took a sip of it, and contemplated the piles of breakfast before them. After a moment, she returned to her coffee, easing back against the back of the chair – not quite slouching, but not sitting up nearly as straight as she had before either. She sipped the dark black liquid from the small delicate cup, and set it down neatly; her hands came back to her lap, and she played idly with her wedding ring, the fingers of her right hand twisting it slowly and steadily around her left ring finger.

[Genevieve De Silver]

Morning, the 10th of Loshis 2720

Once room service was ordered and Niccolette was done in the bathroom Jean dragged himself, reluctantly from the warm embrace of the bed and walked, a little stiffly into the rooms lavish onsuite.

His shoulders and back were ached slightly and as he used the facilities and tried to make himself, at least somewhat, presentable he rolled his neck and shoulders till the stiffness eased. Jean retrieved his underwear from where they had been abandoned, on a thankfully dry bit of floor and pulled them on.

They had been made to order by a very relented tailor here in the Stacks, Juniper Feldspar was one of the very few people who knew his secret. In all respects, but one, they were a normal pair of gentleman's undergarments. Accept for the cleaver padding, once he had buttoned them Jean felt more like himself.

Though when he looked at his bloodied and damp chest wrappings he could picture the slight tailor's look of slight annoyance that he was not wearing one of the far more comfortable garments that Juniper had made for him. Jean allowed himself a slight chuckle at that.

After carefully listening at the door, to make sure the hotel staff had left, Jean walked back out into the room and a smile lit up his gaunt face. Partly at the smell of rich coffee and sumptuous food arrayed on the table, and partly at the sight of Niccolette artfully leaning against a chair.

Then Jean saw her fingers toying with her wedding ring and he felt a pang of guilt, grief and sadness.

He let out a slight sigh as he got himself a cup of the dark strong coffee and added a heaped spoon of coarse brown sugar and downed half of it.

Before he tucked into the food, he regarded Niccolette.

"Thank you Niccolette, truly." His eyes moved to the ring.

"He was, and remains one of the best men I have ever known." As he spoke his free hand rested on his chest over his heart.

It was then the memory of that burn scar that resembled a hand print on Niccolette's otherwise perfect unmarred skin, and he could not help but think, that by its size, it would have to be a man's hand.

Then with restrained enthusiasm he tucked into the food like a polite man who has not eaten in a decent meal in over a week, which he in fact was.

When he paused in his eating, he looked up from his plate, a little sheepish.

"Sorry, I'm afraid I haven't been taking care of myself as well as I perhaps should of late "

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Morning, Loshis 10, 2720
Niccolette's Room, the Palazzo di Rhodon

He was, Jean said. Niccolette’s gaze followed his down to her hands; they stilled, both of them, her left palm resting flat against her thigh and her right fingers holding steady against it, thumb and forefinger set against the small gold band.

“Yes,” Niccolette agreed, quietly. Her hands came apart, slowly; she slid them both back and forth against the soft dark fabric of the robe, looking down at it. Niccolette sighed, and shifted, returning to the coffee. It was Bastian in style; she couldn’t quite place it by its origins, having never quite learned the knack of it. Her fingertips rested against the delicate porcelain cup, not the handle; the heat of it didn’t bother her. On the contrary, it warmed her fingers a little, oddly comforting.

Niccolette glanced down into the dark liquid, studying it. Jean helped himself to the breakfast; her plate, sitting before her, was still empty. She breathed in, deeply, and out once more. As he began to eat, Niccolette took another sip of coffee, longer this time, and then refilled her cup carefully, bringing the dark liquid back to the porcelain brim, before setting the silver teapot down once more.

She studied the uncovered plates; there was no desire in her to eat, but she knew that after the casting the day before, there was a need. She looked at the different plates of food, and after a moment reached for a piece of toast, already gleaming lightly with butter. She took a bite of it, and set it down on the edge of her plate.

By the time Jean looked up, she had managed a few more bites, at least, and less than half the toast sat on her plate. Niccolette was taking a sip of coffee as he spoke; she glanced up, setting the cup down, and shrugged her shoulders lightly. She knew something of that, Niccolette thought, though she preferred not to linger overlong on the first months of last years, the ones which had been swallowed up in the depths of grief, when she had scarcely been able to peek her head over the drowning, crashing waves; she had little desire to judge.

Niccolette took another sip of her coffee; she set the cup back down, fingers resting on the delicate handle; she shifted, tracing her index finger slowly and steadily around the rim, wiping away the drop of coffee left behind.

“What will you do?” Niccolette asked, glancing up at Jean once more. She studied his face in the gleam of morning light trickling through the balcony doors; there were faint, distant noises that seeped in through the glass and curtains, the sounds of other guests breakfasting in the atrium below. For all it had rained the night before – thick, heavy, pouring rain – there was already sunlight streaming through the white curtains which covered the windows, traces of it shaping strange patterns against the floor.

[Genevieve De Silver]

Morning, the 10th of Loshis 2720

The last fork full of food from his plate consumed Jean leant back in the chair and drained the last of his coffee and let out a sigh of near contentment. He watched Niccolette for a time, there was something sorrowful in her manner, he wondered how he could help.

At Niccolette’s question Jean stood and moved to stand before her, he could feel the sun from the balcony on his bare chest. A slight wry smile pulled at his lips and he put a hand softly on Nicco’s arm.

“Well, long term answer... I suppose I’ve a murder to plan?” His laugh was slightly manic for a moment, then his smile warmed. The thought that if he was free of Genevieve, he could truly start living, perhaps.

“Though it's not really a murder is it? I would be very grateful for your help.”

Jean put his hands on Niccolette’s shoulders and his smile took on a slightly mischievous twist.

“As for the short term, well I thought we might..” He trailed off as a blush bloomed on his pale chest and crept up to his face, even after last night he was still nervous.

Jean was thinking about kissing Nicco, however when he shifted his neck to lean in, he felt that twinge of stiffness in his back. His sharp inquisitive mind override thoughts of lust as he said.

“I'm sorry Nicco, but I must ask. Why would someone attempt to shoot you with a crossbow?" He did not say 'assassination attempt,' but it was clear that is what he thought the attack had been.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Morning, Loshis 10, 2720
Niccolette's Room, the Palazzo di Rhodon

Niccolette took another bite of the toast, and then set the rest of it back on the plate once more; she was not much in the mood for eating. Her coffee, at least, she finished, drinking the last of the thin, filtered black liquid from the delicate cup. She poured another cup from the ornate silver teapot, still nearly as hot as it had been when first set down.

Jean was energetic, bounding up to his feet; his hand rested on her arm. Niccolette glanced down at it, his long, slender, tapering fingers resting on her sleeve. She did not shift towards nor away from him, her gaze studying him for a moment, then flickering up to his face.

She was still sitting when he leaned over her, one hand on each shoulder. His grin made her think of nothing so much as the first night they’d met, when he’d taken her to an underground fighting ring there in the Rose. Her eyebrows lifted a little when he trailed off, and she felt something nearing irritation at the indecision there.

He changed tack; what he couldn’t finish in words, he seemed at least to want to finish in deeds.

He stopped, half-way, rather abruptly, pivoting subjects as quickly as he’d come on to her in the first place. If he wasn’t close enough that she should have known, Niccolette thought, she’d have checked him for signs of a fever. She sat, straight upright, looking up at him, reacting very little to his looming presence over her, to the hands still resting on her shoulders, as he asked his question.

Niccolette shrugged; it wasn’t much, but it was enough to slip his hands loose from her shoulders. She took her kofi and rose, easing away from the chair, fingers curled through the handle of the small cup. Niccolette put a little space between them then; there was nothing stiff or tight in her demeanor, only her usual elegance, the long straight line of her back beneath the gray robe.

She went to the window, and leaned against it, so the light shone on her and gleamed through her hair; she studied the glass and the light which poured through the panes, and took another sip of coffee. She did not see much sense in arguing with Jean’s assertion that it was she who had been shot at.

“Hard to say,” Niccolette said, turning back to Jean, her gaze flicking over his back. “On me I suppose it would have hit differently. You are sure you have lost anyone too much money with your gambling?” She didn’t smile, quite; she was standing still in the pool of sunlight inside the window, luminous with it, all the pale skin of her neck and the sliver of chest revealed by the robe glowing, just a little.

[Genevieve De Silver]

Morning, the 10th of Loshis 2720

Jean pulled out a chair beside Niccolette’s and sat, he regarded her taking in her face and trying to read her demeanour. However she was as beautiful and unreadable as ever, he could help but smile as she moved towards the window.

As Niccolette spoke Jean refilled his coffee cup, and pondered as he added sugar and stirred it.

"Hm no, it has been some time since I spent my money and in fact time on anything other than drinking." He chuckled wryly then. "Though I suppose it is more likely than a jealous lover. That really would be my own cleverness backfiring spectacularly, wouldn’t it?"

Jean took a long sip of coffee, he regarded Niccolette, his face thoughtful. He wanted to say something and was unsure how he did not want to drive Niccolette out of his life again. When he finally spoke his gaunt face was serious.

"Nicco, I don’t mean to pry by asking." A grin pulled at his lips then and he stood and walked over to join her by the window. "I am just glad that I was able to assist, in a small way."

It was true, Jean was thankful that fat had him be in the right place at the right time, then he shook his head at his own foolishness. He was a man of science and education, he did not believe in fate, only luck and quantifiable likelihoods.

"It is good to see you again." Jean smiled at Niccolette and stepped towards her, that mischievous light in his eyes again.

Jean was surprised at how easily distracted he was, it really was like being a teenager again, he supposed. It was clear he once more had other things than talking on his mind.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Morning, Loshis 10, 2720
Niccolette's Room, the Palazzo di Rhodon

Niccolette’s lips flattened, just a little, together, when Jean spoke of a jealous lover backfiring. “Mm,” she murmured, more just a hint of a sound than anything else; the edges of her lips quirked up, just a little, towards a smile.

Niccolette breathed in, deeply, inhaling the scent of her kofi. She looked down at the cup in her hands, and at her hands too, her own long fingers curled around the handle and cup itself. Jean was silent too, in that moment; he did not ask again.

There was little enough reason, Niccolette thought, to tell him. Jean had not been targeted; it had been an incompetent assassin’s carelessness that he had been shot, and little more. She did not delude herself into believing it would keep him safe; perhaps it was true. He had no reason to know, in the end, and at least would be no safer for the knowing.

She knew; she knew. It was not the first attempt which had been made, though it was the first in some time, and perhaps one of the sloppiest. She could not live her life flinching and looking over her shoulder. She had a purpose, a cause, towards which she strode, and she could spare nothing to look back.

In the face of her silence, Jean left it aside. He rose, grinning, and came closer to her, and said he was glad that he was able to assist. Niccolette’s eyebrows lifted, slightly; a faint grin twitched over his face, as if in answer to his own. She shrugged, the faintest motion of her shoulders. Once, perhaps, she would have thanked the Circle for his life and hers. She was not sure, now, whether they merited it; she could think of nothing in this to lay at Hurte’s feel, or Hulali’s. Naulas, perhaps, Niccolette thought; this was one more reckoning for him, or else Roa. She wondered that she had ever thought she could tell them apart, thinking idly of a black stag, and a thicket of gleaming antlers.

“And you,” Niccolette said. She let Jean approach her, once more; she took another sip of her coffee, and set the cup aside on the windowsill, the sun gleaming multicolored on the surface of the it, shining in the foam. She set all the rest aside but for the smile at Jean’s face and the glint in his eyes; she was glad to leave the world behind a little longer, and lose herself in this once more.

There was no shame in her, not for what they did, not for his secrets, and not for her own. Niccolette took Jean’s hands as they met, guiding one of them to the tie of her robe; her lips caught his, once more, swift, demanding and deliberate. The rest would come in time; had not she learned that there was nothing she could do to stop it? She was here; she looked forward, not backwards over her shoulder, never to second guess; she went on.

[Genevieve De Silver]

Morning, the 10th of Loshis 2720

Later, Jean once more found himself naked, once more sprawled on the luxurious bed, once more bedside a beautiful woman, who was just as naked as he. A small part of him still thought it was some manner of dream.

The afternoon light played across his bare skin and he smiled, for so long he had hated this body, hidden away from all, even himself. Now though, he hated it less, Niccolette had shown him things.

Jean kissed her lightly before he leaned away and took his cigar case from the bedside table, there was one left. A matchbook was beside it, he took the cigar and lit it. He took a long contented drag and blew the aromatic smoke at the high ceiling.

Jean relaxed back next to Niccolette, careful not to get ash on the rumpled sheets, he offered the cigar to her, smiling.

"It's my last one I'm afraid darling, care to share it?"

Jean still wondered why someone would wish to harm Niccolette, though she had changed. He was not sure how, but she was harder perhaps? He dismissed the thought, after all do we not all change, and did this world not harden even the softest heart?

Jean shook his head slightly and gave a soft laugh, that could have been a line from one of his mother's poems.

His other arm was still loose around Niccolette’s shoulders and his fingers idly stroked her skin.

"How long are you in the city for?" He cursed himself for asking, he was in danger of sounding like a love sick fool... Though the truth was, he did not want this to end, at least not yet.

Here Jeanelt far away from the world's hardness and the hard task he knew lay a head of him.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Early Afternoon, Loshis 10, 2720
Niccolette's Room, the Palazzo di Rhodon

Niccolette took the cigar from Jean when he offered it. Her eyes had been shut for a little while, though she had not quite slept, but rather lingered in some boneless place between. She shifted, suppressing the faintest of yawns with a little crack of her jaw, and eased up back against the headboard and the pillows. She took a drag on the cigar, blowing a mouthful of fragrant smoke into the bedroom air, and handed it back to Jean.

Casually, Niccolette’s right hand draped over her torso, fingers resting without needing to look into the handprint on her side. It was larger than her own fingers, and longer as well, though her hand covered most of the burn. The scar was – as it had ever been, as it would always be – dark in color, a little raised, the texture thicker and rougher than the rest of her. There were lines in the burn mark, as well, like the life lines on a palm and the joints of fingers, if one looked closely.

She still felt, Niccolette thought idly, even her own touch there; it was different, but not unpleasant, not anymore. It did not, and had never bothered her for another to see it or touch it. It was a part of her and she wore like her own skin, without anything resembling shame. She did not and never could regret what she had done to earn it; she would have paid a worse price for less time with Uzoji. She had known that then and she knew it, now that no price in Vita, in any Ever, could bring him back, more than ever.

Jean’s arm was around her shoulders; his fingers stroked her skin. Niccolette did not ease away from him, nor towards him; she was rested comfortably in the space between his arm and side, somewhere shy of cuddling but not so far away from it as to be unpleasant.

“A few days,” Niccolette answered. She shrugged, lightly; she took the cigar again when next Jean offered it, taking another mouthful of smoke and exhaling it into the room.

Today, Niccolette thought idly, glancing at the sun gleaming through the balcony curtains, had not been spent quite how she had planned; she had thought to spend some time in meditation, and then in the library. She was not sorry for the change in plans; she did not wish for Jean to go so that she might resume them. All the same, she was conscious of the need to do such things, in time – at least, Niccolette knew, before she returned to Vienda. She could – and often did – meditate through airship journeys, but it would be hard to set up a proper plot in her cabin.

“And you?” Niccolette glanced up through the haze of the cigar smoke, handing it back to Jean once more.