faderift | closed; i have a girlfriend now

If she's startled Sidony doesn't quite let it show.

She's grown accustomed to Leander, in a rather fond and deliberate way. There's a part of it that's incredibly vindictive and determined; she wants to be around him and spend time with him to spite Ilias, who thinks that he has any right to demand her to do anything or tell her who she can spend her time with without explaining why. Another part simply enjoys the company of someone who compliments and supports her without seeming to want anything from her in return, other than her company and her friendship.

At least for now.

"Almost. You're quite impatient, dear." Clearly, she has no issues with the nickname. She looks up from the tools in front of her, pushing her notebook to one side, just so she can turn and give him a soft smile and a raised brow, leaning on her hand. "What do you need from me today, hm? Another portrait, perhaps, or have you broken a finger?"

Leander delights in surprising people; if she was startled, so much the better.

"No, no damaged limbs this time." Or any time. To date, anyway.

In lieu of standing nearby in a terribly average fashion, like a grown man probably should, Lea makes a little hop up to sit on the edge of the table adjacent to Sidony's workstation. This is, in fact, someone else's workstation, but it's here he stays perched, feet swinging casually.

"Another piece of my heart crumbles and falls into the depths of sorrow for every hour we're apart, but there's no treatment for it other than this, so you needn't lift a finger. Broken or otherwise. What's that you're working on?"

Sidony's eyebrows lift, her head tilts, and she resists the urge to smile until it overtakes her and she gives him her full attention.

"Not this time. So I should expect it in the future, should I?"

She would stand to go and greet him properly, but he seems so comfortable and she still has things to put away and tidy up. If he wants her attention he shall have it, of course, but it comes with the understanding that her work will come first; she begins to clean, putting things away, tucking her notebook into a nearby cubby and putting her quills to one side.

"Some annotations of human anatomy. Nothing of particular interest, I'm sure." Some more dissection work; better to not allow that to spread too far. "Come, if you have suffered my absence so surely, greet me properly." And she offers her hand, expectant. "And we might walk together."

"I certainly hope not," he says of the potential for injured appendages, and looks like he's thinking of starting to touch any of the things sitting next to him on the table. None of it belongs to him, and the owner(s) might be cross if he messed with it, so naturally it's intriguing.

But Sidony manages to summon him before his paws find their way to meddling, and so down he hops, and here he comes, to collect her single hand in both of his own (pale, slender in their masculinity, and quite gentle), and to bow in a bit closer for playful effect. "Hell-lo, my darling. You're looking lovely, as always, even in the midst of your studies. Would you like to know something?" He'll tell her regardless: "I find hardly anything more interesting than human anatomy, in several contexts."

Edited (thank you :v) 2019-05-20 20:17 (UTC)

It's as if he thinks she's completely unaware of him when, really, her mind is hyperactive. She's always conscious of what people are doing, how they might react to her, what their thoughts might be - and while Lea might not be a threat to her currently that might still change, especially with what Ilias has told her.

Not that she is terribly concerned about that.

"I am glad to hear you will be taking some care of yourself," she admits. She begins putting things here and there, adjusting her table, sorting out her own items before she allows him her full attention, gives him all of her mind and the set of her gaze. Let him be as mesmerised by her as she can manage, she supposes, fingers flexing.

"Charmed," she says, voice soft and tinkling with her laughter. "There are few people in this place that have ever convinced me that anatomy is worth their study, you know. Even the healers seem to think it is beneath them at times, as if knowing the body would not aid them in their silly exploits."

It may seem he looks at Sidony this way, like she's got very little of interest going on beyond her pretty dress and her smile—but she's at least as sharp as her scalpel, he thinks. If she weren't, he wouldn't bother with her. (As often.) (She is quite mesmerizing.)

"Their silly exploits—you do know I'm a healer." Look at this face; he doesn't actually care. Will she mind if, in preamble to their stroll, he takes her arm in his own? He's doing so gently, she may escape if she likes—but look at this face. Look how lovely they are together. "Shall we?" They're going to have so many eyes on them once they've made it outside. Why would she ever want to escape?

"I've considered joining the medical team here. Do you think I should?"

There's a reason Sidony acts as she does - there's a reason in everything she does - and this comes down to the creation of a deliberate image. She is far smarter than anyone might credit her for and far more daring, but with her place in society as it is she had to pretend to be far droller. Most men, or at least the ones that her mother might wish to wed her to, were not particularly interested in a wise wife.

"Are you?" Said airily, as if she had no idea whatsoever what kind of person he was, mage or otherwise. Her fingers wrap around his arm gently, as if it was meant to be there, and she pretends as if she is entirely unconcerned with it all. She expects to be treated well, of course, and Leander has been nothing but polite and charming since the moment they met.

A sigh, and then,

"As Head Surgeon, I suppose I should encourage you, but they're all rather novel. It might be a bit of a headache, darling."

"What better place to have a headache than in the Infirmary?" And what's more polite than ensuring Sidony may pass through a door without the inconvenience of having to touch it?

The door under one hand, her hand in the other, her dark hair gliding past—it strikes like flint on memory, and as he returns to her side it begins to spill from his mouth.

"I had a friend, back in Nevarra,"

(The way she'd roll her eyes or flutter her lashes or affect a broad curtsey before passing him, and the two of them would argue, thank you, sir, no, thank you, while Ilias twinkled with love beside them—)

The sentence ends abruptly. He clears his throat with uncommon discomfort, holds his tongue for two steps, then goes on with less enthusiasm, "She would never let me get away with holding the door for her. Anyway, I should keep my distance from the bloodier side of things. Wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea."

He should also feel some private satisfaction to say such a thing, but doesn't. The disappearance of his smile seems natural and comfortable; gone, still.

"A bed, surely." She hums all the same, watching as he opens the door and slips through, still leaning on him with all the contentment in the world.

Sidony is quiet as she watches him, careful and soft as her eyes flick over his features. She wants to press, to ask more - clearly, he and Ilias know each other, and she's thirsty for blackmail to use against her old mentor - but she says nothing, at least for now. She bites her lip and just watches.

Unlike some others here in the Inquisition she has enough social grace to know when not to push and so she bites her tongue, metaphorically and literally, and instead grips his arm just a little bit more. It's the same feeling as her trying to talk about Octavian, surely.

"I suppose that would be a tragedy, wouldn't it?" Her smile is soft, fond. "But I do not mind you opening the door for me, even if someone else might. I consider it quite gentlemanly."

Leaning up, she kisses his cheek.

"Come. Let us walk together properly."

Oh. While he isn't startled, per se, Lea wasn't expecting that in the least. He did nearly turn his face toward her when she suddenly grew larger in the corner of his eye, and wouldn't that have been awkward—but the peck lands as intended, and even after she's withdrawn he feels the shape of her lips glowing on his cheekbone.

For the next few strides he's watching her, surprised and then smiling. If anything could make up for what just happened—

Hang on. A bed, she said, and now this. Is she—

Another glance Sidony's way, more furtive this time, and again he clears his throat (more comfortably, too).

"I've imagined," he begins, and only begins, and immediately draws all the pink of his lips in between his teeth to stop the beginning reaching its ending. What in the entire world—

It's a fond thing that Sidony does without being too aware of her own choices; a simple kiss on the cheek does not mean that much to her, truly, even as she has to make herself settle comfortably beside him again. It is what she might do with Byerly, or with Anders, and it doesn't upset her too much to do it with Lea as well - he has the same connection now, at least; she can trust him somewhat.

Ilias comes to mind and she frowns, thoughtful, before they continue together.

Tilting her head as she looks up at him, Sidony appears entirely innocent. Nothing untoward is going through her mind whatsoever.

"Do I give that impression?" Said idly. "Normally I am not entirely fond of gentlemanly behaviour, but I accept exceptions in some cases."

"No, not at all. Never mind that, kitten; I'm quite happy to be the exception."

And quite compelled to keep talking, by the same urgent impulse that caused him to cut his bath short after treating that insufferable aristocrat, Benedict, to an uncharacteristically unabridged battery of humiliation. He'd done nothing to deserve it—but oh, it was a delight to say just what he was thinking—

"Why are you always frowning like that?"

—only now he would much rather exercise a little more finesse.

(She can trust him, even if only somewhat. Will she feel the same in the future? Perhaps returning from death will imbue her with a little extra forgiveness.)

"I am glad to hear it. So often people feel undermined by it."

At least there is that, and she keeps walking at his side, not entirely noting the fact that she's a touch more honest than she might have been normally. There's a sense of wanting to be guarded - she might have laughed off Ilias' warning, but her curiosity could get her in trouble - but she ignores it, letting the pacing guide her forward instead.

His question makes her stop, though, tilting her head.

"Frowning like that? I do not frown, dear, because it causes wrinkles. My mother would rap me if I even considered it."

One of his slim hands finds Sidony's own to pat gently, just twice; afterward, it rests there lightly. "I promise you I won't take up her habits—still, I've seen you frown from time to time. Perhaps you don't even know you're doing it. But don't worry, it's clear you've got quite a long way to go before your first wrinkle arrives, and in the meantime, I daresay you're the prettiest woman on the island."

Leaning in, conspiratorial, "Don't tell Lady Alexandrie I said that." It's brief; he settles back into stride a moment later. "Not that a wrinkle would be a change for the worse, mind you. I prefer a sign or two of age, myself."

Edited (picky picky) 2019-06-09 04:33 (UTC)

She does not complain - she accepts the gentle hand because she has no reason not to, and there's a tenderness about it that softens the edges of her nature. Sidony has no reason to be defensive around him - and she accepts the kindness that he offers because she's fond enough of him to tolerate it, even with the questions that might need answering.

"I wouldn't tell a soul," she replies, coy and gentle. It's almost as if she knows it's a fact anyway. "But I thank you for the compliment all the same, my dear. But, still, if I am to be married off I must try and look the part."

Aha. This one long, slow nod—chin up, held before it drops again, a theatrical tilt of his head—should convey his understanding well enough. The deeper nature of her struggle has begun to make itself clear. If he were expected to trade his vocation for an arranged union—

Well. He'd need a family, for starters. (A bloodline? A place to go back to? Alien concepts.)

"I take it you're not as excited about it as those who would do the marrying-off." Trying to find his next words without blurting the very first thing that springs to mind shouldn't be so difficult, and yet... "Are there any prospects?"

Sidony understands; he might not be in the same position as her, but perhaps he might have some level of empathy towards her situation. Byerly had been kind, of course, and had attempted to save her - protect her - from the games her mother wanted to play, but... There are some things only she can do, and avoiding those prospects is one of them.

Sighing, she tilts her head up to look at him for a moment before she replies, more honest than she would like.

"Not particularly," she admits, voice soft. "I have been proposed to, but it wasn't serious. It was more of a protective measure."

"Hm! That sounds serious to me. He must be completely devoted to your happiness. Not a bad trait in a husband." Teasing, and hoping to tease out a little more while he's at it. "Might I ask who it is? Just in case it doesn't work out for you."

I might marry him myself, he was going to say, but finds the taste of it unattractive as it reaches his tongue, even as a joke. (One day he might find it funny—Byerly, perhaps, less so.)

"He is devoted to something, yes. I am lucky to have found someone as kind and considerate of me as he is." Byerly is, of course, a unique and wonderful soul - at least in Sidony's opinion. She's quite aware that many members of the Inquisition are less than favourable in their opinion of him.

She hums absently, glancing away.

"Byerly." It slips out without her really wanting it to - because she must tell the truth, as frustrating as that is.

"Byerly." Disbelief, dubiety, delight: all the Ds in equal proportion. Still walking at her side, Leander tilts forward, turns his head to find and draw her attention back his way with a display of broad skepticism, clearly entertained. "Byerly proposed to you. Are you sure?" Obviously she's sure. He settles back into stride. "My word. A protective measure against what, sobriety?"

Her head lifts, ever so slightly, to look up at him. There's an edge of something defensive about her, protective; she is ridiculously fond of Byerly and does not want anything ill to be said of him, but at least Lea does not do anything to put himself on her bad side. "My mother, of course. Should she come here and attempt to drag me home to wed me to some man fit for death then I can claim a husband already."

Sidony's turn of phrase draws an abrupt laugh. A twitter, really, sharp in ascending scale, as uncommon as it is brief. Its smiling evidence lasts for more than a few steps as they drift along with leisurely grace.

"That's a fine plan, but you'd be depriving yourself," with a lean in for whispering, "of free test subjects."

Lea's certain they look lovely together—though she well outclasses him in garb and grooming both—and begins to pay a little more attention to those they pass by, pleased every time he glimpses a face turned in their direction.

"If his fate's sealed, you'd might as well make use of him somehow. What a waste, otherwise."

For all the world, he does seem to be joking.

Edited (mmmno) 2019-06-21 02:22 (UTC)

His laughter makes her tilt her head, looking up at him with a wry, almost unsure smile. Sidony is well aware of the fact that people are not entirely fond of Byerly at times, but the hold he has on her heart is very clear indeed; she is dedicated to him in her own special way and would lay her life down, she thinks, for his. It might not be worth much, but...

Her nose wrinkles at the thought. She does hope that doesn't happen all the same.

"Test subjects?" One eyebrow lifts, face clearing as she leans close, secretive as if they're sharing something that no one else should dare to be privy to. "Who might you suggest I test myself with, dear?"

He cannot mean himself, though, and she sighs softly.

"But, no, no. I will not steal his freedom from him."

Edited 2019-06-22 09:52 (UTC)

What is she—oh. They've gotten tangled. Better to keep the clarification to a minimum, in case it opens too wide; he should keep the whole truth to himself. How many times today has anyone had that same thought, and gone ahead anyway? It hasn't yet occurred to him that anything may be amiss outside his own behaviour. It's not unlike him to be chatty, anyway, only indiscriminate in expression.

"I meant the man fit for death. Your surgery. You know."

Well, there we are. At least he does a good murmur: nice and low, doesn't carry much.

"Anyway, I think I understand... though I can't completely relate. No one's ever tried to marry me, in either sense."

"Ah, I see. Well, that does make sense." She much prefers that to some idea about her trying to take part in some fraternising before marriage; she's not particularly interested in that. What little she has done here - if a single kiss were to count - then she would happily admit that it is far, far more complicated than she is willing to admit to wanting.

Byerly understands more of her than she's comfortable admitting, but she won't say that to Lea. There are some things he doesn't need to know; she's biting her tongue in that regard.

Lifting her head up, she sighs softly.

"It what comes of being a noble, I'm afraid. I hardly recommend it, even if the finances are apparently worth the torment."

"Apparently," Lea repeats, with a cheeky smile. "Are you not comfortable where you are? Would you honestly trade it all away for a little more vocational freedom?"

A marriage of necessity doesn't seem so great a hardship to him, but then, he is—very much the way he is. Confident, always, that he will have what he wants in the end. Willing to bury nearly anyone to preserve his own happiness. (Also: a man.)

Edited 2019-06-23 20:25 (UTC)

"There are many things I would trade for more vocational freedom," Sidony admits, frowning. "I do not relish the idea of marriage, even as I am aware that it is in my future. It is not something I would choose for myself, but... It is my future. I am sure whoever my mother chooses for me will be kind enough."

Kind, but likely old and politically aware, savvy enough to bring the Venaras family some fame but not so that they might appear reaching. Her hand grips Lea's arm just a little tighter, and she sighs.

"But that is truly the future."

"What happens if you tell her no? That you'd rather marry someone else, or no one at all?"

It's genuine curiosity; he'd ask on any other day. It's one thing to act a little refined, to be a tourist in the company of the highborn—to provide, whether as lover or friend, respite from responsibility—and another entirely to grow up entwined with them.

Still without accusation, "Are you not interested in motherhood, either?"

“Then I would be in rather a lot of trouble with both my mother and my father.” Sidony shrugs a shoulder, acting as if none of this bothers her at all. “With Octavian being a member of the Mortalitasi it falls to me to make the political marriage and I’m afraid choice has never been part of the equation.”

It makes her feel a little nauseous - this is not entirely dissimilar to a conversation she’d had with Anders not so long ago. Breathing out, she tries not to wrinkle her nose too horrifically. She does not see herself as a proper wife despite her training.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be horrendous, but I have read about pregnancies. I’d rather not engage for as long as it might be avoided.”

"Fair enough. I've stood witness to a birth, you know—she didn't seem to enjoy it, either."

Yes, very well, miracle of life, blah blah—it's the next part he likes. However she and this Octavian may be related, it isn't the name that interests him, but the title. Even before Ilias, Mortalitasi sounded wonderful to his ears, and the vocation itself, to his heart. Aided by the curse, his enthusiasm overtakes his habit of curation. Flattens it, really.

"But now that I'm reminded, I've been meaning to ask, are you... acquainted with the Speaker? The one who's come to work with us?"

"I find that most women don't seem to enjoy the experience, so I do wonder why they keep putting themselves through it."

Her mother had been given twins, at least, which meant she only had to suffer it the most. One pregnancy was enough; she got a girl and a boy, a mage and a gift to wed away. Let it never be said that her mother was anything less than pragmatic, taking advantage of twins without any pause or hesitation. If only Sidony was so willing to give up her rights and freedoms for such a thing.

"The Speaker?" She tilts her head. "Does this Speaker have a name, dear?"

With a single, harmless pat on her hand, being the politest semblance of a fondly exasperated swat (he's traded more of those with Ilias than either man could accurately recall, and taken the lion's share himself): "Of course he does, you cheeky thing. Don't tell me you don't know it, he's the only one here." If there were more, he would have already done some moth-like fluttering around each of them at least once. "And there's no use in playing coy about the rest, either, I know you're more clever than that. Go on. You're from Nevarra, don't you know every Nevarran?"

(He reckons she probably gets that all the time.)

Sidony's eyes flicker for a moment, but she does smile; she appreciates teasing when it is meant, and she nods her head, once, gentle and sure, before she lifts herself up and looks forward. She's doing her best not to give in to this curse entirely, no matter how poorly she might be faring in the long run. "Is he? I know quite a few people that might be worth the title."

Now she is playing a game of being coy; she knows who he means, but she's being quite deliberate.

"I know far too many people, you must understand."

Ugh, how dare she be so charming in his direction after he explicitly told her not to. But he'll not fold so easily.

"Ah yes, the greatest burden of nobility: having friends. Let's have a list, then. We'll keep walking until his name comes up."

It's not even as though she is trying very hard; being charming and gentle comes naturally to her, through training and preparation from her mother. No, her mother would not have let her even a step out of the house if she hadn't been properly taught.

"So many friends," she says, her voice gentle. "Of course my parents, and my brother, Madame Serenity, the lord and lady that birthed my cousins - and then my cousins through them, including Marisol..." She hums all faux sweetness. "Ilias, who was my tutor, and other members of the Mortalitasi, as little as I saw them..."

"Speaker Fabria was your tutor—are you serious? You're not joking, are you. That's so lovely."

The delight is genuine, so he hardly needs to exaggerate—just enough to play up the sensitivity he's been cultivating. (It helps to soften his manner just that little bit more, he's found, and those who dismiss him for the occasional fancy gesture are only doing themselves a disservice.)

"What were you learning from him? If I might ask."

"Why would I lie about something so silly?"

When he had first arrived Sidony had been so angry and irritated with Ilias that she had been borderline cruel; she had ignored him, been crass, been unkind and almost deadly in her biting words. Now they're a little more understanding with one another - she forgives him, at least as much as she can, and she accepts how difficult his position had been.

She's still sour, but she can't pretend that she's not happy to be around him again.

"Medicine and treatment, of course. Whatever he could teach me."

"Oh, how wonderful. And how wonderful to think we've shared a connection all this time without knowing it—perhaps that's why I was drawn to your company." A little magical thinking to brighten one's day. Lea is brutally practical about some things, but fate is not one of them, especially where Ilias is concerned. They're spiritually entwined; it makes sense he would find Sidony. (And Isaac.) That's just the way of things.

"He's quite good with anatomy, isn't he?"

"You were drawn to me because of an unknown relationship with Ilias?" Her eyebrows raise and it does make her curious - she's not sure if she ought to mention the warning she'd been given, and she bites her tongue, hard, wincing a little before she breathes out a soft noise, something like a huff for a moment.

"He's intelligent enough. Or he was when I began."

It's all right that she questions it; she isn't meant to understand. No one can. So it passes by without an answer, and then it's his turn to raise his eyebrows.

"Was? Do you think that's changed since?"

His eyes hold on her as they walk along, perhaps even through her answer, whatever that may be. Considering.

It's something she ought to press more on, surely, but she doesn't quite have the strength to even consider it. Instead -

"Oh, haven't we all? I think he saw me as more a child than a woman last we met." As if she is so old now at the grand age of twenty-three.

A shoulder shrugs.

"Perhaps his interests have so his mind has not grown. He does still seem to enjoy lecturing me, however."

"Yes," he laughs, "that's his way, the lecturing. He's always very concerned about something—the way he wrinkles his forehead, presses his lips tight, like he's waiting for a chance to disapprove. I find it very charming."

Leander knows very well he shouldn't be talking like this—he'd likely get more than a forehead wrinkle about it—but there's a thrill in being delinquent with his honesty, however unwise it may be. And the compulsion is there, like it hasn't been since he was seventeen and bursting with joyful secrets. (Sidony might even glimpse the echo of that unmistakable glow, should she happen to look his way at the right time.)

"But, not everyone thinks so. You don't—why is that? What's pushed you to question his intelligence, of all things? That's a bit petty, isn't it."

"It's certainly something," Sidony admits, lifting her shoulder. "At least someone finds it charming. I'd rather have liked being told that I was good at something, or that I was at least doing something to impress him. Nothing ever seems to be suitable."

Sidony scoffs, her eyes glancing up to see him, and she stares. There's a certain echo of hesitance in her, her fingers squeezing around his arm gently as she considers. Honesty compels her all the same, however, and she breathes out, pursing her lips and staring forward with an intensity she cannot hide.

"He dismissed me. Clearly, he is not as smart as he imagines himself to be."

Sidony may be steeling herself for some form of wrath—or at least irritation—but what comes is a laugh, a real one, low enough not to carry far, genuine enough to bounce his shoulders. It's an altogether pleasant sound that hasn't seen much use in these last few years.

After a quick recovery, with fond patience, "Or you didn't properly impress yourself upon him. Or, perhaps, it had nothing to do with your worth at all." He suspects. "How long ago was this?"

Edited 2019-07-14 17:52 (UTC)

There’s a moment where she considers that he might be laughing at her and she has a barb ready to say in response, but she soon realises the fond nature of the laughter. She’s careful as she watches him, head tilted and eyes narrowed; she has to force herself into an illusion of calm.

“I can assure you that I did,” Sidony sniffs, just a little. “I was one of, if not the best, students that he ever had. I think I’ve almost forgiven him for the slight but I do still think he’s somewhat of a fool at times.”

"You may continue to think so as long as it suits." The laughter may have merely skirted it, but there's no mistaking this for aught else but condescension wearing an agreeable face.

"I'll ask you again: how long ago?"

"And I shall." There's a touch of something irritated about her now, her eyes glancing up at him with fire rather than kindness, and she very deliberately faces forward, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her anger, her frustration, the hurt that Ilias had left her with.

"A few years, perhaps. I have had more important things to do than count the time."

"Fair enough," he allows, while suspecting she knows exactly how long, down to the day.

A few years, but how many? Four? Two? The difference there is tremendous, life-changing, the particulars none of her particular business, and she might be inspired to ask why it matters so he mustn't press. It's less important to him that she knows than to know himself—he can ask Ilias himself another time.

(For the anger, the hurt, he would feel nothing at all but curiosity.)

"It's unhealthy to dwell, anyway. We can't let the distress of others move in with us, can we? Otherwise we'd never accomplish anything for ourselves."

It's best not to talk about it, she thinks; she'll just end up even more sour, as if the pinch in her nose wasn't enough to give that away entirely.

At least she is still handsome enough - at least she has her work, and her job, and her friends and allies, all things that her awkward relationship and tutoring with Ilias cannot take from her. She has grown into her own self-worth, no matter what anyone else might say, and she accepts that - because she knows what part she has to play now. She knows who she is and what she wants from her life; no one can change that.

Let Lea think about this in his own time. She's quite finished.

"Of course not," she hums. "It's better not to think about it at all."

closed; i have a girlfriend now

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and then they stood there greeting each other for six days

that's just how they are tbqh

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