closed; i have a girlfriend now

[sarcophage]

WHO: Sidony and Leander
WHAT: winding around a professional's legs while she's trying to accomplish real things. now with 200% more oversharing!
WHEN: a little before Divine hijinks we are moving this to the TRUTH BOMB event because time is immaterial
WHERE: the Infirmary
NOTES: will add as needed

For deliberate effect, Leander's voice half precedes his bodily appearance around the corner:

"Now, who thought giving knives to a kitten was a good idea?"

Never mind that Sidony may not literally have a sharp in her hand at this precise moment—although if she does, so much the better. Regardless: giving this mage permission to affix her with such a disgusting pet name was probably a mistake, but it's too late for her to change her mind. (It isn't really, but if she thinks it is, he's not about to correct her.)

"Are you nearly finished?" It's not quite that time—Lea has a way of casually learning people's habits, thus blending the line between observant and creepy nearly beyond recognition—but he's done this before, and she'll know by now that he is sometimes content to hang around while she works. Especially if there is, indeed, a sharp in her hand. "If not, I've come to distract you until you relent. I am in desperate need of your attention—in fact, I may die without it."

Comments

[sarcophage]

"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."

[indissection]

"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."

[sarcophage]

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?"

[indissection]

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.”

[sarcophage]

"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?"

[indissection]

"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."

[sarcophage]

"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."

[indissection]

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."