Advent Day Three
Maelfic: Minor Foip warnings for headspace and Glorious Hammer internal politics. A hundred word drabble mostly on the subject of double entendre.
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Sometimes the banter seems safe.
She wonders whether the mystified bemusement of the Mameluks is prudishness or ignorance. Sethet must have some ideas - must stop thinking of him as a Mameluk, he’s his own master - though his blank-faced denial of understanding could be merely a failure of vocabulary.
Intoxication beckons. She does not want, anymore, to be stiff and formal in the face of it.
She craves closeness. Watches the casual contact between the humans - gods damn it all there’s no use pretending.
The words are knife-edge sharp.
She wonders, dimly, whether safety is the illusion, or fear.