crossposted from yuri_challenge, mark 3
Title: Hesitation Change
Rating: PG-13
Request: Suikoden III: Lucia/Chris - dance - Grasslander traditions and Zexen traditions
Summary: Festival, diplomacy, and the ties that bind. You can't cage a falcon.
Notes: 2970 words. Manga-based. A hesitation change is a Waltz figure that presents a number of options and is usually used to mark corners.
Hesitation Change
She hadn't wanted to come, and she still wasn't entirely certain how she'd ended up here, back at the head of her troop and heading for the Grasslander village. The last time she'd ridden this way was all too clear in her memory, and despite the lack of armour - which had been hard to give up; she felt exposed and dangerously vulnerable - Chris was grimly certain that she would receive no welcome from the Grasslanders. She'd pointed that out to Salome, but he had a habit of being irritatingly persuasive in these situations, and they'd both known that they couldn't trust any of the Councilmen to treat Grasslanders as human.
"Halt!" she called, habit giving an edge to her voice as she reined in at the top of yet another low rise. From this vantage she could see the village at the end of the shallow vale, nestled beneath its rocky hill. Even at this distance, there was an air of gaiety about the place which only increased her discomfort. Treachery or no treachery, her presence would be nothing but a reminder of bloodshed.
"Lady Chris?" Leo rode forward, pointing down the gentle slope, but Chris shook her head, cutting off what he would have said.
"We'll lead the horses from here." Even unarmoured, they rode like knights, and she would make every gesture of reconciliation that she could; there would be no semblance of anything but a peacetime visit in the minds of the villagers. She'd given orders before they left Brass Castle that none of them would touch so much as a candle on this trip; relations were still far too strained, and the last thing anyone needed was a misunderstanding.
"We're really treading on eggshells, hm?" Percy remarked lightly. Chris bit her lip, dismounting. She knew very well how unsuited she was for anything but the battlefield or the War Room; diplomacy was Salome's game, a dance of manners and meanings that she could understand but not herself follow. She would never be at home in a gown, and the courtesies and meaningless flourishes of noble speech died stilted and clumsy in her mouth.
Sighing, she unbuckled her sword belt, hooking it over the pommel of her saddle and trying to ignore the sudden, itchy feeling of eyes on her. Her horse turned his head to blink worriedly at her, and Chris patted his nose in apology; he too had been trained for war, and walking unarmed beneath the open sky made him nervous.
"Cheer up, Lady Chris." Percy strolled past her, leading one of the pack animals as well as his mount. Blinking, Chris realised she'd been standing still for who knew how long. "It's a festival, not a funeral."
"…I know." Taking the reins, she started down the slope, following Percy and Borus while the others closed around her like an honour guard. She'd almost had one, and only Salome's fast talking had dissuaded the council from sending a detachment along.
By the time they reached the stream that ran through the bottom of the valley, the sounds of laughter and music and excited children were plainly audible. As she'd expected, the sight of the Grasslander village decked with garlands and flowers brought back a flood of memories, visions and images seen through other eyes. The familiarity of it made her smile, relaxing a little; this was the place and these the people that her father had adopted as his own. Last year at Budehuc she'd had to force herself to ask Hugo about the man he'd known as Jimba, and it had been hard to reconcile his halting words and the rune's visions with her own memories.
The raw keening cry of a gryphon startled her from her thoughts, and Chris jerked her head up to see Fubar circling high above the small party, apparently riderless. The horses whickered nervously, and Leo swore under his breath as his mount and the pack animal tried to pull in different directions.
"Easy." Chris put enough command in her voice that the knights jumped to attention, and the warhorses settled warily, looking to their riders. She patter her own horse's shoulder, clicking her tongue absently. "He's not hunting us."
"A-are you so sure?" Borus demanded, staring up warily as the gryphon dipped and wheeled in the sky.
"Aw, don't be a scaredy-cat." Percy grinned wickedly, trying to sling an arm over Borus' shoulders only to be indignantly shrugged off. "They can smell fear, you know."
"Boys." Chris shook her head at them, and Percy laughed while Borus stammered and blushed. Leo stuck out a hand, offering to take her reins, and after a moment's consideration she handed them to him with a nod of thanks, picking her way slowly forward through the knee-high grass. There was a path worn by the stream, and a few yards away a pair of young women were kneeling with yokes and water barrels. Steeling herself, she was about to call a polite greeting when a yell from behind startled her.
"Chris! Heeeey!" The thrumming beat of hooves bearing down had her spinning, fingers itching for her sword hilt - cause enough to be grateful for having taken precautions, she supposed as she tried to calm her racing heart. A group of riders were rounding the bend towards the ford, bowmen with their saddles hung with game, and galloping ahead -
"Hugo!" Smiling with more than a little relief, Chris shot the knights a quick look, relieved to see no trace of ill-will in their faces. Allying in the face of Harmonia had been a fraught venture at first, but the final battle had eroded a lot of the tension; even Borus' suspicion had taken second place to politeness, although he was still prone to shooting looks at anyone who he felt was too forward with her. It was enough to make her wince, sometimes; for as much as she'd set aside and refused the gowns and manners of a noblewoman, the expectations of others were the hardest to shake.
"I thought he'd have grown," Leo commented sotto voce, and Percy shook his head with a stifled snort of laughter.
"Hey!" How he managed to jump the stream with no bridle and one hand waving enthusiastically, Chris would never understand. Hugo tumbled off his mount's back in front of the little group of armourless knights, looking somehow more at home than she'd ever seen him. It was natural, she supposed, watching him slap his mount's flank to send it cantering off towards the village, but however much Brass Castle and Vinay del Zexay were home to her, it was hard to feel like she belonged anywhere.
"Welcome to Karaya." Hugo smiled, and Chris bit her lip, trying to banish memory. Carefully, she fitted her fist into her palm as she'd seen Lucia do in greeting, bowing a little.
"We're honoured by your invitation." He had the decency not to laugh at her, at least, she supposed with a slight flush as Hugo coughed. At least this was unlikely to be a particularly formal occasion, diplomatic status or no. "I hope our presence won't cause you any trouble."
"I think everyone's got used to the idea of being allies." Hugo held his hand out to shake Zexen-style with all of them, managing to look very awkward in the process. "C'mon into the village - Mom's around somewhere," he added as the rest of his party drew up behind him, nodding wary greetings. "She'll be glad to see you here."
"A-ah." Chris fought a brief and losing battle against letting the blush get any further, before giving it up and pointing her face squarely towards the village. She didn't dare look to see whether Percy and Hugo were laughing at her now; fair skin was a curse, and with her rune she couldn't even claim sunburn. There were so many memories intertwined there, her own and her father's; she'd spent many a sleepless night trying to sort through them, separate those feelings that were hers alone. "Lead the way, then."
She was dizzy with smoke and memory by the time dusk began to fall, the wine an intoxicating warmth in her belly. Hugo had long since been dragged laughing into the dance, and even Borus had been wooed away by the smiling village girls. Percy had tried to persuade her to join them, but Chris had been content to sit to the side and watch, still fearful of making a fool of herself. The dances only seemed to grow wilder and more intimate as the evening wore into night, a far cry from the few formal steps she'd learned to stumble through at balls or even the skipping folk rhythms of Iksay.
Sipping slowly at the bittersweet honey-wine, Chris watched the eddy and swirl of the dancers. It was another couple's dance, and the village women seemed to be vying to see who could make her partner blush the most fiercely. More memories rose through the rune: women flirting and batting their lashes, invitations into the dance that were always refused. It matched the little she knew of her father's life here, setting a lump in her throat at the knowledge that neither she nor her mother had been forgotten.
The rhythm of the music was drawing to a close, fiddlers trading places with drummers as a girl with a harp-like instrument came forward. As the couples broke up, Chris saw Percy's eyes fix on her and narrow worryingly. Shaking her head in what she hoped didn't look too much like panic, she set her cup blindly to one side and backed out of the circle of torchlight and laughter. It would be as well to get some air, and if her knights dragged her into the dance they would never let her out. Easier to back into the growing shadows than to endure her own awkwardness.
"You're not dancing?" Lucia's low voice startled her, though she didn't know why she was surprised to find the older woman leaning against the side of a building, pipe in hand and eyes dark and thoughtful. Chris swallowed, trying to calm the sudden flutter of her heart and certain that her face was flushed as she shook her head.
"Not even with your knights?" Lucia gestured with her pipe, wreathing trails of blue-white smoke through the air around her. It softened the proud edges of her features a little, veiling her eyes.
"If I dance with one of them, I will have to dance with them all," Chris found herself admitting despite herself, unable to quite meet Lucia's eyes. This, she was suddenly certain, was all her; all the images of Lucia that the rune showed her were coloured with respect and nostalgia and little more.
"And it's not your thing, is it?" Lucia laughed softly, and Chris flushed, looking away. "From all accounts, the I - Zexen likes its formality."
"The nobility -" Chris began uncertainly, before she was interrupted by the patter and shuffle of feet behind her.
"Here." Lucia caught her by the wrist, tugging her to the side so that an older woman could herd a knot of sleepy, yawning children past. "You don't seem the type to enjoy dressing in ribbons and lace, true."
"All I ever wanted was to be a knight," Chris found herself admitting slowly, staring down at her gloved hands. "I never learned the rules, and now they tell me I'm too old to dance with other girls at formal functions..."
"You find that you don't suit peace, now that there's no war?" Lucia tapped the stem of her pipe against her lips, sipping slowly from it. "It must be hard to be a woman and a warrior, among the Ironheads."
"I never thought so." It had never seemed to matter that she was a girl, outside of the taunts and the drive to prove herself worthy of her knighthood. More and more, though, she was coming to find that she could be accepted as one but never the other. The village girls of Iksay had giggled over her clumsy formality, and noblewomen smirked behind their fans at her mannishness, but the respect of her men was what counted and she'd earned it a hundred times over.
"No? How many marriage offers have you received this year?" Lucia smirked at her, looking her over deliberately. "You may be their Silver Maiden, but the highborn have their customs, don't they?"
"The household deal with them." There'd been no shortage of aspiring suitors, despite her reputation. She'd told the servants to refuse them all, irrespective of rank; she was Knight Commander first, runebearer second, and anything else was inevitably eclipsed by the duties the Council piled on her. "If I was content to abide by custom, I would never have become a Knight."
"I think we're all glad you did." Lucia smiled ruefully, inclining her head as Chris started to protest. "Oh, I can say it. Time and practicality give one some perspective, after all." She paused for a moment, watching Chris with dark, penetrating eyes. "Customs - you know, there's an old Karaya proverb that says marriage is heaven for women and hell for men." Chris felt her eyes go wide, the same words echoed familiar-unfamiliar in memory. Lucia nodded slowly, watching her intently as she sipped at her pipe. "I never believed in it, myself."
"It's not my idea of a rewarding life." Chris looked away, startled to realise how dark it had become. The firelight from the square cast deep shadows, and combined with the dying glow of Lucia's pipe to turn her skin dark gold and her eyes to amber. Something not-quite-uncomfortable stirred in her stomach, and she bit her lip, realising that shadows and music had made them invisible, inaudible.
"Can't cage a falcon, can you." Lucia smirked, tapping ash out of her pipe and carefully treading it into the dirt. "You know, we never got a chance to finish that fight."
"I - what?" Chris blinked, belatedly recalling more smoke, more fire, vicious grins and a dizzying plunge into icy water. "The alliance -" she began uncertainly, stomach clenching with something like anticipation. A festival was no time for this kind of contest, and even a spar would be seized upon by some of the vultures who called themselves diplomats back at Vinay del Zexay.
"Clan custom says I can take a forfeit," and suddenly Lucia was much closer, wearing a very familiar predatory smirk. Chris tried to step back, half out of reflex, but her legs wouldn't move as Lucia leaned in.
She tasted of smoke and spice. Chris was suddenly hyper-aware that she was frozen in place, eyes wide and blind as Lucia kissed her, lingering and a little forceful. Her first kiss, with nothing to compare to but the cringing embarrassment of having her hand bowed over at Council functions. Nothing to compare, and she was just barely beginning to put a name to the coiled and knotted feeling in her stomach when Lucia pulled back with an amused humming sound. Blinking, Chris stared helplessly as she turned with a nod, sauntering easily away into the darkness.
"I -" For some reason, it was the hand that held the rune that gravitated to her lips, as though she could heal away the tumult of emotion alongside the lingering echo of sensation. Lucia's words leapt to the forefront of her mind: I can take a forfeit. A challenge, then, but one Chris had no idea how to answer. Only that she wanted to answer, refused to back down. There was no one to see or judge her, and the chains of custom and propriety that usually bound her were loosed, in this place.
If I have the will. The rune gave her nothing; every particle of half-confused wanting was hers alone. The first step forward felt like the rush of battle, like her path solidifying beneath her feet, and she broke into a run, following Lucia's dim retreating form to the deep shadow of a doorway. Her heart beat hard in her throat, nerves twisting to fire and smoke along her veins.
"So?" Lucia turned with a smirk, seemingly entirely unsurprised to see Chris there. There was an edge and a glide to her movements as she lounged against the doorframe, pushing the half-open door slowly back and forth with one foot.
"I'm not in the habit of conceding." Her voice came out low and throaty, and Lucia's pleased murmur startled her into stillness, the uncertainty not quite gone despite the shivery tension that coiled through her.
"So I gathered." Lucia didn't move, though, watching her with dark and narrowed eyes, and Chris realised with a sense of inevitability that the next move was being left up to her. Swallowing, she stepped forward, forcefully banishing the persistent murmur of youth and inexperience. Her fingers slipped unsteadily through the smooth straight fall of Lucia's hair, gloves catching roughly; there were only a few inches between them.
"En guarde?" Chris managed through a dry mouth, unsteadily relieved when Lucia's eyes crinkled with amusement. Strong, clever fingers at her throat, the back of her neck, and her own hair fell from its clip, uncoiling down her back as Lucia leaned in to kiss her again, smoky-sweet and rough. Half-dazed, Chris found herself kissing back hungrily, dizzied enough by sensation that she barely registered the door shutting behind them.
Lucia hummed low in her throat, pulling away and winding an arm about Chris' waist to steady her. It was almost pitch black, the only illumination a flicker of firelight from a banked hearth. No one to see her, no embarrassments or expectations; just hands and breath and fragments of words. Chris closed her eyes and followed where she was led.
Rating: PG-13
Request: Suikoden III: Lucia/Chris - dance - Grasslander traditions and Zexen traditions
Summary: Festival, diplomacy, and the ties that bind. You can't cage a falcon.
Notes: 2970 words. Manga-based. A hesitation change is a Waltz figure that presents a number of options and is usually used to mark corners.
Hesitation Change
She hadn't wanted to come, and she still wasn't entirely certain how she'd ended up here, back at the head of her troop and heading for the Grasslander village. The last time she'd ridden this way was all too clear in her memory, and despite the lack of armour - which had been hard to give up; she felt exposed and dangerously vulnerable - Chris was grimly certain that she would receive no welcome from the Grasslanders. She'd pointed that out to Salome, but he had a habit of being irritatingly persuasive in these situations, and they'd both known that they couldn't trust any of the Councilmen to treat Grasslanders as human.
"Halt!" she called, habit giving an edge to her voice as she reined in at the top of yet another low rise. From this vantage she could see the village at the end of the shallow vale, nestled beneath its rocky hill. Even at this distance, there was an air of gaiety about the place which only increased her discomfort. Treachery or no treachery, her presence would be nothing but a reminder of bloodshed.
"Lady Chris?" Leo rode forward, pointing down the gentle slope, but Chris shook her head, cutting off what he would have said.
"We'll lead the horses from here." Even unarmoured, they rode like knights, and she would make every gesture of reconciliation that she could; there would be no semblance of anything but a peacetime visit in the minds of the villagers. She'd given orders before they left Brass Castle that none of them would touch so much as a candle on this trip; relations were still far too strained, and the last thing anyone needed was a misunderstanding.
"We're really treading on eggshells, hm?" Percy remarked lightly. Chris bit her lip, dismounting. She knew very well how unsuited she was for anything but the battlefield or the War Room; diplomacy was Salome's game, a dance of manners and meanings that she could understand but not herself follow. She would never be at home in a gown, and the courtesies and meaningless flourishes of noble speech died stilted and clumsy in her mouth.
Sighing, she unbuckled her sword belt, hooking it over the pommel of her saddle and trying to ignore the sudden, itchy feeling of eyes on her. Her horse turned his head to blink worriedly at her, and Chris patted his nose in apology; he too had been trained for war, and walking unarmed beneath the open sky made him nervous.
"Cheer up, Lady Chris." Percy strolled past her, leading one of the pack animals as well as his mount. Blinking, Chris realised she'd been standing still for who knew how long. "It's a festival, not a funeral."
"…I know." Taking the reins, she started down the slope, following Percy and Borus while the others closed around her like an honour guard. She'd almost had one, and only Salome's fast talking had dissuaded the council from sending a detachment along.
By the time they reached the stream that ran through the bottom of the valley, the sounds of laughter and music and excited children were plainly audible. As she'd expected, the sight of the Grasslander village decked with garlands and flowers brought back a flood of memories, visions and images seen through other eyes. The familiarity of it made her smile, relaxing a little; this was the place and these the people that her father had adopted as his own. Last year at Budehuc she'd had to force herself to ask Hugo about the man he'd known as Jimba, and it had been hard to reconcile his halting words and the rune's visions with her own memories.
The raw keening cry of a gryphon startled her from her thoughts, and Chris jerked her head up to see Fubar circling high above the small party, apparently riderless. The horses whickered nervously, and Leo swore under his breath as his mount and the pack animal tried to pull in different directions.
"Easy." Chris put enough command in her voice that the knights jumped to attention, and the warhorses settled warily, looking to their riders. She patter her own horse's shoulder, clicking her tongue absently. "He's not hunting us."
"A-are you so sure?" Borus demanded, staring up warily as the gryphon dipped and wheeled in the sky.
"Aw, don't be a scaredy-cat." Percy grinned wickedly, trying to sling an arm over Borus' shoulders only to be indignantly shrugged off. "They can smell fear, you know."
"Boys." Chris shook her head at them, and Percy laughed while Borus stammered and blushed. Leo stuck out a hand, offering to take her reins, and after a moment's consideration she handed them to him with a nod of thanks, picking her way slowly forward through the knee-high grass. There was a path worn by the stream, and a few yards away a pair of young women were kneeling with yokes and water barrels. Steeling herself, she was about to call a polite greeting when a yell from behind startled her.
"Chris! Heeeey!" The thrumming beat of hooves bearing down had her spinning, fingers itching for her sword hilt - cause enough to be grateful for having taken precautions, she supposed as she tried to calm her racing heart. A group of riders were rounding the bend towards the ford, bowmen with their saddles hung with game, and galloping ahead -
"Hugo!" Smiling with more than a little relief, Chris shot the knights a quick look, relieved to see no trace of ill-will in their faces. Allying in the face of Harmonia had been a fraught venture at first, but the final battle had eroded a lot of the tension; even Borus' suspicion had taken second place to politeness, although he was still prone to shooting looks at anyone who he felt was too forward with her. It was enough to make her wince, sometimes; for as much as she'd set aside and refused the gowns and manners of a noblewoman, the expectations of others were the hardest to shake.
"I thought he'd have grown," Leo commented sotto voce, and Percy shook his head with a stifled snort of laughter.
"Hey!" How he managed to jump the stream with no bridle and one hand waving enthusiastically, Chris would never understand. Hugo tumbled off his mount's back in front of the little group of armourless knights, looking somehow more at home than she'd ever seen him. It was natural, she supposed, watching him slap his mount's flank to send it cantering off towards the village, but however much Brass Castle and Vinay del Zexay were home to her, it was hard to feel like she belonged anywhere.
"Welcome to Karaya." Hugo smiled, and Chris bit her lip, trying to banish memory. Carefully, she fitted her fist into her palm as she'd seen Lucia do in greeting, bowing a little.
"We're honoured by your invitation." He had the decency not to laugh at her, at least, she supposed with a slight flush as Hugo coughed. At least this was unlikely to be a particularly formal occasion, diplomatic status or no. "I hope our presence won't cause you any trouble."
"I think everyone's got used to the idea of being allies." Hugo held his hand out to shake Zexen-style with all of them, managing to look very awkward in the process. "C'mon into the village - Mom's around somewhere," he added as the rest of his party drew up behind him, nodding wary greetings. "She'll be glad to see you here."
"A-ah." Chris fought a brief and losing battle against letting the blush get any further, before giving it up and pointing her face squarely towards the village. She didn't dare look to see whether Percy and Hugo were laughing at her now; fair skin was a curse, and with her rune she couldn't even claim sunburn. There were so many memories intertwined there, her own and her father's; she'd spent many a sleepless night trying to sort through them, separate those feelings that were hers alone. "Lead the way, then."
She was dizzy with smoke and memory by the time dusk began to fall, the wine an intoxicating warmth in her belly. Hugo had long since been dragged laughing into the dance, and even Borus had been wooed away by the smiling village girls. Percy had tried to persuade her to join them, but Chris had been content to sit to the side and watch, still fearful of making a fool of herself. The dances only seemed to grow wilder and more intimate as the evening wore into night, a far cry from the few formal steps she'd learned to stumble through at balls or even the skipping folk rhythms of Iksay.
Sipping slowly at the bittersweet honey-wine, Chris watched the eddy and swirl of the dancers. It was another couple's dance, and the village women seemed to be vying to see who could make her partner blush the most fiercely. More memories rose through the rune: women flirting and batting their lashes, invitations into the dance that were always refused. It matched the little she knew of her father's life here, setting a lump in her throat at the knowledge that neither she nor her mother had been forgotten.
The rhythm of the music was drawing to a close, fiddlers trading places with drummers as a girl with a harp-like instrument came forward. As the couples broke up, Chris saw Percy's eyes fix on her and narrow worryingly. Shaking her head in what she hoped didn't look too much like panic, she set her cup blindly to one side and backed out of the circle of torchlight and laughter. It would be as well to get some air, and if her knights dragged her into the dance they would never let her out. Easier to back into the growing shadows than to endure her own awkwardness.
"You're not dancing?" Lucia's low voice startled her, though she didn't know why she was surprised to find the older woman leaning against the side of a building, pipe in hand and eyes dark and thoughtful. Chris swallowed, trying to calm the sudden flutter of her heart and certain that her face was flushed as she shook her head.
"Not even with your knights?" Lucia gestured with her pipe, wreathing trails of blue-white smoke through the air around her. It softened the proud edges of her features a little, veiling her eyes.
"If I dance with one of them, I will have to dance with them all," Chris found herself admitting despite herself, unable to quite meet Lucia's eyes. This, she was suddenly certain, was all her; all the images of Lucia that the rune showed her were coloured with respect and nostalgia and little more.
"And it's not your thing, is it?" Lucia laughed softly, and Chris flushed, looking away. "From all accounts, the I - Zexen likes its formality."
"The nobility -" Chris began uncertainly, before she was interrupted by the patter and shuffle of feet behind her.
"Here." Lucia caught her by the wrist, tugging her to the side so that an older woman could herd a knot of sleepy, yawning children past. "You don't seem the type to enjoy dressing in ribbons and lace, true."
"All I ever wanted was to be a knight," Chris found herself admitting slowly, staring down at her gloved hands. "I never learned the rules, and now they tell me I'm too old to dance with other girls at formal functions..."
"You find that you don't suit peace, now that there's no war?" Lucia tapped the stem of her pipe against her lips, sipping slowly from it. "It must be hard to be a woman and a warrior, among the Ironheads."
"I never thought so." It had never seemed to matter that she was a girl, outside of the taunts and the drive to prove herself worthy of her knighthood. More and more, though, she was coming to find that she could be accepted as one but never the other. The village girls of Iksay had giggled over her clumsy formality, and noblewomen smirked behind their fans at her mannishness, but the respect of her men was what counted and she'd earned it a hundred times over.
"No? How many marriage offers have you received this year?" Lucia smirked at her, looking her over deliberately. "You may be their Silver Maiden, but the highborn have their customs, don't they?"
"The household deal with them." There'd been no shortage of aspiring suitors, despite her reputation. She'd told the servants to refuse them all, irrespective of rank; she was Knight Commander first, runebearer second, and anything else was inevitably eclipsed by the duties the Council piled on her. "If I was content to abide by custom, I would never have become a Knight."
"I think we're all glad you did." Lucia smiled ruefully, inclining her head as Chris started to protest. "Oh, I can say it. Time and practicality give one some perspective, after all." She paused for a moment, watching Chris with dark, penetrating eyes. "Customs - you know, there's an old Karaya proverb that says marriage is heaven for women and hell for men." Chris felt her eyes go wide, the same words echoed familiar-unfamiliar in memory. Lucia nodded slowly, watching her intently as she sipped at her pipe. "I never believed in it, myself."
"It's not my idea of a rewarding life." Chris looked away, startled to realise how dark it had become. The firelight from the square cast deep shadows, and combined with the dying glow of Lucia's pipe to turn her skin dark gold and her eyes to amber. Something not-quite-uncomfortable stirred in her stomach, and she bit her lip, realising that shadows and music had made them invisible, inaudible.
"Can't cage a falcon, can you." Lucia smirked, tapping ash out of her pipe and carefully treading it into the dirt. "You know, we never got a chance to finish that fight."
"I - what?" Chris blinked, belatedly recalling more smoke, more fire, vicious grins and a dizzying plunge into icy water. "The alliance -" she began uncertainly, stomach clenching with something like anticipation. A festival was no time for this kind of contest, and even a spar would be seized upon by some of the vultures who called themselves diplomats back at Vinay del Zexay.
"Clan custom says I can take a forfeit," and suddenly Lucia was much closer, wearing a very familiar predatory smirk. Chris tried to step back, half out of reflex, but her legs wouldn't move as Lucia leaned in.
She tasted of smoke and spice. Chris was suddenly hyper-aware that she was frozen in place, eyes wide and blind as Lucia kissed her, lingering and a little forceful. Her first kiss, with nothing to compare to but the cringing embarrassment of having her hand bowed over at Council functions. Nothing to compare, and she was just barely beginning to put a name to the coiled and knotted feeling in her stomach when Lucia pulled back with an amused humming sound. Blinking, Chris stared helplessly as she turned with a nod, sauntering easily away into the darkness.
"I -" For some reason, it was the hand that held the rune that gravitated to her lips, as though she could heal away the tumult of emotion alongside the lingering echo of sensation. Lucia's words leapt to the forefront of her mind: I can take a forfeit. A challenge, then, but one Chris had no idea how to answer. Only that she wanted to answer, refused to back down. There was no one to see or judge her, and the chains of custom and propriety that usually bound her were loosed, in this place.
If I have the will. The rune gave her nothing; every particle of half-confused wanting was hers alone. The first step forward felt like the rush of battle, like her path solidifying beneath her feet, and she broke into a run, following Lucia's dim retreating form to the deep shadow of a doorway. Her heart beat hard in her throat, nerves twisting to fire and smoke along her veins.
"So?" Lucia turned with a smirk, seemingly entirely unsurprised to see Chris there. There was an edge and a glide to her movements as she lounged against the doorframe, pushing the half-open door slowly back and forth with one foot.
"I'm not in the habit of conceding." Her voice came out low and throaty, and Lucia's pleased murmur startled her into stillness, the uncertainty not quite gone despite the shivery tension that coiled through her.
"So I gathered." Lucia didn't move, though, watching her with dark and narrowed eyes, and Chris realised with a sense of inevitability that the next move was being left up to her. Swallowing, she stepped forward, forcefully banishing the persistent murmur of youth and inexperience. Her fingers slipped unsteadily through the smooth straight fall of Lucia's hair, gloves catching roughly; there were only a few inches between them.
"En guarde?" Chris managed through a dry mouth, unsteadily relieved when Lucia's eyes crinkled with amusement. Strong, clever fingers at her throat, the back of her neck, and her own hair fell from its clip, uncoiling down her back as Lucia leaned in to kiss her again, smoky-sweet and rough. Half-dazed, Chris found herself kissing back hungrily, dizzied enough by sensation that she barely registered the door shutting behind them.
Lucia hummed low in her throat, pulling away and winding an arm about Chris' waist to steady her. It was almost pitch black, the only illumination a flicker of firelight from a banked hearth. No one to see her, no embarrassments or expectations; just hands and breath and fragments of words. Chris closed her eyes and followed where she was led.