anti-OTP: Karla/Viola

[servantsservant]

Viola sits out on the porch -- on the steps rather than a chair, despite her skirts -- mending a boy's shirt, which has grown worn because its owner is reluctant to replace it and reluctant to give it up. A pair of breeches, a patch pinned in place at the knee, lies waiting for the same treatment

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[glacianbitch]

Karla, bored, is wandering around when she spots somebody sitting on the porch, alone. She grins and strolls over toward her, promptly plopping herself down on the steps beside her. "Kiss kiss," she says genially. "Mending? On a fine day like today?"

[servantsservant]

Viola seems puzzled at the greeting, but she smiles briefly, politely. "The sun will not mend them, and so I must."

[glacianbitch]

"Psh," says Karla brightly. "I'm not exactly the sun, but..." She examines the garments, runs her fingers through spiky hair and then twitches her fingers over the patches. The fabric melts together, though it's a slightly different color. Karla frowns at it, and it obligingly matches itself to the rest of the breeches. "Ah, excellent," she says with a grin, looking back up at Viola. Of course she's showing off. It's her favorite thing to do. Or one of them.

[servantsservant]

Viola examines the breeches curiously, then laughs, delighted. She comes from an era taught to fear anything that might be perceived as witchcraft, but that has never stopped anyone from being pleased where magic seems to be on their side. "O! What charm is this?"