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“You should just tell her, you know? Life is short.” Ashton speaks in their usual gruff tone, lids half drooped from boredom and chin rested on the pommel of their hammer. It comes from such a place of surprise Imogen actually jumps from the sound of their voice.
“Beg your pardon? Tell who what?” Her eyes flick to the rickety house that the majority of their party are currently rooting around inside of, “The…mark?”
They roll their eyes which glitter like precious gems in the pale beams of the moonlight, “Nevermind.”
It is the first time it happens. At the time, Imogen had thought nothing of it simply because it had not made much sense. Ashton is someone that wraps themself in an air of mystery only so the people around him can be held at arms length. Sometimes he says or does things that confuse or surprise her and she lets it pass in silence, back into the folds of his character out of respect to his nature. Surly, he had meant something but his quick brush off had stomped it under heel and kept it far from Imogen and she was respectful enough not to chase it. She expects whatever it had meant to be would float away, forgotten, but it seems to resurface in all of her comrades.
They are having a meal together. It is something they do now that they have moved past customary introductions and watched each other bleed and cry. Imogen arrives with Letters and Orym, each of them running a little behind on her behalf. Now that the doors have been opened to her, she cannot keep herself from the library less duty calls or guilt for forsaking her friends drags her away. For that reason everyone is already crowded around the table in the dimly lit tavern, passing around stories of their day and a dark green bottle. Fearne glances up at their arrival, a smile still on her face from whatever animated story Laudna had been describing more with her hands than her words. She can tell just from the animated enthusiasm that it is a story about them prior to joining the group. For that reason she has the luxury to only half listen, more enjoying Laudna’s joy than partaking in the words, and allows her mind to wander just enough to catch a sharp look between Fearne and Dorian. Rather, Dorian jerks the sharp point of his chin towards Imogen and Fearne blinks back at him with all the vacancy that usually dwells in the wilds beyond the evergreen of her eyes. If that is not suspicious enough, Ashton nudges Fearne not at all subtly and tilts his head towards Imogen.
“Oh!” Understanding dawns as verdant light shinning in her eyes. Hastily she scrambles from her seat, pulling it away from the table with a wobbly smile and gestures at it with a flick of her wrist, “I saved your seat for you.”
Confused, Imogen surveys the plethora of empty chairs stationed around the table. Laudna is corned into the shadows near the window, pressed between the wall and Fearne’s now empty seat. If she had wanted to sit beside Laudna as she more often does, Fearne’s chair would have been her only option. Though she does not understand the groups reaction. Imogen could have just as easily sat elsewhere. Laudna tilts her head towards Imogen, her dark eyes—usually fathomless voids of wonder that Imogen can find her whole world inside—are dulled by a similar confusion.
She considers arguing out of ingrained politeness but Fearne has already rounded the table to sit beside Dorian and everyone seems to be watching her with varying levels of interest so she just takes her assigned seat to get the attention off her.
That was weird, Imogen presses her words into the cool depths of Laudna’s inspired mind. Laudna is the only one of their party that does not flinch or shriek in surprise when she does this.
Was it? Hm. I can hardly tell. They are always a bit odd around us but I don’t think anyone who isn’t could remain friends with myself for long.
“So as I was saying, it was dark and darling Imogen couldn’t see the creek—“ Laudna resumes her story with gusto, eyes alight and hands fluttering through the air. Her mind wanders as Laudna speaks to parse over the fact that she is a flower colored psychic and Laudna is the living dead who keeps sunshine in her heart so yes, they would require equally odd friends as they are themselves. Still, there is an underlying thing being unspoken by their party that she and Laudna seem to be a part of but are withheld from. Dorian and Orym share a look they think is subtle and Ashton nudges Dorian halfway through their supper when Imogen yawns and lays her head on Laudna’s bony shoulder.
“Darling? Are you ready to go home?” She is keenly aware of how a few of their friends share a look. She does not understand why. Laudna’s gentleness with her has never been a secret they have hidden and surly they know by now that all Laudna’s dripping darkness is not who she is. The soft way she speaks to Imogen should not be so fascinating and yet they watch the two of them, pretending to sip from empty cups or peer from the corner of their vision.
“I’m alright if you’d like to stay longer.”
“Hm,” Laudna smacks her lips, pressing the tip of her tongue out to taste the shine her drink has left behind, “I’m a little drunk and if I stay longer I will be very drunk.”
Imogen chuckles, ever charmed, “Guess we better go then. I’m not strong enough to carry you home.”
“Oh I don’t doubt you could! I believe you are capable of anything you put your mind to. Especially to gallantly sweep me off into the night.”
Imogen snorts delicately, the both of them grinning a little too big in the dim corner, “Stop it, you.”
Laudna seems all too pleased to be the recipient of such adoring admonishment so Imogen adds in the privacy of their own thoughts, you wicked flirt.
Beneath the table Laudna sets a hand on her thigh, fingertips passing over cloth to touch warm skin where her boot does not meet the shorts. Her mind hums a low tune, soft and sultry, let’s go to bed, my love, it sings along with the truths that she is not as drunk as she said she was and just wants to be away with Imogen. It inspires a bloom of feelings colored all shades of want and love inside her.
“Alright, let’s go,” She turns back to their party to give them farewells and good nights only to frown at the intensity of their stares that flick between the two of them, “Will you all be staying here tonight?”
Ashton leans back in their seat with a particular glint in their eye she can’t determine so she decides it stems from their mischievous nature, “Letters and me are headed back to the house. If we don’t check in once in a while they will think we’ve died.”
“Would you like to walk with us?” She still carries guilt for Belle, still worries that if they do not move in a pack that one of them will show up in her dreams and she’ll never see them after the red storm swallows them whole.
“Nah, we’re good. You two could use the time alone to, I dunno,” His eyes flicker from Imogen to Laudna with intent this time, his head cocking, “talk.”
They walk home arm-in-arm, discussing the stars and what they will have for breakfast and their intent on buying their landlady a gift just because they do think she deserves it. Usually when they return home and private themselves away to their room for a meeting of the flesh, Imogen’s mind goes blissfully silent. Laudna’s feverish worship made with tooth and tongue never fails to chase away the demons of the day. Tonight, despite how her body yearns for her truest love, she cannot keep her thoughts from returning to Ashton’s parting words. They sit heavy on her bones, tattooing concern deep into the marrow. She touches the top of Laudna’s head to stay her from finishing the task of removing her small clothes. Laudna blinks up at her where she kneels at Imogen’s feet.
“What is it? Are you alright?”
Imogen cradles the sharp edge of her lover’s jaw in her palm, swiping the pad of her thumb across the lush swell of Laudna’s bottom lip, “I was going to ask you that, actually.”
“Me? Whatever for?”
She huffs, annoyed at herself for throwing a hitch into their night but determined to get the bottom of whatever the hell is going on, “Ashton got in my head! They—is there something you need to tell me? Something you haven’t mentioned that’s bothering you? Did someone say something rude ‘cause I’ll—“
“No,” Laudna cuts her off looking contemplative and adorably flummoxed that they have somehow wound up talking about Ashton rather than making love, “not that I’m aware of. I don’t often keep secrets from you, dear.”
“Then what…”
“I’ve no idea. Maybe he thought you had something you needed to tell me?”
“Maybe? I don’t though.”
“Well alright. That’s good then. Shall we continue?” She hooks her nimble fingers into the waistband of Imogen’s smalls and gives a light playful tug. A hot sensation fills her belly proceeding it and she can only pluck the chisel from Laudna’s hair to let it free and give a choked affirmative.
“Laudna is gorgeous,” Fearne gushes against her ear in a hot whisper, “don’t you think?”
Imogen jumps because she had not heard the woman creep up and because she is still not use to anyone being that close to her who isn’t Laudna, “I—yes?”
“And she is so sweet. The way she takes care of you—she loves you so much.”
“I…know. I love her too.”
“Oh Imogen,” Fearne gives her a long searching look that is sweet but disappointed and she cannot fathom what she had done to deserve it but then her lips tick up into a wicked grin and far too chipper she adds, “I bet she’s a real monster in bed though.”
Heat pinks her neck and ears, “Fearne!”
A petulant frown tugs Fearne’s lips down, “What?”
“Why on—what are you even talking about? Did Laudna put you up to this?” Her eyes narrow, “Did Ashton?”
“No…I just think you guys should have sex,” When Imogen sputters and starts to turn such a violent shade of red it clashes with her hair, Fearne gets that faraway look of thoughtfulness that overcomes her when she slips into the wild of her own mind, “Or, wait. No. I think you should tell her you love her.”
Imogen goggles at her friend, bewildered beyond words. They were suppose to be—
“Shit! Fearne, he’s getting away!” She throws an finger towards the shady man slipping out the back door of the warehouse.
“Oh, oops!”
“C’mon, we gotta chase ‘em!”
Sometimes the work they are always elbow deep in runs dry and they are left with long stretches of nothing between. For the lot of them, that works out fine since they have their own side projects and personal agendas to bide their time with but some of the members of their party cannot handle boredom. As it stands, when one of them has an issue, they all have an issue. So it should not surprise her that Ashton drags along the whole of their crew to visit Imogen and Laudna on one such week but she still startles at the sight of them clustered around Zhudanna when she comes down stairs. There is a set of wicker baskets big as Orym is tall between them all that is heaped with different colored bundles of yarn. One has been tipped over into Fearne’s lap, a kaleidoscope of colors bundled around her fingers in a rainbow spiders web. Her smile is blissful despite that she looks a little confused as to what she is playing with the yarn for. Every other member of Bell’s Hells wield a set of needles.
“What’s going on?”
FCG merrily gives her a wave and gestures to their party, “Ashton was bored.”
With the same intense focus they get when facing down an enemy, Ashton sits on the floor near her landlady’s chair hunched over and hyper focused on the knitting needles in their hands, “Zhudanna is teaching us how to knit. ‘S fuckin’ cool.”
Zhudanna makes a little sound of gleeful surprise but does not chastise the brawler for cursing. Orym is seated between Dorian and Fearne, peering at their process from time to time and getting more determined when he seems to realize Dorian is picking up the basics faster than he is. Cool air brushes against her back, making the hair on the back of her neck stick up, though she is calmed by it rather than alarmed.
“What’s all this? Oh! Another craft day?”
“Howdy Laudna! Smiley day to ya! Lookit here,” The grinning automaton holds up their own project which looks a bit like a sock with arm holes, “I’m making your friend Pâté a nice sweater!”
“Oh my! Dearest, excuse me, I must see this!” A hand curls around her hip to gently apply pressure, not moving her but prompting Imogen to make the choice to step aside. As she passes by Laudna stoops to press a kiss against her shoulder as thanks. It is perhaps a bit more affection than they tend to show in front of so many people but it is also their home and they have grown comfortable here. The first time Zhudanna had seen them kiss, the woman had clasped her hands together and spoken wistfully of her adventures in love and that had made them feel safe enough to be as affectionate as they like within their home. Honestly she thinks nothing of it save for the usual thump her heart gives until she looks back to their friends and finds them all watching. She thinks she hears Orym whisper to Dorian, “Okay, I see it now.”
She decides they are all up to something and there is a deep temptation that comes with that decision to look into their thoughts just to find out what it is. She does not do that of course because she loves them and she tries her hardest to respect their boundaries but her skin itches from the desire. They seem to be pushing Laudna and Imogen together no matter the situation, as if they do not already spend most of their time together and know each other better than anyone else. When they have to leave town to travel for a job, Chetney—likely at the behest of another party member—encourages them to share a bedroll. As if they hadn’t already intended to. When they sit down for their weekly meals together, they are ushered to sit beside one another by hands that push and loud assurances that the other seats are taken. When even the chipper cleric of their party starts trying to get Imogen to ‘open up to Laudna’ and ‘be honest about her heart’ she drags Laudna into the washroom by the sleeve to vent.
“Alright yes, I have to admit, they are behaving a little…erratic lately.”
Imogen is almost tearing her hair out, “A little? Fearne won’t stop talking about sex.”
Laudna’s chuckle is all deep and rich like a finger of spiced rum, “She has cornered me a couple times too. Mostly I have Dorian constantly chatting you up. I think he has a crush on you.”
“Sweetheart, this is serious.”
“Oh, I’m not joking! Yesterday he gave me a poem about your eyes. He told me to give it to you and tell you it was from me. Sweet boy,” She pulls a wrinkled piece of parchment from the depths of her pocket, stained with something dark and foul smelling, “he’s probably just too shy to give it to you himself. Though I don’t know why he asked me to give it to you considering, you know, I’m your lover and that is a bit…gouache.”
“That is exactly what I’m talking about! What is all this? Why are they suddenly being so weird with us? God, Laudna, do you think…they don’t approve? Did we do something funny and now—“ She flings her hands up in exasperation, unable to finish her thought because there is a sudden knock on the door.
“Hey, you two okay in there?” Orym’s strong voice cuts through the wood, crisp and just a smidge louder than Dorian who she can hear whispering, “Ask them what they are doing.”
Imogen gestures at the door with a frown and says in the privacy of their shared thoughts, see?
Laudna steeples her fingers beneath the sharp point of her chin, smiling in that wicked way that she has learned is as harmless as it is charming, Maybe Dorian is worried I’m stealing all your affections and leaving no room for him to make a move on your heart. I can’t blame the lad. You’re everything and more, my darling. I would go mad for you too, again and again, as I did once and do so every day I look at you.
Imogen rests her chin in her palm, gazing up at Laudna who leans against the wall near the stool she is sat upon and drowns in love.
That wasn’t nearly as romantic as you thought it was.
“No? Hm,” She unfurls the paper in her hand and starts to read, “‘Thine eyes, lilac so fair, what I would not give to be the flower in your hair—‘“
She snags the parchment from Laudna’s hands to crumple it back into a ball and throw it hard enough that it bounces off Laudna’s forehead to the floor below. Predictably, Laudna starts to cackle.
“Hello?”
“We’re fine! Just…freshenin’ up.”
Unbidden, Dorian’s thoughts graze against the inside of her skull as a familiar but still stinging buzz, stabbing and biting, ‘maybe they are finally talking!’ The sensation makes her stomach jolt unpleasantly and a sudden pressure starts to build behind her eyes. Laudna’s laughter tapers into silence immediately.
“Imogen dear, are you alright?”
“Dandy. I think the drinks are starting to hit me all at once,” She holds out her hand for Laudna to take and gives her love a shaky smile when Laudna lifts it to her lips, pressing a cool kiss against each hill her knuckles make beneath sun kissed skin, “why don’t we head home?”
“Yes, alright. We can have a bit of a brainstorm about whatever our friends have us at the center of once we get there. Personally, I think they just might be a smidge mad. Which is just so fun!”
“Imogen, I know you mentioned that man during our game of What The Fuck Is Up With That? But,” Dorian tapers off when hesitance weakens his voice, the starlit sapphires of his eyes lifting to watch the sun travel across the sky, “I’m curious about your… preferences.”
Imogen’s first thought is: oh, lord, he really does have a crush. The second thought is how in the world is she going to tell him calmly and kindly that she is not interested without it upsetting their friendship and the dynamic of the group. If it had been Laudna—Lord, why couldn’t it have been her?—she would have been sweetly blunt as a lollipop and told him she was Imogen’s girl and that would have ended things right there. Imogen can’t make herself that hard.
“About…men? Well, Ah….tall I suppose?” They both cringe, clearly both uncomfortable with this conversation.
“All…right. Tall, yes. That is a splendid thing to, ah, look for. But um,” He gets that interested tone, the one he gets when he is dipping his words into candy floss and presenting them as sweet, fluffy temptations, “I wonder about, perhaps, your interest beyond that. For instance, myself? Well. Tall is dandy but short is marvelous too. I like shinning hair—it is important that my partner has very good hygiene. They simply must care for their hair.”
She blinks at him, wondering what on earth is happening. His hair shines under the midday sun, glossy and well kept no matter the situations they seem to find themselves in so it lends to a wonder that he perhaps likes something he can share with his partner. It is sweet but she does not understand why they are talking about it.
“But, but! That is not to say they have to have long hair. I like short hair too! And I don’t have any qualms about facial hair either though I prefer a soft face.” His eyes flick over her face curiously, searching for some kind of reaction.
“Dorian I don’t try to be rude to anybody but what the hell are we talkin’ ‘bout?”
He flounders, pinned to a place he isn’t use to in conversation where he has blundered and now it is awkward, “I just mean that, ah, well…ah fuck it. I’m bisexual.”
She stares at him, a furrow to her brow, “Alright.”
Not deterred he gestures to Imogen, “Are you?”
Her shoulders slump from finally having it all make sense, “Is that what you were tryin’ to get at? Hell. Talkin’ ‘bout beards and hair and all that.” She rolls eyes but does so with a little smile.
“Well I just! I mean! Well…Have you thought about it before? Being with women that is. Or that you might be attracted to them.”
The earnestness in his lilting voice makes her feel a little guilty for spilling over with bright, airy laughter. His face does fall and she wants to pity the poor boy but he has tickled her and she can’t seem to stop.
“Oh, Dorian! I thought,” She places a hand on his arm to steady herself, body shaking from her heaving laughter, “I thought you were trying to tell me you had a crush on me and here you are asking if I fancy women instead.”
“What!? I—well I don’t know how I gave you that impression!”
She digs the heel of her palm into the corner of her eyes, rubbing away the wet that had built on her lashes, “You did write a poem about my eyes.”
“No! No, no! That was Laudna! She—“
“Told me you wrote it. She thought you were too shy to give it to me.”
His palm slaps over his face, “I specifically told her to say it was from her.”
“Laudna and I don’t lie to each other, sorry sweetheart. But,” She pats the outside of his bicep sweetly, giving him a cheery grin, “if it makes you feel better, I liked it well enough.”
“Well…thanks I suppose.”
“C’mon. Let’s get our shopping done so we can get back to the group.”
“Wait! You didn’t answer my question! That is,” He turns a darker, violet shade in the ears and high in the apples of his cheeks, “if you’re comfortable answering.”
She snorts, unsure why he even needs to ask, “Course I fancy women. I don’t really have a nice, neat label for what I like the way you do but I can love just about anybody after I get to know ‘em a bit. Don’t matter to me what they look like. It’s all the stuff on the inside that’s important.”
“That was…beautiful. Thank you for sharing Imogen.”
She gives him an odd look, “Sure. Anything else you need to ask? What’s my favorite color? What sort of ‘courting’ I like? Something Fearne might ask—am I virgin?”
He looks at her like he would rather lick a rock than ask that and she starts laughing again.
“Forgot we had this conversation.”
Imogen links her arm through his, “I’d like that very much.”
Laudna loops an arm through hers and intentionally allows her mind sharpen for Imogen to hear, Why don’t they just ask us? I don’t see a purpose in taking volunteers to pretend when you and I are already very happily coupled.
It is something Imogen finds very odd herself. They receive odd jobs that are handed down from Ashton’s contacts so they frequently have to plan accordingly. This time the group decided on the need of two members of their group to pretend to be a married couple to sneak into an underground party. Originally she had intended to volunteer herself and Laudna despite the fact that they do not overly enjoy public displays of affection. She figured it would be better to let the couple do it than put their friends in that awkward position yet the group had insisted on taking volunteers before she could say anything.
“What about,” Ashton juts his chin towards their looped arms, “you two?”
Laudna makes a delighted noise and taps her fingertips together in a silent clap, “I was going to suggest the same!”
Orym’s face pinches, “You were?”
“Of course! Who better to preform this task than Imogen and myself?”
“Right,” Ashton narrows their eyes at the couple, looking awfully suspicious over nothing, Imogen thinks, “glad we are all on the same page.”
So they get outfitted in fanciful dresses—a pearl white dress for Imogen that has violet lacing on the edges and something sleek and black velvet with lace bell sleeves for Laudna—to sneak into this party together. The others are posing as attendants inside, bussing or bar tending and she recalls Fearne agreed to be the cook which sounds like a recipe for disaster rather than anything genuinely good related but she had not wanted to argue when Fearne’s eyes had lit up in delight. The rings intended to be used as their wedding bands had needed to be borrow from their benefactor because none of the local jewelers would agree to rent that particular type of jewelry out. In fact the jeweler had called them crooks and liars when they had asked, much to Laudna’s delight. She had needed to tie a bit of ribbon around one of Laudna’s fingers to keep the blasted thing on because the woman’s hands were as long and sleek as the rest of her was and nothing they found had fit her well at all. Eshteross had assured them he would not consider it a tragic loss if the ring were to go missing but Imogen couldn’t stomach telling him it fell off after taking a look at the platinum band and the glossy black diamonds.
At the party, Laudna stays pleasantly tethered to her side, keeping a willowy arm wrapped loosely round her hips for the majority of the night. They have their marching orders to preform one simple task: be present, be together, just be until they can catch attention of the golden couple who threw this confounded party. Imogen had been a bit unclear on exactly how they were suppose to get the two alone so they can question them or if questioning the couple was even their given directive.
“Shall we dance, dear heart?” Laudna whispers near her ear, the cool rush of her breath spreading pleasant tingles across her skin.
“Suppose we might as well. Were you listening when they were explaining the plan?”
“Hm,” Laudna presses the flat of her palm against Imogen’s bared back, sweeping her gallantly into small loops around the crowded dance floor, “Not entirely. They could not seem to decide. I think the general idea was seduction which seems entirely unfair.”
They take turns casting glances overtop the crowd to the couple who smile and sway to the music but do not join the swing of things. The woman—a lean, tall tiefling with pink skin and long red hair—taps her fan against her thigh and leans against her partner with a dreamy smile. The burly half-orc with slicked back hair and a teal colored beard leans down to whisper something against the woman’s pointed ear that makes her lashes flutter.
“Unfair how?”
“They cannot be prepared for the sight of you in this dress. It’ll sweep them off their feet, it’ll steal their beating hearts, it’ll make them fall—“
Imogen gives a very light swat against her lover’s arm, chewing on her lip to keep from smiling the tender, bashful smile only Laudna can produce, “Knock it off. This is serious.”
“Oh, I’m deadly serious,” Laudna rubs her thumb in circles around the dimple in her lower back, “You are beautiful.”
“Thank you honey,” She waits long enough for Laudna to spin her and bring her back against her chest, swaying them in slow circles, “but I get the feeling it won’t be that simple.”
Fearne’s eager thoughts suddenly brush against her mind, stinging and loud, they are so cute together! I think it’s happening. They are gonna kiss, I know it!
Imogen blinks at the direction of the kitchen, just able to see the twisting curl of horns overtop the swinging doors.
Fearne honey…you remember you’re talking to me, Imogen, and not alone in there, right?
There is a brief pause followed by the distant sounds of pots and pans clanging together.
I forgot.
Why are you so damn hell bent on what me and Laudna get up to? Especially right now. We need to focus, for once.
You’re just so lovely together and she loves you so much Imogen. You should tell her how you feel! Before it’s too late!
“Imogen? Where have you gone?” Laudna’s dark eyes loom near her, winking voids of dedication and adoration for her that will never run dry.
“Fearne. She’s—well, Fearne. More nonsense,” Her mind hooks on the final words though and the insistence that had been imbued in them, “They all kind of—that is the third time one of them said I should talk to you about how I feel.”
Laudna spins her around by the tips of their fingers, moving them between dancing couples in a graceful arc that makes her stomach flutter. Over Laudna’s shoulder, she catches the interested spark light the pink of the woman’s eyes.
“Suppose we don’t much express our love in front of them, do we? Perhaps they are curious. They are the nosy types. Well, we all are.”
“You don’t think it’s more than that?”
“What, like….she wants to join us in our bed? Oh! Perhaps they all do? That might explain Dorian’s poetry.”
A slight flare of jealousy burns the tender sides of her heart and makes her draw Laudna closer, setting her chin on a bony shoulder, “None of that. I’m not one for sharing, not like that.”
Laudna tilts her head to rest her cheek against Imogen’s temple with a soft chuckle, “They probably just want a chance with you. Just a little kiss. You can’t much blame them, you’re a goddess. Anyone with a little sense in their head would lose their whole self for you. I do near constantly. Still, if I must be honest…I don’t think I’d be much for sharing your love either.”
“Oh don’t even start. All your surgery words—horrible flirt,” The woman touches the broad arm of her half-orc companion to command him to bend to her as a flower does to water, her lips whispering something against his ear that turns his steely gaze to meet her own, “Oh, shit.”
“What is it?” Laudna starts to pull away, likely to assess their surroundings, but Imogen grips her firmly around the waist to keep them flush.
“They are watching us.”
“Who?”
“The—shit, what are their damned names? Lionel, Lion, Leon—whatever. The husband and wife.”
“Oh, I see. What do we do now?”
“Hold on.” She reaches into the crowd, very careful of the sea of minds, becoming a stream underfoot, easy to miss rather than a storming cloud everyone should be caught in, seeking out the singular mind of Orym to ask the very same question. Typically, he startles the slightest bit at her intrusion though he has mastered the art of not letting it show outside of their connected minds.
They are looking for love, he hisses back at her unhelpfully.
What the hell does that mean?
I dunno! Just—one of them isn’t what they seem and they feed on love. Just put on a show or something!
“He said we need to put on a show.”
“Delightful,” Laudna’s too-sharp teeth show, glistening in the candle light that is turning the dome of the room into a orange glow, “How do you want to approach that?”
“Oh gods,” She shuffles under Laudna’s invisible wing, cloistered in her safest place against the breastbone that has a drumbeat a little slower than her own, resting her forehead against it, “We don’t do this. What were we thinking? There are so many…people.”
“Mm, that is true,” Laudna’s cool fingers scrape the nape of her neck, tender and light, toying with a few wispy curls that cannot be contained in her fanciful updo, “do you want to leave?”
“They are counting on us.”
“You’re more important than that. They don’t know how bad it can be for you, what it feels like in your head when everyone is doing more than just being around you but actually focusing on you. They will understand. If you need to go, let’s go. We’ll find another way.”
Warmth unfurls like the petals of a flower in her chest, filling her with all the goodness of new life. They are not a very open couple, not because they don’t love one another vibrantly but because Imogen needs to slip underneath most peoples attention. During their time together—during the early stages of their companionship when they were bumbling around new bonds and new feelings—they had spent many years perfecting their system of avoidance. When they discovered early on that their love for one another ran infinitely deep, they did not throw a cloak over it because of shame or nerves but because eyes on them was a dangerous for Laudna and painful for Imogen. Now, the danger of Laudna being accused of a witch stealing a young woman for sacrifice is lessened and Imogen is getting a better grip on her own mind but they still find themselves treading careful. Out of habit.
“No, no,” That warmth still fills her, makes her fingertips tingle and her throat tight, “it’s fine. We’ve got this. It’s gonna be fine. We can leave if I get—if it’s too much. And you’re safe now. We have friends.”
“Yes! We surely do. You have a plan then?”
“Not even a little bit. I’m just gonna swing wildly in the dark on this one,” She lifts her elbows onto Laudna’s shoulders and gives her love a blinding smile, “Gimmi some sugar.”
“Terrible phrasing,” Laudna dips her lovely head, long tendrils of inky hair softer than satin brush against her cheek and fill her head with the smell of lavender and honey, “I’m not sweet at all.”
“You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Oh! That was a good one.”
Lips brush against the side of her neck, pressing down a firm kiss that will surely leave a lipstick stain. The resulting spread of shock through her system makes her hum happily and her eyelids start to get heavy. The kisses move to her ear, around the long silver dangle of her earring, to kiss the shell of it. Laudna’s cool breath makes her shiver. For a pleasant moment, the music of Laudna’s mind sweeps her away from the present company, up high into tinkling tones of unspoken praises and never uttered affections. They are little gems of their love Laudna never thinks to breath life into, always securing them away into little pockets of her mind for Imogen to find like a joyous surprise. There is a soft song of you smell like flowers while Laudna moves her kisses along the length of Imogen’s jawline that makes her smile and fall ever deeper in love. A floating feeling consumes her when their lips meet in glad reunion.
Kissing Laudna is akin to the feeling of working under the blazing sun all day, skin itching and raw from the leather of saddles and the long grass that brushes against it, overheated and unhappy only to be welcomed into a happy home that lets her relax and shirk off those unpleasantries. It is a warmness that she will never tire of despite the chill that comes in that kiss. No matter what her lover says, Laudna tastes sweet that way someone might after sampling a rich, flavorful wine and more often than not Imogen is drunk on the flavor. It is easy to be swept away by the kiss. It is perhaps another reason they have always been careful to keep their love that is not a lit candle but a bonfire under a hood. If Laudna were to bless Imogen with her kiss in the wilds of the world it would stop time, spin Imogen up in a web of sugar and hold her heart and mind still long enough that she might miss the world turning around them, might miss the people and creatures that share the space with them. It is far too easy to be welcomed gladly into the home of Laudna’s ever giving heart and not want to leave it.
Imogen, it’s working, they are coming over, Orym’s voice cuts beneath the haze fogging Imogen’s mind.
“Laud, heads up.” She whispers against her lover’s lips. Long fingers curl around the back of Imogen’s neck to gently guide her into tipping her head back so Laudna can press a long line of chilly kisses against the stretch of Imogen’s neck. The new angle lets her peer around Laudna through a cracked eye to gauge the approach of the couple. The crowd parts around them naturally almost as if the couple is a ship forging through tepid waters in search of land. A smile tugs up the plush mouth of the woman, painted a gossamer black to match the twinkling dark of her husband’s eyes that are set on Laudna’s slender back. Their intense interest sends a quick shock of anxiety through her because she is confronted with the reminder that she has no plan and no idea what they will do once the couple reaches them.
She grips Laudna’s bicep hard enough it might have left a bruise if Laudna had enough living blood in her body to send to the location and whispers in a mental hiss against the cool grey of Laudna’s singing mind, what the hell do we do now!?
Be inviting I presume.
What does that mean?
“Hello there,” The woman’s voice is soft leather dragging over bare skin, it is fresh cream coating ripe strawberries that burst against the tongue when bitten, it is curved with an accent that is coated in a spice that warms even Imogen’s belly, “my husband and I were stood over there and it came to our attention that we do not recognize you two.”
“A shame and a slight on our part,” If the woman is all things soft and sweet when she speaks then the man’s voice is a bed of coals that turn bright by the breath of a sweet scented wind, it is the strip of leather that knife edges are sharpened on, it is calloused fingers that play across a pair of ribs like piano keys, it is a cologne soaked bedsheet, “so we have come to rectify that horrible error. I am Leytis and this vision beside me is my darling wife, Ylanna.”
It is not overly easy for Imogen to summon her charm that sits idle in a box at the bottom of all her other tricks. Charm requires a smooth and easy delivery, something that slides like a magic trick between fingers so quick the participants do not notice what had happened. The types of emotional skills that simmer under Imogen’s skin are the quick zip of lightening—anger sometimes, jealously, heady love and deep intense loyalty—things that tingle and are ready to strike at any given moment. It takes a moment of adjustment for her to shrug off the naturalness of those feelings and reach for the bottom of the box.
She plasters on a smile that she hopes mimics at least half of the same seduction on Ylanna’s face and reaches her hand out, “That might on our part. Some friends of ours planned to come tonight but they came down with something and insisted we take their place. I’m…Iris and this is my wife…Layla.”
The delight for the code names radiates off Laudna in the way she crowds behind Imogen and beams at the couple. Ylanna takes Imogen’s offered hand to rub her thumb across the platinum band dressing her finger, almost idly but there seems to be a hidden purpose behind the action because her brows knit the more she prods at it. After a moment she bends to kiss the bundle of Imogen’s fingers rather than the knuckles and passes her hand off to Leytis who performs the same strange ritual.
“Lovely rings.” There is a slight curve to his voice now, one that is coated in disappointment. It is a risk to brush her minds against strangers be it even just one in a lonely room but perhaps even more so with people who might have skills most folk do no possess. The kind that could tell what she is doing or tell that it’s coming from her. Still, the group put their trust in Laudna and Imogen and she cannot fail them so she lets her walls down briefly just to scrape against the edges of Ylanna’s mind. Fake rings. That’s disappointing. They are such a pretty couple.
“They’re new.” Imogen supplies in a rush to fix whatever mistake they seem to have made. Laudna, as ever, is there to lend Imogen strength in all her endeavors. She clicks her tongue against the backs of her teeth and takes Imogen’s hand to toy with the ring, spinning it around her finger, before she gives Imogen a playful wink.
“My dearest lost hers for which I have only myself to blame. I bought it when our love first bloomed and it was, I am embarrassed to admit, fairly cheap.”
Imogen lays a hand over Laudna’s and offers her a genuine smile and a handful of words that she truly means about the rings they never bought but have always sat invisibly on their fingers regardless, “The price never mattered.”
“Well, you’re too good to me. Regardless, it caught on something and the metal had worn thin enough that it snapped. I likely could have fixed it if I found the pieces but…as I said, it is my fault. So I bought her a new one.”
“And I hated the idea that we did not have a matching pair anymore.”
Mm. That’s quite lovely. The woman flicks her eyes to her husband who hums with a low noise that is either impressed or adoring. They move closer together—a practiced pair that are use to being an adornment on each other’s arms—so they can come in a little closer, one on each side of them. Laudna does not have to pretend to be delighted by their critical analysis of them as a pair because she always finds strange and unpleasant things curious. It is not just one of her many oddities that endears Imogen to her, it is one of the many things that brought them together in the first place. Imogen has to pretend not to be unnerved by their eyes running up the length of both of them however.
“Would you two care to share a drink with us?”
“Oo! We love drinking! Darling?” Laudna turns her blinding too-sharp smile down to Imogen.
She forces hers, “Sure. That would be lovely.”
In the sanctity of their own minds, the singing sound of Laudna’s thoughts rush over her like a wave of cool water, Don’t worry darling. Our friends have already started…whatever it is they are suppose to do. We shan’t have to distract these two for long. And I’d never let harm befall you. If just one of your lovely hairs are misplaced I’ll kill everyone in this room.
The smile that creeps onto her face feels far more real.
Distraction goes too well. There is brief snippets in conversation where Laudna is a lightening rod for compelling stories that the married couple take great joy in touching and it works well because sometimes Imogen slips away mentally to speak with their friends. Half of them seemed to have split off to search an underground area while the other half have gone upstairs to search personal rooms. Laudna proves to be too willing to go with the flow of things. Imogen is nothing more than a rose bud that blooms for Laudna’s quaint mind and this works well for them as the couple marvel at Imogen’s adoration. Little by little their conversation about friendly topics shift into something hidden beneath silk and layered with something heady that Imogen takes far to long to realize is flirting. Despite what Laudna may say, Imogen possesses many faults and she knows the green tinted jealousy that can brew and boil in an instant is an ugly thing but she cannot help it. Laudna is opposite in that way, a marvel in her own right, for readily accepting that so many might form attractions to Imogen based solely the fact that she is a marvel, a beautiful wonder, and like any natural landmark, people may often stay to bask in it. There is not a need for jealously when she knows Imogen loves her beyond reason so she cannot fault interest, not when she herself worships Imogen as a Goddess. Imogen herself does not share these proclivities and it is difficult to hold onto the charm needed in this moment when they begin showing their interest not just in her but in Laudna as well. Their interest is smooth, easy to digest but still barbed for the ways Ylanna’s fluttering eyelashes make her grit her teeth and the casual ways her husband likes to comment on how beautiful Laudna’s love for Imogen is. After a small grouping of minutes that feel like a tortuous hour to her, Leytis reaches across the table in a very bold fashion to drag the tips of his fingers across the regal arch of Laudna’s cheek and purr compliments about her beauty and begs that the two of them consider an enticing proposal.
It takes everything in Imogen not to take him by the wrist so she can cast his touch far from her lover, “What did you have in mind?” It also takes considerable strength to keep her voice husky, soaked in the river of desire that she does not feel for these people.
Ylanna produces a wrought iron key from the valley between her breasts and passes it over to Imogen, her eyes burning with a passion that rivals the warmth of the key, “Meet us in our home. We would love to welcome you in a more…passionate setting, if you would like to join us.”
“We,” She stumbles to a halt when Ylanna leans across the table to twirl a lavender strand of Imogen’s hair around her finger, “we would be—we would love that. Wouldn’t we?”
Laud if she doesn’t get her fuckin’ hands off me, I swear to all.
“That sounds absolutely divine,” Laudna catches the pink hand between her long fingers and turns the hand over to kiss the wrist, “we readily accept.”
Not like that. Imogen works her jaw back and forth, clenching her hands into fists against the tops of her thighs beneath the table.
We do need to remain convincing, Darling.
Well, tone it down.
Laudna’s soft titter draws the interest of Leytis, “Something funny?”
Smooth as ever, Laudna beams invitingly and leans against Imogen, “My wife is not so very good at sharing.”
Ylanna’s lips tick up, “I would not be either, I think.”
Imogen looses a sound that was intended to be a flirty laugh but it comes out as a huff instead, “Let us run home to change and we’ll meet with you….?”
“Oh,” Leytis waves her off, charming as ever and fixes a look on her that is a low simmering heat she feels nothing for, “tonight is too quickly. Take time to discuss with your wife and meet us three nights from now, after sunset. If you do not come, we will take it as a no and that will be fine too.”
“Perfect! How exciting,” Laudna taps her bony fingers against the bridge of her palm in a whisper of a clap before she turns to Imogen, “Shall we head home?”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
“That went great!” Dorian flips the key round and round in his hands, marveling at the way it has continued to carry heat even after it left Ylanna’s grasp. Fearne keeps her interest on it from the corner of her eye which Orym, thankfully, notices and settles himself between them so she cannot knick it.
Imogen rolls her eyes and folds her arms in the corner of the table where she sat herself after they reunited. The bad taste of that interaction still simmers at the back of her throat, burning green and making her antsy. That man had touched Laudna’s cheek and she had needed to sit there instead of snap at him the way she would have liked and it still does not sit well with her. Orym’s curious gaze on her only sends more pricks of irritation rushing across her skin.
“Imogen was amazing! Which is, of course, no surprise at all because Imogen is extremely talented and so very smart.”
A little spark of fondness relaxes the tense line of her shoulders and draws her gaze back to the ear to ear grin on her lover’s darling face, “Thanks Laud.”
Ashton, beside Laudna, lifts an eyebrow at Imogen, “You two really sold it.”
There it is again, even still. They are using that tone that implies they are saying something else with the words they have chosen. She is tired and agitated and she is torn between throwing a childish fit over what went down by dragging Laudna home or letting it slip free from her fingers so she can relax. It was not a terribly big deal, after all, because they had been playing a pair of characters that do not matter after they finish this mission and what happened would never really happen in their day to day.
Yet she still glowers when she recalls the image of Laudna’s cool lips pressed to another woman’s skin inches from her own face.
So maybe she is a little more waspish when she replies to Ashton than she normally would be, “Why wouldn’t we have sold it?”
They crack a grin at her and lower to her level, “I’m just saying, that kiss was pretty intense.”
Imogen narrows her eyes at them, “What are you getting’ at?”
“Nothin,” They fold their arms across the wide barrel of their chest and leans back in their chair with a sly grin, “just sayin’ you seemed to like it.”
Laudna’s lovely hook nose twists up as she grows visibly confused. Her eyes flick to Imogen’s and she allows the singular channel saved just for Laudna to open up in her storming mind: why would we look any other way?
Imogen pushes her glasses onto her forehead so she can rub some of the tension from her eyes and the bridge of her nose, I’m not really in the mood for whatever they’ve been doing, Laud.
Shall we go home?
“Know what? Why don’t we celebrate with a new game of What The Fuck Is Up With That?” The gleam in their eyes is far too mischievous for her current mood. She parts her lips to immediately turn Ashton down but the delight that blooms in Laudna makes her melt back into her seat defeated and resorts herself to whatever this game will hold.
“Imogen darling, we can go home if you’re not—“
She holds up a hand to wave Laudna away knowing that whatever else she has to say will be a self sacrificing offer when she so clearly wants to stay and play, “S’fine Laud.”
“Oh, fun! Can I go first?”
The first few rounds are tame enough that Imogen settles more comfortably beneath her buzzing skin and indulges in the same mug of beer that Laudna keeps passing to her then taking back when she seems to remember her own thirst. They mostly gloss over her which works well enough for her since she does not overly want to play but rather would sit and enjoy Laudna’s happiness—something she deserves more than the grass deserves the sun or the trees deserve rain—and the happiness of her friends. While they ring out with laughter prettier than a crystal bell struck by the gentle rap of a finger, Laudna starts to sway from the second beer they share and her hand looks for Imogen’s atop the table. The cool glide of Laudna’s thumb against the outside edge of Imogen’s palm keeps her distracted for another two rounds though her mind snags on Fearne’s laugh when she asks, ‘Laudna, have you…since you came back?’ and Laudna’s delicate chortle and very humble, ‘I believe it is unbecoming to kiss and tell.’ The ease of conversational flow, when had in a candle lit corner and with the taste of bittersweet beer on her tongue, surrounded by people she feels herself starting to love, her mind relaxes and her shoulders sink with it. Normally with outings such as this Imogen would require ample space to flee at any given moment but here, just for this breath, she feels okay.
Until Ashton braces their gleaming forearms on the table to lean forward, grinning all up into one corner, and says, “Imogen, your turn.”
Her eyes blink open slow—slow because she hasn’t realized they were shut, that she had become that comfortable—so she can gauge the look being sent to her. It is prickly with a hidden edge she does not want to be poked by but her competitive spirit has her narrowing her eyes.
“Alright, let’s hear it.”
They instantly wag a finger to gesture from Imogen’s figure framed in softly glowing lavender hair leaned against the slender figure of Laudna that they gesture to next, “You two. What the fuck is up with that?”
Her glasses slip down her nose just a fraction from her hard she twists it up in her confusion, “What? What about us?”
This is the focal point, she realizes, when everyone suddenly seems to lean in as if there is a gravitation to the things unspoken but promised via the parameters of the game. This is the climax of whatever game they seemed to have been playing all this time, whatever end goal they each have silently bur collectively striving for. Imogen just wishes she understood what the hell that meant, where they wanted this to go so she could meet them there on equal footing.
Ashton’s eyes dip to their entwined hands, to Laudna’s spindly fingers tapping across the peeks of Imogen’s knuckles to trace down the rivers of purple the scars have left beneath the skin, then lift back up as they lift their arms in a silent question: what the fuck is up with that? She feels more confused than before and the alcohol—for which she has a dreadfully low tolerance for on the account that she partakes so rarely—is only making it harder for her catch up to what they want her to grasp.
“What?”
Orym clears his throat a little awkwardly, his small hands struggling wrap around the entirety of the human sized mug when he shifts it aside so he can be seen more easily, “I think maybe what Ashton—and all of us—are just wondering is…we know you’re good friends but…”
When he trails off, FCG picks the sentence back up and presses onto the end, “Do you two love each other?”
Now Laudna wears a similar look of confusion and when she answers, she does so slowly, dragging the sounds of each word deliberately between her teeth so they get sharper at the ends, “Well, of course. As I stated in our last game, I love Imogen dearly.”
Dorian clicks his tongue against the back of teeth the way he does when he is excited about something, like he can taste the plethora of words he can turn into colorful words that will dazzle the ear and win the heart but needs to taste them first so he can figure out how best to present them. His shoulders rise with the decision and he smiles when he says, carefully, “Have you considered that, perhaps, and this is just an idea for you to mull over, if you will…that you might love her…as more than a friend? Dearly, of course, oh but yes! Of course but…perhaps dearly but also…reverently? Romantically?”
Laudna’s mouth opens and shuts twice, her teeth clicking together, before she seems to abandon the idea of verbal speech and turns wide eyes upon Imogen. In the sanctity of their bond, her mind asks, is this a joke? Am I…not understanding a social cue or have I misstepped?
No honey, I’m confused too.
They act as if…Gods, could they not know?
Imogen untangles their fingers so she can hold up her hands to silence whatever Fearne has opened her mouth to say and to Ashton for the same reason. There is a sternness in her mind she attempts to press into the vowels of her words but it comes out disoriented because that is her truth in this moment, “Now why are you askin’ her somethin’ like that?”
Dorian retreats back into his seat with an unhappy twist to his mouth, sinking down between Orym and Fearne who share twin looks not dissimilar to how her father looked at her when she tracked mud into the house after being in the field all day. Ashton, ever the impatient one, heaves a loud annoyed sigh and throws of their arms, “Fuck it. You two keep playing footsies in front of us and we have been trying to encourage you to stop fooling around and just work it out already but you’re both blind as a fuckin’ bat!”
Laudna blinks big, dark eyes at their friend, “Encourage us to…what?”
“See that you’re in love with each other!”
The answering silence does not last long but it does hang between them tenderly: not tender like the touch of a lover but tender like thin glass set out in the middle of winter. The answering silence does not last long because Imogen taps her finger against that frost coated glass, just once, and it shatters. She reaches for Laudna’s hand that still lays on the table, seeking her familiar comfort, and looks at her bewildered.
“They really don’t know, you were right.”
Fearne hooks into that instantly, “Don’t know what?”
“Y’all…Laudna and I are married. We have been for a long time, since before we met y’all.”
Laudna nods while Imogen speaks, waiting patiently to add in her usual congenial musical voice, “We just never bought rings. It felt like a waste of money when we were living the way we were before. Being hermits is a hard life, you know.”
The glass shatters instantly and the noise that follows is raucous, it is the many tinkling sounds of all their company speaking at once and leaving the couple no room to answer.
“What!? This whole time!?” Chetney, loudest of them all to voice his disbelief.
“But! But how!? You never—well, how were we suppose to know!? You never outright act like a couple! Why, don’t married folks kiss at least!?” FCG, sweet as they are, can be a bit too blunt sometimes though it never leaves a mark because they never mean to hurt.
“That makes sense.” Fearne, quickest to accept it and quickest to move on. Her interest immediately shifts to the half eaten tomato on Dorian’s plate that she has no qualms plucking up and finishing.
Dorian, who looks as if he has been slapped, gapes at them but his befuddlement switches to Fearne, “‘That makes sense’!? That’s all you have to say! They’re married!”
In classic fashion, Fearne’s face pinches like a toddler’s does when they are being chastised and her shoulders square up to her ears, “Why are you yellin’ at me!? What did I do!? You’re the one who said they always act in love! Well! Duh, it’s because they’re married.”
“Well yes but—! That’s not—! You know what,” He sputters a bit more before he turns his sharpness to the other person he is sandwiched between, “Orym!?”
Young gentle Orym, pretty as a flower but stronger than the earth it grows from, looks wistful. There is an ache in his smile that chills Imogen’s bones but, beyond that, is his joy and his peace. He does not seem to ponder maybe because he does not need to think of anything to counter point the argument with or simply because he does not have a fighting spirit for this topic. Instead he nods and says, “Rings aren’t that important anyway.”
Laudna lights up, “That is precisely what Imogen said. Though, I do still regret not having one to gift you my darling. You certainly deserve one.”
As ever, Imogen’s heart thunders for this woman, it gallops across blooming fields of golden tall grass and wild daisies like that of a hoof beat. As ever, Imogen is fooled into thinking she has at last reached the point where she cannot love Laudna more and as ever Laudna proves her wrong. She does not lean into the desire for a kiss because her qualms with public affections chafe against the idea but she knows, through a shared passion and many months led into years loving this woman, that Laudna knows her desire. The cool press of those fingers braided with her own squeeze a fraction tighter.
“Maybe someday.” Is all she says, devoted to every wisp of hair on this woman’s head, to her every bone crack and every dreadful smile, to her oiled slathered shades and her bleached-bone brights.
“Huh. Well fuck.” Is all Ashton says, leaned back in their seat now with a thick arm draped over the back of their chair. They seem humbled to have been wrong but also deeply pleased and deeply amused.
“So this whole time…?” Chetney encourages, voice thin and sharp like the edge of his beloved tools as he is always edging for a secret, for an answer someone does not want to give even if he has no intention with it. Just simply wants to know.
“Yeah. We just sort of thought y’all knew?”
“But you two never,” Dorian flounders for a moment in his awkwardness, his ears edging towards a shade of lovely purple darker than Imogen’s hair, “you don’t behave like a married couple.”
“Oh? Do we not?” Laudna tilts her head sadly, catching Imogen’s gaze from the corner of her eye and giving her a precious pouty look, “that’s disappointing to hear.”
“We just aren’t…loud about it. I love Laudna with all my heart, she’s my girl but I just—back when we was travelin’, it was hard. Folks sometimes got the wrong idea and us kissing’ on each other drew a lot of attention which was bad for me so we just got use to actin’ a certain way in public.”
“But, I am very vehement about my adoration of Imogen. She is the most capable one of us all and I truly do believe she can do anything she wants.”
FCG nods their head in thought, “That is true…you are very supportive of each other. And, huh, you do frequently remind us of how much you adore Imogen.”
“I do. She is the smartest and most talented woman I ever met. I cannot wait to see her elevated to a platform she truly deserves, someday.” She says it with such a deep pride that Imogen gets a little shy.
“And! And Imogen always gets,” The little automaton makes a strange hand gesture that looks only vaguely like the symbolic patterns Imogen draws in the air when she casts powerful spells, “when you get hurt or someone insults you. So…all those signs we were seein’ of you two being in love wasn’t y’all blind to your own hearts but us not realizing what was already there.”
“Suppose so.” Imogen concludes gently.
“Huh.” Ashton says again.
“So…you’re married,” Dorian speaks as if the wind has been knocked from him, “congratulations! Belatedly. Oh this makes the conversation we had so awkward now.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it Dorian.”
“Is there anything else you haven’t told us that you just expected us to figure out?” Chetney squints at them both, looking them over critically with his jaw shifted to one side, “Do you have kids!?”
“Oh lord, no. We lived in shacks and tents in the woods and on the side of the road for two years, Chet. That’s not exactly the place to start a family.” Imogen says on the tail end of a laugh while Laudna says at the same time, “I do love children but children do not love me, sadly. We have Pâté though!”
Black inky tendrils slips from the pads of Laudna’s fingers to tether against their favorite anchor holds on the rat and lift him upward for another merry jig, “That’s right! Kids are messy anyway and they ruin the mood.”
Laudna gasps her offense, “Pâté! Come now! We are in civil company, act accordingly!”
Delighted as ever by her deepest love, Imogen leans into her side so she can poke at Pâté’s soft, round tummy with just her nail tip and speaks to him when she chastises gently, “We might have them some day, little fella, so you better get use to the idea.”
“I’ll run away!”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Laudna clicks her tongue and bundles him back into her palms so she can hang him once again from his hook on her belt, “if you’re going to misbehave, perhaps you need some time to cool off.”
“So—“ Conversation eases back into something pleasant to stew in and something far more simple, nurtured by interest not spurred on by a game but rather by the interest of a caring heart. Now as Imogen leans against Laudna, the odd looks she had gotten from their friends for the last handful of months have relented to contented, wistful, happy things. Now she feels a little silly for having assumed the worst of their intentions, that they were holding some secret prank she didn’t want to be apart of but certainly did not want Laudna to be privy to, but it had always been their way of trying to secure their happiness. Part of her is pleased to know that, even when they do not overly display their affections, it is easy to tell that they are in love though she does consider that perhaps they could have told their friends sooner to avoid this. In hindsight, expecting them to just figure it out was not the best approach.
They share another one and a half beers which is just the amount needed to officially get Imogen drunk enough to agree to paying for a room in the tavern rather than risk walking home.
Laudna stumbles into their room and she means to follow but a small hand catches her wrist and Orym says gently, “Imogen?”
She wobbles where she stands but allows him to keep her in the hall just outside the cracked door. Half her attention strays to the sound of Laudna bumping into furniture while she prepares their room for bed and prepares herself with it.
“I wanted to apologize.”
“Oh, Orym, that ain’t—“
He cuts her off before she can finish, “We shouldn’t have been putting our noses in it. What you two have is precious and special and—“
She has to set a hand on the wall to steady herself but she manages to move down onto her knees so she is at the proper height to wrap her arms around his strong shoulders. Instantly he returns the embrace though he has to be more mindful of the strength applied because he actually possesses enough to leave a lasting mark.
“Thank you all. It was annoying and confusing at first, I won’t lie, but now that I know what y’all were tryin’ to do…it was real sweet.”
“She’s real special. So are you. We all care about you two an awful lot.”
She squeezes him a little tighter, feeling a little more emotionally vulnerable than she might normally be, “That’s what makes it mean so much. Although, if we hadn’t been together, it might not have taken that long for us to catch on.”
He pulls away with an airy laugh, soft as a summer breeze and gives her a charming smile, “That’s good.”
As she stands to leave he makes a noise that stops her, “Yeah?”
“Just…you said some stuff and you didn’t explain, you don’t have to, but…the way it was for you two, it’s not like that anymore. You have us now and we all protect each other. If you two want to come outside and be different, we support you. You’re safe with us.”
Touched as she is, she cannot form a proper thanks in words for the man so she just dips her head in a nod and says, “Night Orym.”
“Night Imogen. Sweet dreams!”
Her heart is full of happiness when she presses the door to their room shut behind her and slides the lock into its home. Lit only by the glow of the fire that Laudna has steeped with a few more dry wedges of rich smelling pine, she navigates her way through the room by following the sound of Laudna’s humming. When her knees bump into a trunk at the foot of the bed, she settles on it to start unlacing her boots.
Fingers against her ankles surprise her enough she jumps and shrieks, “Fuck! Laud, honey, don’t do that!”
In the murky dark in front of her, a lithe shadow rumbles with low pitched laughter and the fingers begin the work of assisting in the removal process, “Your tragic eyes. It is bad enough you need those big frames to see but in the dark you’re useless. It must be so frightening.”
With one hand over her racing heart, she reaches into the gloom knowing that the being there is friendly and laughs in an echo of Laudna’s when her wife tilts her head against Imogen’s outstretched palm. She rubs her thumb over the cool arch of Laudna’s marble cheek, swaying side to side on the trunk as her boots are dutifully taken off and placed near the fire for her, “It isn’t scary.”
“No? Most people are afraid of the dark.”
Her heart lurches in her chest excitedly from the low drip of Laudna’s tone, thick and luxurious, “How can I be afraid of the dark when I know you’re in it somewhere?”
“What a sweet thing to say,” Laudna appears now that she steps into Imogen’s space this time to lift her onto her feet and to turn her so she faces the bed, quietly plucking at the hooks, buttons, and lacing keeping her wardrobe affixed to her body, “your tongue turns into honey when you’re drunk.”
Imogen hums and let’s herself fall backward against Laudna’s body, relishing in the willowy arms that cage her in and the cool nose that drags against her arched neck, “Want a taste?”
Teeth touch her hot skin and chills answer the call, razing along her spine to tickle the base of her neck. They do not bite down hard—just a gentle reminder for Imogen on how wanted they are—and are followed by a long, cool line of kisses trailing across her neck and jaw to the shell of her warm ear.
“Ever and always, for every day of your life and how ever many of mine there are left. But,” A titter from Laudna sounding like the creaking of wooden boards in a rickety shack proceeds palms pressing into the middle of her back to shove her onto the mattress, “when you’re not falling asleep on your feet maybe. And preferably sober.”
Despite herself, she fills with sunlight laughter that sets sparks against the back of her eyelids, “Laudna! You—shit!”
“Oh! Imogen!” Laudna rushes to catch her when she slips across the bedsheets and starts to fall off the side of the bed. Instead Imogen just flails for her and drags her to the floor with her when she gets purchase on her thin arms. They both hit with a loud thump and begin laughing uproariously. Before she can even swat at her wife for being the culprit for their shared downfall, there is the sound of knocking on their door and Orym’s haired, “Imogen!? Laudna!? Are you okay!?”
“We’re dandy! I fell off the bed.” She raises her voice enough for their friend to hear and even in her own ears she sounds breathless from the joy and the laughter still tickling against her lungs.
Laudna’s big eyes are ceaseless in the dim glow of their room but she knows they must be looking at her with worry because she whispers, “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”
“‘M fine Laud,” Then louder for Orym, “‘m fine Orym! Go back to bed!”
There is a long pause then a sigh that sounds wistful, sad but happy too, “Alright. Get some sleep! Seriously. Don’t…stay up late. We have things to do tomorrow.”
The sharp point of Laudna’s chin nestles comfortably between the valley of Imogen’s breasts, the weight of her head a comfort to Imogen so familiar and immense she feels her body immediately respond by yawning and going lax, “We’re going to bed, calm down!”
Through the wall, Fearne’s curiosity is muffled but voiced, “Are you two having sex?”
Dorian’s abhorrent shriek answers before either of them can, “Fearne! You cannot just ask people that!”
“Why not? Isn’t it what we were all wondering?”
“No!” Dorian shrieks while behind that noise Imogen hears Chetney and Ashton agree with Fearne.
“No one is having sex!”
Chetney makes a low sound and she can only hear at the cusp of her range, “We could be, if anyone is interested.”
“Oo! How forward,” Laudna breathes the words just between them and she starts laughing again, “come now love, let’s get you to bed.”
“You don’t want to sleep down here? It can be like old times: us sharing a blanket on ground harder than rocks.” They both rise to their feet by way of gripping the bed and wobbling upwards to climb over the side of it. Her cheek falls against Laudna’s back, some of the lumpy notches of her spine prodding at the bones beneath but it is such a comfort she sighs happily and her eyes slip shut tiredly.
“I don’t miss the way it made my body feel in the morning.”
“You can sleep on top of me, if it helps.”
“It does,” Laudna tugs on her and she goes willingly, happily, to be adjusted until her head is laid on a pillow and Laudna can move between her spread knees to lay on her chest, “but isn’t a pillow for your lovely head nicer?”
“I s'pose.” She loops her arms around her wife’s thin shoulders to hug her close, turning her head down to press her nose into the long lengths of her sable hair and drowns in the smell of fallen leaves and lavender. Sleep tickles at her tired muscles, fastens weights around her bones to drag her down but she does not allow it to take her yet, not when she has one last thing she needs to say.
“Laud, you okay with what happened?”
“Hm?” She sounds closer to sleep than Imogen herself is.
“Them pushing us together and us not realizin’, them knowing now.”
“Mm. It is nice. We have never shared this with anyone before. Well, that’s not true. Our dear, kind landlady but she found out in the way we expected them to. And, also, it was nice to learn that evidently I am not as obvious in my love for you as I thought I was. Now I know I can be doing more.”
“Oh hush, you do a lot already.”
“Are you certain?”
Imogen casts her mind, quickly, down the long echoing halls of her immense loneliness, of the misery of her childhood and the ways her father loved her silently the way someone loves something they harbor a responsibility for but do not want anyone or anything to discover. She thinks of the shadow cut out against the vibrant landscape of her mountainous homeland and the way it’s big eyes blinked from beneath a deep hood and how instantly Imogen’s heart had swelled for what she saw in them. How quickly she was brought to her knees in worship by the wonderfully devastating sound of Laudna’s Concerto. How her soul is set alight each time long fingers frame her jaw just before her head is lifted into a kiss or how her joy makes her teeth ache each time Laudna gushes about her skills or her mind or her beauty to any ear that will listen.
“Absolutely.”
“Oh, good. It is nice, too, that we know for certain they support us and that if we ever felt like being a bit more affectionate in public, we likely would not have to worry about someone accusing me of being a hag and kidnapping you, a young gorgeous sorceress for nefarious dealings.”
The memory of how all this began touches her mind unbidden, Ashton’s gruff voice mixing in it, “You should just tell her, you know? Life is short.”
The words sweep her up in a wave of boldness that sees her cradling Laudna’s jaw to lift her head and pulling her upwards into a kiss that is simple passion. There is not a measure of time that can force it to end or speed it along, there is nothing, but Laudna’s cool touch and her loving sounds and the faint thump of her sleepy heart overtop Imogen’s that rages. When at last they do part, the air stings against her lips.
“Darling?”
“You’re my everything. I love you with—lord, just so much Laud. I don’t know what I’d do without you. If I could, I’d marry you again.”
“Oh, my dear,” Laudna rubs the roughened pad of her thumb across Imogen’s throat that bobs from a hard swallow beneath it, “I don’t know what I would do without you. Delilah may have brought me back to serve as her puppet, but I assure you, I live for you. It is my greatest treasure to be your chosen.”
“It ain’t so bad bein’ yours too.”