Noblesse Obligé [Ghostwolf and Thaedael]

"Ah-" she said, with a quick response, the fine lips of her mouth drawn into the shape of the sound. "But it is much more simple than that my lady." She took one last sip from the heavy crystal tumbler in her hand, the last of the Amasec doing nothing more than wetting her lips and palette, before placing it once more on the coaster, the crystal sounding with a light ring as she did so. "You see, I have always had a man in mind." With one hand, she pinched at the fabric of her uniform at her thigh, pulling it down towards her knee so that the material straightened out against her form, before allowing herself the luxury of crossing her leg over the knee opposite of it. She spoke with a glow on her face, her eyes much more lively than she had displayed for much of the evening, a rose colored tint appearing on the high set cheeks of her face. It was obvious she knew who she wanted, talking in such a way as two students might when concerning a crush on a boy.

"There is only one man I want. Originally, I had never wanted to have children. Never!" she said, moving both hands as she spoke fingers hanging loosely above her lap, palms towards the ceiling. "We were trained to die, I never had plans to live, let alone love. Now... everything has changed. With it, my views on children, and the man whom I want to father them" The silence hung in the air, only punctuated by the sounds of the clock in the room, and the rain on the windows.

"You see... I originally... I had a good mother, Clara..." It was the first time she had used Clara's name, and she kicked herself internally over doing it, the formality having dropped but for a second. She had lost her train of thought, but recovered, the pause only making the memory of her mother sound all that more dramatic. "I had a good mother. A saint of a mother even. She took care of me in a place where no once could. Where no one should have to raise a child. She taught me to read..." She paused, realizing that this had been the first time she had even thought of her mother in a long time, her face drawn into a thoughtful sadness. How long had it been... since she had thought about her?

"I decided that I never wanted to bring a child into this world. Not under those conditions. Not like that. Then... before I knew it..." She paused again, trying to tell the story in a way that made sense. Her mind reeled at the history that had led up to this point. "I was a kid when I entered the school, and an adult when I came out. My life had passed me by before I had even known it. I was a soldier. I was a veteran. I was a survivor. Now? Now I am free."

She simply smiled, sure that her gibbering story made little sense at all to Clara, her incoherent story saying too many things at once, while saying nothing at all. "Now? I have the chance at a life. A chance to share a drink with a lady as fine as yourself. A chance at love, at children, at owning a house, at eating food. I want it all Clara, I want the world in my hands. What better thing to crave, then all that which we were trained to ignore?" She smiled.

"I want Ilya Garin. I want to teach him how to smile again. I want him to be able to laugh. I want..." she stopped herself, realizing that all she did was talk, dominating the whole conversation up to this point, from when they entered the drawing room. "I want to be wanted, and needed, beyond just my abilities to keep people from dying."

Her enthusiasm had taken a turn into darker territory once more. She straightened out her leg, gaining purchase on the marble floor once more, before rising to her full height again, standing. She was in the mind to dismiss herself from the noble, knowing full well that they did not want to pay heed to things that were not interesting or things that were depressing. She reached down picking up the tumbler, intent on getting one more refill, before the sound of the Seneschal came booming through the room, the windows rattling in their frame. She could hear it coming from what sounded like the western wall. She moved towards where the sound originated from, moving towards a window sill that overlooked the western facade.


It was her eyes. If he was only allowed one image to be burned into his mind as clear as the sun on a blue sky, it would be her eyes. Not the images of death, not the day he lost his arm, not the children that looked in terror upon him. Her eyes. They were as blue as the ocean that surrounded them even as they shared this tender moment. They were as deep as the intelligence and personality behind them. They locked onto his, and were not afraid, staring him right in the face as he had moved to kiss her. She knew, her eyes told him everything there was to know, that she knew he was leaning in for a kiss. She embraced it, her body stiffening as he moved, preparing for the breath he would steal away from her.

Her eyes went wide, despite having accepted the kiss, her head moving slightly back, but he did not allow her to break it, leaning further into the kiss. He could tell that her mind had reeled at the impact of his kiss, a moments hesitation, before she had pressed against him, her mind made up. The way he held her chin, the way he had drawn her in, she compensated, moving in closer, her bust pressing against him, the taut nipples rubbing through silken fabric against him.

A pause, a singular moment, a heart that refused to beat. It was as if his world had stopped, as if his consciousness had reached a moment of singularity, before the sounds of the rain came crashing back into his mind, the sensation of touch rushing to his lips as they touched the cool air. It was Elizabeth that had broken away first, leaving him wanting, leaving him guessing as to whether she approved or not.

She had smiled. Her now bare lips curling into a smile, their natural colors coming through the remnants of her lipstick, a small dab of the artificial color left on his own. She let out a giggle, a cute one that sent the essence of his being free, his heart regaining tempo, the beating redoubling it's efforts in his rib-cage. It was Elizabeth that came back for more, a series of quick pecks, each one bolder than the last, her eyes drawing his own into them. She eyed him expectantly, trying to get a feel for his emotions, his reactions. The corners of his eyes narrowed, his face abeam in a smile despite the repeated gestures.

Her hand ran up the line of his stomach, tracing along the edges and scars of his muscles, stopping atop his chest, pulling into her hand the very fabric that clad him. She looked up at him longingly, breathing his name so much as speaking it.

"Ilya..." It was all she could say. It was all she would say. Everything she had felt, she translated into passion, into a singular feeling, transmitted by nothing more than a kiss, a kiss that had stolen his breath away, a kiss from an angel. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the warmth of her kiss, his mind accepting her feelings. It was her hopes, her fears, her aspirations for more, that familiarity of understanding something. It was all they had been, all they had pretended to be. It was Elizabeth. Nothing else mattered. he brought the hand from her chin, tracing up the side to just below her ear, before dragging it gently across her hair, shifting it between the flesh of his real hand. His other hand, less bold, did nothing more than pull her against him fully.

Love. It was that moment alone that he felt love. A romantic love, and not one of kinship. It was the perfect moment.

“Elizabeth! Come inside at once girl!”

Correction. It had been the perfect moment, the sound of the Seneschal alerting everyone in the spire as to their dealings. He pulled away from her kiss, a look of sadness on his face. Reality had stolen this moment from them, reality had came crashing down.

They were no longer man and woman, they were no longer two naked souls. The woman before him, the one that had bared her soul to him, was no more. She was Elizabeth Rayna, Noble, Daughter to the Rayna household, last child left unwed of the Governor's family. The future of the planet. He was no longer the damaged individual that had given much in the name of the Emperor, in the name of this planet. He was Ilya Garin, Hero of the Imperium, Hero of Vorlancia. Furthermore. It was no longer just a kiss, a romantic escape from their realities. It was now everyone's business. What he decided to do now, would have repercussions, every action having a consequence.

Against better judgement, he leaned in once more, not allowing her to hesitate one moment, his lips against hers.



Every action, a consequence. One cannot see every strand of fate, nor where each story is woven into the collective tapestry, or when strands fray away from one another. The decision made, the rest? Mere consequence. From her hand the tumbler slipped, the crystal piece tumbling slowly, rotating along its central axis. Each fine cut of the crystal, rainbow fractals glistening along distinct edges. Everything slowed down, individual rain drops hitting the glass window before her, streaks running down the material. The glass hit the ground, the sound of a soul crushing shattering of dreams, fragments falling into disarray. She wanted to hit the window, to scream against the scene. It did not matter. "I excuse myself" she managed to say, before walking over the crystal tumbler that had fragmented, uncaring that a piece of it had punctured clear through the bridge of her soles, crimson droplets left in her wake as she ducked out the double doors opposite to those they entered.
 
Sat back against the couch, the two of them surrounded by silence but for the ticking of the clock and the rain outside, Clara watched Victoria drain the last of the Amasec and set the glass aside on a coaster. “Oh?” she leaned forward slightly, betraying her interest. Eager and curious to discover what type of man Victoria liked, what her tastes were. She wondered if they were more like her own, or perhaps like Elizabeth’s, or even completely different.

She watched Victoria cross one of her legs over the other, adjusting her uniform as she did so, drawing the fabric tighter and causing Clara to admire the form of her legs. She noticed the way Victoria’s expression had changed. The way her face had lit up, seeming to become much more lively and expressive. It was clear to Clara that it was as a result of thinking about the one she desired. The noblewoman wondered if she had held a similar look all the time she was within Victoria’s presence. She listened to her talking without interrupting, simply letting her speak as the thoughts came to her. The woman became more animated, her hands moving as she spoke about how things were different, how her thoughts and feelings had now changed.

Clara noted the use of her given name, Victoria pausing as she realised she had said it, interrupting her flow. It seemed to her as if the woman was thinking, perhaps worried that she had slighted Clara by speaking her name, but that was not the case. Clara simply smiled at the woman in response reassuringly, encouraging her to continue, and she did. She listened to Victoria talk about her mother, a soft smile playing across her lips, perhaps a look of sadness upon her face. For a moment, she felt envious of the woman, to have a mother who cared about you so much that they would do anything for you. Clara could boast a lot of things, but that was not one of them. The officer paused again, as if to collect herself and attempt to order her thoughts in an effort to express herself more clearly, and Clara tilted her head in thanks at the compliment she was paid. She tried her best to follow Victoria’s words, to understand what she was saying, but the woman spoke quickly, her train of thought changing and twisting and merging with one another. But Clara followed the gist of it, she understood. There was something special in wanting things you cannot have, even moreso in indulging, perhaps excessively, when you finally get the chance. She was free from the bonds of duty, the responsibility, the horror, and she wanted to enjoy her new life as much as she could.

Then she revealed who the object of her affection was, the man who she desired. Oh. Oh dear. This complicated things. It seemed Victoria shared a similar taste to Elizabeth, for they both wanted the very same person. It crossed her mind that Elizabeth and Ilya were probably alone together right now. Knowing her friend, she was probably currently trying her best to charm the man, flirting outrageously with him. Perhaps it had already worked, and Clara would not be surprised if it had, and she had already gotten what she wanted out of him. If not, and he was still in her friends sights, Clara would have to warn her about Victoria, tell her what she could be getting involved in, the trouble she may cause. Victoria continued to speak, unaware of Clara’s musings. I could fulfil those needs, she thought to herself, I could show you just how much you are wanted, show you which abilities I care about.

“My dear Victoria, I am sure you wanted by a great deal more people than you imagine” is what she settled for instead, throwing the woman a smile, trying not to let her face give away her thoughts about the woman.

Victoria stood, rising from the chair and taking up the empty crystal tumbler. Clara looked up at the woman for a moment, admiring her from her seated position before she unfolded her legs and rose herself, the dress she wore floating down around her to settle into place. The manners that had been drummed into her from a child had now become second nature. The silence between them was interrupted by a large voice crying out, once Clara instantly recognised as belonging to Iactus. Curious, she joined Victoria by the window, eager to attempt to distinguish the source and cause.

________

She knew nothing but Ilya. The sounds of the storm, the rain falling upon her skin, they were but distant sensations compared to the feel of his lips upon hers, the way he kissed her stealing her breath away, her fair skin flushing. The feeling of his fingers moving over her damp skin before finding their way into her hair, the way his other hand at her waist pulled her against him possessively, caused a soft noise of appreciation to escape from her lips. Pressed fully against him, she could feel his heart beating in his chest, the speed akin to the beating of her own. Her breasts flattened against his chest, her nipples continuing to peak even more into hard points, for reasons other than the weather. She felt a longing for him in her heart, to never let him go.. A longing that had slowly begun to spread downwards deep into her core. That tell-tale tingle between her thighs as her stomach fluttered again, the slowly building need.

But that need would not get an opportunity to build any further, the voice of her Father’s seneschal cutting deep into her. A look of annoyance at being interrupted instantly appeared upon her features, her hands tightening their grip on Ilya. They broke the kiss, and she shook her head, sighing exasperatedly. The skin of her cheeks and neck remained flushed, her breath coming slow and deep. She pulled back slightly from Ilya, looking past him to see the portly seneschal waiting in the hallway, a stern look upon his face as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

She returned her attention to Ilya, looking up at him now with eyes that held a little sorrow and disappointment at their being interrupted. He surprised her by pressing his lips against hers again. Behind them, the Seneschal sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. Beth kissed him back, the hand on his chest gripping his clothing tightly, but her kiss now lacked the passion, too distracted and frustrated by their interruption. The moment had been ruined. She broke away sighing, frowning, and rested her head against his chest for a moment.

“I should go,” Beth stated, as much as she didn’t want to. But she remained like that for a moment longer, before sighing once more and looking up at him with a sad smile. “Sorry” she apologised, half shrugging. There was no way this could continue. She took hold of Ilya’s hands gently, removing them from where they rested upon her, and moved them to his sides. She squeezed them ever so slightly before letting go, she manouvered her way out from between him and the railing, the fingers of her hand brushing his as she passed, making her way inside the hallway. After a few steps she paused, turning slightly to look over her shoulder at him.

“Goodnight Ilya” she smiled softly, before stepping inside the building to where the Seneschal waited. He looked at her disapprovingly, and he shook his head and tutted.

“What are you doing out there young lady? You’ll catch your death; look at you, you’re soaking.” She did as he said, casting a glance down at herself. Her dress was ruined, flat and heavy with the rain. The front stained with the darker dye that had run from Ilya’s uniform which thankfully went towards protecting her modesty in the brighter light of the hallway.

“Sorry Iactus” Beth replied, meaning it somewhat. Yes, she complained about the man, but he did look after and genuinely care for her. Although she was surprised he did not immediately admonish her for what she had been doing, only that she had been outside in the rain. Perhaps it was to come later, or he had grown used to her behaviour and given up on scolding her, or could he actually approve of Ilya as a suitor? All of them seemed plausible to her.

“Come along, let’s get you warmed up.” He removed his jacket, placing it about her shoulders and she held it closed with one hand as he vigorously rubbed her arms for a moment, water falling from her hair and dress. With that the Seneschal began to steer her away, but not before he nodded towards Ilya. Elizabeth gave him one last apologetic and longing look herself, a sad smile upon her lips, before she was ushered away and disappeared from his sight, leaving behind nothing but a trail of small puddles and droplets of water in her wake.

__________

Oh dear. Clara was right, it was too late. Lizzie had done it again. There was a reason she was known as trouble, as the wild one of the Governor’s family. Yet that did not stop men pursuing her, or succumbing to her charms. That had been demonstrated to them both as they stood in the drawing room.

She was conflicted. Clara was not so self-centred and self-absorbed that she did not feel sorry for Victoria, feel a fraction of her pain. Seeing her dream shatter like the glass that had fell from her hand and exploded into glittering shards covering the marble. Clara could see the state of shock and upset the woman was in. Yet, she was also happy for Lizzie, her best friend. She had achieved what she had set out to do. She had set her eye on Ilya at the start of the evening, and now she had got him. They had both witnessed their embrace. Clara only hoped that Ilya might last and entertain her longer than the others, so the pain Victoria was feeling was not for nothing.

Clara turned from the window as Victoria spoke, the woman already moving, walking over the shards without a care. “Victoria, wait.” But she had already disappeared through the doors. Clara sighed, looking out the window once more to find that Beth no longer stood on the balcony. What was she to do? The noblewoman made a groan of annoyance and indecision. Oh warp damn it! She downed what remained in the flute in the hand, set it on a sidetable, and hurried out the doors after Victoria.

​
 
She was gone. The storm came in full force now, the wing blowing against his back, enveloping Ilya in it's cold embrace. It wasn't any colder than before, but the sudden lack of her warmth left him vulnerable. A long shiver ran up and down his spine. It had happened. It was real. He pulled a gloved hand to his lips, tracing along their lines with the back of his index and middle fingers. In a moment of vulnerability, he had kissed her. Furthermore, she did not shy away, but embraced it fully. A small smile played out across his face, despite the judgement that every noble in every window had. She had kissed him back, not once, but several times.

As reality came crashing back into what was once the fairy tale on the balcony, he noticed the many nobles, the majority of them which shuffled into the bayed windows after the news of the Governor's Daughter had spread. So be it, he thought to himself. With little reason to weather the elements a moment longer, he turned once more against the balcony, looking out along the view. He had somehow survived, and made it back to his home world. He was damaged, unsure, and with a long life to live ahead of him, Emperor protects, to choose as he wanted. With a simple reach of his arm, he grabbed the chest plate, pulling it's cold metal under one arm, the piece heavier than he remembered. It was the weight of duty, or so he attributed it to. With it firmly secured under one arm, he turned on wooden heel of his dress shoes, and walked back into the building, the door left open from when Elizabeth had left before.



The hallways were thankfully empty, the sounds of her heavy shoes echoing off the stone floors to the high ceilings above. She did not fall in love with a stupid man. She shook her head side to side as she quickened her stride, against the pain of her feet. She did not fall in love with a stupid man. The pulse of her body rose, the sinking feeling of things not being in her control causing her composure to spiral out of control. The man she had respected. No, he couldn't be like the rest of them, he couldn't be looking for just a quick lay. Yet, a small part of her, confused at itself with the feelings of it's contradicting emotions, hoped it was. That way there was still a chance. A chance that the two of them... No. Best not to think about it.

The pain in her foot was real however, small shards of the crystal glass had worked their way between careful layers of leather where the black material met with the rubber arch of her foot. Deep red droplets of blood had fallen to the ground behind her, a small trail of such droplets against the white of the stone. Victoria turned her head behind her, noticing these, before chastising herself internally. Another archway, she ducked through into another room she did not recognize.

It had a feeling of familiarity to it. It looked like it was meant to be a board room, or a meeting room. On all sides it was bordered by high walls, wooden paneling running up to waist height of the woman that stood in the room alone. They were stained to a deep rich amber color, and fitted seamlessly with matching wood moldings that ran the length of the walls where it met with carpeted floors. Above the wooden paneling was the deep crimson color of wallpaper, simple darker red patterns flowing across it befitting of the nobles that probably used this room. She stood just barely inside the room, struck with a feeling of nostalgia that hadn't been present over the last few months. The room was longer than it was wide, and the center of the room was the focus. The tables that were present were of the finest craftsmanship, their wood shining brilliantly with a mirror finish atop their legs. Evenly space upon the tabletop were simple black leather pads, signifying a station for each person that must have been a regular guest in such a room, for each space was unique and had a different character, at least from what she could tell. The way they were arranged, the way they were maintained, and the items above it, each spoke to a personality of the person that would sit behind her desk. The way the tables were arranged was also familiar, a simple half rectangle around the equipment in the space between. It looked like a simple pict-projector, though the craftsmanship of it's housing tried it's best to make it look like anything but such a tool when it wasn't in operation. It reminded her of a command center, causing her to be distracted for but a moment.

This pause was all that it took for Clara to catch up with her, the woman standing in the one and only door way in and out of the room. Victoria turned to face her. Despite having a moment or two to have forgotten the situation for but a moment's pause, she was visibly flustered. Her face was red in the cheeks, her eyes full of sorrow despite being dry with no tears shed. It was the way she looked, and held herself, and her eyes, that betrayed what she was feeling. She stood awkwardly on one foot, looking at the woman whom had chased her. Her eyes spoke of pleads, to let her out of the room, to not bring up the question she didn't know how to answer. She wanted nothing more than to bowl the girl over and flee. to forsake the hospitality of the governor, to get off this planet. Home was better than a life without him.

"Clara" she said with a nod of the head, unsure of what more to say.
 
The steam had risen quickly. It filled the bathroom, clouding it with a fine mist. Iactus had insisted Elizabeth take a bath right away, to watch the dye and the sea rain from her body. A thin layer of bubbles sat atop the hot water, accompanied with a sweet floral scent. The froth clung to her skin as she reclined in the water, her skin pink from the heat and the effort required to remove some of the dye. Her wet hair was gathered over her shoulder, half of it resting under the water which just barely came above her breasts, hands stroking the damp locks absently. The sounds of the ballroom were long gone, the music of the band and the voices of the guests had died away in the distance as reception was dwindling to an end. It left Elizabeth in silence, alone with her thoughts and the soft smell of flowers. Closing her eyes, she titled her head back, resting it against the edge of the large bathtub.

She had kissed him. Yes, Ilya had kissed her first, he had initiated it, but it did not feel like that to her. His kiss had been careful, uncertain, testing. It was her that had kissed him back in earnest, who had drawn him in to it with the touch of her lips and her body pressed up tight against his. She sighed, and sank further down into the water. He was…vulnerable. He had used the word broken. Beth was not sure about that, but he was certainly not…right, not well. He had seen and done things she would not and could not ever understand. He was likely confused and conflicted, he would need time to adjust to being back on Vorlancia, to being safe. How could he know what he wanted, who he wanted, so soon after returning home. By kissing him back, it felt like she had made up his mind for him, she had forced his hand. He should have been given time, to settle in, to make decisions for himself.

She should not have kissed him, it was unwise of her to do that. She certainly should not have kissed him in front of the Governor’s guests. She did not think Ilya would thank her for for drawing such attention to him, pulling him into the world of Vorlancian high society and all the poltics that came with it so soon. She knew what they would all be saying about her. That the Governor’s daughter had done it again, that Elizabeth was once again corrupting the fine men of Vorlancia, that she should be ashamed of herself, that she needed taken in hand, taught some discipline, controlled. Frak the lot of them. She did not care what they said about her, but she did care about what they would think and say of Ilya. Still, Iactus had not yet commented however, which both gave her hope that that she hadn’t stepped out of line too much, that Ilya was an acceptable match, and left her on edge for when or if a scolding would come, from her or her father. She did not want to disappoint him again.

But she could not help it. When Ilya’s lips touched her own, she could not help but respond. It seemed more than just a simple kiss, it was not just a prelude to more as many had been in the past, although Beth allowed herself the thought that it may progress in that direction. She could feel a connection between them, she knew it was there. Two people who needed each other, for help and support, even if it was for very different reasons.

Elizabeth groaned outwardly, sinking below the water and letting it flow over her as she submerged. She only hoped that Ilya would not regret it too much, whatever the consequences may be.

______

Clara could not help but feel somewhat responsible, regretting her actions and the consequence they had brought. It was her that had introduced Lizzie to Ilya, so eager was she to speak to Victoria, to try to bed the woman that had caught her eye. The consequences of that had resulted in the woman she was now enjoying getting to know witnessing the man she liked, possibly even loved Clara would wager, kissing another woman, who happened to be Clara’s best friend. It seemed to her that Victoria’s heart had been broken and her dreams shattered, and Clara felt responsible. She couldn’t let her go off on her own, wandering the palace. She had to do something, to make sure she was okay, well, as much as she could be in this situation.

She probably would not have found the woman, so labyrinthine could the palace be at times, if not for the occasional small spot of blood, deep red contrasting against the polished white floors. She had come to the conclusion that she must have stepped upon the broken crystal in her careless hurry to excuse herself, leaving a path of blood. It was this trail that had let Clara to her. She found Victoria standing just within one of the Governor’s main board rooms, where he discussed politics and matters of state. Clara had never been privy to such meetings, but her father was a regular attendant. Clara moved carefully, slowly and quietly towards the woman who seemed to be lost in thought, standing in the doorway, watching her.

After a moment, she turned around and the emotion and distress was plain to see in the woman, the way she was stood, the expression on her face. The woman’s eyes seeming to plead with the noble not to say anything, to let her be alone. Clara could not do that, she couldn’t bring herself to let Victoria suffer in her sadness by herself. She did not know what to say, she could not find the words that would make it better. She doubted anything would. Clara had no experience of such things, nothing to draw on. She did not fall in love; people fell in love with her. Yet, seeing Victoria like this, she wanted to take the woman into her arms, to hold her and comfort her, but it was unlikely the Officer would appreciate or allow her to do that.

Clara smiled sadly, inclining her head towards Victoria in response to her name being said. She cast her eyes over the woman, noticing the way she favoured one leg over the other, the small drops of blood leading to it. She was right.

“You’re hurt” she stated, the only words to come to mind, unsure of what advice or support to give. Of course she was, she had just seen the man she had her heart set on kissing another woman. Of course that hurts. “You’re foot, I mean. You’re bleeding” she clarified. “Take the weight off it.”She moved further into the room, stepping past Victoria and patting the desk nearest to wear she stood.

“Sit” she commanded, trying to put as much authority into her voice as possible, but still an edge of sympathy was apparent, before taking a step back and folding her arms as she looked at Victoria expectantly.
​
 
The expectations around him were as heavy as the wet clothes that hung about him. They had seen him with the governor's daughter, and he had made the decision to kiss her. Instead of being taken aback, instead of being afraid of him, she had returned the kiss. His lips were shivering and cold, but the touch she left behind was still fresh, the skin on edge at every sensation it felt as he walked aimlessly around the palace. He walked, completely dripping with water, some droplets as pure as the sky it had fallen from, others tainted with the dyes of his uniform, leaving blue droplets on the floor below. On either side of him nobles parted, turning to look at him, a hushed whisper here, a quiet murmur there. For better or for worse, Ilya knew the line he had crossed, and that he would be in the spotlight of the nobles for a time to come. He was no longer just the returning Imperium hero that would have passed in the inner-circles of the nobles as a fad, but now a topic of hot gossip that continued to be discussed by the people he walked by.

So be it. He took his hands, rapping the knuckles against the side of his chest plate, a little more bounce in his step as he did so. It was good to be home.



She wanted to stand on her foot more, to let the glass cut deeper into the arch of her foot, to grind the grains of the glass deeper. It put her on edge, it kept her adrenaline flowing. She wanted to lash out at Clara, to just push her away and tell her to get on with her life. She wanted to throw her hands up into the air, and just let out a scream. She wanted to fall down on her knees and cry. She wanted anything but the swirling emotions flowing about inside her head. What she wanted... she couldn't have. With quiet resignation, there was nothing more to do, than to just humor the noble who tried her best to command her. It was better to just get it over with and be on her way than to have to be nagged at for what little hours remained of the evening. Letting out a small sigh, she begun to limp her way over to the table that the noble woman had designated, the adrenaline slowly filtering it's way out of the body, leaving her to feel the pain in her foot. It wasn't the worst she had experienced, but like anyone that still had a shred of a soul and humanity, she did not enjoy it either. She grit her teeth, before managing to pull back a wooden high-back chair out from under the protection of the table, before turning her back to it, and slumping to it with ease.

She brought her foot up to rest against her knee, carefully pulling between rough hands the laces of her dress shoes. The fine threading of the laces pressed deep into her skin as she slowly undid the double knot that had left both sides of the boots tight against her form, before finally being done with the loop. Once again, working the threads, she begun to loosen the rest of the boots, slowly working the laces towards the tip of her shoe, before finally being free of the leathery embrace, her shoe discarded to one side.

Her dress socks were even more opaque with the blood that made it shine with a sickly finish, the sock hanging close to the bridge of her small feet. Victoria gently begun to roll the lip of her sock down, knowing full well that to yank them would cause more harm than good. More and more of her skin begun to give way, the white skin being revealed around her ankles, then her heal, all the way to the bridge of her foot where she stopped. She had to wince in pain, a few more times, before gritting her teeth and continuing, blood droplets forming and running into the sock as gravity forced it towards her toe. Finally, the sock removed, she was left to also toss the discarded sock to one side, before getting a look at the damage herself. It appeared that a larger fragment of the glass had cut through the joint of her shoe, cutting deep into the bridge of her foot, before breaking inside into smaller pieces. Running after the event had only ground the glass into finer particles, causing the cut to be inflamed and more ragged than it already was.

She cursed herself mentally, knowing full well that she shouldn't have, her body already reacting twice as hard now that she recognized how badly she had been cut. She looked down the bridge of her nose to Clara, wondering how the noble intended to take care of this, if she could at all. After all, she was a noble.

"Do you know what you are doing? Or do I need to walk you through this step by step?"
 
Clara stood with her arms crossed in front of her bust, waiting for the woman to do as she had said and to take a seat. She watched as she could see Victoria weighing up her options, considering whether to do as Clara as said, her face betraying a flash of rebellion and disobedience as she contemplated refusing to take a seat. Clara held her position, remaining where she was, a stern look upon her face. Then Victoria moved, and to Clara’s mild surprise began to limp towards the table. The expression she wore as she gritted her teeth betrayed the pain she felt. Clara stepped back a little more, giving the woman room to pull out the chair and sit upon it.

Forgoing a chair herself, Clara carefully lowed herself to her knees in front of the woman, sitting back on her heels and resting her hands in her lap. The layers of her dress spilled out around her on the floor. Looking up at the woman, Clara watched Victoria’s hands as they moved, carefully and skilfully undoing the laces of her shoe, an action her fingers had no doubt done many times before. She grimaced as the woman’s blood soaked sock was revealed, her gaze flicking up to Victoria’s face as she slowly began to roll it down. She could see the pain her foot was causing her upon her face, accompanied by the underlying hurt and upset. Clara frowned as Victoria winced, sympathetic to the pain she was in.

As the sock was cast aside, Clara’s attention returned to Victoria’s injured foot. She leant back slightly, grimacing as she viewed the damage the broken crystal had caused, paling ever so slightly. Clara did not have a problem with blood, but she was not accustomed to seeing or dealing with such things. Unlike Victoria, she wagered, who had no doubt seen more than enough blood and injury, her own and others, such were the horrors of war. Victoria spoke and it brought Clara out of her brief reverie, looking up at the woman who looked down at her. Her frown slowly turned into a small smile before she let out a little laugh, a nervous response most likely, and shook her head.

“I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. This,” she waved her hands in small circles in the general direction of Victoria’s foot, emphasising her words, “isn’t exactly my area of expertise. I just know you shouldn’t be standing on it, right?” she asked Victoria, her expression and voice hopeful, wondering if she had done the right thing by ordering her to sit down. The laughter caught her again, and she gently bit her lower lip to stop herself, bowing her head. “Sorry, sorry” she apologised, looking up at the woman again.

“I could go and fetch someone to help?” Clara suggested, turning her head a moment to look at the doorway, before focusing on Victoria again, waiting to see what she wanted her to do.

​
 
The rain battered against the northern face of the room leaving large streaks of water sliding down ancient glass, distorting the view of the outside world even further. Heavy storm lights begun to flicker into life, a surge in power causing all the lights in their room to flicker violently before the power grid finally stabilized. Then, the lights in the room slowly begun to dim as it entered the evening setting, leaving the two in a gentle warmth of light but for the sliver of bright light sneaking into the room from the recently activated storm lights on the outside walls. The event had finally wound down to a close for the day, leaving the various nobles and guests the chance to finish their exchanges amid drawn lights, before finally retiring to bed. All around the governor's palace, couples met like this, an intimate moment being shared before finally parting ways for the night. All but Clara and Victoria.

The dimming of the light coincided with the dimming of her heart, and the removal of adrenaline surging from her system. Below the glowing lights of a brass chandelier sat Victoria, her spine pressed firmly into the back of her chair, body posture loose and in pain. The heavy fabric of the uniform was pulled tightly against her feminine form, every fold, ornament, or stretch of the uniform hanging on every curve of the woman like a shadow, as if it were the most natural attire for the woman. A stark contrast from when she stood in the uniform with a rigid posture, for only now did it betray the form of the woman who wore it. Still, she sat cross legged, her foot dangling uselessly against the knee upon which she braced it.

It was not her foot, or her own well-being that had concerned Victoria on the other hand. Not even the thought of Ilya locking lips with Elizabeth was on her mind right now, as it had been but a moment before the lights dimmed. Right now, the only thing that piqued her interest was the woman kneeling before her, a look of genuine understanding and pain on her face. Looking down the bridge of her own nose, Victoria looked at Clara with her expressive amethyst eyes, trying to understand why the woman cared at all at this point. Clara had forgone a chair in favor of sitting upon the floor, an act that no noble should have done in the presence of one as lowborn as herself.

From where she knelt, all the lights in the room were evenly space around her. Clara was prettier under the softer lights of the evening glow. Her makeup became much more subtle, understated even, allowing the natural beauty of her cheeks, nose and chin to take center stage amid the soft shadows. Her eyes were still as expressive as they had been all evening, but the sparkle of happiness had long since been extinguished since the moment they had entered this room. It made Victoria sick to her stomach, the guilt at having robbed from the noble what would have otherwise been a fine evening. Instead, she was left to kneel on the floor before her.

The layers of Clara's dress had spilled all around her on the floor, reminding Victoria just how little she knew about dresses, taken aback at by how much fabric a woman's body could hold given the right tailoring. Her eyes were drawn to the dress, the different layers, the colors, even the textures. All of it was a swirling ocean of colors under the warm glow of the lights. Even the the sparkling sequins all about her bodice continued to catch the eye, reflecting the colors around her, instead of reflecting bright lights as they had earlier in the evening below the harsh lighting of the ball room. Then her cleavage... she drew her eyes away from it, having once more been tricked into looking at it from the manner in which the lines of sequins drew towards it. The increase in shadows had done nothing more but accentuate her features. It was only a painful throb of the foot that had brought her back into focus, her mind having drifted into tangent after tangent of thoughts.

"If only my mother could see me now" she said between pursed lips, her cheeks drawn into a light pout, her eyebrows drawn down. It was a random thought that popped into her head, one that came suddenly with little forethought, and one that was spoken just as fast. It caught herself off guard, but she continued with the thought regardless.

"She would have laughed to her heart's content at the poor sight of her own daughter. Wanting to cry over a man, having a spire noble kneel before her worthless under-hive ass." She let out a long nostalgic smile at her own comment, her own mind feeling much the same. How things have changed.

"I doubt she would have ever imagined the things I have done, the worlds I have visited, or even the honors I have won." She brought a hand to brush against the many medals across her own chest, drawing one of the medals that hung loosely from a ribbon into hand. She continued to speak, rubbing between two fingers her most fondly loved medal, "Or that I might one day wear a dress" She couldn't help but let out a small smile at that comment, a small betrayal of how she had actually felt about wanting to wear a dress. She hadn't wanted to admit it to herself, afraid of how she would look in one, but she none the less still wanted to at least give it a try. She wanted to give everything a try now that she her life back. Especially love...

"That's enough depressing talk for one day. The day had been going so well to this point. Let's keep it cheery shall we? Or as cheery as basic first aid can go" Her mood once more darkened, but she tried her best to keep up the facade, instead she was intent on trying to fix her freshly mangled foot.

"Don't worry too much about it. It's a simple cut, it just looks bad because of the jagged edges. Surprising enough, it's like getting a paper cut. There are much worse things to happen to the body, but these wounds always hurt the most! Now... let's just get us a needle tip of some sort. A brooch perhaps? A hair pin?"
 
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