{ pfsb } a letter and a meeting

[jaskoleczka]

Time is passing strangely for Ciri; it's difficult to tell if she has slept entire days or only a few hours. There is no way to mark the days aside from weather, and that changes quickly enough that it is wholly unreliable.

(The Bar, in her infinite kindness and usual sympathetic meddling, has in fact created a mild time loop in Ciri's room, giving her time to recover and somewhat ignoring the distressed flurry which has emanated out in ripples from her arrival.)

She comes downstairs, therefore, determined to more fully explore this strange place. There are stables she wishes to visit, and the woods remind her very slightly of those around Kaer Morhen...but her plans are abruptly canceled when, along with the strong hot tea she'd ordered, Lady Bar provides her also with a note.

Anyone watching would see Ciri rub at her forehead as if to quell a sudden headache, then lay a hand on the bartop and request something in a soft voice. Quill and pen appear, and she bends her head to write briskly and neatly:

Reverend Daughter,

I am terribly sorry for the distress I have caused. Please know it was not intentional.
I welcome your request for a meeting. I am at your disposal and shall visit Room 99 within the hour.

- Ciri

Folding the note, she looks for a waitrat to charge with its delivery and watches as the messenger scampers up the stairs before she turns with a sigh back to her tea.

Which she is now wishing was something a good deal stronger.

---

It's about half an hour later that she stands at the door of Room 99 with no idea of what to expect, knocking lightly with gloved knuckles.

Comments

[we_do_bones]

"Magnus and Abigail were married," she points out, now a little uncertain. "Is it really that bad? Who's going to tell us we're wrong? I mean, aside from the Eighth, and maybe the Second, but we knew that going in."

But she frowns a little, even against Harrow's touch, Harrow's reassurances. She shouldn't have to be making them, should she? "Are we in trouble?"

[we_bring_hell]

They are in terrible trouble, of course; but she knows what Gideon means. "No," she says. "There will be--disapproval. Obstacles. Not as great as two necromancers of different Houses marrying, but perhaps comparable."

"Yet they cannot actually stop us. And if I am a Lyctor--" She shrugs, dropping her hand to her knee.

"But I am irritated that anyone should think it wrong, even if we have the power to ignore them. Others do not. It is a pernicious doctrine and I will not accept being a mere polite exception." That mark puckers between her brows.

There is something deeply, unbeautifully Harrowhark about this; the stubborn self-righteousness and ambition and prideful all-or-nothing brinkmanship.

[we_do_bones]

It is. Gideon loves that predictable frown, the furrow creasing Harrow's paint that says I will show them all. "Then I guess you better finish writing it," she says. "It sounds pretty important."

How many cavs and necros had to keep their love a secret or be metaphorically hanged for it? How many have never thought it could be an option? For every pair like Camilla and Palamedes, how many are like Gideon and Harrow?

Except that's not possible: no one could be like them, not without everything that forged them on the Ninth. "No bolts of lightning have struck us down yet, so I guess it's probably cool with God."

[we_bring_hell]

"And if people underestimate you because they believe you married into your role, then let them walk into the spinning blades all-unknowing," she says.

"I have so much to do," she frets. "But sometimes I have to look away from the theorems for a time. And time we have, here."

[we_do_bones]

"Did we get married and you didn't tell me?" she teases, reaching up to press her thumb into the furrow between Harrow's brows. "There's no rush, Harrow. It's important to you, so spend time on it. Take a break now and then."

She tilts her head toward the bathroom and waggles her eyebrows. "If you feel like you need more of a break, I bet I can figure out a good way to distract you...maybe while I wash off all this sweat in the shower."

[we_bring_hell]

She flushes. "I apologize," she says with stiff awkwardness. "I was just--contemplating the future."

You were the one quoting Ruth, Gideon!

[we_do_bones]

"Don't apologize," she says, grinning. "Hell, I'd wanna marry me, too."

[we_bring_hell]

Harrow huffs out a breath of irritation and releases Gideon's hair, after one more good tug.

"When I want to marry you, Nav," her necromancer says, "you will know about it."

She flops back on the bed, mortified.

[we_do_bones]

Gideon takes advantage of Harrow's prone form by darting in to lift her shirt and press a kiss to Harrow's soft belly before straightening with a laugh.

"I bet I will," she says, smug. "In the meantime, I'm taking a shower. Rattle a bone if you need me."

But when she leaves the bathroom door open, it's not to fluster Harrow with the prospect of her wet body. Harrow might think she's cracked the prophecy, but...Gideon isn't taking any chances.