[P] dirty valentine

[Marisol]

A soft old song plays over the streets: jazz and rosewater and dark, dark chocolate. Mari’s tired enough and tipsy enough she can taste the notes in the back of her mouth. The night envelopes her Stygian figure with relative ease. A soft old song plays over the streets and sets her hair to standing and follows her as closely as the scent of sandalwood follows in her path - lingering on her skin, in the rough tangle of her hair, the slight frown on her dark lips. 

The stars are dim tonight, the streets gloomier than usual. It is absurdly easy to walk Terrastella unnoticed. No one bows their heads, no one meets her eyes, no one stops in her path to introduce themselves. It feels kind of like a blessing. The world is quiet and still and easy to swallow, easier than it has been in a long time. 

At least until she steps into the tavern.

Noise and heat explode around her. Bodies swarm the room, music floats through the air; the smell of fruit wine singes her nostrils; Marisol ices up, blinks those gray eyes wide in surprise, startled and disturbed by the volume of the crowd around her, frozen in place like a deer caught in lamplights. Her heartrate quickens in her chest. It’s so much more than she remembered - Gods know how long it’s been since she came to a place like this of her own accord - and part of her prickles like she’s been caught in a criminal act red-handed, but she forces herself not to back out from having fun for once.

With a stilted stride, she moves forward, deeper into the bar.

@Theodosia

[Theodosia]

HE MOTIONED ME TO THE SKY,

Around her, the noise of the tavern has faded to a dull roar, all of her (admittedly, slightly tipsy) focus being spent on the group of young, rowdy cadets clustered around a dart board and cheering each other on. She’s wing-to-wing with a boy whose name she didn’t catch, her grin sharp as the dart she sends sailing through the smoky air, and a chorus of cheers (and a couple howls from those who misplaced their bets) erupt when it buries itself south of true center in the board, but just barely within the bullseye.

“Looks like you’re paying for this round!” The words end in a cheerful laugh and a playful push to the cadet’s shoulder, already half-turned towards the scarred oak bar they’ve consumed a few drinks at already. She’s the epitome of relaxed, her tail held low and just barely curled at the tip to keep the hair from dragging across the room, all bright smiles and completely oblivious to some of the stares she’s receiving from the male cadets when they think she isn’t looking.

She sees Marisol’s wings first, that blend of dalmation spotted and deep bay she’s learned to dodge a lot during their training, and she’s just tipsy enough to go sauntering up to the commander with a shit-eating grin, heedless of the other cadets at her heels. “Next round is on -- what’s your name again?”

“Er -- Jake,”

“Next round is on Jake, if you wanna join in, Commander.”

I HEARD HEAVEN & THE THUNDER CRY.

@Marisol

[Marisol]

Sweat and smoke and the smell of alcohol fill the air so fully Marisol thinks she might choke. It’s not her scene, not at all, too crowded and too rowdy for the Commander to feel even a little comfortable, and not even a minute has passed before she’s regretting the decision. Hair prickles on her spine; her pulse picks up pace and force. She blinks those gray eyes against the weak, sooty light and pauses mid-wade through the crowd, swinging back and forth between the desire for a drink and the need to get away.

She doesn’t to think long before the decision is made for her.

Theodosia appears in front of her almost out of nowhere, so quickly Marisol has to suppress a flinch. Her heart pounds in her chest. (Is it surprise? It must be surprise.) Theo appears almost ghostly in the tavern light, pale skin cut deep with shadows from the dimness, but something about her is still - well - beautiful, something in the mischevious gleam of her eyes, the too-relaxed way she holds her tail just off the ground. It’s admirable. It makes her seem more human. Mari opens her mouth to say hi or how are you or what’s going on, but she’s cut off (and surprised) by what Theo says next. Next round is on Jake, if you wanna join in, Commander -

Her immediate thought is no, followed by stop drinking, followed by we have to train tomorrow, but thank Vespera none of those thoughts make it out of her mouth. She bites back her militarism, her righteousness, her iron-will and stubbornness - after all, didn’t she come here to have fun? Isn’t she allowed to have fun once in a gods-damned blue moon? Over Theodosia’s shoulder, she sees a gaggle of cadets throwing darts at the hung target and almost smiles. How strange it is to see them aiming at something other than a body.

Sure, Mari answers, and the word is half-strangled, but it’s sure.

She ducks her head with a sheepish smile and grabs a drink from the bar, using her telekinesis to hold the mug at a gentle hover near her shoulder. The rest of the cadets are quite obviously surprised to see her there - they even whisper to each other as she shoulders her way into the circle, dumbfounded by the sight of the Commander wearing anything other than an expression of iron - but are polite enough, turning back easily to their games and gossip. Thanks, she murmurs to Theo, and downs the alcohol in one easy swig. Heat floods her veins, sends starbursts into her vision, but the dizziness of the shot fades as quickly as it comes, and the only thing that gives it away is the rush of warmth that turns those gray eyes molten instead of cold.

@Theodosia

[Theodosia]

HE MOTIONED ME TO THE SKY,

There’s a moment, as Marisol seems to consider her offering, that she realizes she could really be in trouble here, because Vespera knows how the ever-uptight commander might react to her cadets getting drunk the night before training. If pressed, she can probably pass it off as a training-related activity -- after all, throwing darts while impaired could possibly come in handy in a battle situation, right?

Definitely. They’re totally in the clear.

Even so, she relaxes when Marisol extends her acceptance of the invitation, an easy, warm smile coming to her lips. Her telekinesis is only slightly shaky when she hovers her own shot over, easily excused by the fact she’s already slightly inebriated and still not entirely sure in her ability with the minor magic. It burns her throat as she gulps it down, bringing a bright flush to her cheeks that shows easily beneath the pale skin, and that leonine tail curls up slightly at the tip before straightening out once more.

“S’nice to see you… y’know. When you’re not trying to beat the crap out of me.” Her words are light and teasing, tone roughened (and tongue loosened) by the alcohol flowing so freely. They’re standing close enough in the crowded, rowdy bar that their guard feathers are nearly touching, surrounded by rowdy cadets enjoying the night on the town, and she’s perfectly in her element here.

Not that she minded the training, so much -- every single bruise was just a testement to lessons she was learning in her quest to become a pilot. Not to mention that, while Marisol was far out of her league (and completely forbidden to touch, in her mind) -- well, the commander was hot when she was all worked up, when they'd been tussling and neither wanted to give in.

I HEARD HEAVEN & THE THUNDER CRY.

@Marisol

[Marisol]

Marisol falls into drunkenness as easily as she falls into anything else - whole-hearted and determined and overzealous.

In the crowded dimness of the bar, it’s easy to get lost inside her own body. It’s too easy. The burn of alcohol in the pit of her stomach is intense enough to draw her attention, turn her normally-sharp brain to black static, but even that is nothing compared to the warmth that burns across her skin everywhere Theo touches her, as fleeting as it is intense. They bump shoulders, and Mari thinks she might be losing her balance. She can’t remember the last time such a subtle touch wrecked her so horribly. (Has it ever?)

Her heart catches in her throat when their wings touch, when she catches the blush on Theodosia’s skin. Especially when her voice hits the Commander’s ears, and it is rougher and darker and freer than anything she’s heard from the cadet before.

Hey, Mari protests. When her gaze meets Theo’s in the dark, it is too hot to be gunmetal-gray: the color is melted down to its barest components, her eyes vitreous and almost hungry. (That expression - hunger - seems exaggeratedly unchaste on the face of someone as cold as the Commander.) For a moment she is still and quiet, as though thinking hard about what will happen next. It’s my job to beat the crap out of you. What do you want me to do, kiss it better when I’m done?

A faint smile curls her lip, gleams a crescent-moon of teeth. She averts her gaze from Theo’s, purposefully casual, and watches the cadets throw their badly-aimed darts like there’s nothing to the words that have just left her, no effort put into their ease, no matter how far that is from the truth. No matter how her heart pounds and thrashes in her chest.

@Theodosia

[Theodosia]

HE MOTIONED ME TO THE SKY,

There’s warmth curling in her chest and flushing across her cheeks, easily shown beneath pale fur that hid very little from anyone who paid close enough attention. She’s all loose angles and bright eyes, relaxed from the alcohol that pools in her stomach and burns at her throat, her heart pounding a bass-tempo rhythm in her throat.

There’s something darker in her eyes when she meets Mari’s gaze and sees how molten the gun-metal has become, something hungry and primal that lurked beneath the carefully-kept edges of the pale girl. Her returning smile is toothy and predatory, something akin to a rough purr leaving her throat as she leans closer to the Commander, close enough that their shoulders are pressed tightly against each other.

She leans closer still, her lips just barely brushing the skin beneath Mari’s ear, her words a throaty, secretive murmur that she knows she shouldn’t be saying even as they leave her lips.

“Maybe I do, Commander.”

It’s equal parts a line drawn in the sand, a taunt meant to see just how far she can push the commander, and a truthful confession masked behind youthful bravado and a shot of liquid courage. Her leonine tail curls as if with a mind of its own, lightly brushing against Marisol’s ankle, wrapping loosely around her leg as she feigns ignorance of such teasing movement -- even if the spark in her pale eyes betrays her own attempts at casual.

I HEARD HEAVEN & THE THUNDER CRY.

@Marisol

[Marisol]

For all their fighting, training - a planned-ahead kind of violence -Mari thinks they might not have ever been so reckless with each other as they are now.

At least their spars are familiar. Semi-choreographed, even. Marisol knows what to expect from her cadets - that they’ll show up on time, that they’ll battle each other before moving onto her, what blows are off-limits and the situations when they won’t be. It is a dance that every one of them knows well.

But this, what they’re doing now, is uncharted territory. It is a continent wild and untamed - a natural disaster waiting to  be unfurled. It makes Mari’s gaze soft, her jaw clench, her heart sputter in her chest like a half-starved flame. It consumes her. And that consumnation is ten times easier than it should be in the soft darkness of the bar, where every reaction, every sparking nerve, every brush of skin, echoes louder and louder and louder with each passing moment until it echoes in her throat like an Ilati drumbeat.

When they finally do touch, Marisol almost falters.

She feels it electric-shock on every inch of skin, a whirlpool in the pit of her stomach, heat burning a wildfire path under that dark, dark skin, burning even hotter when she feels Theo’s tail against her leg.   Everything is  dark and warm and overwhelming, and loss of control comes over her like a tsunami washes over the beach. (It might be the weakest the Commander’s ever felt.)

When she inhales, the breath almost rattles. But not quite.

Then you should ask for it, Marisol points out, matter-of-fact as ever; her gaze is still fixed casually on the scene in front of them, and it doesn’t move to Theo even as she leans easily into the cadet’s shoulder, brushes the edge of a freckled wing against her side. Her tongue is loose and rough with the influence of alcohol, so loose she almost doesn’t hear the words as they escape her - but when she does the realization is ice-cold, a shock to her entire nervous system. Ask for it. Ask for it - 

And what is she to do if Theo really does ask her for something? Something she shouldn’t be so willing to give?

@Theodosia

[Theodosia]

HE MOTIONED ME TO THE SKY,

She’s never been much of a dancer, but thinking back on it, isn’t fighting just a sort of violent dance with no music? They move to surprise their partner, but there are only so many ways to twist and turn on a battlefield, especially during the daily practices the cadets face.

Marisol has always been her favorite dance partner, the way they so easily danced and bled for each other, always knowing exactly how hard to hit and when to pull a punch to avoid injuring the other too seriously without losing face. She has seen Marisol with teeth bared and fire in her eyes, bruised and bloodied and still turning to snap at the wayward cadet who dared disobey her, and she thinks maybe there was nothing in the world that can stop the burgeoning train wreck they have become.

A soft, thoughtful hum leaves her throat, almost lost in the chaos of the bar scene before them. Ask for it echoes around her head, a beckoning song, and her lips curl upwards at such an invitation. “What if--” No time to hesitate, now, not when she‘s already decided she’s going to ask the question, no matter what the fall-out might be. “What if I want something more than a kiss?”

It’s a primed grenade tossed onto their dance floor, and her every instinct is to duck-and-cover from such weakness -- and yet she stays utterly still, waiting for what Marisol’s response might be. Her chest burns from the hope that dares rest there, the thought that perhaps Marisol might want her just as much as she wants the commander, right now, and the mere thought is as intoxicating as the alcohol that she’s consumed.

Her tail wraps itself more firmly around Marisol's ankle, gives a soft tug as the cadet turns away towards the door -- a brush of their wings as she does so, the 'accidental' sweep of her mouth along Marisol's cheek, and it's so blatant an invitation to the pale girl that she wonders if the other cadets might even notice, no matter how subtle they had been before.

I HEARD HEAVEN & THE THUNDER CRY.

@Marisol wELP

[Marisol]

Just standing here is exhausting - pretending not to care about the brush of Theo’s tail against her leg, the comfortable weight as they lean against each other, or the faint heat of her skin - it takes the breath out of her, unwarranted for someone who’s so in shape, who makes living off of danger. Of all places to be in the dead of night, this might be one of the safest. And yet her heart is beating with all the force and bite of something feral, beating so loud she almost can’t hear anything over the rush of blood in her ear.

She watches the rest of the cadets through frosted-glass eyes, silver without shine. Some part of her knows, very, very well, that there are a million and a half ways that this could go wrong and only one where it turns out well enough to continue, but an even bigger part of her is so lost to logic it doesn’t matter anyway.

When Theo speaks, that part takes over entirely.

She doesn’t respond. The burn in her throat is too thick to speak over, the hammering of her pulse too loud to work around. Instead she meets the cadet’s eyes in the near dark of the bar, slate-gray against violet, gaze furious under those dark lashes, and grins. On the commander it is a thing of ferocity. She wears it as easily as she wears the white stripes on her feathers, though she knows it’ll be much harder to take off.

Rather than speak, Marisol presses her shoulder harder against Theo’s and steps toward the door, steering them gently away from the crowd. They’re intertwined so closely she can see her own breath stirring the fine hairs of Theodosia’s coat, swears that the space between them is only imagined at this point. The other Halcyons are so involved in their game they hardly notice the Commander pushing her cadet toward the door, but still, as Mari crosses the line to take them outside the door, she feels something like anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

Well - too late for any of that.

They step outside.

@Theodosia