[P] river of champagne

[Hagar]

HAGAR IESHAN

i am angry.
i have nothing to say about it.
i am not sorry for the cost.

I

cannot confess to thinking much about Isabella Foster. I tell myself I do not have the time, and as soon as we part in the streets of Terrastella my mind turns back to the party just as easy as it had been pulled away from it. Nevermind, that I and my brother Adonai are the only ones that draft true invitations, and nevermind the ache in my teeth as I sign mine in looping black script and shake the card to dry the ink with a sense of urgency that I think anyone would call uncommon, at least. 

Nevermind, also, that by the time she sashays her way through the wrought-iron gates I am several hours into a growing impatience with no distinct name or origin, just an acidic sort of grind in my stomach and a clench in my jaw that has me begging Pilate for perhaps one too many drinks and the rest of my siblings for a reprieve from this saccharine attempt at family bonding we all seem to be trying, tonight.

"Lady Hagar," says a man at the booth. When I turn back to him, I like to think I look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but the strain in my forehead tells me I look quite a bit less happy to see him than I should.

I silently thank Solis that Pilate is not here, to see me ruining this brief moment of his party, and then silently thank him again, that our parents are dead and our mother cannot witness me pulling my face out of a scowl before the man notices.

I look at him. He has big, wet eyes, and seems to be either too inebriated or self-important to care what I think of him. "Yes, I apologize. I was just looking for someone."

"No matter," he says, "truth or dare?"

A girl in our small party nudges my shoulder, laughing. "Hagar never chooses dare, sir. I don't know why you ask."

"Dare." I say, through clenched teeth. They look at me, wide-eyed and stunned into silence--

--and that is when I begin to understand that I can always count on Biz to arrive at exactly the right moment, even if that moment is terribly late. She floats past the line in a flurry of pine-scent and buttermilk yellow to my side and I watch her, trying to decide if I am delighted or angry, offended or amused. I think I fall somewhere in the middle on both counts.

Truth or dare, she asks me, and I grin. "You're late." is all I say to her, before turning to both of my new friends, now looking a little more than irritated, and flash them as bright of a smile as I can. "I must ask you to leave us," I begin, and then, more firmly, "Have another drink." Though they open their mouths to protest, each of them turns and walks toward the kitchen in unison, until they and the line behind them have dispersed.

I turn back to Biz, tuck my chin into my chest, and chuckle once through my nose. "I know you didn't hear our good friend, there, Biz, but I never choose dare-- so, I am glad you came."

I look at her, for a moment--and it is now that I realize I have been waiting for her, this whole time, and I am more surprised still to realize that my impatience has only grown now that she's here. I do not have to wonder if she sees the pendant on my brow, hung just below the loose braid of my mane. I know. "My turn. Truth or dare?"

I grin at her again, giddy.

@Isabella