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06. things you said under the stars and in the grass
11. things you said when you were drunk
16. things you said with no space between us
New Year's at the Palace is tedious when you're looking for someone you're worried about, and if you have to do it in six-inch heels it's an obstacle course. Under the guise of doing a 'routine' security check to bypass the guards, Crowe encounters the usual shenanigans any reasonable person can find when a good ninety-per cent of the palace occupants have alcohol in their system. She catches Axis and Sonitus playing strip poker in the level one parlor room with some nobles (they're winning), spots Luche being dragged into a maintenance closet by that cute intern from Legal and finally struggles with the door to the coatroom until it unlocks from the inside.
Unsurprisingly, it's Tredd: tie missing, top few shirt buttons missing, the rest undone three quarters of the way down, perfectly coiffed hair slightly mussed. He's slightly out of breath while he leans casually against the door frame.
"Didn't realize coat-hanging was so hectic." Crowe says with a grin. She's sure she heard two sets of voices. Monday morning at the barracks going to be beautiful.
"It has its set of challenges." Tredd drawls.
"Who is it?" the second person calls.
Crowe's eyes widen at Tredd, scandalized. She tries to peer around Tredd for confirmation but he blocks the way, smirking.
"Sorry, members only. If you're looking for Pelna he's on the back lawn. Okay BYEEEE--"
He shuts the door in her face before she can say anything.
. . .
The fireworks display to kick off the New Year has started when Crowe finally finds Pelna, true to Tredd's word, lying spread-eagle on the grass, watching the sky with Umbra. The earphones are a surprise; Umbra adores him. She kicks Pelna in the ankle with her toe to announce her presence, dropping her heels onto the ground by her feet while he cracks an eyelid open. Umbra yips playfully and tries to jump into her lap as soon as she sits, leaving muddy pawprints and bits of fur on her dress. Crowe's not too bothered by it, though it does take a little over five minutes before the mutt finally stops squirming and settles with lying his entire middle in her lap. (He still thinks he's a small dog, and no one has ever bothered to treat him otherwise.)
"I heard you." says Crowe after Pelna pops an earphone out. "Earlier on the balcony." she adds, because he looks a little lost. Or maybe on his way to being drunk; there's a quarter-finished bottle of Altissian red nearby.
"I got the earphones from Noct." says Pelna. "As for the wine…"
"Noct?"
"Well, he insisted, twenty 'Your Highness's into the conversation."
"…Noct." She still can't quite get past that one.
"Oh come on, everyone talks to the prince."
"I don't."
"You only care about the dog, anyway." Crowe shrugs and continues to scratch Umbra's belly. Pelna clears his throat. "He…gave me relationship advice."
Crowe glances at him sidelong. "So your new years resolution involves heart-to-hearts with minors now."
"It was solid advice!" Pelna insists with a laugh. "And if nothing else these earphones are pretty quality--ow!" he laughs when he gets poked in the ribs.
"Sellout." declares Crowe to Umbra. "Right boy?" Umbra barks in agreement, licking her chin.
"Traitor." says Pelna, glaring. "And after I fed him, too."
"You know what they say: 'birds of a feather," Crowe sighs before laughing and quickly hunching over Umbra when Pelna tosses grass at her.
. . .
Umbra disappears later on during the night when he hears someone--most likely the person who was supposed to be watching him--calling. They take turns passing the wine back and forth until they're both laughing beside each other, an earphone each, competing at who does a better impression of the song artist. When fireworks light up the sky again it becomes fifteen minutes of trying to interpret what the different colored sparks mean, what they look like. The usual existentialist discussions that always accompany anything that involves staring out at the universe.
"So you're okay, right?" Crowe turns on her side, while he's concentrating hard on a bright purple and gold display, her gaze tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. After a few seconds she pokes him to remind him he's not talking to a ghost, and to stop herself from staring. "Oi."
"Leviathan."
"What?" Crowe snorts, looking back at the sky. "No it doesn't!"
"Tilt your head left a little bit…see?"
"Now it just looks like an electric eel…"
"Sure, Crowe." Pelna stretches his arms above his head and yawns before turning to her. Earlier he'd spread his jacket on the ground to avoid bugs crawling into their ears. "It wasn't as bad as it sounded," he whispers, like what he's telling her is a secret. "Mags and I are still friends, by the way."
Is that even possible? Crowe wonders, feeling a little stung.
Pelna nudges her foot. "Don't hunt her down and skin her. I'm fine. It was completely amicable."
"Hmph. Hunting and skinning involves leaving evidence behind anyway. I incinerate. Much cleaner." says Crowe grinning evilly at him. "So what advice did your best friend 'Noct' have for you? It can't be as nice as these earphones."
Pelna looks back to the sky, slightly sheepish. Crowe doesn't blame him; this is advice from a kid who has yet to experience life outside the palace walls, after all.
"He said there's more than one way to say 'I love you' without saying 'I love you' and that drunken confessions have a fifty percent chance of success."
"That's…that's um…" Crowe says slowly, not sure what else to say. She startles a little when he touches her wrist, fingers gently brushing against hers, like he's testing the waters.
Crowe goes still, not certain on whether she should squeeze back or withdraw. Her heart on the other hand has no problem moving, pounding just a little bit faster.
"Hey, Crowe?"
"…y-yeah." says Crowe, when her voicebox decides to start working again. His eyes are closed now, already beginning to drift.
"I um...please don't go anywhere, okay?"
Never in a million years, Crowe thinks. And the next person to walk into his life is going to have to survive a fight to the death with her.
In a dark alleyway. With no witnesses.
"Course not." says Crowe. "You're drunk. One of us has to be sensible."
(Truthfully, it's because the sleepy smile on his face is too annoyingly endearing to say 'no' to.)
"Thanks. Because there's something I need to tell you in the morning, and--" another longer, wider yawn-- "and logically, if my best friend Noct is right, it should have a hundred per cent success rate."
Crowe beams.