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Sizhu eyed the outfit dubiously. Aside from the fact that it was black instead of vibrant red, it looked suspiciously like the ones Lisette de Valentione and her love-obsessed lackeys had worn a few months back. And sure, the stockings were cute, as were the shoes and even the dress itself, but...it was also rather short. Normally that kind of thing didn’t bother her--if she’d chosen it for herself, it wouldn’t have been an issue at all--but the fact that someone else had picked it out for her to wear (her closest friend’s betrothed, no less) was a little...
“Mm, Lord Fortemps...if you don’t mind my asking...where did you…”
“Please, my dear old friend, as I’ve said many a time, call me Haurchefant! And ah, if you’re inquiring as to where I obtained this truly fetching garment, then wonder no longer! I had but to mention your name, and Lady Lisette de Valentione herself provided it! She said she was in your debt--or was it that she ‘owed you’? No matter! Either way, the result is one and the same!”
With a cheerful smile, Haurchefant dumped the pile of clothing into her arms, and Sizhu gingerly accepted it; despite the fact that the uniform wasn’t all that heavy, she sagged in place a little as she held it. She wanted to say no, if only because of Korsi, but...Lord Haurchefant was sheltering her, Tataru, and Alphinaud at the moment, and he had asked for nothing in return thus far. To refuse him something as minor as this would be exceedingly ungrateful of her, and when it came down to it, it really was a fairly decent idea for a disguise. No one would expect to find either the Warrior of Light or a dangerous fugitive dressed in lace and frills and working as a common housemaid.
Besides, it was far from the worst thing she’d had to wear, or the worst job she’d ever had to do.
Recalling the chafing itch of rough shepherd’s clothing, and outright shuddering a bit at the remembered feel of oil on her hands and warm flesh beneath her fingers, Sizhu hugged the uniform to her chest and turned to go, intent on heading back to her room to change. She might as well get this over with...
Haurchefant spoke up again before she’d gotten halfway to the door, however.
“You know, as you and I are the only ones here at the moment, you needn’t go all the way back to your quarters to change...though of course, you’re welcome to do as you please...”
The Miqo’te mage didn’t dare turn back towards their overly-friendly host--neither her flushed face, nor her queasy expression was something she particularly wanted to show one of her three most stalwart Ishgardian allies. Ducking her head a bit more, she just walked a little faster in reply.
“Have no fear regarding the fit of those garments!” he called after her, his voice echoing uncomfortably down the passageway as she pushed her way out through the war room’s heavy wood-and-iron doors. “I personally made certain that they would be exactly your size!”
Sizhu started to wonder about that, then firmly closed the door on both her curiosity and her host. Inquisitive nature be damned, this was one case where she was definitely better off not knowing.
Despite her supposed role as a maid, Lord Haurchefant still insisted that Sizhu eat breakfast with him the next morning.
He was sitting at the head of the table and looking over some documents, but as she came through the doors, easily balancing a heavily-laden tray of mulled tea, an apkallu omelet, popoto pancakes, and three apple tarts, as well as a jug of buffalo milk, he beamed at her, waving her towards him genially. Since she was bringing the tray over to him anyway--it was his breakfast, after all--she didn’t see anything wrong with that.
Then he shifted his chair to sit closer to the corner of the table, pulling the nearest chair almost uncomfortably close to his own, and kept waving her closer.
“Good morrow, Sizhu! And ah, the uniform...you look every bit as enchanting in it as I’d imagined...but enough about that! Come sit with me, and let us share in the partaking of this bounty! It’s far too much for one person to face alone, and you are of the opinion that presenting a strong, united front is best, are you not?”
Sizhu hesitated a moment before setting the tray down in front of him, because she didn’t miss the political undertone to his statement. Still, she’d ultimately decided to decline the offer of a shared meal and beat a hasty retreat back to the kitchens with the mention of more apple tarts in the oven as her excuse--but Haurchefant spoke again before she could do more than start to turn away.
“Oh, this looks excellent...did you make it all yourself?”
For a moment, she could only wonder what sort of place the Lord of House Fortemps’ head was, really, if he honestly believed that his regular kitchen staff would allow an accused murderer--a poisoner, no less--anywhere near the actual business of preparing their lord’s food.
Outwardly, she simply shook her head, once again preparing to bolt now that she’d unloaded the tray, but then he spoke again, more softly this time.
“Please, my friend. Do sit with me a while. There are none to see who will say aught should any emissaries from the Crystal Braves or Immortal Flames come calling. You know as well as I that your cover is really more of a formality than anything.”
Sizhu gave an inward sigh at that, her shoulders slumping a bit, but once again, after all that he’d done for her personally and her friends in particular and the Alliance in general over the past few months, it felt wrong to refuse him such a small, innocent thing. So with a silent, resigned nod, she took the proffered seat, despite the fact that they were basically huddled together at the corner of the huge table--close enough that her knee bumped his as she sat down (curse those damnedly long Elezen legs).
Sizhu started to draw a breath, both to apologise and to explain herself, but Haurchefant didn’t even seem to notice; instead he began to eagerly explain all his plans to make the “Falling Snows” as hospitable as possible while they awaited the arrival and processing of all the paperwork that would allow Sizhu and her companions to enter into Ishgard proper. As he went on and on, the Miqo’te mage picked at the apple tart he’d set in front of her, wondering where her companions were at the moment and what they were doing.
Finally Haurchefant paused long enough to actually eat some of his breakfast before it went completely cold; he drained his cup of mulled tea in two swallows, and while he seemed disinclined to refill it (perhaps because the teapot’s current location would require him to reach past her, and for all his inclination towards making unsubtle passes at her, his manners were generally beyond reproach), Sizhu found that she couldn’t seem to look away from that empty teacup.
...Well, was she dressed as a servant, or wasn’t she?
Standing and taking up the teapot, she came around the corner of the table, leaning over just a bit to carefully refill his cup...then froze, teapot still tipped and steadily pouring away, as she felt a hand briefly rest on the back of her thigh, right at the very top of her leggings. It was so quick that she could almost believe she’d imagined it, but all things considered, she was certain that she hadn’t. Still, she kept her composure, and managed to not jerk in surprise or freeze for so long that his teacup ran over, calmly placing the teapot on the table (this time within easy reach of Haurchefant) before returning to her seat.
She was even more certain a few moments later, when he reached for her leg again. It all happened very quickly: his hand cupped her calf, and since her feet didn’t quite touch the floor in the first place thanks to the Elezen-sized furniture, nudging her shoe off her foot and then bringing her leg up to rest on the outside edge of his chair was simplicity itself. Then his hand slid up and around to settle on her thigh, two long, slender fingers slipping into the top of her legging, hooking into the stretchy fabric and slowly drawing it down past her knee, halfway to her ankle, a move that was somehow both deeply sensual and strangely matter-of-fact.
Sizhu’s reaction was pure reflex, without a moment’s thought in it: she shoved her chair back from the table so hard, the back legs caught on the carpet, swiftly overturning it. Before the back of the chair even made contact with the floor, however, the Miqo’te mage had done a backwards somersault up onto her feet, at which point her recent Dragoon training made itself obvious as she segued seamlessly into an Elusive Jump.
In the space of three seconds she was across the room, crouching atop a bookcase, looking thoroughly confused as to how she had gotten there.
It was at just that moment that Korsica walked into the dining hall, the flicker of latent movement pulling her gaze up and over to rest on the startled Miqo’te girl, who looked down at her from her perch, violet eyes wide.
Sizhu's expression was a distinct I DON’T QUITE KNOW HOW I GOT HERE, BUT I AM NOT CERTAIN IF I WILL EVER COME BACK DOWN AGAIN, and the Ishgardian noblewoman just gave a long-suffering sigh before turning a flat stare across the room at the Lord of House Fortemps.
"...What did you do this time?"
“Oh, nothing so terrible, really,” the silver-haired lord said with a winning smile. “I simply noticed that our dear Warrior of Light had a ladder in her stocking, and as she was preoccupied with her meal, I merely thought to assist her in removing it before the damage was made any worse.”
Korsica raised an eyebrow, turning a pointed look from Sizhu’s scarcely-touched apple tart to the odd placement of Haurchefant’s chair, then back over her shoulder to Sizhu herself, who was still bristling uneasily, ears laid back and long white tail even fluffier-looking than normal. Her eyes lingered briefly on the way one of Sizhu’s stockings was nearly around her ankle, then returned to the still-shamelessly-smiling Haurchefant.
“I see,” the Elezen warrior said dryly, in a tone that made it clear that she most certainly did, that she wasn’t at all fooled by her future husband’s casual hand-waving. She then turned a small but sincere smile up towards the tiny mage. “Sizhu, I believe I overheard Alphinaud asking after you. Perhaps you’d like to see what sort of impossible task he desires to set before you this time? He should be in the library.”
A great deal of the tension left the younger adventurer’s shoulders at Korsica’s words--an obvious, easy escape from the room for her--and she shot her friend a brief, grateful look, followed by a silent, solemn nod before she lightly jumped off the top of the bookcase and headed for the door, pausing only to pull up her stocking, retrieve her shoe, and brush any clinging dust from her uniform.
As she went, she saw Korsi calmly righting the overturned chair...and then sitting in it herself, pulling it even closer to the Lord of House Fortemps than it had been before. The lady warrior was smiling flirtatiously, and Sizhu felt her cheeks go pink as she moved past them; she’d caught a glimpse of her friend’s foot in Haurchefant’s lap, her lacy white legging already pushed halfway down past her knee...but all the while, one of Korsi’s hands was subtly creeping ever closer to Sizhu’s abandoned apple tart.
The Miqo’te mage had to stifle a laugh behind her own hand as she pushed her way out through the doors and beat a hasty retreat to the library. Somehow she didn’t doubt that Haurchefant would be wearing that pastry on his face within a few seconds, and deservedly so.
Alphinaud had indeed been looking for her, as it turned out, and meetings with him were rarely short affairs, particularly these days when his spirits were still sometimes wont to drop without warning. Still, the young Sharlayan retired to his chambers again eventually, and after a few hours of helping with the laundry and dusting the library, Sizhu found herself carrying a tray with a single letter on it, searching for Korsi.
It wasn’t long before she found the other adventurer either, though it was immediately obvious that Korsica wasn’t alone. The door to a small side-room (a linen closet, Sizhu knew from earlier that day) was standing open just slightly, the narrow crack emitting the warm, unsteady glow of a kerosene lamp, as well as the low, mingling murmurs of two voices Sizhu knew quite well: Korsica and Haurchefant.
The Miqo’te mage very nearly set the letter and its tray on the ground in front of the barely-ajar door and left; but in the middle of bending to do so, she heard her name being spoken, and her ears perked up, her attention captured and her curiosity piqued as she sidled up to the door.
It did sound like Haurchefant was honestly making an attempt to explain himself, though he didn’t really sound all that apologetic, and Korsi’s tone was equally full of mischief. What she was overhearing, Sizhu realised, was friendly, familiar banter between two individuals who were obviously quite close...in more ways than one.
“There’s no need to pretend that you’re not well aware of my reasons for adopting the mannerisms I’m currently so well-known for, my dear. A cover story is no good if it isn’t believable. And as for the Warrior of Light, I might proposition her at every chance, but you know I’m half joking.”
“Only half?”
The Ishgardian lord chuckled at being called out on that, but he didn’t give a straight answer either, Sizhu couldn’t help but notice a little uncomfortably.
“Come now, Korsica. Surely you must admit that she looks quite fetching in that outfit.”
Korsica gave a low snort of amusement, and Sizhu could picture the crooked half-smile on her friend’s face. “She does, I’ll grant you that.”
“And it would be entirely out of character if I wasn’t interested in such a delightful creature--so very lacking in physical size and musculature, yet more than making up for it with spirit and battle prowess…! Indeed, there is something rather captivating about her, isn’t there?”
There was a half-beat of silence before Korsi replied, her previous playfulness receding into a quiet, serious solemnity.
“...Be that as it may...regarding what you did to Sizhu at breakfast this morning...I’m well aware that you were simply teasing her, but even so, it might have been a step too far. She already has someone in mind, after all…”
Haurchefant chuckled again. “My, my, are you jealous?”
The gravitas dropped away from Korsica’s voice, her slyly-subdued levity returning full-force. “Should I be?”
“Most likely. Perhaps you should even punish me for my wantonly wandering hands and sinfully straying eyes.”
“Perhaps I should...but you’d enjoy that, so it wouldn’t really be punishment, would it?”
“I have no doubts that you’ll strike upon a way to make me truly atone for my terrible impropriety.”
“Ohhh, yes…” Korsica’s words, though softly spoken, held hints of dark promises that Sizhu couldn’t even begin to imagine. “I always do...”
There was a rustle of fabric that made Sizhu jerk away from the door, followed by a low, swift intake of breath that made her cheeks flare bright crimson; anything following that was cut off as she carefully, silently eased the door completely closed, moving off a ways down the hall--far enough to be out of earshot, but close enough that she could stand guard on the room nonetheless.
She owed the both of them at least that small favour. Haurchefant offered what aid he could, but Korsica had been with Sizhu through thick and thin (and mostly thin, particularly these days). If she could do even a little bit of good for Korsi, who had stayed by her side and hadn't once wavered in her belief in Sizhu's innocence, then maybe this job wasn't quite completely pointless after all.