Work Text:
The city lights always outmatch the gleam of the stars, and the horizon is alight with the glow of a million shining points. It's a lovely night, the sun just gone down, the nightlife below just starting to buzz. A chill breeze flits across the balcony, sends her skirt swishing around her ankles, catches in wavy hair. Sybil notices these things peripherally— her focus is on Red beside her, eyes bluer and brighter than any neon or starlight. Face framed by a cascade of red curls. A shimmering gold dress sticks to her build, accentuating, beauty added to beauty. Sybil wants to look away— doesn't want to seem leering or too obvious —but cannot.
"Wonderful performance tonight. I think it was one of your most crowded shows yet," she says, swirling the drink in her glass. It's true; the venue had been almost packed. Pride wells up in her chest, has been since the night began. She's been here since the beginning, since Red got her first real start. Seeing her succeed is a pleasure.
"Thanks! Couldn't have done it without you, I think. You organized almost everything, you know." Red's voice is genuine, but a little strain from the vocal exertion of the concert shows through. They came out here to escape the crowd after the show, get some solitude away from prying eyes and flashing cameras. Sybil smiles; feels almost buoyant at the praise. "Maybe. But you did the real work."
Red is different in private than on stage. Under spotlights and cameras, she's still bright as the sun, but alone, in peace and quiet, she's more open. The tension has seeped out of her, shoulders relaxed and a smile on her lips. "It is work, isn't it? I love it, but it's exhausting. And you've got to be careful with the audience." Cloudbank is fickle; Sybil knows this well, as well as a certain other few she could name. "Do exactly as the people want or lose their favor. They're picky, aren't they?" The distaste is unhidden in her voice. Red laughs, almost, little more than a smile and a breath through her nose. "Yeah. But is it really worth it? I'd rather do what I want, voting be damned." It's nice to be able to speak easy around someone. Especially about Cloudbank. Too many people disagree; would rather stick to the fleeting impermanence and non-progression of things. "You're very determined," Sybil says, taking a sip from her daiquiri. A cautious attempt at reaching out. "It's refreshing."
Red's cheeks flush a faint pink, just perceptible in the lighting. "I just don't want to be another face in the crowd, is all." She glances around, almost nervous, until her eyes land on the cocktail glass in Sybil's hand. "What are you drinking?" It's a shame to change the topic, interesting as Red's views are. But Sybil understands; the aftermath of events rarely leaves energy for deep conversation. "Just a daiquiri." "Can I have a sip? Singing isn't exactly easy on the throat," Red leans on the bannister—is it Sybil’s imagination, or has she moved closer? To Sybil’s credit, her surprise doesn’t show on her face. A career in working with people has taught her the art of hiding her reactions. But her heart threatens to burst from her ribs, picking up from its already quick pace. “You don’t mind the sharing?” she says, stifling her nerves behind a slanted smile. "Oh, it's nothing. Really." Sybil holds out the glass, and their hands brush in the motion. Her legs feel shaky— how is it that Red can make her feel just like some clueless teenager all over again? This isn't her first time at the game, but something about this feels too serious to match the title. Red takes a sip from the glass, winces as she hands it back. "Oh no. Citrus on a sore throat was a mistake." There's lipstick stains on the rim of the glass. Sybil laughs. "I could get you some water, if you'd like? The refreshments table can't be entirely empty yet."
Red shakes her head, curls bouncing. "It's fine. I was thinking about heading home anyways. Is it too much of a slight if I leave this early? I've got some work to do." It is a little odd for the star of the show to leave the party early; but it's a mild solecism, and the people will live. "You should take a break," Sybil chances. It's late, and she knows Red works hard. She deserves a break. "You've earned it." She pauses, pursing her lips in consideration. Finally she concedes, visibly relaxing. "Maybe you're right. I am pretty tired." Red rolls her shoulders, stretching a little. "Meet you tomorrow, at the café?" More than Sybil had hoped for; pleasant talk and a meeting set for tomorrow? She beams. "Of course! I'm free at about two?" If need be she'll free something up. "Sounds good. See you there!" Red steps closer, wraps one arm around Sybil's shoulders in a quick goodbye hug. Her embrace is warm, and the proximity of her almost sends Sybil's breath catching in her throat. Too soon and she's gone, turned for the door, warmth once again replaced by the cold breeze. The absence of her is easily felt; the silence empty after such easy talk. Sybil turns back towards the view of the city, glass in hand. Finishes the remnants of the drink. Her heart feels lighter, brighter now, and it seems nothing could ruin the rest of the night.