Work Text:
As everyday by Furina’s side went, the chaos bounced in and off the god, while Clorinde tuned out her complaints. Sitting in the resting area at Furina’s mansion, Clorinde reread the latest letter on her paper. This letter had no recipient, nor did the many before it or the ones that will come after it. They served no purpose, only a physical manifestation of Clorinde’s yearning.
Letter after letter, all with one girl in mind. Never mentioned by name, but any who read it would immediately know the object of the Champion Duelist’s affection.
So much had went wrong and so little had been fixed. All clorinde had left were Navia’s cold and dismissive remarks when she caught her stalking. Clorinde never dared correct Navia’s definition of her actions. It didn’t do her good to correct her. And even if people found it creepy, Clorinde didn’t care what people think. Furina didn’t seem to care either, and Neuvillette was too wrapped up in his own misery.
Clorinde looks outside the window. It’s pouring. Identical to the chambers of her heart and Neuvillete’s. Clorinde sighs, folds back the paper into her sac, and fetches Furina her tea. With the maids always fired at a moment’s notice, Clorinde accepted her new role too.
She hopes it changes soon.
Clorinde couldn’t better the situation, that much she knew. But this awkward tension has lasted too long, and even Navia’s hatred for her was fraying at the edges. Almost like Navia’s rage was eating her from the inside. Clorinde wouldn’t stand for it any longer.
She sighed softly, loosening the first button of her collar. She was suffocating; on the guilt and terror of what would come both.
“Why are you in front of my mansion?”
Arching a fine eyebrow, Navia stands in front of the mansion’s door, hand on her hip. She’s a distance away, yet Clroinde can feel the icy glare attempt to freeze her bones.
Clorinde opens her mouth. She thinks better of it, tries to come up of a better way to phrase her need of fixing things.
“Go,” Navia says, icy and calm. Clorinde isn’t close enough, but she knows her fists must be trembling, hidden in her waist. “You’re not welcome here.”
“Would you have dinner with me?” Clorinde says, the words blurt out, the end of her sentence screeching pathetically as terror gripped her voice.
She’d have wanted to close her eyes, but she had to see it through. The shock, the anger and maybe even the disappointment if she was lucky. Cold anger and disappointment meant Navia still cared, still thought of what could have been if that event didn’t tear them apart.
The surprise on Navia’s features was evident, although fleeting. Instead of a question, Navia turned her back. “Go home.”
“Navia,” Clorinde says, desperate for some form of reaction. It’s been three long years. There had to be something Clorinde could do to fix the hollow part of Navia. “I don’t know how to show you my sincerity, but I care. And I know you don’t need my protecting. You can do it yourself, you’re brilliant at it. But I care, Navia. Please.”
“Please what?” Navia looks over her shoulders, eyes perfectly narrowed, the dark eyeshadow only serving to further ice her glare, “please forget you killed my father? Forget your lousy explanations? Forget how much I trusted you and how quick you were to break my trust?”
The last part was an equivalent of a roar, highpitched and so, so angry.
“Please, what, Clorinde? Pick your poison!”
“Please have dinner with me.”
And there, a sudden flicker in Navia’s eyes, switching from hot anger to an empathic one. Clorinde wasn’t acting, she never knew how to. For her voice must have rang false on a chime, breaking on a word, and Navia, in all her rage, heard the pathetic sincerity in it.
Clorinde could do pathetic. It might mean she was taking advantage of her once beloved, but she will be pathetic if it meant making Navia listen.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” Navia was shaking, “Fine. You’re buying.”
Clorinde nods.
“And there better be drinks. I’m not stomaching you sober.”
“Yes, demoiselle,” Clorinde promises. She secretely hopes they get to talk before drinking, or at least during it while Navia is sober enough. She won’t press.
“Tomorrow, then,” Navia says, “I’d say don’t be late, but you won’t be since we both know you stalk me as your past-time.”
Yes, a jab Clorinde certainly deserved.
Clorinde waits a moment, acknowledging the jab, then she says, “thank you, Navia.”
Navia doesn’t answer and goes back inside.
Clorinde waits at Navia’s door fifteen minutes earlier than she’s expected. Dressed in her finest suit, her hair neatly pulled back in her ponytail with her bangs giving a slightly more wet look, Clorinde’s heart is in a despair. It isn’t that she has the perfect plan for Navia to forgive her, nor does she hope to be forgiven so easily, but she’d want to have Navia back in any form she allowed. As a friend, if she was lucky. As her official bodyguard if Navia allowed.
Her fingers tug at her gloved hand, fidgeting in the cloth. Maybe it would’ve been better if she’d come in a dress, at least to accommodate Navia’s style? She was most comfortable in her current wear with such a situation today, but she should have been considerate of Navia’s position.
Delicate steps with clack of heels on stone approach, and Clorinde turns to greet, expecting Navia.
She’s beautiful. The prettiest woman in all of Fontaine, no one could rival her in beauty and style. Clorinde envies any person who’ll lay eyes on her, knowing she was celebate. With her short red dress that part from her waist to her thigh, the epaulettes that adorn her shoulders, her white furcoat clading her figure, her bust slightly showing, and a beautiful necklace that sits on her collarbone -Navia is more of an elegant woman than Clorinde remembers. How the days have passed...
“Cat’s got your tongue?” Navia says, sarcasm dripping off her words. “Merde, quel pitié.”
“Pardons,” Clorinde clears her throat behind her gloved hand. She offers a hand, as is expected from any two people who will be dining together.
Navia eyes Clorinde’s outstretched hand, then advances coldly, tugging her furcoat closer to her shoulders. Clorinde had pushed her luck, certainly, she couldn’t even feel shame. Only absolute dread that she had dug her own grave.
Clorinde followed Navia on foot, keeping a safe distance as if she was guarding Furina. Like this, only Navia’s side profile was visible. Her eyebrows twitched every now and then into an angry frown, before keeping a neutral façade while in public. Choosing that moment to look away, Clorinde rehearsed her speech for when they’re dining.
The high-class restaurant they dine at has a terrasse that looks over a display of fountains. It’s a highclass restaurant. The butlers at the door recognize Clorinde first, as she was the Archon’s bodyguard and the champion duelist. Navia sniffs in disdain, but doesn’t comment, only smiling politely when said butlers try to get acquainted properly with her. It’s boss now, she says, not demoiselle.
The fluster around Navia only puts a smile on Clorinde’s face. Yes, she’s loved how despite her popularity and pride, Navia remained kind and genuine. It started back in their school days, after all, with Navia reaching out a hand towards Clorinde, kindly and soft and interested. While the adults put the young genius duelist label on Clorinde –and her peers the intimidating label- Navia saw past it all.
They sit at their reserved table. Navia looks at the menu the very moment she sits, and she’s shaking terribly.
“Navia?” Clorinde says, soft.
“This is harder than I thought, mon Dieu,” Navia shakes her head, a weak smile plastered on to save face, “I can’t.”
“But you’re giving me a chance, right?”
“Yet all I see is my father’s killer in front of me,” Navia’s voice shakes, “You might think it’s been long enough for me to turn soft. Well, I haven’t. I don’t care for another lousy explanation.”
Truthfully, Clorinde had planned to include a ‘lousy’ explanation in her speech, but seeing as the reception was bad, she might have to skip it. On that fateful day, when Clorinde’s father fought for his honor, he’d given his all in the fight, but not till the end. He’d looked sorry in a moment, hesitant, and didn’t care to deflect Clorinde’s sword as it made impact with his chest. Clorinde killed him, but she wasn’t planning to. Her duty was to pass judgement with her sword seeing as she was the most skilled to do so, and she believed in his innocence. Her line of duty and empathy have clashed in the most cruelest of ways, and Clorinde was ruined for life.
She had explained to Navia. While crying outside of Navia’s then-empty home, she’d cried in sounds she didn’t know she could possibly make. Navia never came out at first, and when she did, she heard explanations she thought were cowardly and decided to despise Navia for it.
She was right to. There was no one to blame but Navia. She was on the same ground they’d dueled, she wielded the sword that cut him, and she’d heard his last wishes as he admitted cowardice. He’d even apologized for the arranged marriage he’d planned for Clorinde and Navia, as a guise for he knew they loved each other. Sir Callas’ true last words was his wish for Navia’s happiness that could have included Clorinde.
“Please, dine first,” Clorinde said softly, “we can talk after that.”
“Do you enjoy torturing me?” Navia demanded.
Torture. Clorinde didn’t enjoy torture. Definitely not torture of her once girlfriend. A wild claim that served as a knife in Navia’s hand.
“If you don’t answer, I’m leaving,” Navia declares. “the Bourgeoisie here be damned.”
“I’m truly, truly sorry for your loss,” Clorinde said, hoping Navia could see past some of her rage enough to hear out Clorinde, “Demoiselle, no, Navia, I can’t make up for it. Even if I explain again, I don’t deserve your forgiveness when you’re still so hurt. But Navia, isn’t your rage hurting you inside too?”
Navia laughs, “oh, now you care what hurts me?”
Clorinde sighs, “your grief is understandable, and you can hate me. But to imply I never cared or enjoy torturing you with my presence is just you lying. To me and to yourself.”
Navia’s eyes are narrowed, calculating which angle to strike from next. There were none, Clorinde was already done for.
“Your father’s wish was for me to protect you, even in his dying breath,” Clorinde says, “forgive me for using this wording, Navia, but please let us honor his wish.”
“You really expect me to believe that? You killed him, and while he looked you in the eyes, he asked you -his murderer- to protect me?”
If only it was just that. The arranged marriage was an affair Clorinde itched to bring up, but she sealed her lips shut.
“You, Clorinde, are one hell of a performer. You are selfish, and self-centered.”
“Beyond all of that, do you really believe I would lie to you about such thing?” Clorinde dares, bringing up all that has once been between them.
And she catches it; Navia’s dazy gaze, the hurt, and the tears that spring up.
“What do you want from me?” Navia’s voice trembles. Her efforts at withholding her tears are commendable, but Clorinde isn’t that cruel. She grabs a napkin and dabs at Navia’s eyes herself. Instead of lashing out, Navia stares back, her lips opening on the silent name Clorinde wishes to hear spoken in a wistful tone.
Clorinde wants everything. With all the selfishness she could muster from her pathetically lived life, she withholds her initial request. Not even dinner was served, what made her think any of her hopes would be answered.
“Please let me be your bodyguard.” Clorinde says. Her eyes chance a glance, but she dips her head immediately.
Navia covers her face, sniffling and biting back a few whines, “what the hell? Making your past-time an official side job? What about Furina?”
“She’ll have to accept,” Clorinde says, throwing caution the wind. Nobody’s opinion or needs mattered beyond those of Navia’s, even her god’s, “she won’t say no.”
“I won’t pay you.” Navia states.
“I don’t mind, demoiselle.”
“You’re not getting any privileges either.”
That must be a yes. Clorinde doesn’t trust her ears, doesn’t come up with a fast enough answer.
“Fine,” Navia says, weary and irritated, “It must have been my father’s wish. Because no, i don’t think you’re a liar. Damn you.”
The kind of buzz that overcomes Clorinde’s body is unlike any she’s felt before. Not even when she earned her Champion Duelist title. Not even when she was as happy then with Navia. She was accepted back into Navia’s life, no matter how insignificant.
“Oh.” Clorinde didn’t believe in the effectiveness of her plan, neither in her abilities to sell herself well.
“You start Monday. Normally, I treat my new employees no matter their ranks, but you’re different,” Navia stands, looking Clorinde dead in the eyes. She’s standing her up, and Clorinde must look extremely giddy for someone who’s being stood up, “I can’t stomach dinner nor the sight of you tonight. But I am taking the wine you paid for. Remember, Lundi. Don’t be late.”
Navia leaves, her hips swinging as she walks out without a single glance back. Her two attendants that Clorinde had spied follow her on either side. Navia’s stance is nothing short of a winner, and Clorinde can only stare and think of Navia in her nightgown drinking the wine Clorinde bought. If not the sight, she can have the fantasy.
Clorinde sighs, leaning on her palm, the buzz in her filling every pore of her body with an impossible happiness. She fails to hide her smile, and thinks of ordering some wine. Remembering that Navia took all the remaining good stock of the wine with her, Clorinde deflates.
She will drink the cheap wine.