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Chiori meets her in the police office three weeks after she moves to the Court of Fontaine.
“There’s clearly been a misunderstanding,” Chiori says again, increasingly losing her polite indifference. It’s growing difficult to maintain her aloof demeanor, given that not one of the three Gardes dragging her to the Maison Gardiennage is listening. “I’m no criminal. I’ve never even heard of the substance you mentioned.”
The Gardes, as expected, are unresponsive. Her heart sinks as she follows them.
Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she should have stayed in Inazuma and joined Ogura Mio when she took over the textiles shop. Maybe going to Fontaine was a waste of her inheritance. Maybe she should pay off the Gardes now with the eighty thousand mora in her bra and sell the property and run as fast as possible back home.
The Gardes practically throw her forward when they stop. Chiori stumbles forward, but rights herself quickly, brushing off her coat to maintain what little dignity she can.
“Captain Chevreuse,” one of them declares. “We have detained a criminal.”
Only then does Chiori notice the woman standing before her. Judging by her red uniform, she must be the Captain in question. The long-barreled gun slung across her back makes Chiori stand a little taller.
Chevreuse looks her up and down with sharp eyes. “And what crime have they committed?”
“Sinthe trafficking, Captain.”
Chevreuse’s mouth becomes a thin line. “I see,” she says coldly. “Take them away.”
“Hold on,” Chiori pleads, before she can think better of it. She throws out a hand, holding onto Chevreuse’s arm momentarily. It’s momentary because Chiori recalls the gun and flinches away, just in case. “I don’t even know what Sinthe is. I arrived here three weeks ago from Inazuma.”
“Captain,” one of them interrupts. “She had four million mora in the building. In cash.”
Chevreuse’s frown has only deepened, though this time, she turns to Chiori. “Is this true?” she asks, voice gentler.
Chiori lifts her head higher. “Yes. I intend to open a clothing boutique of the highest caliber.”
Chevreuse looks her up and down again. This time, her gaze is different. More appreciative. Chiori suddenly struggles to breathe as Chevreuse’s eyes return to hers with a glint. “I assume you have the relevant licensing, miss…?”
“Chiori.”
“Miss Chiori.”
“I do. However, all of my licensing paperwork is within the boutique itself.”
Chevreuse’s mouth quirks up, just a little. “I have time,” she says, hand on her hip. “You wouldn’t mind taking me there, would you?”
“Of course not.”
“Good,” Chevreuse says. Then, with a perfunctory wave of her hand, she glances at the Gardes. “You’re all dismissed. Stop acting on your prejudices and look out for real criminals.”
The Gardes have the decency to look somewhat ashamed as they leave. Chevreuse motions for her to exit the station, so Chiori sets off toward her boutique. It’s about a ten-minute walk. At least, it had been when the Gardes escorted her all the way from her shop to the station.
“Sorry about them,” says Chevreuse, almost embarrassed, as they walk.
“Not at all,” Chiori replies, surprised that Chevreuse would talk to her at all. “I imagine Fontaine doesn’t get many foreigners, particularly not Inazumans. Though I’d prefer being asked how to make dango than being arrested.”
“Still, Fontaine is the land of justice. I cannot stand for this behavior from my subordinates. If there is anything I can do to make it up to you…”
Chiori glances back as she unlocks the boutique door. “I’m not in need of any government aid. I’ve got all the mora I need.” Perhaps a bit more than she needs, if the Gardes’ reactions are anything to go by. She removes the shop’s documentation papers from her sewing table and shows Chevreuse the signatures, though it seems rather performative. Chevreuse clearly believes in her innocence, particularly since Chiori doesn’t even know what the crime she’s been charged with entails.
“I mean, is there anything I can do,” Chevreuse says pointedly. “I, as Chevreuse, not as Captain.”
She looks Chiori directly in the eye. Chiori, for the first time, notices her eyepatch, and wonders how she manages to shoot without depth perception. Can she feel how close their faces are? Would she notice, were Chiori to draw a little closer? Were Chiori to lean in until they were just shy of touching?
“I apologize,” Chevreuse says stiffly, moving toward the door. “I will take my leave, if-”
“No,” Chiori demands, and Chevreuse turns back abruptly, surprise painted across her face. “Don’t go. I thought of something you can do for me.”
Chevreuse doesn’t even have time to ask what it is before Chiori is kissing her soundly. She knows she’s made the right choice when Chevreuse responds in kind within an instant, tangling her hands in Chiori’s hair. Under normal circumstances, Chiori might have complained about her hairdo being ruined, but as is, she’s a bit preoccupied.
“The first floor is supposed to be my workspace,” Chiori protests, as they break apart. “I refuse to do this here.”
Chevreuse just laughs, dry. “Your wish is my command,” she says, and before Chiori can protest, she’s being swept off her feet. Chevreuse carries her upstairs and sets her down on her bed far more gently than Chiori expects. But she doesn’t comment on it, because Chevreuse picks up where they left off without preamble, kissing all the words off her lips, which is fine because her vocabulary ends up consisting of Chevreuse’s name and very little else.
***
For the next four months, Chiori doesn’t see her at all. This is probably good, she reassures herself, because it means she’s been on the right side of the law. Most people would probably be overjoyed not to run into the Captain of the Special Security and Surveillance Patrol for four months. So Chiori holds her head high and runs her newly-opened business without thinking about her.
It doesn’t take long for her brand to catch on. Kirara’s outfit, along with Lyney and Lynette’s performance costumes, are effective promotions. Perhaps a bit too effective, because soon Chiori’s boutique has a line every morning, before she even opens. She raises her prices. She raises them again. Still, this doesn’t deter her new Fontainian customers. No matter how much she charges, they are dead-set on getting her products.
So those four months are hectic. Enough so that Chiori barely even notices when Chevreuse walks in.
“Welcome to Chioriya Boutique. Off-the-rack designs to your left, custom pieces in the works on the right. Consultations at my desk in-” Chiori glances up. “Oh,” she says, and clears her throat. “Hello, Captain.”
“Just ‘Chevreuse’ is fine,” she says stiffly.
Chiori senses that she means business and just nods. “Chevreuse, then. How may I help you?”
“I understand that you charge high-end prices at this boutique?”
Chiori frowns slightly. “Nothing undue, I can assure you. My quality is unmatched and my prices are quite reasonable for the products I deliver.”
“No, I, um, I believe you, don’t worry,” Chevreuse says very quickly. She glances at the floor and huffs an exhale, clearly composing herself. “I meant to say that you get customers who pay with large amounts of mora.”
“I do,” Chiori says, smiling slightly in amusement.
“I understand that a man bought about forty thousand mora worth of materials in cash. I have reason to believe he was using money from contraband goods, and intends to sell your merchandise to make the profit back.”
Chiori suddenly sees where this is going. She dismisses her easy smile, tears her eyes from Chevreuse’s lips and forgets the feeling of them on her skin as best she can. “Would you like to see his receipt?”
Chevreuse just nods. Chiori finds the receipt impaled on a little spike and retrieves it for her, handing it over. Sure enough, the man spent just under forty thousand mora worth of handbags and lace gloves.
“These will be difficult to trace.” Chevreuse glances around at the boutique’s products. “Every shop in Fontaine sells handbags and gloves. There’s no way we’d be able to catch a secondhand seller at this rate.”
“Chevreuse,” Chiori cries, affronted. This is the city of dramatics, after all, and Chiori is nothing if not adaptable. “Are you implying that my products are impossible to differentiate?”
Chevreuse flushes. She flushes with her whole face, down to her neck and vanishing beneath her collar. “I apologize. I am… not well-versed in such things.”
“In handbags and gloves?”
Chevreuse nods sharply.
Chiori can’t suppress the playful smile rising to her lips. “The hand that fires the gun does not wish to be clad in lace?”
“No. Lace would significantly impact the reaction time between my finger and the trigger, potentially causing misfirings based on the additional friction. Firing too early or too late is a critical mistake for a sharpshooter, not to mention a potentially deadly one. What if I were to fire while aiming and hit a civilian? Of course I don’t wear lace gloves. My gloves are designed to maintain my hold on a gun and protect them from heat. Not for elegance.”
Her gaze is alight with familiar passionate fire. Chiori sighs softly, removing her own gloves and setting them on her table carefully. “I never said you lack elegance.”
Chevreuse crosses her arms. Her ears are still burning red. “You didn’t have to.”
“Elegance is precision. And your precision is unmatched.”
“…Okay,” Chevreuse says, doing something with her hair. Chiori gets the feeling she’s terrible at taking compliments. “I don’t see how this helps me find your resale items on the secondhand market.”
“I was getting there.”
“Get there faster,” Chevreuse demands. “I’m on the clock.”
Chiori huffs. “Fine, fine. As I was saying , elegance is precision, and precision is elegance. My handbags are measured to the finest detail and my gloves contain the most intricate lace patterns you will find. It would be child’s play for me to discern my own work from other shoddy facsimiles.”
“Perfect.” Chevreuse nods with finality. “I’ll come back after the shop closes. Your help with the investigation will be much appreciated.”
She turns to go. Chiori catches her arm, and she whirls around again, wide-eyed.
Chiori trails her bare fingers up from Chevreuse’s sleeve to her shoulder. “We haven’t discussed the matter of payment,” she says, low. “Surely you don’t expect a businesswoman like me to aid you without a reward?”
“Oh,” Chevreuse breathes. Her ears are pink again.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Chiori murmurs, smiling almost vindictively. And sure enough, once the seller has been arrested and handed off to Chevreuse’s subordinates, Chevreuse does, in fact, think of a reward. A very satisfactory one.
***
As she settles into life at the boutique, Chiori remembers that she should write home. She doesn’t feel like writing to her mother, though, so instead she writes to the Kamisato siblings. She tells them about Fontaine, the boutique, and Chevreuse. Mostly Chevreuse. The Kamisatos like drama.
Ayaka’s response comes within the week. It’s full of squealing, excited questions about Fontaine, tales from the Yashiro Commission, and encouragement about Chevreuse.
Ayato’s response, on the other hand, comes three weeks later. It reads, in its entirety: This sounds like a ‘you’ problem.
Chiori writes back to Ayaka. You are a lovely person, she writes. And tell your brother to fuck off.
***
Chiori learns, over the next year or so, how Chevreuse works. Whenever she needs help, she stalks briskly into Chiori’s shop and leaves behind a note with a time on it. At said time, Chiori shows up at the bookstand and, without fail, finds Chevreuse waiting for her.
“Hello,” Chiori says, as she approaches. She glances at the volume in Chevreuse’s hands. “What are you reading this time?”
“Some stuffy fairytale,” Chevreuse replies, stilted. “It’s about a low-brow girl going to some high-society event. She needs help from a magical fairy to look the part.”
“Mm,” Chiori hums, fighting the desire to smile. She traces a hand across the spine of the book. “And where, exactly, does this magical fairy come from?”
“From Chioriya Boutique.”
Chiori tips her head back and laughs. “Of course, of course.” She takes Chevreuse by the arm. “I’ll take you to the boutique. Maybe you’ll find them. Good thing I closed early today, hm? No competition for your magical fairy’s attention.”
“I was the one who asked you to close,” Chevreuse grumbles, pale face flushing easily. “Anyway, please take me there.”
They set off. Chiori doesn’t relinquish her hold on Chevreuse’s arm, even though she certainly knows her way to the boutique by now. “What exactly does the protagonist require help with?”
Chevreuse scuffs her boot on the sidewalk. “Everything,” she mumbles. “I have a dress, but that’s about it.”
Chiori’s eyes widen slightly. “Really? No makeup? Shoes? A purse?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. I grew up in Fleuve Cendre. Nothing civilized about that.”
“Well,” Chiori says, unlocking the door and letting her in. “Lucky you’ve got me, isn’t it? I’m very familiar with Fontaine’s high society.” She brushes her fingers teasingly against Chevreuse’s waist. “Your very own magical fairy.”
Chevreuse avoids her gaze, cheeks pink, as she sits in a stylist’s chair along the back wall.
“At this rate, you won’t need any blush,” Chiori says, as she brushes Chevreuse’s hair from her face. “Or is this only because of me?”
Chevreuse sighs. “You know the answer to that.”
She does, but it’s still satisfying to hear it from Chevreuse’s mouth. Satisfied with her torment, Chiori just smiles as she picks up foundation to match Chevreuse’s skin tone and switches into work mode. She carefully covers the scars around Chevreuse’s cheeks, the sunburn blemish on her nose, the crinkles around her eyes. Chiori finds these little flaws rather charming, though she’d never say it aloud. She moves on to setting powder and contour, and finally digs through her eyeshadow collection, looking for the perfect shade.
“You’ll have to take off the eye patch for this part,” Chiori says, matter-of-fact.
Chevreuse hesitates.
“I can skip that eye, if you’re uncomfortable.”
“No,” Chevreuse says quickly. “It’s just… I mean, it’s ugly.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“…You like pretty things.”
Chiori can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “And you want me to like you?”
She silently removes the eye patch, not answering. Beneath it, a scar covers her entire eyelid. When she opens her eye, part of its purple iris is dyed white. It looks like the remnant of a knife slash, or perhaps a sword swing.
Chevreuse smiles wryly when she notices Chiori staring. “It’s appalling, isn’t it?”
“No,” Chiori says firmly. She takes Chevreuse’s face in her hands, making sure their eyes meet. Both of their eyes. “It’s beautiful.” She traces her thumb across her cheek. “Every part of you is beautiful.”
Chevreuse barks out a harsh laugh. “You’re a good liar.”
“I’m a terrible liar, actually.”
Chevreuse glances around. Her eyes land on the bolt of red fabric on Chiori’s table, and she points at it. “What color is that?”
“Blue.”
Chevreuse’s lips quirk up. “You’re right. You’re a terrible liar.”
“Enough talk,” Chiori demands. “Close your eyes.”
Chevreuse obeys with a slight smile. Chiori takes a moment to stare at her, at the beautiful mark across her eye. Physical proof of her tenacity. Then, with a heavy hand, she picks up her eyeshadow primer and begins working on Chevreuse’s eyes. She picks a midnight blue eyeshadow to match Chevreuse’s evening dress, and carefully blends it out into shimmering silver. Chevreuse is obediently still as Chiori applies her eyeliner and mascara.
“You can open your eyes.”
Chevreuse does. She stares into the table mirror before her. “You made me beautiful,” she says quietly.
“I did no such thing. You were already beautiful.”
“Sure,” she says flatly. Chiori wishes she knew how true it was. “Can you help me with accessories, oh magical fairy?”
Chiori only laughs as she sifts through her collection. They settle on a silver pearl-encrusted clutch, a pearl necklace, and a pair of silver heels.
As she practices walking in the shoes, Chevreuse glances out the window at the setting sun. “It’s almost time. I have to go.”
Chiori nods sharply, scanning Chevreuse’s outfit for anything missing. Shoes, jewelry, dress, eye makeup, concealer, purse-
“I forgot your lipstick.”
“No time,” says Chevreuse, stuffing her musket into the clutch.
“Oh, for- fine ,” Chiori says, and presses their lips together. Both of Chevreuse’s eyes fly wide open. It’s a short kiss, just long enough for Chiori’s lip tint to rub off on her. “There. Now it looks acceptable.”
Chevreuse stands there, lips parted and pink.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Right,” Chevreuse says breathily, and then she vanishes, leaving Chiori behind with smudged lipstick and a racing heart.
***
Somehow, Chiori ends up helping Chevreuse with more investigations. She finds Chevreuse by the bookstand reading every type of literature. Mystery: she needs Chiori’s help investigating records. Adventure: she needs Chiori’s help searching for leads. Thriller: she needs Chiori’s help with a stakeout. But this one is new.
“Fantasy,” says Chevreuse. She sounds almost nervous. “The protagonist needs to find a guest to bring to a holiday party.”
“Oh?” Chiori tilts over, peering at the cover of the book. “What sort of holiday party? Is the protagonist tracking down an old acquaintance? Or trying to form new connections?”
“No,” Chevreuse forces out. Her face is flushed even though the Court of Fontaine doesn’t get very cold, not even in the winter. “It’s. Um. A work party. The protagonist’s… coworker… is having a holiday party and she doesn’t know who to bring.”
The book in Chevreuse’s hands isn’t fantasy at all. It’s a field guide to Sumeru’s mushrooms. Chiori looks at her and realizes that Chevreuse isn’t wearing her eye patch today. Her hands don’t shake around a musket but they shake around the book when she looks Chiori in the eye.
“You look nervous.”
It is clearly the wrong thing to say. Chevreuse shuts her eyes and her mouth scrunches up. “Sorry. I probably screwed it up. Wriothesley told me to ask like a normal person but I couldn't do it-”
“I’d love to go with you.”
Chevreuse blinks. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
And Chiori finds out that Chevreuse’s smile, when she’s really, truly elated, reaches both her eyes, even the one half-dead with a white scar streaking through it.
***
“She likes you.”
Chiori glances at the prison warden leaning against the wall next to her and takes a long sip of her drink. “I know.”
Chevreuse’s ‘coworker’ hosting the party happened to be the Duke of Meropide. Chiori has no problem with high society, dukes and duchesses and the like, but Wriothesley is different. She feels distinctly out of place with him. Nobles typically demand respect, so Chiori gets a sense of vindictive pleasure from not respecting them. Like Ayato. She likes riling up Ayato by calling him nicknames. Wriothesley, on the other hand, seems to like the disrespect. Encourage it, even.
So here they are. Staring at Chevreuse as she teaches an inmate how to do a foxtrot.
“Most people are scared of her,” Wriothesley says.
“I’m not most people.”
A long pause. She gets the feeling Wriothesley knew that already.
“Aren’t you going to ask if I like her back?”
Wriothesley laughs. “No,” he says, crossing his arms behind his head as he leans back. “I don’t think I need to.”
Chiori, for the first time in months, feels her face heat up, and not in anger. She hopes fervently that her foundation is working properly. “Fine,” she says, and stalks away, which only makes Wriothesley laugh harder.
***
“The bookstand is almost closed,” Chiori says. The Court is painted pink in the light of the setting sun. She glances over at the book in Chevreuse’s hands, but can’t quite discern the title. “What is it this time?”
Chevreuse is silent for a long moment. Then she sighs. “I can’t do this normally, can I? I can’t do anything right.”
“Tell me what the book is about.”
“Romance.”
Oh. Oh.
Chiori blinks. Then she smiles. “And what does the protagonist want, I wonder?”
“Go out with me,” Chevreuse says bluntly.
“Isn’t that usually a question?”
“Right, right.” Chevreuse clears her throat. Her face burns brilliantly red. “Will you go out with me?”
“That’s a silly question,” Chiori says, as she takes Chevreuse’s hand and faces the sunset and the city with her. “I was only ever going to say yes, anyway.”