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Clorinde drops her packed lunch on the picnic table unceremoniously, sits on the bench with her back to the table and tilts her head back to let the early spring sun warm her face.
Classes were… boring. She didn’t mind learning algebra and early Fontainian literature and the politics of the Sumeru Akademiya, but she still had years to go! She was only sixteen, and the earliest she could elect to take her exams was eighteen, which she was going to do immediately anyway. Still, it was years away.
Her father’s voice rings in the back of her head quietly, reminding her that no matter what she chooses to do with her life, getting a proper education is non-negotiable. Clorinde rolls her eyes and quiets the voice. She’s had quite enough of him for now.
She lifts her hand over her head and flexes her fingers, feeling the muscles ache from clutching her pen while finishing an in-class exam. Sighing, she puts it back down, rolls her wrist and swings her legs over the bench to face the table.
A bright halo of golden hair and piercing blue eyes greet her, and she nearly falls backwards.
“Don’t sneak up on me,” Clorinde huffs, rubbing the knee she smacked right into the table.
Navia swirls her drink with a straw, grinning as she leans over to take a sip. “You’re too easy to startle.”
The only person who can startle Clorinde is sitting right in front of her. If she says that, though, she’s going to give Navia far too much leverage over her. “What are you doing here?” she asks instead, reaching into the bag to take her still-warm sandwich out. Her dad’s Pyro Vision comes in handy for keeping the fowl warm between two sides of crunchy baguette. “Don’t you have the later lunch period?”
“Mhm, nah, I dropped out of economics and I’m taking an elective,” Navia replies between sips of her drink, eyeing the sandwich that Clorinde has in her hands and is about to take a bite from. Clorinde sighs, tears the sandwich in two and hands Navia one half. Knowing her, she’s already finished her food and wouldn’t mind the little bit Clorinde can offer her.
Navia grabs half of the sandwich eagerly, takes a bite out of it and chews contently, murmuring something like ‘thank you’ with her mouth full of zesty chicken and herbs.
“Yeah, yeah,” Clorinde replies, a smile creeping its way onto her face unwarranted. She can’t really help it – her inclination is always to smile when Navia’s around.
They eat in silence for a while, listening to people around them chatting away during the lunch hour.
“You were flexing your hand earlier,” Navia comments between bites of the sandwich, looking at Clorinde through her lashes as she leans in to sip more from her straw.
Clorinde shrugs, “Hurts. Had an in-class exam today. And I have practice tonight, so I hope it won’t be a bother.”
“Practice, huh?” Navia looks at her with an expression that’s difficult to decipher. “Didn’t realise you were switching to evenings.”
“Adding them,” Clorinde corrects, looking away from Navia’s intense gaze. It’s confusing, and she’s not used to not being able to read Navia. Ever since they were kids, Navia has worn her heart on her sleeve and Clorinde had found that far easier to deal with than the strangeness with which most people around her carried themselves. As they grew older, little changed in that regard.
Navia hums something in response and the rest of lunch passes in silence. Getting up off the bench, Clorinde watches as her companion shrugs her blazer back on, pulling her blonde curls out from underneath the collar. “So, see you after school?” Clorinde asks. They usually head to the library together, where they’ll do homework, or read books, or generally try to avoid the watchful eye of Clorinde’s parents and Navia’s attendants.
“I can’t today,” Navia replies, biting her lip as if fighting a smile. “Don’t miss me too much.” She leans over the table, her hair very nearly landing in the scraps of food on the table.
Clorinde stares at her, says, “What’s gotten into you?”
“Me? Nothing!” Navia says with a chuckle, presses her lips to Clorinde’s forehead playfully. “Don’t worry about it, just some family stuff.”
Clorinde blushes but she’s too confused to take note of this, narrowing her eyes at her friend. Sweet as she is, Navia can be entirely too playful for her own good. Or rather, Clorinde’s good. “So… see you tomorrow?
“Sure thing,” Navia says with a smirk, swinging her bag over her shoulder and heading back toward the academy building. Clorinde watches her back retreat for just a moment, before gathering her trash and running back to make it in time to class.
---
As much as Clorinde hates using the practice swords that the school has, she can’t be carrying her scabbard across the Court without a licence. At her age, she could perhaps get away with acting like it’s a fake, but any Garde worth something would immediately clock her sword as the real thing.
So, begrudgingly, she makes her way into the sword fighting school, jumping up the stairs two at a time to get to the specific training space that her teacher always has their classes in.
What shocks her, however, is not her teacher – she knows they work evenings, that’s why she asked if she could come in the evenings too – but the girl her age leaning against a polearm as she talks to Clorinde’s teacher.
When Navia spots Clorinde, her grin grows earnestly, and she excuses herself from the conversation to saunter over to Clorinde. “Fancy meeting you here, demoiselle Clorinde.”
Clorinde drops her training bag on the floor by the door, walks over to Navia. Thanks to Navia’s growth spurt they stand nose-to-nose, and while Clorinde doesn’t ever feel combative around Navia, she feels… something stir in her stomach.
“Didn’t peg you for the polearm type,” she says, glancing over at the weapon.
Navia nudges the weapon with her foot, her steel-toed boots making a hollow sound. “Just helping clean up after the last class. But Papa wants me to learn to be stealthier with my choice of weapon, so… here I am.” She doesn’t sound too pleased about it. Clorinde knows that Navia values the slow steady weight of her claymore, so she nods. “I understand. Well, hopefully I can teach you something.”
“I’m sure you can,” Navia replies with a grin, nudging Clorinde’s side with a finger and walking over to the stand where the training equipment is stored. “Come on, show me what you’re made of.”
One thing people tend to get wrong about their relationship – ever since they were children – is that Clorinde was the silent fighter and Navia the ever-sweet heiress. Sure, there was some truth to it, but Navia had an edge to her that only those closest to her ever saw. She liked combat and challenge, liked the taunt and the game and the hunt, just as much if not more than Clorinde did. And Clorinde could talk her way out of something instead of picking a fight – but only there where Navia can see.
Navia tosses her a scabbard and Clorinde catches it effortlessly, having pushed her sleeves up to her elbows. In her hands, Navia holds a similar sword, and it looks so very odd in her hands. Perhaps wrong, even.
When Clorinde looks up from unsheathing her sword, her friend is looking at her with a glimmer in her blue eyes.
“I’ve always wanted to fight a descendant of the Marechaussee Hunters,” Navia says, baring her teeth in a grin as she points the tip of her sword at Clorinde. “Show me what you’re made of.”
Clorinde rolls her eyes playfully as she gets in position. “You’re so weird, Caspar.”
“Only for you,” Navia replies coyly before diving in for the first move.
---
After their lesson, they share an ice cream cone on the boat to Poisson.
Navia licks her fingers where the sweet dessert has made her fingers sticky, melting under the warm spring evening.
Clorinde watches her, letting the ice cream melt over her hand too but not caring, because she feels warm. As much as the disruption in her routine feels wrong, this doesn’t. Navia, by her side, cracking jokes as she mellows out under the moonlight, all softness, and no sharp edges.
When Navia rests her head on Clorinde’s shoulder, she smells of strawberry, Lumidouce flowers, and a day’s worth of work. All as it should be, truly.