Work Text:
After several months of travel, the group had at long last arrived in Vaugarde’s capital city, a wide and bustling metropolis of towering buildings unlike almost anything else in the country. Everyone (except Mirabelle) all clustered around the carriage window, chatting excitedly about all of the things that they’d get to see when the city wasn’t half-frozen in time.
“I’m just excited to stay somewhere for more than like, three days,” said Isabeau, wrapping his hands contentedly behind his head, “I like travelling, y’know, but man does it take it out of you.”
“Unfortunately,” said Odile, indicating Mirabelle with a tilt of her head, “not all of us are set to have such a relaxing week.”
Sitting cramped in the far corner of the carriage, surrounded by bookbags full of notes, sat the housemaiden, hunched over a pile of papers as she scribbled notes in their margins and muttered to herself incessantly. The presentation of her thesis, “On Changing the Change Belief: Social Norms and Stagnation,” was in just a few days, and she had been working nonstop ever since they had gotten on the carriage that morning. The group had a whole support system for her worked out: Odile was to help edit and proofread her work, Isabeau would help her with the performance part of the presentation, Siffrin was generally there to make sure she didn’t freak out or forget to drink or eat or breathe, and Bonnie had graciously agreed to go to school for the first while they were there to give her some space and peace of mind. Still, to ask Mirabelle not to overwork herself was a tall order, so they were all just doing what they could. Siffrin put a hand on her shoulder, prompting her to look up and smile briefly, before returning to her notes.
“It’s sooooo big…” Boniface stared out the window with shining eyes. They had joined them on their first adventure after the group had already visited the capital, and they had never seen a city of this scale. “There must be so! Many! Restaurants!”
“More than you can imagine, Boniface,” said Odile warmly.
“Yeah! I wanna go to all of them!”
“We can go to some of them.”
“Okay!”
They arrived in the city proper as the sun was setting, settling in to their hotel rooms (in the classic configuration, Isabeau and Siffrin to a room, Mirabelle and Bonnie to another, and Odile by herself- Odile had offered to take a room with Boniface this time on account of Mirabelle’s work, but the housemaiden insisted no no no it’s fine I’m fine really I know you need your space I don’t mind really anyway, so she had instead opted to have a talk with the kid about how sometimes adults needed a little bit of support while they were stressed) and headed to bed swiftly, excited to take in the city’s sights tomorrow morning. Except Mirabelle, who stayed up working until she almost fell asleep in her chair. In the morning, after breakfast in the hotel cafeteria, Beau and Frin left to go take Bonnie to school and explore the city together, while Mirabelle and Odile headed to the House of Change.
While even the smallest towns’ Houses in Vaugarde tended to be quite large, being all at once primary places of worship, universities, community centers, hostels, and more, the House of Change in Vaugarde’s capital was truly impressive in scale. Made of four different enormous buildings linked by elevated passageways, with a gorgeous courtyard between them and a sizable shrine to the Change God right in the middle, Odile and Mirabelle couldn’t help but marvel at the architecture, though the former had been here multiple times before and the latter was very, very stressed. Once they got their bearings, the two of them split, Mirabelle headed for the administrator’s office and Odile to the library. The library was as extravagant as the rest of the House, featuring multiple floors with an ornate spiral staircase moving between them, and an entire cafe on the ground floor, where students and housemaidens sat eating little cakes and sipping cups of coffee while they took notes from books and worked on term papers.
Odile found the head librarian, explaining to him with a certain degree of complacency that hello, I’m here with Mirabelle, yes that Mirabelle, yes I’m with the group who defeated the King, yes, thank you, of course, of course, anyway, would you happen to have any familytales I could look at? Only to be met with a veritable treasure trove; while most small town Houses had only one or two local familytales, the capital’s House had a whole private collection, plenty to keep Odile occupied during the week to come. Selecting one of them more-or-less at random, she found a nice table near a window looking out onto the courtyard, and sat down to read away the morning. Soon enough, though, Odile had to use the ladies’ room, and left the familytale there to hold her spot.
She returned to find that this ploy had failed dramatically, as a woman with an entire typewriter had settled in at the seat across the table from hers, clicking away at pages of a manuscript that poked out of a bookbag beside her. She was a rather striking woman of about Odile’s age, with a head of long bright hair flowing over her shoulders, in an abstract patterned sundress and dark tights. Odile stood there for a minute, watching her sip at a mug of coffee as she worked, trying to figure out how to approach the situation.
Eventually, she just walked up to the woman, and said plainly but politely, “excuse me, I was sitting here.”
“Hmm?” She looked up at Odile with wide eyes, and then at the familytale, and then back at Odile, “oh, was this your book?”
“It is, yes. I just stepped away for a minute.”
“Oh, sorry!” The woman gave a glittering, embarrassed laugh, “people leave books behind at the tables all the time, and this is my usual spot- sorry. I can find another table.” She started to stand up, looking around the cafe; Odile looked with her, and found that the space had filled up dramatically as the morning had advanced, and that there wasn’t really another table to spare.
“It’s fine,” replied Odile hurriedly, “I wouldn’t want you to have to move your whole machine. Would it bother you if we shared?”
“Oh, it wouldn’t bother me at all!” The woman gave her a full smile and Odile smiled back, happy to conclude the situation with minimal bloodshed, “as long as you don’t mind the clicking, of course.”
“Not at all.” They smiled at each other again, and then the woman got back to work, Odile sitting down across from her to continue reading the familytale. She did normally enjoy reading as a solitary affair, but it was a nice change of pace to have a silent companion for once, typing away at her keyboard, occasionally going through previous pages or a small notebook searching for some reference or other. Occasionally, they would catch each other glancing at one another, and smile briefly, before returning to their separate activities. She had a very nice smile.
After about an hour, Odile stood up. “I’m going to the cafe for some refreshments- anything I can get you?”
“Another cup of coffee would be great,” the woman handed Odile her empty mug, “no cream or sugar. And maybe a croissant? I can pay you back.”
“No need.” Odile took the empty mug and made her way to the cafe register, returning with two cups of black coffee and two croissants. The woman thanked her warmly and once the two of them had a sip of coffee and a bite of pastry Odile asked, “what are you working on, if I might ask? A paper?”
“Well,” the woman leaned in conspiratorially, “if you can keep a secret,” Odile nodded slowly, “I don’t actually, uh, go to any classes here. I just like working here.”
Odile smirked. “I’ll take this to my grave. What’s all this then?”
“Oh, I’m a novelist.”
“A novelist? Anyone I would know?”
“No, the uh, opposite, actually,” she tidied up her stack of papers and took another sip of coffee, “I’m a ghostwriter for Three Towers, the romance publisher? And I’m contractually obligated not to tell you what I’m working on or what pen names I write under.” She gave a goofy shrug.
“Fascinating,” Odile leaned forward, elbows on the table, “I know someone who would be terribly interested in this.”
“Well, I’d offer you an autograph, if I was allowed.” She chuckled and shook her head, and then stopped- “Wait, did we not-” -and put out her hand, “Marieanne.”
“Hah, I guess we didn’t,” Odile gave her a firm handshake, “Odile.”
There was a flash of recognition across Marianne’s face, and Odile braced to give her the yes-I-am-one-of-the-saviors-of-Vaugarde speech, but instead she just asked, “A familytale, huh? Are you doing some kind of research?”
“Hah!” Odile laughed a little too hard for the fact that Marianne didn’t get the joke, “no, it’s just a personal interest of mine.”
“Fun! I’ve never read a familytale- oh, aside from my own, or, my own family’s, rather- but I’ve always found the idea of it terribly interesting…”
The two women continued to chat for a while, about work and familytales and other small topics. Maybe it was just that it was refreshing to talk to someone around her own age for once, but Odile found Marianne terribly charming. She was upfront and funny and buoyant and genuinely interesting, with lots to say about her profession that Odile had never even considered. And she seemed to enjoy Odile’s company too, something that she never really prioritized but was certainly happy to see. After a while, the conversation naturally petered out, and the two of them returned to their respective tasks. Though it genuinely hadn’t bothered her before, Odile now found herself genuinely enjoying the rhythm of clicks and dings from Marianne’s typewriter, as if they had become infused with the charm of their maker. About an hour and a half later, Odile closed the familytale, standing up.
“I need to go have lunch with my family,” she said, “but it was lovely to meet you, Marianne.”
“Oh, you too! Thank you for sharing your table with me, really.”
“Anytime.” Odile flashed a reciprocated grin.
“Should I take your empty mug?”
“Oh, no- here, why don’t you leave yours, actually, I’ll take care of them later.”
“Alright.”
Odile turned to go, to make her way back to thank the head librarian and then out, when she was stopped by Marianne’s voice from behind.
“Actually, Odile-”
“Hmm?”
Odile turned again to find Marianne getting out of her seat, looking suddenly very flustered, knocking down a handful of papers that she rushed to grab before hurrying over. She suddenly looked very, very flustered, combing the fingers of one hand through her hair as she glanced anxiously around. Odile raised a single concerned eyebrow.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yes, I just…” she took a deep breath in. “Look, this is bold of me, but… would you like to go out to dinner with me sometime?”
“Bold of you?” Odile’s eyebrow continued to climb until both eyes widened when she realized exactly what she was being asked. “Ah.”
“Yeeeah. I mean, it doesn’t have to be… but…” Marianne shifted nervously from foot to foot.
“No, it’s fine,” Odile could not help but smirk at this older woman acting like a puppy dog, even though her own heart was suddenly beating very fast, “how do you know I’m not some awful kidnapper?”
This got Marianne to laugh, breaking a bit of the tension. “I have some idea that you’re not the worst person in the world. Though you certainly might be dangerous.”
“That I certainly am.” Odile took a long breath in through her nose, “I will say that I am only in town for the next seven days or so, but if you can fit me in… why not, I suppose.”
“Oh.” Marianne visibly exhaled. “Great! I,” she glanced back at her keyboard, “I need to finish this draft by tomorrow morning, so maybe… tomorrow night?”
“Sounds wonderful.” Odile smiled normally as if she was feeling normal about this.
“Hang on,” Marianne ran back to her table, ripped a blank page out of a notebook, scribbled something down on it, and brought it back, “here- a restaurant I like. I don’t remember the exact address but it’s around this intersection.”
“I’m sure I can find my way.”
“Seven o’clock?’
“I’ll see you then.”
Without another word, Marianne gave a nervous smile and returned to her work, and Odile left the cafe, almost walking out of the library with the familytale in hand instead of returning it as planned, her head in such a whirlwind. When she got to lunch, she said that yes, she had a lovely time at the library, a beautiful space, conveniently editing out Marianne, though not maliciously. It was just sort of a lot all at once.
The afternoon was blissfully filled with helping Mirabelle edit, sorting through her piles of messy notes and interview records and initial drafts and starting to pull it all together into something meaningfully coordinated and presentable. This was exactly the sort of task that helped Odile sort her own thoughts out by proxy, such that by dinnertime, when Isabeau and Siffrin had brought back a very excited-to-tell-you-all-about-their-day-at-school Boniface, she was feeling actually sort of normal, sort of. Dinner was lovely, as always, and even Mirabelle seemed to drop a bit of weight from her shoulders.
After dinner, when they had made it back to the hotel lobby and they were floating around trying to figure out what to do for the rest of the evening, Odile approached Isabeau, trying not to look trepidatious.
“Isabeau,” she said, finding a moment in his and Siffrin’s quiet conversation to interject, “would you care to go for a walk with me?”
“A walk? Like, just the two of us?” Both of the two partners looked at her with a bemused and questioning look at this slightly unusual request.
“Yes, that would be preferable.” Wait, maybe that phrasing was giving away a bit too-
“OOOH! For some dastardly deed, madam?”
Well.
“Indeed,” Odile forced a devious grin onto her face. Sometimes it was easiest to just play the part.
The two of them said goodbye to Sif and left the hotel, strolling along the sunset swathed streets of the city. Isabeau, for his part, treated the situation with utmost patience, simply waiting for Odile to start talking as they walked. There were ways in which Isabeau was not the ideal candidate for this- the inevitable largeness of his reaction made her feel preemptively embarrassed and spiteful- but there were so many more ways in which he was literally the only viable candidate available. After probably a little bit more walking than was strictly necessary, the duo found a small parkette and settled down on a bench on the grass. Isabeau’s eyes were wide with anticipation, and Odile wanted to threaten to poke them out. But she behaved.
“At the library today,” she began, Isabeau nodding slowly, “I met… a very nice woman.”
“Okay?”
“And we talked for a while, and we shared a table, and…” please, just get it over with, “she asked me if I would go out to dinner with her.”
“Okay!?”
“...And I said yes.”
“Okay!!! WELL-”
“STOP.” Odile put a hand up in front of Isabeau’s face. He was halfway off the bench, fists balled in excitement, about to go off on something or other, “please, let me finish. It’s just a dinner, it’s not something worth making a fuss over,” a lie, “I feel fine about it.” Another lie. “I’m just not sure what I should wear. I’m not sure if any of my travelling clothes are quite… up to it.” Not a lie. She did not need dating advice from a twenty something, but Isabeau could help her look good in a way that, as naturally stylish as she was, was worth the pain of asking for help.
Isabeau, who had clasped a hand over his mouth, slowly lowered it, and after a while, asked, “okay, but it is like, a date, right? I’m not getting that wrong?”
Isabeau, you evil thing, making me admit it out loud, “yes, it is… a date.”
“LET’S GOOO!!!”
“PLEASE can we stay on topic.”
“Right, sorry. Well, do you know where you’re eating? Is it somewhere fancy, or…?” Odile took the folded notebook page out of her pocket and handed it to him. “Oh, wow, okay, so, very fancy. She must really want to impress you, huh?”
“I suppose.” Odile tried not to look like her stomach was turning at this new information.
“Well,” Isabeau stood up from the bench, planting his fists on his hips, “there’s nothing else to it, we’re going shopping.”
“Right now!?” Odile recoiled very slightly.
“Uh, no? It’s like, nine PM, everything’s closed. Tomorrow morning, after breakfast! I already know a couple places to try first.”
Odile nodded, standing up, and the two of them started walking back to the hotel.
“So, what’s she like, anyway? She cute?”
“I’m not answering this question. Also, do NOT tell any of the others.”
Isabeau nodded. “Understood, madam.” A beat, and then, “madam?”
“Yes, Isabeau?”
“I think it’ll be reaaally hard for me not to tell Sif. It’s just too exciting, madam.”
“Ugh, fine, but him ONLY.”
The next morning’s breakfast was filled with sidelong glances from Siffrin and Isabeau, which Odile tolerated graciously, and then the three of them took Boniface to school while Mirabelle went off to do some more interviews and chip away at her endless mountain of work. On their way to school, Boniface pointed out all their favorite things they had noticed on the way there yesterday (“That’s the boulangerie that we got pastries at yesterday. And that’s the other boulangerie that the other guy said sucked, so I wanna get pastries there today to see if he was lying.”) and after briefly meeting their teacher, the three adults struck out for their critical morning task. Isabeau immediately led the way, leading the deeply embarrassed Odile and the deeply pleased Siffrin into a glass-fronted boutique.
“Okay! How about this?”
“Very much too frilly. Is this how you think I dress, Isabeau?”
“Well, no, duh, I was just getting kind of a baseline.”
“Uh huh.”
“How about… this?”
“Hmm. A bit better.”
“Try it on!”
“Alright, alright, give it here.”
“Hey, you look great!”
“I don’t like it.”
“Oookay! You look great and you don’t like it, that’s fine!”
“To be honest, I never really was one for wearing dresses- and besides, she’ll probably be wearing a dress.”
“Oh, well yeah, then we gotta let her wear the dress.”
“Wait, only one of you is allowed to wear a dress?”
“Well, allowed is a strong word, but…”
“But it’s like, Sif, if we show up to a date, and I’m already wearing like, a hot dress, right, and then you show up also in a hot dress, that’s kinda weird, right?”
“I guess?”
“Hmm, they don’t have a lot of variety in trousers, especially in my size…”
“Yeah, I thiiiink now that I have a better idea what we’re looking for… let’s go somewhere else.”
“How many places are you going to take me to, Isabeau?”
“At least three, madam.”
“Siffrin, your boyfriend is a madman.”
“I know.”
“Here we go! This place might be a bit more your speed.”
“Yes, I would agree with that assessment- oh, hang on, these are actually quite nice…”
“YEAH! Okay, let’s grab a couple shades and go look at some bottoms.”
“Hmm… this?”
“Nah, boring. How about… this!?”
“You’re… sure?”
“Just try it, madam.”
“Well, I actually liked it more than I expected.”
“Let’s go! Knew it. I think we got the shades right on our first try too.”
“Fantastic. Now we’re done.”
“Uh, no? We still have our third stop, remember?”
“Our third stop? But we have the outfit.”
“Yeah, but we need accessories, duh.”
“Accessories?”
“Madam, you have to trust me.”
“Okay, Isabeau, I trust you.”
“Also, shoes. Four stops.”
After nearly the entire morning, Odile’s dinner outfit was assembled: A smartly fitting faux-Ka Buan button up, bell-bottom trousers that, according to Isabeau, quote, “just give you a bit more of a silhouette, y’know?” a long silk scarf wrapped loosely and hanging down off her shoulders, and a pair of slim leather loafers. Before lunch, she took the entire thing off and brought it up to her hotel room, knowing that it would make Mirabelle’s day just a little bit more than she could tolerate at this moment. Still, she certainly didn’t mind how the outfit made her feel.
When they had finished a pleasant lunch in which Isabeau and Siffrin were just a little bit too suspiciously coy about what the three of them had been up to that morning, it was back to the editing room, where the shape of the presentation was coming into focus despite Mirabelle’s insistence on doing additional interview work in the capital itself throwing an extra bit of chaos into the mix. When the evening got close at hand and Mirabelle began to fairly obviously start burning out, Odile relented and changed into the eveningwear they had purchased earlier that day (“So that’s what the three of you were up to! Oh madam Odile, you look wonderful!”) to let Mirabelle help her with her hair and just a bit of makeup. She just told her that she was going out, no further details.
As she made her way downstairs into the lobby, Odile happened to be leaving just as the other three were arriving, Boniface running up to her and Isabeau and Siffrin beaming at the sight.
“Madam, you look great!”
“Dile!” Boniface pointed excitedly, “you’re all dressed up! Is this because you’re having dinner with your friend? I didn’t know old people could have friends, heh.”
Odile shot instantaneous daggers at Isabeau and Siffrin. Isabeau gave a distressed shrug as if to say, what was I supposed to tell them!? She kept her composure and answered, “they can, Boniface, and I am. I’m sorry I won’t be joining you for dinner tonight.”
“That’s okay! Have fun!”
Giving Isabeau a threatening nod, she walked up to Siffrin, asking in a low voice, “Siffrin, be honest. How do I look?”
Siffrin furrowed his brow in thought, and then stood there for way, way too long, the tension slowly rising, until even Isabeau couldn’t take it any more.
“Sif!?”
“I was trying to think of a pun, but the best I could come up with was ‘dated’,” Siffrin tilted their head and smiled, “which isn’t true, and it isn’t very nice.”
Odile was already leaving the building.
“Wait, madam, he didn’t mean it! It was a joke!”
“Sorry!”
“Wait, dated because she’s old?”
Odile walked along the streets of the capital with her back straight, eyes firmly ahead. Isabeau had written a little route for her to follow on the back of Marianne’s note, but Odile had long since memorized it. Freed from the expectations and obligations of others for this single, fifteen-minute stroll, she took a moment to do the intelligent thing and check in on her own emotions. How was she feeling? Even in her own head Odile couldn’t put it into words, but she knew that it was closer to scared than it was to excited. The last time she had done something like this was a long, long time ago, in another country, speaking another language, practically as another person. She had absolutely no idea what to do, and this woman wrote romance novels for a living. When Odile said, ‘why not,’ she really meant it, it was a time for adventure and trying new things, why not. Maybe she was finding the answer to the question in the depths of her anxiety on this very walk. And then she was at the restaurant.
Well, there was no sense in turning back now. Adjusting her scarf and glasses, making sure her earrings hadn’t fallen out, Odile pushed her way through the lacquered wooden door of Les Marsouins. It was a charming upscale traditional Vaugardian restaurant, ambiently lit by sconced candles along the wall, the dozen–or-so tables about half filled. Odile spotted Marianne instantly at a table near the back, and Marianne spotted her back, giving a wave and walking over before the host could even ask Odile for her reservation. She looked gorgeous, her long bright hair swept in a wave across one shoulder, her makeup perfect, wearing a lace-lined blouse and a pair of high-waisted pants, instantly dashing their careful plans to let her be the one wearing the dress. Gorgeous was not usually a word that Odile would use to describe someone, but if there was ever a time to allow herself the pleasure.
“Odile!” The sound of her heels clicking against the marble floor echoed across the restaurant, “I’m so glad you could make it!”
“I’m sorry if I’m a bit late,” Odile said as Marianne nodded at the host.
“Oh, don’t worry about it, you’re fine,” she said, as they walked their way back to their table, “you’re looking very handsome tonight, by the way.”
“You’re not looking so bad yourself,” Odile floundered internally as they got to the table. Should she pull out her chair for her? They were both wearing pants?
“So,” said Marianne, as she pulled out her chair and sat down, “how have you been enjoying your stay in the city?”
“Well, I’ve been here several times before,” okay, conversation she could do. This part was easy, in theory. “Though it changes a little every time, of course, it is Vaugarde’s capital. I’m quite enjoying my stay this time around. Have you lived here long?”
“Not as long as you might think- a few years, I think. I come from a small town- a fishing village in Vaugarde- I mostly moved here for work opportunities.”
“Do you prefer the city over the country?”
As the evening went on, as they made their way through a glass of wine (after the incident in Samogneux, Odile now restricted herself to two glasses per night, so she sipped hers slowly) dinner (while Marianne enjoyed and impressive looking cut of lamb, Odile enjoyed a nice platter of fried scallops) and dessert (a lovely and light creme brulee, she would have to see if Boniface knew how to make this) the conversation slowly loosened, becoming less stiff and practiced, the two women fitting in more teasing jokes and risque opinions. As this happened, Odile realized that she wasn’t the only one who was nervous, and this helped her relax immensely, paying attention to when Marianne needed her to lean in, more than she was paying attention to whether she herself was saying exactly the right thing. By the time they had run out of reasons to stay in the restaurant, Odile felt a light buzz all over that couldn’t just be attributed to her glass and a half of wine, her face feeling tired from laughing. Marianne seemed to be having a wonderful time, and it was all that Odile wanted.
When they paid their bill and left, it was already fully dark out, the near-full moon shining down upon them. Marianne offered to walk Odile back to her hotel, and though she was worried about being seen by someone she knew, she relented for Marianne’s sake. As they strolled from street lamp light pool to street lamp light pool, now in comfortable silence, Marianne quietly offered Odile her hand; Odile found this idea to be a bit too much, for whatever reason, so she took Marianne loosely under the arm instead. They walked and they walked, and when they came to the hotel’s front door Odile found that she didn’t quite want to stop walking yet, and so against her better judgement allowed Marianne to take her up to the door of her room instead.
Aware that her family members were sleeping- or worse, awake- in rooms nearby, Odile said in a low voice, “thank you for the wonderful evening, Marianne.”
“No, thank you,” she gave a small nervous chuckle, “I still can’t believe you agreed.”
“Well, why not?”
A beat of anxious silence, and then Marianne, with an intense expression, looked directly at Odile and asked plainly, “can I kiss you?”
“I-” Odile froze instinctively, and Marianne froze in response. Taking a deep breath in through her nose, Odile said slowly, “...yes.”
Marianne nodded slowly in turn, and slowly moved her face forward, planting a short, soft kiss on Odile’s lips. As she pulled away, Odile’s lips felt like they were buzzing. She gave a nod instinctively, feeling like she had to give some kind of positive feedback, and Marianne smiled.
“I’d um, like to do this again while you’re still in town, if you’d like to.”
Talking again. Much easier. “I would love to.”
“I have a dinner with my publisher tomorrow, but maybe the day after that? We could go see the National Gardens?”
“Works for me.”
“Okay. I’ll leave a note with your concierge when I get the chance.” Odile nodded, and after a beat, Marianne “alright then, goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Marianne.”
With an exchange of small smiles, Marianne turned and left and Odile unlocked the door to her hotel room. Falling onto her bed still fully clothed, she lay there staring at the ceiling. “Expressions,” she said, to no Expressions in particular. Raising a hand to her lips, she found them to be slightly sticky from Marianne’s lipstick. How strange.
Odile prepared for the worst next morning, but the questions about her evening were light and non-obtrusive, maybe Isabeau had finally gotten the message. As Isabeau and Siffrin settled in with Mirabelle to figure out the initial bones of her performance, Odile took Bonnie to school, taking a slightly different route so as to stop off at yet a third nearby boulangerie. Boniface did have further questions about Odile’s ‘friend’, but she answered them candidly- unlike the others, who could feel like they were asking with a certain amount of intent, Boniface was asking out of pure curiosity, and so she was happy to indulge. It felt nice to talk about Marianne that way, as just a person. They told her about a friend they had made at school in return. Once Odile was freed from the kid, she briefly had the thought that maybe she should skip going to the House library; what if Marianne was there, should she be giving her more space? But no, if she was and she should then she could always do her reading in any other part of the building.
Marianne was, in fact, already there, frantically working away at her machine, an empty cup of coffee beside her. No sense in ignoring her, Odile approached and wished her a good morning.
“Oh, good morning! I can’t really talk today, I have to get this into shape before tonight.” Click click click click click…
“Of course. I’ll give you your space.”
“You can still sit if you like! I don’t mind the company, I just need to focus.” Click click click click click…
Chuckling softly at the woman’s intensity, Odile took Marianne’s coffee cup and brought it to the counter for her, returning with a fresh cup and a croissant. Once she had obtained a new familytale from the head librarian, she sat down to read, Marianne perpetually buzzing away across from her. She seemed very stressed, constantly flipping through her notes, muttering to herself, going back over pages she had already typed out. Odile wondered what it was that had her in such a state, some sort of new project, perhaps? But she was more than content just to sit with her and read, occasionally refreshing them with drinks and pastries. Eventually though, It was time for her to go to lunch, and she said goodbye and wished Marianne good luck with her dinner tonight.
“Oh, Odile, before you go- tomorrow, four o’clock at the gardens’ main gate?”
“Sounds fine to me. Looking forward to it.”
“Me too!”
And then back to work she went. Returning the familytale and leaving the library, Odile arrived at lunch to find Mirabelle a little bit more together, Isabeau and Siffrin evidently having worked their magic on her. They chatted and ate, and then Siffrin left to go spend some time to himself as Odile and Isabeau combined forces to get both the technical and performative aspects of the presentation in line with one another. It was surprisingly difficult work, as Mirabelle unsurprisingly had a lot to say, and reducing it down to even an hour-long presentation that she could perform consistently and confidently was no small feat. At one point, when Mirabelle had retired to the lavatory to freshen up, Isabeau leaned over to Odile from across the hotel bed they sat on.
“Hey, Odile,” he whispered, “so, how was the date?”
She shot a venomous look between him and the bathroom door, but then sighed. It was only natural for him to be curious. “It went well,” she responded quietly.
Isabeau pumped his fist and did a silent, YES!
“Though she was wearing pants.”
Isabeau clenched his fingers and did a silent, NO!
The rest of the evening proceeded uneventfully. By the time Siffrin returned with Bonnie, Mirabelle’s presentation was nearly there, just a few more tweaks needed before it was ready for the day after next. In his exploration of the city, Siffrin had discovered a public kitchen, and Bonnie was very excited to go shopping for ingredients and take them all there and make them all dinner. They all insisted that Mirabelle come along for every part of the process, knowing that it would give her a necessary break, and their evening was filled with shopping, cooking, eating, and more cooking and eating. Odile even told Boniface about creme brulee, and they had one of the volunteer chefs there teach them how to make it. By the time they were done the kid was so wiped out that they were practically already asleep, sitting on Isabeau’s shoulders, along with Mirabelle, the exhaustion of the last few days finally hitting her, Siffrin supporting her by the shoulder as they made their way back hotelbound under the stars and the nearly, nearly full moon.
Odile was getting ready for a quiet bit of alone time before bed when there was a knock at the door of her room, “just a minute!” She yelled. Mirabelle, maybe, wanting help with some problem she was working on? But much to her surprise, it was Marianne, still dressed up in a knee-length evening gown as if she had just come from dinner.
“Good evening,” Odile didn’t quite know how to react to this, though she wasn’t unhappy to see her.
“Hi, Odile,” Marianne was clearly a bit nervous, clasping her hands together, “sorry to come by unannounced, I finished with my dinner and it was just sort of a whim.”
Odile raised an eyebrow. “How did the dinner go?”
“Oh, poorly.”
“Ah.”
“I wanted to ask you if maybe,” Marianne moved alone quickly, as if she needed to get it over with, “You… wanted to come over to my place for a drink?” She raised an eyebrow and shrugged a shoulder comically.
Odile chuckled. Internally she was somewhat freaking out but she held it together externally, “bold of you.”
“Too bold?” Marianne gave a nervous smile, the question on the cusp between genuine and joking.
“No, not too bold.” Odile glanced back at her hotel room. “Give me a minute to get ready and I’ll meet you downstairs?”
“Okay!”
Odile shut the door, quickly exhaling. Well. This was now what was happening. Getting together a small bag of overnight things, combing and retying her hair, brushing her teeth, again, and doing a quick round of stretches to help alleviate stress from her body, Odile slipped on her shoes and adventurously headed downstairs, finding Marianne chatting casually with the overnight concierge. With twinned anxious grins, the two women took each other by the arm and went out into the late evening air. Marianne lived a couple neighborhoods over, at the top floor of a charming walk-up. They took their shoes off on the shoe rack outside as Marianne pulled her apartment key out of her purse, unlocking the door.
“Sorry about the mess- I didn’t have time to clean.”
It was a charming little unit, a sitting room with a work desk shoved in the corner, a small dining table covered in clutter, a semi detached kitchen, and a small balcony overlooking the street. The walls were covered in tasteful little framed sketches and drawings that all looked like the sort of thing you would buy at a street corner stall. And then there were the notecards; dozens of tiny little paper notecards, crafted to stick to whatever surface they were attached to, all with little reminders scribbled on them. There was a train of them that were the same note, ‘do taxes!’ stuck to each other over and over until finally it ended with one that said, ‘good job!’ Another that said “date odile 7pm marsouin” with a big circle around it. Odile took a seat on a beat-up couch with its back to the window as Marianne went into the kitchen to get drinks.
“Feel free to put on a record, if you like.”
Odile noticed a squat gramophone sitting beside the desk, a stack of records in paper sleeves next to it. Picking one more or less at random, Les Collections de la Philharmonie de Jouvente no 3, she put it on, the crafted object springing into action at the drop of the needle and playing a scratchy orchestral tune. Marianne returned from the kitchen carrying two opened bottles of cider, and the two of them positioned themselves on either side of the couch.
“So,” said Odile, taking a sip of her delightfully chilled drink, “do you want to talk about how poorly your dinner went?”
“Not in the slightest,” replied Marianne with a smile, taking a mouthful of hers.
Odile chuckled. She tried to think of more things to say, but eventually decided against it, and the two of them just sat in the flickering lamplight, listening to music and sipping at their ciders. It was fascinating to see Marianne in her natural environment, this messy, notes-pasted space that looked like it had been lived in for two months and ten years both at once. It was disorganized in a way that Odile honestly admired and found quite charming; if this was her space, she wouldn’t be able to stand it, everything would have to be in its proper place at all times, but Marianne had more important things to worry about than a bit of clutter. She then looked at Marianne herself, knees up on the couch, drinking her beverage as she looked at Odile slyly. She was very pretty in this dress, but somehow Odile also understood why she hadn’t worn it to dinner with her; this opulent number felt very stiff for who she was, and she moved so comfortably in her other clothes. She realized that Marianne wasn’t trying to impress her so much as she was simply trying to be with her comfortably, and that was a very attractive thought.
“What are you thinking about?” Asked Marianne, softly.
“You,” replied Odile, simply.
“Do you mind if I sit closer to you?”
“No.”
“Do you mind if I lean up against you like this?”
“No.”
“Do you want to kiss me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to kiss me again?”
Marianne- wait.”
Marianne sat back, giving Odile a bit of space. Odile could feel her heart beating fast and her body lightly shaking.
“I just want you to know that I haven’t done this- I haven’t done any of this- in a very long time. And I’d like to, but I might be… bad. At it.” Not her most eloquent sentence composition ever.
Marianne sat there for a while, looking Odile softly in the eyes, before she furrowed her brow with a smile, “Odile, are you… afraid of me?”
“Yes,” blurted out Odile, laughing, “Marianne, you write romantic novels for a living.”
“Writing doesn’t mean life experience,” Marianne was laughing too, “to be honest, I’m in much the same boat as you.” The laughter stopped, her face falling into a warm and affectionate smile as she reached out to lightly touch Odile’s cheek. “It’ll be okay.”
“I know.”
After some time and several things happening later, Odile and Marianne lay beside each other in bed, the latter fiddling with a matchbook to light a cigarette. Marianne took a long drag and offered it to Odile, who hadn’t smoked in years but accepted it anyway, because, well, if there was ever a time.
“I’m sorry again for-”
“I already told you, it was fine.” Marianne shut her down gently but firmly as she took the cigarette back.
“Hah! I suppose you did. I guess I’m just nervous.”
“I had a good time.”
The cigarette passed back and forth a few more times as Odile thought through what she was actually meaning to say. “Back in Ka Bue, where I grew up, this sort of thing,” she motioned between the two of them with the smoke, “is… it isn’t not allowed, per say, it isn’t illegal, but there’s a particular kind of person you’re expected to be first, and then everything else comes second. I was never particularly interested in being that proper sort of person in the first place, and so this was all I had, and that made things… difficult, persistently so. Relationships are hard enough at the best of times,” she passed the smoke back to Marianne, who was rapt with focus, “but when every relationship, no matter how strong, isn’t, can never be, the thing that it’s supposed to be, it’s… hard. Hard enough that eventually, I just stopped trying.”
Odile didn’t quite understand where this burst of emotional honesty had come from, but it felt necessary, and she was happy to have gotten it off her chest. She had probably never told anyone this at all, which was a strange thought. Marianne lay there smoking in silence for a while, staring at the ceiling in thought, until eventually, “I grew up in a very small fishing town, and in a town that small, your options are… limited. And if none of those limited options work for you, well… I did eventually go travelling, but by that point I was already somewhat… repressed.” She chuckled softly. “And in a place as lovey-dovey as Vaugarde, that’s not the best look. I got over it eventually, sort of.”
“Clearly,” said Odile. Marianne laughed and finally passed the cigarette back, though it was almost done.
“Even with limited options for people, our library was always stocked with classical Vaugardian romances, and so I got very good at replicating that exact style. Which I guess is all I’m good for,” Marianne muttered this last part bitterly.
Odile laughed and passed back what remained of the smoke. “Are we finally ready to talk about dinner with your publisher?”
“Uuuuugh,” Marianne put the butt out on the windowsill and rolled over onto her face, “it’s so stupid.” She sat up in bed and Odile followed suit. “I’ve been working for this company for years now, and I’ve never complained about the pay, I’ve always gotten my work in on time, mostly, the books I write always sell. You know, they love me. They SHOULD love me. So I make the perfectly reasonable request: Hey, you know I can write good material, how would you feel about publishing my book? One that’s my story, written under my name. It’s still romance! It’s still Three Towers material, it’s just… mine.”
“Perfectly reasonable.”
“Right? And so I take Jean out to this fancy dinner, I’m all prepared with two whole chapters of sample and an entire plot outline, and he… shuts me down immediately. Just like that, barely reads the sample, barely talks to me about it, just says, you know, this looks great, but unfortunately we’re not publishing from unknown authors right now. Unknown authors!? You’ve known me for over three years!” She fell back down onto the bed dramatically, and Odile followed suit. “So that’s… that. Ugh, I just don’t know what to do. Nothing, I guess.”
“Could you not write it on your own anyways?”
“Maybe, but without a publishing deal I’m not being paid while I write, so I’d have to do other work while I work on it. And because most of my existing work is uncredited, other publishers are gonna be a hard sell…”
“Give me this Jean’s address so I can nail his door to its door frame?”
Marianne laughed, and then yawned. “Mmmaybe. Let’s sleep on it.” She reached over to turn off the lamp, and then leaned over to give Odile a kiss on the cheek.
“Goodnight, Marianne.”
“Goodnight.”
—
Marianne,
I’ve gone to have breakfast with my family. I put on a pot of coffee for you, I hope I did it correctly.
Thank you for a wonderful evening. See you this afternoon at 4.
Yours,
Odile.
—
Odile arrived at the hotel cafeteria late for breakfast, to a bevy of “good morning Odile!” Grabbing food from the buffet, she sat down next to Isabeau, leaning over to whisper in his ear,
“If you say anything about it it will be the last thing you ever say,”
and then proceeded to carry on with normal conversation as if she hadn’t been conspicuously absent from her room that morning at all. Today was all-hands-on-deck for Mirabelle, who’s presentation was tomorrow and who was very, very anxious. Bonnie gave her a big hug before Frin took them to school, and the three remainders got right into it, going over the material again and again, refining the presentation down to a perfect edge. Isabeau and Odile traded off, Isabeau working her through tone and approach and volume while Odile reconsidered the script and the material and if it was missing anything. Then would discuss those changes with Mirabelle at length, and then the modified script would go back to Isabeau for rehearsal. It was exhausting, thorough work, and when Siffrin returned they led all of them through a round of very necessary focused breathing. After hours and hours of practice and refinement, with only the smallest break for lunch, Mirabelle gave a dry rehearsal of the presentation with almost no mistakes, and Odile and Isabeau had no notes. At last, it was finished. Mirabelle collapsed into her hotel bed.
Knowing that it was a bit rude but with other obligations regardless, Odile excused herself immediately, claiming that she needed to go stretch her legs. Moving quickly, worried that she’d be late, she changed into her best set of travelling clothes and a pair of boots, redid her hair, and left swiftly for the gardens. It was a beautiful late summer day out, perfect weather for a walk, and the gates of the Vaugarde National Gardens were bustling with excitable foot traffic. Odile spotted Marianne waiting for her by her shock of bright hair, wearing a similar flowing sundress to the first day they had first met. Marianne noticed Odile back, and waved.
“Oh, Odile! Hello!”
“Good afternoon, Marianne.”
The two linked arms and made their way into the gardens, chatting happily. It suddenly felt so much easier to talk to her, Odile noticed. As if so much of the pressure was suddenly gone.
“So, how was your day?”
“Ugh, exhausting, honestly. Mirabelle’s presentation at the House of Change is tomorrow, and so we spent the entire day refining it. I’m proud of how far she’s come, but it was a lot of work.”
“Okay, so,” Marianne paused as they stopped to look at a pond of lilies, “I’ve been trying not to ask you about the whole, ‘savior of Vaugarde’ thing, because I’m sure you get that all the time. But I would LOVE to know about Mirabelle.”
Odile laughed. She talked about Mirabelle, and Isabeau, and Siffrin, and Boniface, about some of their time travelling together after having defeated the King. In exchange, Marianne told her a bit about her hometown, about her nieces who she lived with for a while before she left for the capital. The gardens were absolutely stunning and the weather stayed perfect; what a lovely day. Odile was happy to be here, with this woman she happened to share a table with at the library and who was bold enough to ask her out for dinner. She knew it couldn’t last, that they would go on travelling a few days after Mirabelle's presentation, leaving Marianne behind. She had her share of complex feelings about this, but for now, she was happy to be here. Eventually, Marianne led her to a little trellised area, where curtains of ivy hung down to shield a circle of benches, covering them completely except for a circle of sky above.
“This is my favorite spot in the gardens this year,” said Marianne as they sat, staring up at the fluffy clouds travelling lazily across the pale sky, “I like to come here when I need to think. It feels… peaceful.”
“It is, very.” The two of them kicked their legs for a while, hands on top of each other on the bench, as Odile readied herself for what she was about to say. “Marianne, I want you to meet my family. Mirabelle’s speech is tomorrow and I was hoping to invite you as my plus-one, and maybe have you join us for dinner after. If you’d like.”
“Now look who’s bold,” said Marianne, laughing softly, “I’d love to, of course.”
“Wonderful. I’m sure they’ll all be thrilled to meet you. To be honest, I’m a bit nervous about the idea, but…” Odile shrugged sheepishly.
“I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“Hah! I hope not. They’re a rowdy bunch. Speaking of which, I should probably be headed to dinner soon, judging by the sun.”
“Can we sit here together a little longer?”
“Of course.”
Dinner was lovely as always. Odile was happy to be there, with her family, on the brink of Mirabelle’s major accomplishment, the first of many they might hope to achieve in their travels.
The next day, the four of them didn’t leave Mirabelle’s side the entire time. Bonnie took the day off of school, and they all sat and watched as Mirabelle did one final practice run of the thing, clapping enthusiastically as she finished with only a few minor stumbles. Headed to the park for lunch, to give Mirabelle a bit of time outdoors, Bonnie cooked onion soup over a fire pit and they relaxed on the grass beneath the slightly overcast sky. Siffrin stayed beside Mirabelle at all times, ready to help her relax from any sudden anxiety spikes. As the time of the presentation drew nearer, they all headed out to the House of Change, Isabeau going with Mira to help her sort things out with administration and get her performance space in order. Odile showed the two remaining around the library for a bit, before asking Siffrin if he could help Bonnie find their seat. Loitering outside the auditorium doors, she waited for Marianne as people began to trickle in slowly but surely.
“Odile! There you are!”
“Hello Marianne.”
“Oh, I’m so excited! I brought my notebook so I can take notes!”
Odile laughed as she took Marianne by the arm and led her inside, taking their seats a bit of distance from Siffrin, Isabeau and Boniface. The auditorium was packed for what was functionally just an academic lecture; but while those were a dime-a-dozen, an academic lecture by THE savior of Vaugarde, Mirabelle herself, now that was a city-wide event. The audience lights dimmed and the stage lights came on, and Mirabelle walked out to thunderous applause.
“Hello everyone! I’m Mirabelle, a housemaiden from the town of Dormont.” Odile nodded approvingly, she had taken Isabeau’s voice projection work well. “I have a question for you all; what is Change?” Behind her, a large crafted screen lit up with a slide that said ‘What is Change?’ Oh good, they got that working. “Change is one of the core beliefs of Vaugarde, but does that mean we see all kinds of Change as equal? Are there kinds of Change we see as distasteful, when that might not be based in reality? Are there kinds of Change we see as necessary for everyone, when asking everyone to go through that Change might be harmful for some of them? Over the past few months, ever since me and my family stopped the King’s plan to trap Vaugarde in an unchanging state forever,” thunderous applause, cheers and hollers, ripped through the auditorium, for a very long time. Odile put her face in her hands and Marianne chuckled beside her. When it finally died down, Mirabelle continued awkwardly, “uhm, yes, anyway, I’ve been travelling all over Vaugarde, asking these questions to all sorts of people from all over the country…”
The rest of the presentation proceeded more-or-less flawlessly; once the spritely young woman got started, her enthusiasm and passion for the topic never really let her energy drop, even if she did have to consult her notecards for where she was a couple of times. Odile was very proud, and Marianne took notes excitedly. When she was finished, the whole room gave her a standing ovation, Mirabelle blushing and bowing, and at the front of the crowd Odile could see Bonnie perched on Isabeau’s shoulders, cheering wildly. As soon as she stepped down from the stage Mirabelle was surrounded by people asking her questions and congratulating her and giving her dozens of nonsense offers, so eventually Isabeau had to step in for crowd control, Siffrin and Bonnie keeping her calm behind him. Odile waited for the crowd to mostly dissipate around them before her and Marianne approached.
“Oh, madam Odile! Hello!” Mirabelle waved enthusiastically. “Oh, and who’s this?”
“Everyone,” said Odile, trying to be normal about it, “this is Marianne, my…”
…
Uhm.
“-Her companion,” said Marianne, swooping in to save the day.
“My companion,” agreed Odile, thankful for the save. She just genuinely didn’t know what to say.
“Companion?” Mirabelle looked at Isabeau confused, who nodded at her enthusiastically, “why am I always the last one to find out about these things…”
“Mirabelle, that was fantastic,” said Marianne, moving to shake her hand and break up the awkward moment, “I was captivated the whole time!”
“Thank you! I couldn’t have done it without Odile, of course, or without everybody,” Mirabelle gave a tired smile as they shook hands.
“Hi! I’m Bonnie!”
“Hi there Bonnie!” Marianne crouched down to meet Boniface’s eyeline, “it’s very nice to meet you.”
“Dile says that when adults crouch down like that to talk to me they’re being candie-sending,” Bonnie said matter-of-factly. Odile put her face in her hand.
“I’m very sorry, Bonnie,” said Marianne, rising back to her feet, “I didn’t mean to be condescending to you.”
“It’s okay!”
“Odile’s very smart, isn’t she?”
“Yeah! She knows like, way too many things, I think my head would explode if I knew that many things.”
“And I’m Isabeau!” Said Isabeau, who had been anxiously awaiting his turn, “a pleasure to finally meet you, madam.”
“A pleasure to meet you too,” Said Marianne, taking his firm and enthusiastic handshake, “but please, just call me Marianne.”
“Great, because I think having two madams would get waaay too confusing. And this is Siffrin!”
“Hey,” said Siffrin, with a casual cool. Marianne gave him a stiff nod and then turned back to the others. Siffrin shot Odile a puzzled look as if to say, did I do something wrong? And Odile replied with a genuinely confused shrug. How strange…
After a bit more chatter, it was time to go for dinner, and Bonnie got so excited that they started running circles around the party as they walked. It turned out that Siffrin and Bonnie had been planning a surprise dinner which was all of Mirabelle’s favorite foods, cooked by Bonnie at the public kitchen they had found, and an enormous multi-tiered cake that they had baked there. As Bonnie and the volunteer chef they had met the night before prepared and served food, everyone immediately launched into asking Marianne questions about herself, and Marianne, Isabeau and Mirabelle quickly entered into a long and detailed conversation about the state of modern Vaugardian romance. For her part, Odile was mostly happy to sit quietly off to the side, enjoying the experience of watching people she cared for enjoy each other’s company as she enjoyed the frankly fantastic food. But for whatever reason, the odd one out continued to be Siffrin.
Every time Siffrin would try to enter the conversation with a joke or a question, Marianne would either ignore him or respond to him in the most clipped way possible, until eventually they just stopped trying all together, sitting back in his chair with a sort of distant look on their face. When they brought out the familytale they were writing together, Marianne engaged enthusiastically with the story that Boniface wrote, about a dog who eats so many potatoes that it becomes a potato and is eaten by an even larger dog, (“it’s a story with morals,” said Bonnie, “I can see that,” replied Marianne, nodding seriously) but when they got to what Siffrin had wrote, just a handful of verses of punful but thoughtful poetry, Marianne barely gave them a second look. It was very, very strange, and felt very out of character. Maybe something about Siffrin’s vibes had put her off? It wasn’t enough to ruin the whole evening, but it was… odd.
Eventually, the evening wound down and Boniface began to get very, very sleepy. Odile announced her intentions to stay over at Marianne’s to a chorus of oohs, to which she responded with playful threats, which made Marianne laugh very hard. After some time and several things happening later, Marianne lay curled up next to Odile in bed, smoking a cigarette and listening with rapt attention as Odile finally told the story of how the five of them met and how they eventually defeated the King. Odile paid close attention to Marianne in turn, and noticed that at the climax of the story, when things got distinctly Siffrin-centric, Marianne seemed to lose some of her focus, her eyes drifting off to stare into the distance. Interesting. But with such little time left between them, Odile decided that it was a puzzle she could maybe try to solve on a different visit.
“You’re very lucky to have them,” said Marianne, quietly.
“That I am. Telling the whole story again from the beginning, I sort of can’t believe that it all managed to happen the way it did.”
“How long do you think you’ll keep travelling together?”
“Oh, a while, I suspect,” Odile plucked the cigarette and took a drag, “there’s not much left for me back in Ka Bue except for proofreading craft theory grad papers, and most of what I want to be doing is travelling anyway. Why not with people I’ve found this connection with? I don’t expect it to last forever, but I’ll certainly enjoy it while it does.”
“And no plans after that?”
“Why make them?” Odile passed the cigarette back, “Like Siffrin, says, the Universe leads…”
“We can only follow.”
Marianne seemed to reply automatically, on reflex, and as soon as she did she froze, her eyes growing wide and the cigarette falling from her fingers onto the bedspread. Odile grabbed at it to make sure it wouldn’t burn a hole in the sheet, and at this grabbing motion Marianne scrambled backwards dramatically, pressing herself into the corner between the headboard and the wall, hiding herself behind the blanket, her fingers shaking.
Odile was extremely alarmed and confused. “Marianne, what-”
“I. Need. You. To. Leave. Now.”
“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t-”
“Please. Leave.” Marianne sounded terrified, like she had to force every word out.
Odile opened her mouth to say something, but couldn’t- so she just got up silently, got dressed, and left the apartment as fast as she could. As she made her way downstairs, she could hear Marianne lock the door behind her. She felt numb, and confused, walking through the night back to her hotel with an automata step. W-what? Had happened? She tried to engage her logical brain to figure it out, but her emotions were in such shambles that she just couldn’t. Fiddling with the key to her hotel room door, almost dropping it, she stumbled into her room and fell onto her bed, starting to cry as soon as her face hit the pillow. She didn’t sleep much.
In the morning, she went down to breakfast habitually, though she almost didn’t want to. Everyone immediately noticed how poorly she was doing, and the conversation quieted the instant she sat down with an obligate plate of food. This made her feel… bad. The idea that they knew, on some level, what had happened, and everything they didn’t know that she was sure they thought they knew because oh they just knew everything didn’t they? She didn’t speak, instead just poking at the food in front of her with a fork while conversation happened around her. Everything felt distant and empty. As the end of breakfast approached, the concept of it was so terrifying to her that she had to say something.
“Siffrin,” Odile said, very quietly, “we… haven’t done any of our cataloguing work here yet, and… we should, don’t you think? Maybe. We should do that today.”
“Yeah Odile,” replied Siffrin with a soft smile, “that sounds nice.”
“Yeah, you two haven’t done any of your book buddy stuff yet! Your translation station!” Isabeau was forcing the supportive enthusiasm just a bit too much.
“Well, you certainly don’t need to worry about me,” said Mirabelle, doing the same, “I’m so exhausted, I’m probably just going to lie in bed all day!”
“Do you wanna have a beauty day, Mira? You and me have a lil spa time?”
“Ohmygoshyespleasethatsoundssonice.”
“Crab yeah!”
“And you don’t have to worry about me, Dile,” said Bonnie with the most heartbreakingly genuine expression on their face, “because I’m gonna go to school. So you can just worry about feeling okay.”
All Odile could do was nod. Good kids.
The rest of the day moved past in a quiet blur of bookshops and city district libraries. In retrospect, this was maybe not the best work to be doing to make her not think of Marianne, in many ways, but it was familiar and repetitive and distracting. Odile could not help but think of Marianne, of course, her brain slowly processing through the events of last night and why they might have happened. She didn’t want to assume that it meant what it seemed to mean about Marianne, about where she had come from and what she had experienced, in part because. Well, that would mean that she had been lying to Odile about everything. But on some level Odile knew, on some level she recognized that expression on her face. As her and Siffrin made their way through book after book, Odile wondered each time: Is this something you knew, once? Knew once and then forgot, and then buried that forgetting so deep within you that it hurt even more to remember? They stopped for lunch at a boulangerie, and Siffrin didn’t even flinch at the sight of the croissants. Look at you, Odile thought bitterly, always growing and changing. Ugh.
They continued on through the afternoon, sweeping their way across the city but conspicuously avoiding the library at the House of Change, even if it would probably be a great resource. Odile just couldn’t stomach it. As the sun sank lower in the sky, it was eventually time to head back to the hotel for dinner, and as they did so, they happened to pass by the street that Marianne lived on. Odile stopped, staring up the street, and Siffrin looked up at her, head tilted.
“Go on ahead, Siffrin. There’s something I need to take care of.”
Siffrin nodded, and left her alone. Closing her eyes, she muttered a prayer to the Expression of Trust and Communication, took a deep, centering breath, and made her way to Marianne’s walk-up, trying to stay calm and focused. Walking up the stairs with an even pace, she stopped in front of Marianne’s door, noticing that all of her shoes were still on the shoe rack. Taking another breath, Odile raised her hand, and knocked three times on the door.
“Marianne? It’s me, Odile. I’d like to talk, if we could.”
No response. Knock again.
“Marianne? Could we talk, please?”
No response. Deep breath.
“Marianne,” Odile said loudly through the door, “I know that you’re upset, and I understand…” no you idiot don’t say you understand why that’ll just make her feel even more exposed than she must feel already, “I- I understand… that you’re upset. But if we could just talk about it, I think that…” Odile trailed off, not really knowing where she was going.
No response. Odile started feeling angry. She knocked again, louder this time.
“Marianne, please, can we just talk about it like adults? There’s really no need for this. I know that you’re home!”
No response. Odile sighed, putting her head in her hands.
“I’m sorry,” she said, probably too quiet to make it through the door, and then, “I’m sorry,” again, louder. Odile sat down on the shoe rack, next to Marianne’s flats she always wore, “I… didn’t want things to end like this. I’m leaving in just a couple days, and I… I just would rather we didn’t… I just don’t want…” she tried, again, and again, to find the right words, and just couldn’t. There was no response. There wouldn’t be. She sat there for a while, silently crying, playing with the laces of Marianne’s shoes, until eventually, she left without saying anything more.
At dinner, Odile was even more despondent than she was at breakfast. After barely eating any of her food, and without saying a word to anyone, she left to go sit at the bar; even under these truly dire circumstances, she refused to stray from her two-drink maximum, and so to compensate for this she ordered two of the most alcoholic drinks they had, fancy fruity things served in enormous tall glasses with layers of shades and elaborate swirly straws. She felt so, so pathetic, sitting alone at the bar with two ridiculous looking drinks, slowly slurping away at one of them. What a loser she was, pining after a woman she had known for five days.
“Heeey, madam,” it was Isabeau, who had come to sit down next to her, uninvited. “So like, are you gonna drink both of those?” Odile rolled her eyes and pushed over her spare drink. She could always order another. “Wow, this is really good, actually, just don’t let Sif have any, ‘cause, y’know, pineapple.” He took a loud, long slurp.
“What do you want, Isabeau.” Odile had to resist the urge to put her head face-down on the counter.
“Well, madam, I’ve noticed that you’re not doing great.”
“Wow. Brilliant as always.” There was no need to be this mean, and yet, she was being this mean anyways.
“Yep! That’s me! You know, I’m lookin’ out for you. And I was just wondering, you know, if something happened, maybe with Marianne,” Odile groaned and put her head face-down on the counter. “Okay, something happened with Marianne. Anyway, I just wanted to see if hey, maybe you’d wanna talk about it with your buddy Isabeau, see if I can help!” He took a long drink from his swirly straw.
Odile spent a long while trying to come up with the perfect venomous retort, but found that she just wasn’t up for it. Whatever. Why not play along. Literally what was the worst that could come from it.
“I said something that upset her. Greatly.” Odile sat up and started drinking, pulling in the swirling shades of liquid through the ridiculously shaped straw.
“Ah, yeah, I thought it might be something like that. Did you tell her that she was too hot?”
“Did I… what?” Despite herself, Odile’s curiosity was piqued.
“You know, tell her that she was too hot,” Isabeau swirled his drink, the glass straw tinking against the sides, “it happened a lot to me during my jockhead, Defender-of-Jouvente days, where guys would compliment me like, a little bit too hard and I was like woah, hang on, you know that I’m not just like, all muscle, right? There’s a whole person under here! And then the other night, me and Sif, y’know, we’re hangin’ out in bed, and suddenly they just look like, REAL cute, and I tell them this like, A LOT, and then he hid under the blanket for a real long time and when he came out he said that, quote, it made him feel like he was gonna die but not in a bad way.” Isabeau took a long, contemplative drink from his swirly straw.
“Fascinating.”
“Sorry, I uh, probably shouldn’t be talking about my own stuff right now, huh?”
“No, but I appreciated the story nonetheless.”
Isabeau put down his drink, took one more sip, and turned to face her. “Okay, sorry, focus time. What’d you say that upset her?”
Odile sipped at her drink as she tried to figure out how to even begin to explain what had happened. It was still sort of a blur, it had happened so fast. Still, there was at least one point of reference she could use, even if it pained her to use it.
“You know how sometimes, with Siffrin…” She struggled to find wording that wouldn’t make Marianne even more incidentally exposed than she already was, “you’ll say something, something completely random, something that you would never think would be a problem but… it reminds him of something. And…”
“Ah, yeah…” Isabeau reached up to scratch the back of his head, “yeah, I know. It’s tough.”
“And now… I went to knock on her door, earlier. Stupid, I know, but I just wanted to see if we could talk, if we could make things better, and… she didn’t answer. It was…” Odile picked up her drink and took a gulp of it straight from the glass, forgoing the straw altogether, “embarrassing. And probably only made things worse.”
“Hmm. Well, yeah, it is kinda a lot to have someone just like, show up at your door asking to talk like that.”
“Uuuuuuuuuuugh.”
“But if that didn’t work… maybe try writing her a letter? Y’know, something a bit less… loud? You can even give her somewhere she can come meet you to talk, which is a lot less pressure, and then you two can talk, and make everything better! Ooor you won’t, and then we’re leaving in like two days anyway!” Isabeau took a big loud slurp of his drink, proud of himself for this.
“Hmm. A letter is certainly… not the worst option.” Odile took a contemplative sip from her glass.
“You said it yourself madam, brilliant as always. Hang on, I’ll get you a piece of paper and a pen.”
—
Marianne,
I know that you are upset with me. Intentional or not, I know that I caused you to feel exposed and scared. The first thing I want to say is that I am sorry. You know that I did not mean for it to happen, had no idea that it would, and still, I am sorry. The second thing I’d like to say is that in many ways, I understand. Through proxy by others, I understand what exactly might have happened to you, in that moment and in the larger context of your life, but I also understand what it feels like to have a private aspect of yourself be suddenly brought to light against your will. I am a very private person, and when that privacy is violated, I can become very, very angry. So I understand.
I am not very good at expressing my emotions. I do not know how to tell you exactly how I feel, especially in a way that will make you feel better and not worse. All I can say is that these last five days spent together have made me feel very happy. We both always knew that this would be temporary, that my time in the city and thus our time together was limited. Still, I would rather end that time on good terms at least. I am too old now to be leaving behind regrets.
Here is what I am going to do. Tomorrow, during the morning and afternoon, I will be at the House of Change library, in the cafe. I will leave to eat lunch and dinner with my family, but be there otherwise. After dinner, I will be at the ivy circle at the gardens, where I will wait for as long as I can. If you want to talk, or even if you just want to sit with me silently, you are free to. If I do not see you, that is okay as well.
Odile
—
The next day passed exactly as she said it would in her letter. At breakfast, Odile was in better spirits, actually talking to the others- even though deep down she knew that things might not get better, at least she had tried, and at least she was here. Excusing herself, she made her way swiftly to the library, finding Marianne not there, and someone having taken her spot by the window. Frustrating. Feeling that a familytale would be a bit too intense for her emotionally right now, and any kind of fiction doubly so, Odile grabbed a thick textbook on advanced craft theory and started some tediously comforting review. She left for lunch, returned, and continued reading, finishing the whole textbook just in time to leave for dinner. Lovely family picnic at the park, enjoying the last of what the city had to offer before they moved on, and then at last, as the sun set, she was off to Marianne’s spot in the gardens. There were a couple of young lovers enjoying the privacy of the spot when she got there, but as things got darker and darker still, eventually, they left, leaving Odile all alone. She sat there, the full moon shining down on her through the circle in the trellis, for a very, very, long time.
And then, just as she was starting to consider if it was time to leave, the curtain of ivy pushed aside, and there was Marianne, walking in hesitantly. Odile said nothing, but gave her a nod as she sat down beside her. Odile said nothing, waiting for Marianne to speak first, if at all.
“I lied to you,” was the first thing she said, “about everything. I’m not from a small fishing village on the coast of Vaugarde, I just… woke up there, one day. I don’t have two nieces, just a couple of sisters who took me in and told everyone I was their aunt. I’m from somewhere…” Marianne sweeped her hand at the sky, “that doesn’t exist anymore. And when I woke up one day, already middle-aged but with that whole lifetime just… gone… It was too much for me. So I made it up, I made up a whole life that didn’t exist to replace the old one, and I buried that thought so deep inside of me.”
“That’s why,” said Odile, “with Siffrin…”
“Yes. He didn’t do anything wrong,” Marianne gave a choking laugh, tears streaming down her face, “when I encounter something that reminds me of that… that loss, I… I’ve gotten really good at pushing through, usually without anyone noticing. But to see it so clearly in a family member of this woman I had such strong feelings for, and then that night, remembering something I didn’t know I’d forgotten…” Marianne swallowed, taking several deep breaths. “It was just… too much. I mean, I was literally naked,” she laughed again, “and it was just… too much.”
“I’m sorry,” said Odile softly, “and for what it’s worth, I forgive you. Of course I do.”
“When you touch me,” Marianne continued, choking back tears, “even if it’s just like this,” slowly, carefully, she picked up Odile’s hand from the bench and placed it on her knee, “I can feel… ghosts. Ghosts of other people’s hands that I’ve forgotten and it… freaks me out, honestly.” She shivered.
“Maybe the you from that other life was quite the player,” said Odile in a gentle tease.
“Hah!” Marianne wiped some of the tears and snot from her face, “Maybe. Not that I’d remember. Not that I… want to, really. The only reason I’m so good at writing romance is because reading Vaugardian romance is half of how I learned the language.”
“Hah!”
They took a second to laugh together before Marianne continued. “You… have been very kind to me. And I like you very much, Odile. And… I’m sorry that this happened. I really am. I wanted things between us to be…”
“Easy?”
“I was going to say ‘perfect,’ but yeah. Something like that.”
Odile sat, hand still on Marianne’s knee, for a while before speaking. “Marianne, you have been through something… unspeakable. Literally so, I gather. Something so awful that it’s caused men to try and destroy entire countries. The way you choose to deal with that is your own, and something I will not judge you for.” Marianne nodded, crying more. “But I am glad that you told me. I… like you very much as well, and I am glad to know this about you, even if it was by accident, and it is very hard. And I am happy to be here with you.”
“Can I tell you,” Marianne was crying so much her voice was practically a croak, “part of the reason why it took so long for me to show up today?”
Odile laughed, “you don’t have to, but yes, of course.”
“It’s because,” Marianne reached into the pocket of her dress, bringing out a crumpled piece of paper, “I was writing you a poem.”
“Oh.” Odile almost withdrew her hand, she was so surprised by this. Marianne sniffled, and continued,
“You are
My moon
A gateway
A mirror
The light of the sun
Shining upon me
Even in darkness
You turn
And darkness
Comes between us
But I trust
That when you are ready
There will be
Your light again
Beautiful, pale, and soft.”
“Oof,” Odile clutched dramatically at her chest, feeling a sudden pain, “Expressions, I feel like I’m going to die.”
Marianne laughed very nervously, “oh no?”
“Not in a bad way. Oh, dear, thank you, that was…” Odile could not, “I can’t quite find the words.”
“It’s okay, I’m glad you liked it, I think?”
“I did. Hang on, does the moon reflect the sun?”
“Yes, I think so. I don’t know how I know that, though.”
The two of them sat together in silence for a while, Odile’s thoughts turning in her head. There was something she wanted to say, if only she could find the courage to say it.
“Marianne, I am going to say something bold.”
“Oh? Okay?”
“You could, if you wanted,” Odile shifted on her bench to be facing Marianne, putting both of her hands on her knee, “come travelling with us, if only for a while. I don’t mean to be… patronizing, but you seem… lonely, here. In a way that seems hard for you.” Marianne nodded, eyes wide. “Plus, with us, you could write whatever you wanted.” Odile gave a nervous chuckle.
“Wow. That is bold.”
“I’m trying my best.”
“I, uhm…” she shifted away, a little, “I’m not sure. It sounds lovely, but leaving my job, my apartment behind, even for just a while, it’s a lot.”
“I know.”
“And… I can’t say that I’m not somewhat relieved to have someone who… knows, but it’s also… overwhelming, in a way.”
“I know.”
A long, long pause.
“When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow at around 10, from the west gate.”
Marianne turned to face Odile as directly as she could, taking her by the hands. “How about, I will meet you there. And if I’ll be joining you, or just saying goodbye… let me sleep on it?”
“Of course,” said Odile, smiling, tears springing from the corners of her eyes, “and I know that whatever you choose, it will be the right decision for you. And so I will be happy with it.”
“The Universe… leads,” said Marianne, slowly, hesitantly.
“We can only follow.”
And then they kissed, under the light of the moon.