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Pattadol can tell from the very start that Cithis is a cheat.
She's heard plenty about her history before she even meets the woman: how she's managed to escape the Canaries over and over, twisted people around her little finger with the ease of someone who was born to do it. She doesn't know what family she's from, or how they managed to raise such a horrible daughter, but a snake is a snake, no matter their blood. At least they've managed to catch her every time she's slid out of the grip of authority. Pattadol wouldn't feel safe knowing someone like that was walking the streets freely.
When they first meet, Cithis smiles at her in a perfect pastiche of the beautiful, demure noblewoman, her dress slipping down just enough to be daring, a secret twinkling in her eyes. It's exactly the type of girl Pattadol hated to talk to at parties, the one that wanted something she could never define. The déjà vu of it is strong enough that Pattadol doesn't hear the bell at first: not until her hand extends in front of her, to properly greet the noblewoman in front of her. After all, it'd be rude to decline the hand of a lady of such high honors!
Cithis' hand is cold as a snake's, and when she laughs, Pattadol swears she can see a forked tongue between her lips. She wrenches her hand back from the woman, and wipes it on her tunic as the wretched woman's fellow criminals guffaw about how they got the rich girl to actually do her politeness song-and-dance with them.
Cithis laughs at her from behind a delicate hand, as demure as any woman of culture, but Pattadol can see right through her, even as her ears burn with shame. A snake could never be one of them. She'd seen it from the very beginning.
She really had. She swears.
There's an inconsistency in the reports she's taken to reading and rereading while they wait for their next assignment, treading the same ground again and again in an effort to ground herself in this new reality of hers. The stories of the dungeon feel less terrifying when they're just words on a page, the criminals she's found herself amongst less real when they're just names on the page.
There's one name that catches her eye, that holds her attention for a long moment. If nothing else, it's puzzlement-- she's never heard of a house Ofri.
She's sure that Cithis is a cheat, a liar: no noblewoman would stoop to her level for attention, much less get caught doing so. Maybe those kinds of things happen in fairy tales, but not in civilized society. She can't actually have been a part of a noble family, can she?
Curiosity killed the cat, but Pattadol knows the whole phrase, that satisfaction brought it back.
When she approaches Cithis, back carefully straight and shoulders squared dutifully, it's only curiosity. What kind of noble family manages to create a daughter that would end up notch-eared, having to be held back by the leash of her betters?
Her query into the state of house Ofri makes the prisoner's bunkhouse explode into laughter, in a way that makes it very clear that she's been made the victim of some practical joke. Pattadol's ears are burning before she can even manage to say anything.
"Aren't you supposed to know this stuff?" Fleki cackles, miming wiping a tear from her eye. "It's a bullshit title. She made it herself! Oh man, you really fell for it?"
She collapses back into laughter in the unique way she does, with no mind for anyone around her. It's only over the rush of blood in Pattadol's ears that she hears Cithis, sweet and soothing. "Aw, it's an honest mistake." She coos. "I've been told I have a very royal air."
Pattadol's ears don't stop burning even after she's stormed out. A snake in the grass, and she'd tripped right over it. How could she be so blind?
The latrines for this outpost are situated next to a rocky hill, something that has always made Pattadol nervous. It's bad enough that they're not inside, but how easy it would be to topple down there, where all the waste flows... it's a revolting thought.
Pattadol has just finished edging her way around the side, making sure there's a good distance between her and where the hill drops off, when Fleki leaps from the edge of it it a hundred paces from her.
Between all the noise she makes on the way down, Pattadol swears she hears the tinkle of a bell.
She has to pick her way down the hill to make it to her charge, and the whole time Fleki just sits at the bottom absently. She must have been drugged again, the fool. Doesn't she do that enough with her familiar? Why does she have to make it everyone's business, make them deal with her problem?
At the least, all she finds at the bottom of the hill is a pile of bruises and a bloody nose, flowing freely down a slack face. Fleki perks up when she makes it down, seemingly delighted to bring Pattadol down to her level.
By the time they make it back up to the top, Pattadol trying to control her breathing to keep from puffing like a winded animal, Cithis has made it to the scene. She looks down in pity from where the moon silhouettes her, lips pursed.
"Now look what you've made our kind guard do, Fleki. Really, don't you get enough thrills from the highs?" Her mouth speaks pity, but there's no trace of anything in her eyes.
Fleki only laughs, victim and audience alike of some joke only she's in on. "Sorry, boss. Just felt for a moment like I really did have wings."
"Cithis," Pattadol summons up all of her authority, squaring her shoulders. "If you had something to do with this, you know I'll have to report it."
Cithis doesn't even deny it, just turns smoothly to stare into her eyes. "Let it go, little princess." Her eyes don't crease with her smile. "No one got hurt, after all."
There's no bell that comes with it, but when Pattadol glances over to Fleki, she just shrugs. It's so casual, so easy, that it makes something drop in her chest. She's not part of these people: what should she care, anyways? They can have their own ways, even if it means tossing each other around like toys, as long as they do their jobs. It's easy as that.
Her knuckles whiten with the clenching of her fists as she turns away, and Pattadol almost wishes there was a bell to herald her surrender.
The monthly fraternization party for the Canaries is meant to inspire connection, raise morale, and a dozen other ideals on paper that Pattadol quite wishes it was living up to. Instead, she sits in the corner, having subtly pulled a chair further out from the crowd, and pretends that she's ever enjoyed people-watching.
It's from there that she sees Cithis, notched ears proudly among the crowd of nobles. It's natural as anything, natural as giving up and going with the flow.
From where she's sitting next to Vice-Captain Flamela, one hand rested on her arm, Cithis delicately raises a piece of chicken to her mouth. It's when her lipstick-shiny lips part, revealing white teeth, that her eyes settle on Pattadol.
Nothing changes in her expression, and from this far away it's impossible to tell what's in her eyes. Yet when she bites down, Pattadol has to look away.