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Adora sits on the balcony ledge, fingers absently twisting her sword between her hands. She glances at the sprawling Bright Moon gardens like she expects a training dummy to leap up and challenge her. Instead, she gets Gideon. Laid back like she owns the place—which, honestly, given her girlfriends’ shenanigans around Glimmer, she might.
Gideon sprawls out with all the grace of a cat who’s just knocked over three priceless vases and could not care less. A glossy magazine rests open on her stomach, its pages displaying women in all sorts of flexible poses that make Adora’s eyebrows go on a tiny adventure. She leans in close, squinting at the glossy photos.
“Is that… a field guide?” Gideon snorts, just like Swift Wind when Adora calls him Horsey.
“Technically, yeah. A guide to fields. And the women frolicking in them.” Adora blinks hard, then asks:
“That’s not standard armour.” There’s no question mark in her statement, but it’s still a question. Gideon flips a page.
“Nope. That’s performance wear. Perfect for the Nine Houses Pole Vaulting championships. There’s a sequence involving silk ropes, gravity chambers, and more bends than the River.” Adora’s mouth opens and closes like a confused fish.
“You read this?”
“Study it,” Gideon corrects, shooting her a sideways grin. “Better than any tactical briefing I’ve had, honestly.” Adora’s gaze sharpens, the seriousness of a knight taking on a particularly weird quest.
“They never taught us this in the Horde.” Gideon shrugs, amused.
“Did they teach you spear thrusts and tactical retreats?”
“Duh.”
“Same energy. Just more… thigh work.” Adora lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh but also a what even is this? She leans closer, eyes fixed on the magazine.
“This isn’t the same as spear thrusts.”
“Tell that to Lieutenant Dyas. Core strength, flexibility, tactical breathing. Plus, you can’t exactly stab someone when you’re tangled in three yards of silk.” Adora’s stillness takes over, her pupils widening like she’s staring down an existential crisis involving actual human anatomy. Suddenly, a voice calls out from inside the castle.
“Gideon, have you seen my shirt?” Gideon’s grin twitches mischievously.
“Sorry, Cythie. Still working on that.” Adora’s eyes flick up, and for a moment, the weight of a complicated polycule hangs unspoken in the air. Gideon’s been juggling Harrow and Cytherea like flaming swords, and somehow, in all that chaos, they make it work. Harrow probably sent nine passive-aggressive notes about it last week, and Cytherea’s cosmic patience could burn down stars. Adora clears her throat, breaking the spell.
“Could I… borrow this?” Gideon winks.
“Go on, enlighten yourself. It’s like spear combat, just—more flair.” Adora takes the magazine like a sacred scroll, clutching it like a secret mission. Gideon leans back, watching her with that mix of pride and pure mischief. “Also, if you want, I can arrange a crash course from the polycule. Harrow’s surprisingly good at explaining strategy… and Cytherea’s got very particular ideas about stamina.” Adora nearly chokes.
“You all… are that kind of complicated.” Gideon laughs.
“Yeah, welcome to the club. Don’t worry, we haven’t killed each other—yet.” Adora walks off, flipping through the pages, clearly plotting to absorb every lesson. Gideon calls after her, voice dripping with teasing affection:
“Hey Catra, your girlfriend’s about to get schooled by the best mess in Etheria.”
“Gideon, if you ruin her for normal life, I’m coming for you.”
Gideon smirks, soaking up sunshine and sheer drama.