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The Oracle hasn’t left Insomnia yet, thanks to the storm that rolled in over the city yesterday and onward into Leide and threatened more than one country roadway with mud or rising water. Crowe tries not to be too happy about what is probably a damn big annoyance for the people in Leide, but none of them are the beautiful woman who kissed her back. The press of Lunafreya’s mouth, of her hand in Crowe’s hair, had been a very warm memory for her last night. Warm in all the perfect ways that a rainstorm couldn’t be.
It’s a risk, showing up without arranging things beforehand. And while it is true that Lunafreya was the one to bring up the possibility of seeing each other today, she’d only laughed when Crowe suggested bringing her dessert. She doesn’t have Lunafreya’s number, and asking for her whereabouts without having an official reason to need that knowledge is a recipe for drawing attention. But Lunafreya doesn’t have an official schedule in Insomnia today since she was supposed to already be on the road, and that means there’s a chance she is still in her Citadel guest suite, tucking in one more day of relaxation or preparation before she begins her pilgrimage through Lucis. And if it falls through, well, it shouldn’t be that big a deal to sneak in and leave a note and a gift behind.
The Six must like her today because Pelna is lurking outside the door to Lunafreya’s suite. He eyes Crowe—undoubtedly wondering what she’s doing here in black jeans, a green shirt, and her favorite leather jacket—and the little plastic bag hanging from her wrist. “Were you on errand duty?” he asks, but he doesn’t object when she heads past him and straight for Lunafreya’s door.
“No,” Crowe says as breezily as she can. “This is more of a surprise.”
Pelna smiles then, a little break in his professional demeanor. “Really,” he says, drawing out the word into an almost-question. Crowe doesn’t at all like the mischief that’s started lighting up his expression. “Was yesterday’s scheduling problem less to do with random luck and more to do with someone’s intent?”
She hadn’t actually given anyone food poisoning to get on Lunafreya’s detail roster, but Crowe grins at Pelna anyway. “I’ll set your hair on fire next time we spar,” she warns as sweetly as she can manage, which isn’t much.
Pelna laughs, but he doesn’t needle her further, and that’s as much of a surrender as she’ll get from him. Crowe puts him out of her mind and knocks on the door, three sharp raps, and tries not to fidget as she waits.
The dogs—the Messengers—hadn’t barked when she showed up yesterday, and she can’t hear them now. It takes another fifteen, twenty seconds to hear footsteps on the other side, and then the door is opening.
Lunafreya isn’t dressed like she’s expecting to leave the suite any time soon, and there’s something about the shorts and oversized t-shirt she’s wearing that make her look soft, touchable. Crowe maybe wants to bury her face in the expanse of skin exposed by the shirt’s swooping collar. Lunafreya’s hair is swept up into the kind of loose, messy bun Crowe herself sports on days meant for chores or recuperating from a hangover. A pair of pale green, fuzzy house slippers complete the impression.
“Oh,” Lunafreya says, and for a moment Crowe thinks she has fucked it up, but Lunafreya’s flustered surprise gentles into a small smile. “Hello, Crowe. Would you like to come in?”
Crowe sternly tells herself to ignore the pleased little flutter in her heartbeat. “Yeah, if you’ve got time.” She raises her left hand, lifting the plastic bag up into a better field of view. “I’ve got ice cream.”
Lunafreya’s smile widens, and it takes a great deal of willpower for Crowe to stop staring at her mouth. “Here, let me take that,” Lunafreya says as she reaches out and catches the plastic bag just beneath Crowe’s wrist. She pulls on it gently, tugging Crowe over the threshold and inside her suite before Crowe finally has enough control of herself to finally let go of the bag.
“Go ahead, get comfortable,” Lunafreya says, waving her free hand at the shoe rack and extra slippers. She heads deeper into the suite without waiting for an answer, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll get this dished up.”
Crowe peels off her damp jacket, hangs it on a hook, and peels off her fingerless gloves to shove in the jacket pockets. It’s something of a production to get her boots off, but she manages to exchange them for a pair of white slippers in the end. Then she heads deeper into the suite, following the sounds of distant movement, and crosses into the living room where the two Messengers are flopped over each other in the middle of the couch. Crowe eyes them for a minute, still not entirely convinced they’re more than dogs, but neither of them so much as twitches an ear at her when she passes them by.
There’s a kitchenette beyond them, small enough to hold a modest fridge, a sink, a few cupboards, a coffee maker, an electric kettle, and a small round table. Lunafreya already has two bowls of ice cream on the counter, with spoons stuck into them, and is opening the freezer to put the extra away. “Is this the goats milk ice cream you were talking about?”
“One of them, anyway,” Crowe says. She snags both bowls and takes them to the table, setting them across from each other. “There’s a fancy little place just a couple blocks away that has a standard menu and then a monthly set of three or four different flavors that rotates in and out. This is one of their regulars.”
“You didn’t go to the shop near your home?” Lunafreya asks, and Crowe is a little touched that she remembered that detail.
“It would’ve melted too much by the time I got here.”
“Still, it looks lovely,” Lunafreya says as she takes one of the seats.
Crowe drops into the other chair. “Tastes pretty good, too.” She’d sampled several of the shop’s ice cream flavors before she settled on this one. “Blackberry, lemon, and almonds, mostly. Go ahead, dig in.”
Lunafreya picks up her spoon immediately and takes a perfect, dainty bite. She makes a soft, appreciative noise around the spoon, and Crowe slams her attention back to her own bowl so she won’t be caught staring. “So,” Crowe says, hoping the warmth in her face isn’t too obvious as she digs into her own bowl of ice cream, “when do you think you’ll be on the road?”
”Based on the weather reports we’ve gotten from Leide, likely the day after tomorrow.” Lunafreya pauses to take another bite of ice cream. “Apparently, there has been some flooding out there as well.”
That’s sooner than Crowe would like, but it’s not like she’s got any sway in the matter. So she just asks more questions about the pilgrimage, enjoying the conversation for what it is, pleased that they don’t lapse into silence while they eat. And Lunafreya clearly is looking forward to roaming Lucis with her Messengers at her side, so even though she’s a little wistful about her leaving, Crowe can’t resent Lunafreya’s eagerness to get on with her duties.
Lunafreya sets her spoon back into her empty bowl when she is finished, and Crowe asks, “Well? How did you like it?”
“It was very nice,” Lunafreya says, and for a second, Crowe thinks that’s all she’s going to say. But then she pinks a little even as she smiles, and adds, “Though it wasn’t as sweet as what you gave me yesterday.”
Crowe can’t bite back her grin and sets her spoon down carefully. “Sorry it didn’t live up to your expectations,” she says, light and teasing, and not in the least bit sorry. Thrilled, actually, about the way this might be turning. “Shall I make it up to you?”
Crowe is delighted to catch the moment Lunafreya’s eyes dart down to her mouth. “I would—yes,” Lunafreya says, blush deepening, “I’d like that.”
It doesn’t take Crowe more than a moment to get out of her chair and circle around the table to Lunafreya. She twists in her chair, toward Crowe, and Crowe reaches down to gently cup her jaw with both her hands. Crowe lingers there a moment, admiring the blue of her eyes and the slight parting of her lips, before Crowe leans down and gives Lunafreya the kiss they both want.