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"Miss Zani! It's rare to see you here at these hours."
"Phoebe?" With a can in hand and her watch in the other, Zani glances up at the young Acolyte. "Are you here to collect the order? Miss Margherita said the Order placed quite a big order. I can help, if you'd like?"
"Oh, that'd be most helpful!" Phoebe blushes lightly. "But, really, what brings you here at this hour?"
"The meeting is about to commence, isn't it?" The way the words have been said presents it as lesser of a question, more of a statement. "I've been given half the day off to join the meeting if I wanted...which I was considering attending, but there's still some time left, and Lady Carlotta said she'll head there straight on her own."
"That's right." The boxes pile up in their arms, with help from Leila and Margherita. "Lady Carlotta, Lady Cantarella, and some of the other Montellis and Fisalias will all be there...and, of course, some other Acolytes...it's one of the first few big conferences after the battle against Leviathan, after all, I would expect that we will receive quite the full attendance today..."
"Full attendance, huh?" Zani chuckles quietly into her stack of food boxes. "I don't think Lady Carlotta's mind will be so focused on the meeting, though."
"Eh? But...but Lady Carlotta and Lady Cantarella are always so serious in the discussions, it doesn't seem like Lady Carlotta would be doing anything otherwise, though!"
"Maybe." Zani glances sidewards at her shorter companion. "But don't tell me you haven't heard the rumours around Ragunna City lately, Phoebe?"
"Ah?" But it only takes a moment before her cheeks flush into a shade of rose pink. "Are...are the rumours true?"
Zani shrugs, still chuckling. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"But, then, in that case..." Phoebe's cheeks burn a little redder. "Then...so, um, who's leading...at the moment?"
Because word has it that the Fisalias finally have the upper hand.
"I can only say," The Montelli employee hoists her boxes a little higher. "Last I checked, I do think it isn't our Lady Carlotta."
"Oh!" Phoebe giggles too, at last. "Then the rumours are true!"
"Well, they're still rumours, after all, for what it's worth..."
But what the eye sees, is often keener than the rumours. What the eye sees, is the half-eaten pizza slice that sits on Carlotta Montelli's plate while she addresses the concerns raised by some of the other Acolytes. What the eye sees, is the purple nails that reach over, almost unseen, removing the plate from the table for a quick moment before the plate is returned with one bite less and a faint gloss smudge on the side of the plate. A mark of gloss that Carlotta doesn't notice until she's seated again, reaching for her pizza, only to be alerted by the unusual texture beneath her finger, and the unique shape of the pattern left behind — like a seal, a set of lips printed, barely noticeable.
And, glancing at the person who sits next to her with faux-innocent eyes glittering like the gold flakes that dust their eyelids, she catches a word, silently mouthed.
One.
The rumours spread like wildfire, rising faster than even Margherita's pizza dough. As much as Ragunna City still hasn't physically recovered from the damages of the Dark Tide, happy news and hope has been the recent hype, trending contagiously through the audible whispers down the streets. A union between two long-feuding families? Perfect for the future of Ragunna. But now — a relationship between the Head of the Fisalias and the potential next-Head of the Montellis? Even the servants and employees have been whispering.
"I did tell you that I would head to Thessaleo Fells on my own." Almost crossly she mutters, while the coffee machine sputters away. "With my Echoes, if you were really so worried about a TD ambush."
"The Fisalias haven't been to Ragunna City much prior to Leviathan's downfall." The parasol leans against an eager Tubpup, though neither of them at the moment are ready for a bath. "I hear Miss Margherita makes a fine daily panini?"
"If you so fancied a panini, you could have headed to Margherita's first. Coming to the Montelli Quarters unbidden and ushering yourself in is not quite the appropriate behaviour expected of a noble such as yourself—"
"Unbidden," Lilac tresses fall over her shoulder, and it has become apparent that at some point she fell prey to the enveloping embrace of the Fisalia matriarch who stands tall behind her, caressing her cheek playfully while whispering by her ear. "But not unwelcome, I daresay?"
"You're terribly unwelcome." Carlotta deadpans. Gripping the marble surface top tightly, desperately matching Cantarella's blue gaze. Such a weak attempt at power, such a sham that she can really hold her ground in resistance against the bewitching temptations in those eyes. Such a lie that she doesn't yearn to simply reach forward and pull the older woman down to her knees to kiss her full on the lips — but she's been distracted, so awfully displaced from her attention that she doesn't realise she's allowed Cantarella the autonomy to further toy with her.
The autonomy to spin her by the waist, to walk her backwards until her back hits the countertop. It's only then that a small breath bursts from her chest, a momentary return to her senses and the giggles that erupt everywhere, from the servants to the visiting employees and even the Matriarch before her, with a coy smile blossoming on her pink lips. "I do know the proper etiquette, Lady Carlotta; I'm sure of it. On the other hand, I note that you have not offered myself a cup of tea since my arrival — which is rather crude, isn't it?"
"Tea." Tea would be good, her lips so clumsy because they're dry, dry and slow and she hasn't had her wake-up espresso yet. Her espresso, which she tries to fumble for behind her. Since when did the machine stop its stuttering? "I'll send for some tea, then."
"But now there's no need." Cantarella breathes, reaching for the cup as well. It's almost by design that their fingers brush behind her; her eyes are still fixed on Cantarella's, and the maiden holds her gaze perfectly, while withdrawing her espresso to the space between them, almost negligible. "I haven't sampled some quality coffee grounds in years; would you oblige this to me, Lady Carlotta?"
"Well." She pinches her lips, trying to lick them wet subtly, but possibly failing at the subtlety because Cantarella's smile widens a little more. "I could always make a...another cup of espresso. If you'd like. Some espresso, I mean."
"Again," Cantarella winks. "There really is no such need."
And the matriarch proceeds to take a long sip — without breaking the firm gaze between them — out of Carlotta's espresso.
"I do like it." Cantarella slides it back into her hands after the sip. "The flavour is rather intense, wouldn't you agree?"
Just like that, the moment is broken. She's not so sure if the flavour is really what Cantarella meant to talk about, but by the time she snaps out of it, the parasol has disappeared, and blue skirts slip away around the bend of the corridor, where heel clicks have long gone distant. All she has is a sad, one-sipped espresso, with a faint mark of the same pink gloss from before, marking the edge of the mug.
So it's really no wonder that, while making eye contact with the cheery Tubpup and hoping it was the only witness to whatever went down, she takes a careful sip of her coffee from the same spot demarcated by the gloss left behind. Only to notice that, upon closer inspection, letters begin to trace themselves out of the foam from the Tubpup:
Two.
Oh, by the late Imperator.
“Have you had your lunch?”
Lunch, perhaps, is the most important meal of the day. All Montelli employees get an ample lunch break, buffered properly to ensure there won't be manpower or security issues, but lunch will never be compromised.
But that's not the case today, because she's been too busy with the negotiations that she hasn't eaten at all, not until Cantarella gently peeled her away from the throng of the business buzzings, pulling her aside.
She's always just so caring, isn't she?
“I sent Zani a message to grab something for me if she's on the way.”
“But Zani is occupied in finishing the documentations with Phoebe, isn't she?”
“Maybe Ciaconna...? Ciaconna could probably bring me something if she's free.”
“Miss Toccata is away with the Troupe of Fools to make plans for the celebratory parade.”
“Okay.” Carlotta doesn't have the time for this. More queries are coming her way, and while Cantarella has been very efficient in her swift assistance, there's only so much their underlings can handle with the two of them away at the moment. So many trade deals, so many assurances to provide to foreign investors, so many resources to continue being imported in the fragile period of Ragunna's recovery. “I'll just have something to eat after the meeting.”
“I thought so.” Cantarella's lip quirks at its corner. “Will you take this?”
But without waiting for her response, a manicured hand picks her hand from her side, tucking a small parcel into it, wrapped with a cerulean wax paper and a small seal with a familiar golden insignia. She's not sure if she's more surprised to see that the Fisalias have issued-Fisalia-seal-stickers, or if she's more surprised to weigh the parcel in her hand and realise what it is.
“It would be impolite to refuse, since you've already given it to me.” As expected, the wax paper unveils a sandwich, a homemade panini. Was it made by Cantarella herself? There shouldn't be time for this thought, but here she is, taking a bite out of the sandwich, savouring the flavourful burst from the simply-seasoned seafood and the careful crisp of the panini bread itself. There's barely enough time to enjoy the sandwich, but to gorge it down would almost certainly be disrespectful to this delectable culinary construction.
Only to realise, halfway through the sandwich, that Cantarella watches her unblinkingly, smiling fondly at her packed cheeks mid-chew through a bite of prawn and salmon.
“Have you...” It's only then that she's starting to realise she should have been more thorough with her questioning. But it was as though Cantarella knew, at that moment she was pulled aside, that the hunger would return the moment the panini graced her hands and revived her from her inanimate, impassionate business mode. “Have you eaten? At all?”
“I'll be fine without a meal.” The matriarch's smile is simple as the panini, the panini that is now quite clearly as day a product from the delicate hands of the Fisalia Head. “Not to mention that even if I were really to feel any hunger pangs later on, it'll be easier for me to contact Sebastian than it will be for you, while you handle the brunt of the foreign negotiations. You need to take care of yourself, Lady Carlotta.”
“But what about you?” She counters almost immediately, and then takes a bite out of the panini to hide her flustered cringing from the outburst. “Do you call this taking care of yourself, either?”
Blue eyes blink, a shade deeper than the wax paper, a hue more vibrant. “I would say I am accustomed to looking after others, looking after those in my family. But that question is not always on my list of priorities—”
“Then, if that goes for me, so should it for you.” Firmly she extends the panini, yet her eyes avert shyly at the thought of what she's about to say, with her lips pressed thin and her eyes barely resisting pinching shut. “Would you...would you like some?”
How could she have been so misguided? How could she have been so utterly entrenched within her folly? How could she really have believed at any point, that this was not a scheme?
Because sometimes the best acts come from veiled strokes of the truth.
Under the cool touch of slender fingers sliding up the back of her hand, encapsulating her hand in a firm but gentle grip — Cantarella Fisalia closes the distance with a whispered line and a sentiment. Just a bite will suffice; the sentiment lingers only to line those fine lips. With just her regular delicate peal, Cantarella holds her perfectly in place to watch, as the matriarch leans in towards her and captures a small bite of the panini daintily.
“Isn't it just delectable, Lady Carlotta?” asks the matriarch, leaning in to take a second bite again — only that it misses Carlotta's fingers by just a margin, grazing her fingertips. All just to pick out a halved piece of cherry tomato, all just to chew the tomato with a side-long glance and a meaningful hum while she swallows.
All just for the curvature of the two bites to trace into a number, while Carlotta fumes and — not for the first time — catches herself in her ire, torn in the decision whether she's irked that she's been teased once again, or because Cantarella was just so close, wasn't she?
(So close to kissing her full on the lips, damn it.)
Three.
Most of the Ragunnesi, of their renewed hope-loving Ragunna, think that the match is still on. But what Ragunna doesn't know is, the true match was never quite overtly set. The true match was never defined until the rumours began, then started the counting, and then a week ago came a fine afternoon. A fine afternoon, a picnic, a trip to Avinoleum privately between them and Cartethyia, with Phoebe tagging along. It was supposed to be a group research, to locate some older tomes on the cultures of old Ragunna they could reference for accuracy in updating the new laws of a revised Codex.
It was only at some arbitrary point that Cartethyia and Phoebe went aboard Phaom in search for more of the Order's old texts. It was only at that same point that they came to a rest by a shallow water feature, and Cantarella pours tea from her sapphire vial, sipping straight from the mouth of it. There can be nothing suggestive about drinking tea aside from the absolute way Cantarella does it, flicking the tip of her tongue to catch a falling stray drop of tea, her six-star mark resting down the middle of her tongue, inactive at the moment. "Would you like some?"
The vial is glossy; her gaze trained for accuracy and precision almost immediately marks out the spot well covered by Cantarella's tongue, where the gloss remains. The spot which Carlotta places her lips upon and takes a long draw, leaning back. In theory, the longer one is exposed to poison, the more they should either build up immunity or be worn out by its effects. Yet whether she's been gaining or losing any inoculation against The Bane requires further empirical evidence, because she tries. Tries her best to focus on the beautifully inverted skies of Avinoleum, tries to ignore the flips in her stomach, tries to pretend that she really was just thirsty and in need for a drink.
Tries to reach over, twirling a lock of lilac tresses around her index, before Cantarella titters, grabbing her hand where it is without looking at all.
"Not quite yet, Lady Carlotta." Cantarella muses, smiling, her eyes still lidded. "Today we came in four."
Four.
But she has two hands for a reason, and perhaps the reason is to release the lock she captured, trading it for the bigger piece, the bigger picture, when she pulls the Fisalia matriarch onto her side.
For the first time in a while, Cantarella's azure eyes are wide with astonishment, with surprise smudging the delight within, a smidge of glee.
You really do have the most captivating eyes.
Perhaps she says it. Or perhaps she forgot, tracing her fingers down Cantarella's neck, without counting them aloud at all. Yet the meaning is clear regardless, when her thumb glides last, deviating from Cantarella's throat, up her chin, only to rest on glossy lips.
Five.
"The match is over." Her whisper rings so harshly in the alcoves. "Let's end it here, whatever fraudulent match we've been rumoured to be running."
So maybe Cantarella pouts, playfully, her lips arching ever so slightly, the ghost of a kiss against Carlotta's thumb. Maybe Cantarella meant to tease, but neither of them move until Phoebe and Cartethyia return, and there's more amusement to Cartethyia's grin than what should have been warranted. Maybe Cantarella just wanted to enjoy the moment, her breath warm against Carlotta's cold thumb, warming it with the itch of a half-kiss, an unclear confirmation.
"The match is over, but the game is far from its end." Cantarella tells her, at the end of the day, right as the Train Echo starts down its tracks. "Or have we not only just begun?"
They'll meet again soon. The rumours will fall apart soon. They'll be business partners at the celebrations in Egla Town, curtly introducing each other like this.
...will they?
"Lady Cantarella!"
The Night of Remembrance has long passed. While the once-Fisalia girls all cheerfully wave, their family members are more apprehensive, and reasonably so. Still, most greet her as she circles the town, her parasol on her shoulder, like a beacon for the one she hopes to attract.
The one who, despite her schedule, appears right next to her, to the faint chorus of the Troupe of Fools' members greeting her, and the businessmen that have infiltrated their humble celebrations in attempt to hijack her conversations, or kidnap her into a negotiation. While she's dabbled in these across the years, in her journeys far and wide in seeking help for Imperator, she's long been neutered from these political approaches, avoiding them if unnecessary at the moment. Political commentary and business fiends are really none of her interest, and should the Fisalias be able to continue existing in their herbology trade in new peace, there is nothing more she requires as the Head of the Fisalias.
And yet there is still something she yearns for, when the dust has settled and peace is upon them. Something she yearns for, in the platinum blonde that ends in crystallised edges, perfectly reflecting the dim lights of Egla Town, dispersing the eerie gloom with just her presence, despite her stature.
"No matches tonight." Cantarella promises, extending a hand to the newcomer. To Carlotta Montelli, who removes her glove with the other hand, only to elegantly place her ungloved hand in Cantarella's custody, while merely years ago they were trading damages to each other in every political manoeuvre. "Just a simple stroll in the party."
"Or a walk in the park," responds Carlotta, and off they go, quietly, further and further, until the festivity is behind them, and they can no longer hear Brant's raucously drunk barks of laughter, nor can they hear Ciaconna's song. Tranquil silence woven between trees on the outskirts of the town is where fits them best, by an old windmill, their hands still interlocked and intertwine. Like they've hit pause on the countdown, five and nothing more after their match ended in peace.
Yet she knew she was counting. Yet she caught herself in the act of it, gazing up at the stars, then at the mill blades that went by, each slightly more different than the other, until it cycled back to the first. Six windmill blades, catching the night draft, sheltering them in serenity. All it takes is a sidewards glance, and she finds herself smiling, a smile that grows the way Cantarella's does, from a faint smile into a fully grown titter, laughter ringing bright in the hollow structure overlooking them.
"Six." Carlotta whispers, shifting so close that they're almost pressed against each other, side by side, facing each other. All whilst laying on the grass like commoners, and not two ladies of noble houses, houses that would not really approve of the grass stains rubbing into the whites of their dresses. "Have we started up the game at last?"
"For as long as we can continue counting upwards." Cantarella raises their clasped hands to her lips, brushing their knuckles with an even kiss. "Till beyond these stolen kisses."
"That sounds good." Carlotta murmurs. "If we could make it official."
"We could."
"Would you like the honours?"
"No, dear. I think you've been waiting very patiently for it, haven't you?"
Too patiently, and yet not all things can be rushed. This cannot be rushed, her hands running up Cantarella's collar to her neck, to her lips then to her cheek, cupping it softly, drawing her in closely. This cannot be rushed, the tentative touch between their lips, the lingering fragrance of tea mingling with the orange slices she savoured before rushing forth. This cannot be rushed, the budding in their chests, the pulse of a new hope fresh in their hearts, in the brush between their skin, her mouth on hers where Cantarella kisses her soft, but in a way so openly they never have before.
But just for the fun of it, she pulls away for a moment, steadying her breaths.
"What's the prize of winning that match?"
And Cantarella only silences her with yet more kisses, mirthful and delightful and downright delectable, because is it any surprise that Cantarella's a good kisser? Her kisses, eloquent and exquisite, are yet as delicious as that unforgettably simple homemade panini.
"More homemade paninis." Cantarella always knows what's on her mind, doesn't she? "And you get to hear a special thing."
"A special thing?"
"That I love you, Carlotta Montelli."
Maybe that panini really isn't the best thing she's had in a recent while, kissing back deeper to choke back the blush in her cheeks, the sexy-cheeky glint in Cantarella's cerulean eyes.
"And I love you too, Cantarella Fisalia."
(which if you really think about it, those o's could just be, perhaps, infinity?)
I love you, t∞.