Seeing Ghosts

The alcohol quickly made her feel woozy, and she frowned at the empty flute like it was the problem. It was, but not in the way that she was thinking. She handed it off to a passing servant, flashing a shy smile after the person as they dipped their head to her. It was so strange.

She decided she would take some air, and began to make her way through the ballroom — heading carefully towards one of the many balconies that had open air sections. Swaying as she went, she made it upstairs without tripping.

Which was a feat, because she was still learning how to walk in heels. It's at the top of the stairs, where her shoe catches the gown — which is floor-length, marigold in color, but otherwise humble — and she completely lost her footing.

She expected to wipe out entirely, and have to catch herself before she slammed face-first into the floor. Instead, she found warm arms around her, righting her as if they'd been prepared to catch a falling damsel this evening.

For a brief moment, she bowed her head and whispered an apology. Only to remember, that was not who she was, not anymore. And when she looked up, to see who had caught her, it was a stranger. Someone from some house or another, but not House Obsidian.

And not from a well-known house, or she'd have had an inkling of who they were. She flushed, embarrassed with herself, and quickly allowed her gaze to sweep around the balcony, in hopes that nobody else had paid her attention.

Oftentimes, that was how it went. Nobody paid attention to anything that did not pertain to them. Her gaze settled on Ilaria, and she bit her lip, cheeks darkening further in color at the thought that someone from her House Obsidian had seen her failure.

But the man that had caught her was talking to her, demanding her attention with coy touches to her arm, and coated words. And she straightened, laughing nervously, at something he said in regards to her almost-tumble.

"It would not do for such a pretty girl to fall down so many steps," he said, his gaze dipping to take in her form. "I've not seen you at these before. Where do you hail from? With so many visitors to Tevinter as of late..."

She cleared her throat, and dipped into a curtsy, I apologize for any inconvenience, my Lord, but I really must be going. The longer she studied the man in front of her, the more things she saw, that she did not like. Like the crusted corners of his lips, or the way his gaze kept trailing over her form, as if he were imagining her on display.

Without waiting for him to accept her apology, she turned in the direction of Ilaria and hurried off. Perhaps, the stranger would not follow her, if he saw her going towards the Lady. She wasn't exactly the most personable person to talk to, at such things. But she didn't want to bother the other woman, and once she was out of sight of the lordling, she'd settle on an empty seat, far enough away — she hoped — to go unnoticed by Ilaria.

Once settled, and certain that no-one was paying her mind, she'd carefully remove her shoes, setting the heeled footwear just under the bench, so that she could pull them back on when it was time to leave.

She'd decided, she'd just stay right here. The world didn't spin quite as much. And most people seemed happy to leave her be, and if nobody spoke to her, then she wouldn't have to consider how to respond. The etiquette lessons certainly had not stuck, just yet. It was so new, so strange, and she missed the way life had been — as silly as that sounded.

Who missed being a slave?

It came to her eventually, like sea glass washed up on the shores of memory and worried back into sand by her hands. Caesennia was here, right now. The same flesh and blood that shadowed Ilaria through most of her days. Huh. This particular Archon’s parties were not particularly exclusive – as if all the foreigners wandering about were not proof enough.

Arvina must have quite a bit of faith in his so-called secret police to protect him, she thought. Andoral’s presence stirred at the back of her mind, whispering that all faith should be tested. Ilaria let that compulsion flow through her without so much as a twitch. The dragon beneath her skin lost interest quickly enough.

A flash of unnatural movement and an orange dress. Ilaria turned her head to watch Casey’s encounter with a man. Lord Lucillius – perhaps old enough to be her grandfather if no one had wasted much time about things. Laetan, with his family having come into their power a few generations ago. Not a bad match – if he’d been fifty years younger. Ilaria wondered if he had any sons and then set against the idea altogether.

She wouldn’t send any of her ladies to deal with a lecherous father in law. Not unless they were especially poor at their jobs. They need not know that, though. Ilaria got up and followed Casey, choosing a seat nearby.

“Lucillius is far too old to still be playing the rake, don’t you agree?” Amusing, to bait Casey into insulting her almost-peer – impolitic, however much the man deserved it for his behavior. “I hope you’ll let me arrange a better husband than that. When the time comes, of course.”

She was slow to realize she was being spoken to, and she adjusted so that she was looking towards Ilaria, now. The other woman was commenting on the stranger; so he was called Lucillius? Interesting. She'd adjust herself on her seat, eyes widening when Ilaria asked to arrange a better husband.

Oh... I, her classes, of course, had informed her that she was eligible to wed someone of equal or better class. I'm not... partial to men. She murmured, cheeks flushed like it was a dirty secret. Tevinter didn't balk at same-sex preferences, though some families still might.

She wasn't sure why she was blushing; perhaps because it was such a personal detail to tell someone whose family once owned her. Well, in a way, they still owned her, they were all she knew and she's remain loyal to them until the end of her days.

She drifted into silence for a moment, bare toes dragging across the floor beneath her feet, heeled shoes forgotten under the bench. I was trying to go outside. To one of those balconies? Can I? She didn't mean to ask permission, but she slipped up every-so-often.

Ilaria tilted her head, gaze sharpening as Caesennia expressed her partiality. She filed that information away, wondering about modern Tevinter and things she might have missed. In Ilaria’s youth, attitudes had been somewhat … Different. One might love who they loved in private – but a society bent on breeding better and better mages tended to frown on childless unions. Even those between men and women, to a certain extent. After a few years.

“Fascinating.” Societal expectations hadn’t entirely spared her over the centuries, either. Of course, those few husbands she’d been forced to take had all met untimely deaths – and without siring a single heir for their own family lines, no less. Ilaria had scooped up their fortunes and assets with embittered glee, a mere drop in the dragon’s hoard.

“Well, pet, do not let the Eyes hear you. They may take away your name and stipend if it were to become known that you don’t want to birth healthy mage babies for the Imperium.” How dare this laetan nobody think to escape the indignities of marriage to a man. What else did she think her recent elevation was for? Oh, but now she was certainly being too unkind.

So instead of stinging Caesennia for that out of place question, Ilaria merely nodded ascent. She stood smoothly, offering her arm.

“Very well. The weather is very agreeable tonight; I will join you.”

Caesennia flushed, as her employer decided she was too bold; much too bold for fascinating was never what she liked to hear about herself. She cleared her throat, quietly, My apologies, Lady Obsidian. Overly formal, for though she was of an "equal" societal standing, she'd never actually be her mistress' equal. She knew that, understood and respected it.

She'd expected to be told where the balconies were, and left to her own devices, so when Ilaria offered her arm out, the woman blanched. Only for a second, her composure fell away, while she very quickly reached to pull her shoes on. It was a second too many; she'd listened to the family talk about the vipers and snakes from the other houses...

She needed to be better. To do better. But for now, she accepted the other's arm. And found herself wondering how she'd gotten here. Feeling much like a rabbit trapped in a cage, she let Ilaria lead the way to the balconies, and pondered over what was socially acceptable.

She desperately wanted to please, to fit in.

@Ilaria Obsidian

She had shocked the girl into near silence, it seemed. How terrible. There was no fun at all in that. Ilaria watched Caesennia pull on her shoes, wondering at how she seemed to rush. Had she originally planned to go out without them, only to change her mind because Ilaria was there?

Very strange. Ilaria led the way, choosing a spot with a good view of the gardens and discouraging those already there from lingering with withering glances. When they were alone, she let go of Caesennia’s arm and turned her back to the railing. Studied her lady-in-waiting. They made an odd pair, one in marigold and one in toxic green. Colors that did not match at all.

Othos was terrified, perhaps doing well not to tremble – yet she found it annoying all the same. Ilaria didn’t say terrible things to people to get no reaction out of them.

“This is your day off, Caesennia. Aren’t you enjoying the Archon’s party?” And then, because she’d rather see her blush than stammer out another insubstantial line of nothing, Ilaria went on. “I feel that you should know that I am not partial to men, either.

“Perhaps that will help you to serve me better.”

@Caesennia Othos

Caesennia was certainly frightened; startled. She'd only wanted directions, not an escort and... but her thoughts are broken, when she's asked if she enjoyed the Archon's party. The correct answer was an idle yes, with nothing to give away how she truly felt. She knew that, but before she could say that, Ilaria was...

...telling her that she hoped this knowledge; the knowledge that she was not partial to men, should help Caesennia serve her better. And this led to Casey stepping backwards, bumping into a large potted plant, though it's too heavy for her to overturn. Her cheeks flushed, she took the opportunity to turn her back to her mistress, acting as if the potted plant was the most interesting thing in the world.

I... I see, her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. She couldn't find her words, her mouth felt dry, and she fiddled with the leaves of her distraction. Is... there anything you need, m'lady? She glanced over her shoulder, cautious, hesitant to meet the other woman's gaze. That was typical; it was unbecoming of a servant to meet their superiors eyes. But it was expected of her now.

Fingers pinched off a leaf, and she turned to face the woman, red face clearly giving her away if her anxious twisting of the large leaf wasn't.

@Ilaria Obsidian

“Need is a strong word.” Ilaria smiled, a glimpse of sharp white teeth. A pity about the girl’s conversation, but she certainly blushed prettily. Flowing into her space, Ilaria touched the nape of Caesennia’s neck, long nails cool against warm velvety skin. For a moment, she enjoyed the friction of that touch, then dropped her arm back to her side.

It wasn’t fair for Caesennia to take out her frustrations on a poor potted plant. Ilaria mended it with a thought, bringing on a rush of stop motion growth.

“I’d like it if you went home and thought about it, Caesennia.” Ilaria met her gaze briefly and then drifted away. She thought the other woman might be reaching her limit, and the Archon’s ball would go on for hours yet.

“Do let me know later if you come upon any insights worth sharing.”

@Caesennia Othos