Ponytails are for the lab and so you don’t set your hair on fire, they’re not good enough for the Festival, [ Lune despairs. Prominent as her parents were, they’d always merited invitations to this gala; but they’d always declined, citing that it was a waste of time, and so she didn’t have much experience with parties. But Sol and Stella had always made a point of going. Saying that it was important to have fun, to connect with other Lumièrans. That if they forgot how to live, they lost sight of what they were fighting for to begin with.
Lune pivots and angles herself so Sciel can work on pulling her hair into place. The other woman often wears her hair up, so she likely knows how to do this — Lune’s sure Gustave would have been useless — but the press of Sciel’s fingers through Lune’s hair and against her scalp sends an inadvertent shiver rippling down her exposed back. A ripple through her shoulders, as she doesn’t manage to stay quite still. A flutter in her chest. ]
It tickles, [ she says, quietly, more to herself than Sciel. Her hands flatten themselves against this finely-made dress, the silken fabric. It’s more chic than she’s used to: at home, she’s usually in trousers and a disheveled white shirt, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She finds herself staring at a blackboard at the back of the room, covered with various diagrams and scribbles and equations; it probably belonged downstairs, but she’d taken her work home, like always. ]
Do you know, I find myself oddly nervous? I wasn’t sure if I should go. I almost stayed home.
[ But she owed it to her siblings’ memory to force herself out of the lab, to go and have fun. Also, she’d promised Sciel— ]
[ Sciel chuckles, short and breathy, at Lune's disparaging of ponytails, shaking her head as she gently works on her task. ]
Says who? And what if they've changed the schedule of events to include a practical exam? [ She can't help but grin at her own ridiculous, imagined scenario, though she's also quick to revise: ] Ah, but the dress is hardly proper lab wear. You'd be safe from having your hair set on fire, but the rest of you...
[ Well. These outfits leave a lot to be desired as far as PPE goes. ...They leave little else to be desired in other ways, though.
Sciel finds herself aware, all at once, that she's never done anything this: run her fingers through Lune's hair, gingerly threading the silky threads together in what will eventually (hopefully) be an updo to the other's liking. It feels...nice. And though this realization alone doesn't quite bring colour to her cheeks, she does feel her pulse flutter.
Hmm. This will maybe be something for her to examine within herself later, once she's had a glass of wine and some air. ]
Nervous? [ Sciel repeats in a tone that's almost soothing, though a touch of incredulous. ] ...Well, I'm glad you're coming. Wouldn't be the same without you. [ As if reading Lune's mind, she adds: ] And you did promise!
[ If Lune had opted not to go, Sciel never would have been able to see her like this: particularly luminous, like the kind of figure someone would cut out of marble. ]
[ Despite the hair-braiding being, on the surface, the exact same act that Stella once did for her, it feels so indefinably different when it’s Sciel touching her: an intense awareness of how close they’re standing, the sound of Sciel’s laugh against the back of her neck, the occasional tug against her scalp, all of it setting her nerves ablaze. She may have miscalculated.
It’s fine. This is fine. Lune keeps her gaze riveted on the blackboard and tries not to levitate out of her skin. ]
Mm. If they’d implemented a practical exam, I would be much more incentivised. I hate small-talk. [ Not much of a surprise: Lune could chatter anyone’s ear off about the Expedition, about their work, (and sometimes about music,) but the banal niceties of so how are your children and congratulations on your wedding were lost on her. There was always that anxious impatience buzzing in the back of her mind, saying that none of those details mattered, they were all wasting time, on s’en fout.
(She’s a little bit of a social nightmare sometimes. Getting out there tonight is probably good for her.) ]
At least I have you as a buffer, [ Lune muses, ] and Gustave, if he remembered to come. Promise me we’ll get some wine there, first thing.
Mm, well, you know me: I like the dark and personal. [ Conversations, that is. ] We could try and spin everything that direction if you'd like?
[ Because, yeah, she has no intention of leaving Lune to the wolves (such as they are) once they arrive. In fact, the idea is not only silly, but unpleasant.
Sciel continues her task with a focus that is only slightly split on imagining the rest of the night -- the pair of them avoiding the dreaded small talk, maybe opting for a dance or two, and of course -- ]
First thing. Promise. [ Lune voices what'd just come to Sciel's own mind and she laughs a little, fingers resuming their careful work. ] It might even be halfway decent this year! If they've decided we're all worth breaking into whatever better stock still remains, that is.
[ She isn't picky, though. If they've got something to drink, she can overlook the quality. By the second or third glass for sure. ]
Gustave will be there. [ Sciel assures her, reaching for one of the errant bobby pins on a nearby surface and pinning bits of the updo in place. ] Because I made Maelle promise to chase him out of his workshop if he's there too late.
[ Of course, if he goes, then he'll probably be gazing sadly at Sophie from across the room, so there'll need to be some intervention to keep the man from spending the whole night sadly pining. ]
Almost done. [ Sciel says after a minute, adding another pin to the collection atop Lune's head. ] Did you want a piece or two hanging loose, or will that bother you?
[ Lune considers the options — some of her hair will probably escape anyway over the course of the evening, especially if she winds up dancing, or god forbid if they stay out late — but perhaps it’s best to start off a little softer and gentler. She knows she can look severe otherwise, a stern picture of her mother. ]
Leave some loose. I hear we’re supposed to look, [ she gestures rabbit-ear quotation marks with her fingers, her rings glinting, ] “approachable” tonight? A chance for the general public to mingle with the Expeditioners, remind them we exist outside of our labs and workshops.
[ There’s only the slightest lip-curl when she says general public. Not derision, exactly, but: faint disapproval. Still, they have to play along with the Council and the remaining civilians, cozy up to them in the hopes of getting supplies and manpower to build the ships, donate the rations. Dwindling in popularity as they are, the Expeditions rely on others’ goodwill too, much as Lune might grumble over the necessity of that politicking. ]
[ The idea that they need to look "approachable" is laughable. It's probably been decades since the Expedition has been seen as anything close to intimidating, so the only thing isolating them from their peers is the fact that, in much of public opinion, you'd have to be insane to join. ]
I'm sure the pseudo-uniforms will help with that. [ Sciel sighs, gently coaxing out a strand of hair and twirling it around her finger, letting it fall alongside Lune's face. ] If that was the idea, we should've...I dunno, dressed like everyone else and just worn the armbands.
[ As if they needed to signify who is and isn't a member. Their population is small enough that most people know each other's names and business, and they certainly know which among them is either delusional or an optimist, depending on the person's view of the Expeditions.
Sciel sighs shortly, nearly finished with her task, and a little disappointed at that fact. ]
They know we exist. [ She murmurs. ] Much as they wish we didn't.
[ Not out of malice, but because they are a daily reminder of the clock they all suffer under. Without the Expeditions, maybe you could forget about it until the Gommage rolls around.
You'd also have to avoid looking out across the harbour, of course. ]
But! [ Sciel continues briskly, stepping back a little and lowering her hands. ] Whatever we're supposed to be doing tonight, we're going to have fun. That's my guarantee to you, mon amie, because we deserve it. [ She steps off to the side to begin circling Lune, arms behind her back, taking in the full view of her work. ] Okay. I think that turned out nice, but take a look and let me know?
[ Lune obligingly moves to her reflection: she has a tall mirror hanging next to her front door, a place for quick last-minute checks to ensure she hasn’t misbuttoned her jacket before heading over to the Academy each morning. And now, looking on Sciel’s handiwork: ]
Tres bien, [ she says with a flash of a smile, declaring the stamp of approval. The updo is nice: more formal than Lune ever looks around the labs, which will help make tonight seem special, a concession to the pomp and circumstance of the festival. Standing in front of the mirror, she tilts her head and affixes the missing earring. Then she ducks and scoops up the pair of heels she’d rejected earlier (they had been Stella’s), but changing her mind, she slips them on. Then a sling purse; it ruins her silhouette a little, but she hates having to constantly hold a clutch and remember not to drop it somewhere.
And then that’s done, and there’s nothing else but to leave. She swivels back to Sciel. ]
Thank you— shall we?
[ She extends the crook of an arm.
Sciel is one of Lune’s few remaining friends, and better at coaxing something more sociable out of the mage, since if Lune’s with Tristan or Gustave, the conversation inevitably turns toward work. Whereas with the other woman, she behaves a little more like a person, less like an aloof colleague; even if there’s a kind of measured delicacy in the way Lune never broaches their personal history, the potential messiness of it. It was long ago, before Pierre, and intrigue is an indulgence, and they don’t have time to get into it— and so she has never let herself indulge, pretending instead as if it never happened. They are only friends. They still can’t afford distractions.
(And yet. Isn’t that what tonight is all about? An officially-sanctioned distraction?) ]
[ It's both a blessing and a curse to have succeeded in her first attempt: Lune is pleased and they can hurry along to the party now, but there won't be a second excuse to thread her fingers through Lune's hair. Ah, well. ]
We shall. [ That sharp, green gaze follows Lune as she picks up the remaining pieces, and it's a halfway attempt to appear pleasantly patient rather than completely gobsmacked by the absolute vision that the other Expeditioner is. ...Lune had made it clear where she stood on that, though, many years ago in the Crooked Tower, and Sciel has no intention of crossing lines that might otherwise spoil their relationship. After all, if anything from a full-blown romance to a simple tryst was a distraction back then, it'd be out of the question now. Not when the day of their own Expedition is looming on the horizon...
But Sciel is Sciel, and so she doesn't worry. She slips her arm through Lune's and merely soaks up the moments that they do have, waving off anything else that isn't serving either of them. ]
Well, then. Off we go! [ And off they do go, departing the flat and moving along the near-empty streets toward the main hub of the fête. It becomes clear they're on the right track as lights, music, and chatter increase in intensity: an impressive spectacle, considering their city's dwindling population and resources. By the time they're standing on the fringes of the building that hosts it (now mainly used for Council meetings alone, and the occasional party), the din is enough to drown out anything but words shouted or otherwise spoken close to the ear.
Sciel opts for the latter, leaning in before they officially enter: ] Remember: wine, first thing.
[ There's a little, affirming squeeze of the arm that follows, and then (unless her companion otherwise holds them up), she'll push through the doors and into the celebratory crowd. ]
[ Having something to focus on, a specific goal — alcohol — is a relief, and gives them something to aim for as they wade into the party. There’s flashes of polite smiles to civilians, faces and names Lune knew in passing even if she didn’t know the people themselves, and had never bothered to get to know them. Quick greetings, hello nice to see you, but they’re not letting themselves be derailed into full conversation before they reach the drinks. Lune’s fingertips tighten and dig into Sciel’s arm whenever it seems like they’re about to be waylaid.
Beelining through the foyer, ducking through the crowd, into the wider auditorium, and they can spy the drinks table on the other side like some promised land, like the Continent itself. When they wash up on the shores of the beverages, she seizes gratefully on a glass of white wine, to have something to do with her hands which isn’t cutting off circulation to Sciel’s limbs.
It might seem odd, that Lune can fall prey to social anxiety when she’s such an indomitable figure around the Academy and even the center of attention during her few concerts. But the thing is, she can talk to any expeditioner. She can delve into the work. She can argue back and forth about the merits of specific alloys for the plating of their ships, or how much tonnage they ought to account for supplies. She can do that. This kind of unscheduled frivolous evening with no real structure or template, though…
Thank goodness she has Sciel as a buffer: a warmer, friendlier presence to field some fleeting half-conversations while Lune looms by her side, giving only the occasional crisp nod. Once they have a moment to themselves, retreating to the edges to survey the landscape of the crowd (like taking in the battlefield, she tells herself), she exhales a breath. ]
The thing about performing, [ Lune says, leaning in and her voice pitched low for the other woman’s ear alone, ] is that I don’t actually have to talk to anyone while I’m playing the guitar.
[ Lune hopes to move through the party as a shadow, eyeing those they pass and making polite conversation as needed, and Sciel follows alongside her as a counterpart, absorbing as much of the socialization as she can as it happens to them. Between the two women, they're able to pass through relatively unscathed, only having to extricate themselves with any difficulty from one conversation with a civilian who is morally opposed to the Expedition. They even manage to avoid one of the...for lack of a better word, zealots who for some reason cite the Paintress as a mythical figure to be revered rather than brought down. Fortunately, the man in question isn't actually spouting any of his nonsense at he party (knowing, as he likely does, that he'd be thrown out), but Sciel does recognize his face from past disruptions.
Blessedly, before long, they're standing at the relative haven of the banquet table. While Lune snatches up a glass of white, Sciel finds a red, keeping herself firmly tethered to the other woman for now, though she lifts her free arm to take a sip. ]
Hm, not bad. Much less...tangy than last year's. [ It's only ever the 'house wine,' at these events, and she realizes they're probably lucky to have an open bar like this at all. So Sciel doesn't complain, as ever, going back for a second taste and letting the flavours (of middling complexity, to her untrained palate) wash over her tongue before they move to the outskirts of the scene.
Lune's comment earns her a low chuckle. (That there's a mote of warmth curled within Sciel has nothing to do with the pittance of wine she's ingested so far and everything to do with the soft voice at her ear.) ]
Maybe next year you should volunteer to play. [ Her eyes drift across the room and find the quartet that is performing: non-Expeditioners, sounding good enough by her standard. There's no way that their leadership would allow for Lune to spend the event that way, though, since they all 'have to be available' to field questions and run recruitment, if possible.
That isn't a publicized aspect of the event, of course, but with their number hemorrhaging every year, it's become an unspoken expectation.
It's Sciel's turn to lean in, turning toward Lune with a little smile as she speaks: ] I can intercept them, if anyone seems like they're going to invade our little sanctuary. Should buy you some time to escape.
My hero, [ Lune says, with a flicker of rare playfulness.
And there’s a brief pause where she considers: is there any way the Academy might need to use her for an official concert? Could it be helpful for boosting recruitment in any way? But, no. It’s not like any of her civilian fans would go, I love Lune’s music, let’s go sign up for the expedition that’ll kill her.
Her stomach clenches. More unexpected nerves wringing her out whenever she accidentally remembers what’s lying ahead, as if it’s a giant ticking clock hovering behind her shoulder. She takes a more aggressive swig of her wine, trying to banish it, at least for this one evening. ]
You’re much better with people, [ she points out, abruptly. ] Strangers, adults, children, they all love you.
[ Lune doesn't need anyone's noble intervention, of course. She could easily (if not happily) drive them off with a look, or a word. Polite and calculated conversation, a witty jab if needed. Of course, in the most dire of cases, she's a talented mage who can just burn or freeze or zap them away.
It's why Sciel made the offer: an offer in gesture alone, as the woman she'd made it to has no need of it.
Lune has need of something, apparently, as she downs a large swig of the wine. Sciel watches this, taking a thoughtful sip of her own as she does...before joining Lune in a choice that escalates further as she downs the glass.
This is Sciel, though. So it's just another ordinary night. ]
"Strangers love me?" [ She repeats, and it draws out a good-natured, though bemused laugh. ] They can't love me, mon amie, if they don't know me. [ Sciel understands what the other woman is getting at, though, and tilts her head as she looks out over the room. ] ...I like people. I...feel energized when I'm with them, most of the time. Everyone's so different, and they all have interesting stories to tell. Sometimes you do have to scratch at the surface a little to get at the good bits, but they're always there somewhere.
[ A classic extrovert, though she knows it isn't as easy for everyone to share her perspective.
When she returns her attention to the woman at her side, her smile is...fond. Almost discerning. ]
[ Her nose crinkles a little in thought, at that description of being energised around other people. It’s never been her own experience. A very chosen select few, yes, but usually only one or two at a time; Lune didn’t mind being around Tristan or Gustave or Sciel, but it was a fairly small and limited list. (Or her siblings, but, well. That’s irrelevant now.)
But at Sciel’s question, Lune shoots a glance over, surveying the other woman over the edge of her wine. Her lips pressed thoughtfully against the rim of the drink, before she lowers it and asks, curious, ]
What?
[ She’ll wait to hear Sciel’s theory before she attempts to refute it. ]
[ She might usually opt for a joke. Either the biased, yet hyperbolic "everything" or the fondly-teasing "your sunny disposition." But right now, she catches the way that Lune looks at her with dubious interest, those sharp eyes almost softened in curiosity, and Sciel can't help but opt for the something...completely earnest. ]
Well... [ Her glass is empty but she seems to forget that for a moment as she raises it to her lips, maybe to give herself more time to get the words together, but...finding it drained, she scoffs and lowers it. ] ...And don't laugh, because it sounds a little silly, but they-...we love your light. I know — [ Sciel flaps her free hand to dismiss any initial rejection of the initial cliché. ] But I do mean it. The way you get when you're talking about something you care about, or you're curious about, or that you're frustrated with, even. [ There's a breathy laugh as she turns her eyes back to the woman at her side, head ducked slightly as she does. ] You're brilliantly bright, and those lucky enough to hear what you've got to say feel it. That passion, that intensity...it intimidates some people, sure, but that just shows how strong those feelings are. And for the rest, we get to bask in them.
[ She's probably not being perfectly articulate, but that's okay. Things like this are difficult to put to words, and though it's hardly the first time this has occurred to her, Sciel hasn't needed to make it make sense to anyone before. ]
It's the same when you're playing music. [ She continues, glancing toward the performers in the room. ] You might not be gushing about some new revelation you've had about a dusty old Expedition, but it still comes through even when you're not saying anything at all. That quiet concentration and the love you've got for it is like...lying outside in the grass on a sunny afternoon. It just warms you all the way through.
[ This has probably gone on enough. Sciel, looking perfectly unembarrassed, shrugs. ]
[ Sciel might not be embarrassed but so Lune, like a black hole, can absorb all of that embarrassment for the both of them. She can feel her cheeks and the tips of her ears heating in a blush. She wishes she could blame the wine, but it’s only been one glass, versus the squirming queasy warmth of having been so seen, and noticed, and complimented.
She’d expected something short and pithy. A quick summary, maybe. So when Sciel keeps going, and keeps going, her mild mortification grows. It’s all so lovely to hear, but she isn’t accustomed to hearing an assessment which doesn’t involve academic grades, a professional report, marks of her performance in the lab.
So she drains the rest of her drink. Obviously a little sheepish, a little thrown: ]
Alright. No, I didn’t know. Um. Thank you.
[ She clears her throat, lost for words for once, unsure how in the world she follows up on that.
[ The reaction earns Lune a huge grin in return, alongside a gentle laugh. ]
I'm going to let that...breathe a bit, and get another glass. [ She needs a refill, after all, and it gives her fellow Expeditioner a chance to shrug off of the laurels Sciel had laid on her shoulders to whatever degree she prefers. ] Anything you need? Oh — and if anyone approaches, give them the look. You know, the — [ And here she half-turns, adopting a colder, pointed look that can only be a loving exaggeration of the woman at her side. ] that one. And they'll hurry right off, I guarantee it.
[ After getting Lune's order, if any, Sciel leaves her with a wink before maneuvering to the nearest table, where the bottles are nestled in buckets of ice. She doesn't for a moment analyse within herself why she'd gone and rambled about some of the many things she adores in Lune, because she isn't the type to do so, though there is a furtive glance back in the mage's direction as she selects between white and red (eventually opting for another red). And maybe there's a tiny voice that suggests those sorts of things are better offered up after more than just a single drink.
But, no. That little voice is in the minority, and Sciel reaffirms within herself that she is perfectly comfortable hyping her friends up at any level of sobriety. ]
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Lune pivots and angles herself so Sciel can work on pulling her hair into place. The other woman often wears her hair up, so she likely knows how to do this — Lune’s sure Gustave would have been useless — but the press of Sciel’s fingers through Lune’s hair and against her scalp sends an inadvertent shiver rippling down her exposed back. A ripple through her shoulders, as she doesn’t manage to stay quite still. A flutter in her chest. ]
It tickles, [ she says, quietly, more to herself than Sciel. Her hands flatten themselves against this finely-made dress, the silken fabric. It’s more chic than she’s used to: at home, she’s usually in trousers and a disheveled white shirt, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She finds herself staring at a blackboard at the back of the room, covered with various diagrams and scribbles and equations; it probably belonged downstairs, but she’d taken her work home, like always. ]
Do you know, I find myself oddly nervous? I wasn’t sure if I should go. I almost stayed home.
[ But she owed it to her siblings’ memory to force herself out of the lab, to go and have fun. Also, she’d promised Sciel— ]
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Says who? And what if they've changed the schedule of events to include a practical exam? [ She can't help but grin at her own ridiculous, imagined scenario, though she's also quick to revise: ] Ah, but the dress is hardly proper lab wear. You'd be safe from having your hair set on fire, but the rest of you...
[ Well. These outfits leave a lot to be desired as far as PPE goes. ...They leave little else to be desired in other ways, though.
Sciel finds herself aware, all at once, that she's never done anything this: run her fingers through Lune's hair, gingerly threading the silky threads together in what will eventually (hopefully) be an updo to the other's liking. It feels...nice. And though this realization alone doesn't quite bring colour to her cheeks, she does feel her pulse flutter.
Hmm. This will maybe be something for her to examine within herself later, once she's had a glass of wine and some air. ]
Nervous? [ Sciel repeats in a tone that's almost soothing, though a touch of incredulous. ] ...Well, I'm glad you're coming. Wouldn't be the same without you. [ As if reading Lune's mind, she adds: ] And you did promise!
[ If Lune had opted not to go, Sciel never would have been able to see her like this: particularly luminous, like the kind of figure someone would cut out of marble. ]
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It’s fine. This is fine. Lune keeps her gaze riveted on the blackboard and tries not to levitate out of her skin. ]
Mm. If they’d implemented a practical exam, I would be much more incentivised. I hate small-talk. [ Not much of a surprise: Lune could chatter anyone’s ear off about the Expedition, about their work, (and sometimes about music,) but the banal niceties of so how are your children and congratulations on your wedding were lost on her. There was always that anxious impatience buzzing in the back of her mind, saying that none of those details mattered, they were all wasting time, on s’en fout.
(She’s a little bit of a social nightmare sometimes. Getting out there tonight is probably good for her.) ]
At least I have you as a buffer, [ Lune muses, ] and Gustave, if he remembered to come. Promise me we’ll get some wine there, first thing.
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[ Because, yeah, she has no intention of leaving Lune to the wolves (such as they are) once they arrive. In fact, the idea is not only silly, but unpleasant.
Sciel continues her task with a focus that is only slightly split on imagining the rest of the night -- the pair of them avoiding the dreaded small talk, maybe opting for a dance or two, and of course -- ]
First thing. Promise. [ Lune voices what'd just come to Sciel's own mind and she laughs a little, fingers resuming their careful work. ] It might even be halfway decent this year! If they've decided we're all worth breaking into whatever better stock still remains, that is.
[ She isn't picky, though. If they've got something to drink, she can overlook the quality. By the second or third glass for sure. ]
Gustave will be there. [ Sciel assures her, reaching for one of the errant bobby pins on a nearby surface and pinning bits of the updo in place. ] Because I made Maelle promise to chase him out of his workshop if he's there too late.
[ Of course, if he goes, then he'll probably be gazing sadly at Sophie from across the room, so there'll need to be some intervention to keep the man from spending the whole night sadly pining. ]
Almost done. [ Sciel says after a minute, adding another pin to the collection atop Lune's head. ] Did you want a piece or two hanging loose, or will that bother you?
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Leave some loose. I hear we’re supposed to look, [ she gestures rabbit-ear quotation marks with her fingers, her rings glinting, ] “approachable” tonight? A chance for the general public to mingle with the Expeditioners, remind them we exist outside of our labs and workshops.
[ There’s only the slightest lip-curl when she says general public. Not derision, exactly, but: faint disapproval. Still, they have to play along with the Council and the remaining civilians, cozy up to them in the hopes of getting supplies and manpower to build the ships, donate the rations. Dwindling in popularity as they are, the Expeditions rely on others’ goodwill too, much as Lune might grumble over the necessity of that politicking. ]
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I'm sure the pseudo-uniforms will help with that. [ Sciel sighs, gently coaxing out a strand of hair and twirling it around her finger, letting it fall alongside Lune's face. ] If that was the idea, we should've...I dunno, dressed like everyone else and just worn the armbands.
[ As if they needed to signify who is and isn't a member. Their population is small enough that most people know each other's names and business, and they certainly know which among them is either delusional or an optimist, depending on the person's view of the Expeditions.
Sciel sighs shortly, nearly finished with her task, and a little disappointed at that fact. ]
They know we exist. [ She murmurs. ] Much as they wish we didn't.
[ Not out of malice, but because they are a daily reminder of the clock they all suffer under. Without the Expeditions, maybe you could forget about it until the Gommage rolls around.
You'd also have to avoid looking out across the harbour, of course. ]
But! [ Sciel continues briskly, stepping back a little and lowering her hands. ] Whatever we're supposed to be doing tonight, we're going to have fun. That's my guarantee to you, mon amie, because we deserve it. [ She steps off to the side to begin circling Lune, arms behind her back, taking in the full view of her work. ] Okay. I think that turned out nice, but take a look and let me know?
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Tres bien, [ she says with a flash of a smile, declaring the stamp of approval. The updo is nice: more formal than Lune ever looks around the labs, which will help make tonight seem special, a concession to the pomp and circumstance of the festival. Standing in front of the mirror, she tilts her head and affixes the missing earring. Then she ducks and scoops up the pair of heels she’d rejected earlier (they had been Stella’s), but changing her mind, she slips them on. Then a sling purse; it ruins her silhouette a little, but she hates having to constantly hold a clutch and remember not to drop it somewhere.
And then that’s done, and there’s nothing else but to leave. She swivels back to Sciel. ]
Thank you— shall we?
[ She extends the crook of an arm.
Sciel is one of Lune’s few remaining friends, and better at coaxing something more sociable out of the mage, since if Lune’s with Tristan or Gustave, the conversation inevitably turns toward work. Whereas with the other woman, she behaves a little more like a person, less like an aloof colleague; even if there’s a kind of measured delicacy in the way Lune never broaches their personal history, the potential messiness of it. It was long ago, before Pierre, and intrigue is an indulgence, and they don’t have time to get into it— and so she has never let herself indulge, pretending instead as if it never happened. They are only friends. They still can’t afford distractions.
(And yet. Isn’t that what tonight is all about? An officially-sanctioned distraction?) ]
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We shall. [ That sharp, green gaze follows Lune as she picks up the remaining pieces, and it's a halfway attempt to appear pleasantly patient rather than completely gobsmacked by the absolute vision that the other Expeditioner is. ...Lune had made it clear where she stood on that, though, many years ago in the Crooked Tower, and Sciel has no intention of crossing lines that might otherwise spoil their relationship. After all, if anything from a full-blown romance to a simple tryst was a distraction back then, it'd be out of the question now. Not when the day of their own Expedition is looming on the horizon...
But Sciel is Sciel, and so she doesn't worry. She slips her arm through Lune's and merely soaks up the moments that they do have, waving off anything else that isn't serving either of them. ]
Well, then. Off we go! [ And off they do go, departing the flat and moving along the near-empty streets toward the main hub of the fête. It becomes clear they're on the right track as lights, music, and chatter increase in intensity: an impressive spectacle, considering their city's dwindling population and resources. By the time they're standing on the fringes of the building that hosts it (now mainly used for Council meetings alone, and the occasional party), the din is enough to drown out anything but words shouted or otherwise spoken close to the ear.
Sciel opts for the latter, leaning in before they officially enter: ] Remember: wine, first thing.
[ There's a little, affirming squeeze of the arm that follows, and then (unless her companion otherwise holds them up), she'll push through the doors and into the celebratory crowd. ]
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Beelining through the foyer, ducking through the crowd, into the wider auditorium, and they can spy the drinks table on the other side like some promised land, like the Continent itself. When they wash up on the shores of the beverages, she seizes gratefully on a glass of white wine, to have something to do with her hands which isn’t cutting off circulation to Sciel’s limbs.
It might seem odd, that Lune can fall prey to social anxiety when she’s such an indomitable figure around the Academy and even the center of attention during her few concerts. But the thing is, she can talk to any expeditioner. She can delve into the work. She can argue back and forth about the merits of specific alloys for the plating of their ships, or how much tonnage they ought to account for supplies. She can do that. This kind of unscheduled frivolous evening with no real structure or template, though…
Thank goodness she has Sciel as a buffer: a warmer, friendlier presence to field some fleeting half-conversations while Lune looms by her side, giving only the occasional crisp nod. Once they have a moment to themselves, retreating to the edges to survey the landscape of the crowd (like taking in the battlefield, she tells herself), she exhales a breath. ]
The thing about performing, [ Lune says, leaning in and her voice pitched low for the other woman’s ear alone, ] is that I don’t actually have to talk to anyone while I’m playing the guitar.
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Blessedly, before long, they're standing at the relative haven of the banquet table. While Lune snatches up a glass of white, Sciel finds a red, keeping herself firmly tethered to the other woman for now, though she lifts her free arm to take a sip. ]
Hm, not bad. Much less...tangy than last year's. [ It's only ever the 'house wine,' at these events, and she realizes they're probably lucky to have an open bar like this at all. So Sciel doesn't complain, as ever, going back for a second taste and letting the flavours (of middling complexity, to her untrained palate) wash over her tongue before they move to the outskirts of the scene.
Lune's comment earns her a low chuckle. (That there's a mote of warmth curled within Sciel has nothing to do with the pittance of wine she's ingested so far and everything to do with the soft voice at her ear.) ]
Maybe next year you should volunteer to play. [ Her eyes drift across the room and find the quartet that is performing: non-Expeditioners, sounding good enough by her standard. There's no way that their leadership would allow for Lune to spend the event that way, though, since they all 'have to be available' to field questions and run recruitment, if possible.
That isn't a publicized aspect of the event, of course, but with their number hemorrhaging every year, it's become an unspoken expectation.
It's Sciel's turn to lean in, turning toward Lune with a little smile as she speaks: ] I can intercept them, if anyone seems like they're going to invade our little sanctuary. Should buy you some time to escape.
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And there’s a brief pause where she considers: is there any way the Academy might need to use her for an official concert? Could it be helpful for boosting recruitment in any way? But, no. It’s not like any of her civilian fans would go, I love Lune’s music, let’s go sign up for the expedition that’ll kill her.
Her stomach clenches. More unexpected nerves wringing her out whenever she accidentally remembers what’s lying ahead, as if it’s a giant ticking clock hovering behind her shoulder. She takes a more aggressive swig of her wine, trying to banish it, at least for this one evening. ]
You’re much better with people, [ she points out, abruptly. ] Strangers, adults, children, they all love you.
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It's why Sciel made the offer: an offer in gesture alone, as the woman she'd made it to has no need of it.
Lune has need of something, apparently, as she downs a large swig of the wine. Sciel watches this, taking a thoughtful sip of her own as she does...before joining Lune in a choice that escalates further as she downs the glass.
This is Sciel, though. So it's just another ordinary night. ]
"Strangers love me?" [ She repeats, and it draws out a good-natured, though bemused laugh. ] They can't love me, mon amie, if they don't know me. [ Sciel understands what the other woman is getting at, though, and tilts her head as she looks out over the room. ] ...I like people. I...feel energized when I'm with them, most of the time. Everyone's so different, and they all have interesting stories to tell. Sometimes you do have to scratch at the surface a little to get at the good bits, but they're always there somewhere.
[ A classic extrovert, though she knows it isn't as easy for everyone to share her perspective.
When she returns her attention to the woman at her side, her smile is...fond. Almost discerning. ]
You know what people love about you?
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But at Sciel’s question, Lune shoots a glance over, surveying the other woman over the edge of her wine. Her lips pressed thoughtfully against the rim of the drink, before she lowers it and asks, curious, ]
What?
[ She’ll wait to hear Sciel’s theory before she attempts to refute it. ]
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Well... [ Her glass is empty but she seems to forget that for a moment as she raises it to her lips, maybe to give herself more time to get the words together, but...finding it drained, she scoffs and lowers it. ] ...And don't laugh, because it sounds a little silly, but they-...we love your light. I know — [ Sciel flaps her free hand to dismiss any initial rejection of the initial cliché. ] But I do mean it. The way you get when you're talking about something you care about, or you're curious about, or that you're frustrated with, even. [ There's a breathy laugh as she turns her eyes back to the woman at her side, head ducked slightly as she does. ] You're brilliantly bright, and those lucky enough to hear what you've got to say feel it. That passion, that intensity...it intimidates some people, sure, but that just shows how strong those feelings are. And for the rest, we get to bask in them.
[ She's probably not being perfectly articulate, but that's okay. Things like this are difficult to put to words, and though it's hardly the first time this has occurred to her, Sciel hasn't needed to make it make sense to anyone before. ]
It's the same when you're playing music. [ She continues, glancing toward the performers in the room. ] You might not be gushing about some new revelation you've had about a dusty old Expedition, but it still comes through even when you're not saying anything at all. That quiet concentration and the love you've got for it is like...lying outside in the grass on a sunny afternoon. It just warms you all the way through.
[ This has probably gone on enough. Sciel, looking perfectly unembarrassed, shrugs. ]
Anyway...
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She’d expected something short and pithy. A quick summary, maybe. So when Sciel keeps going, and keeps going, her mild mortification grows. It’s all so lovely to hear, but she isn’t accustomed to hearing an assessment which doesn’t involve academic grades, a professional report, marks of her performance in the lab.
So she drains the rest of her drink. Obviously a little sheepish, a little thrown: ]
Alright. No, I didn’t know. Um. Thank you.
[ She clears her throat, lost for words for once, unsure how in the world she follows up on that.
(Sciel used Earnestness! It’s super effective!) ]
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I'm going to let that...breathe a bit, and get another glass. [ She needs a refill, after all, and it gives her fellow Expeditioner a chance to shrug off of the laurels Sciel had laid on her shoulders to whatever degree she prefers. ] Anything you need? Oh — and if anyone approaches, give them the look. You know, the — [ And here she half-turns, adopting a colder, pointed look that can only be a loving exaggeration of the woman at her side. ] that one. And they'll hurry right off, I guarantee it.
[ After getting Lune's order, if any, Sciel leaves her with a wink before maneuvering to the nearest table, where the bottles are nestled in buckets of ice. She doesn't for a moment analyse within herself why she'd gone and rambled about some of the many things she adores in Lune, because she isn't the type to do so, though there is a furtive glance back in the mage's direction as she selects between white and red (eventually opting for another red). And maybe there's a tiny voice that suggests those sorts of things are better offered up after more than just a single drink.
But, no. That little voice is in the minority, and Sciel reaffirms within herself that she is perfectly comfortable hyping her friends up at any level of sobriety. ]