seen from China
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seen from Malaysia
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seen from United States
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She set the bakery box on the porch table. The evening sun had coloured everything in shades of orange and red. It even washed out the blue of his eyes. "Hi." She hoped his schedule didn't have an oddity penned in for the evening. She needed all the time the day could give her, and she couldn't trust herself to have the courage if she actually planned a meeting with him. "Did you say something to Ines?" ( @vrnvuld )
"It actually has been better than expected — except I don't know if I know how to study anymore? I didn't realize it was a skill that could be lost. I'm much better at memorizing names and faces than concepts and terms." She hummed softly, her excitement dying down. "I feel a bit handicapped. I didn't realize how big the gap between me and them would be. The gap in knowledge, more specifically. Societal and economic studies aren't helping me at all." She pursed her lips for a brief moment before shrugging. It was something she just had to endure and hope it'd change quickly. "I brought some sachertorte. I tried to bring something from home but I wasn't sure if you'd have time and anything with cream would have gone stale and other pastries would have dried up... So sachertorte from a local bakery it is." And if she was being honest, he probably preferred the rich flavour of the chocolate anyways. Her almond and jam based pastries wouldn't have left an impression. "Thank you for making time for me. I appreciate it." It somehow made the long weekend trip feel worthwhile. ( @vrnvuld )
She hadn’t expected reaching him to be as challenging as it was — the reinforced security nearly kept her away! Thank God for Nicolas who actually had his wits still intact. “It’s pistachio. Better here than in Spain,” she informed him as she offered him the other ice cream. “I couldn’t approach without a bribe. Take it. Pretend to accidentally drop it if you don’t want to eat it.” She claimed the other patio chair for herself. “You’ve been laying low.” ( @vrnvuld )
When she had entered the room she had expected and hoped to see the face of Olimpia, Tekla or Levente waiting for her. One person who wasn’t a casual friend at best. But what she had seen had been pairs of people holding each other, not a single Croÿ to be spotted. The odd ones out were her, the Irish king, Sergi, and, her eyes lingered on the swollen spot on his jaw, Arnauld. Settling into a spot in the far corner felt like the only option for her — in a room filled with important figures, settling into the background felt natural.
She really thought practicing patience a while longer would not be an issue. One more day, maybe just some hours. Sitting there alone waiting. The feeling of loneliness overtook her when the whispering of other captives grew louder. It took no confidence to take the five steps and sit down on the ground next to him. It only felt like letting go of stubborn pettiness that had had her convinced that it was better to look good than to feel a bit better. She did not have anything to say though. She just liked the spot next to him better than the one in the back. Breathing in sync was a language of its own. A small intimate expression of closeness. Easy way of saying that they were perfectly aware of every little movement of the other. ( @vrnvuld )
She had lain on the bed for an eternity. One breath in, one breath out. She could have just gotten up and left — there was nothing left to do or say. The morning sun had still been shy, there had been a possibility that she could’ve slipper into her room without running into anyone. And if she had left early enough, she’d have managed to do it before he opened his eyes. So why hadn’t she done that? Why had she chosen to lie there for longer. The minutes that had passed had been wasted. She could never get them back and she had used them on something that had no real value: a moment that felt like memory. It wasn’t quite real and relied all too much on the past. She should have left and stared at a wall instead of his face. His eyes had opened and Fanni hadn’t stopped. The silence had turned from a peaceful one to something heavy and demanding. She was supposed to say something. To apologise perhaps? It wouldn’t have changed anything. “We do not talk about this afterwards,” she told him quietly. She should have felt shame at the demand but if anything, she felt relief. “And we don’t mention this to anyone.” Relief because his lips would remain sealed and the mistake hidden. ( @vrnvuld )
“Wait, wait, hold the door open, please!” She knew she was too many steps away from getting her fingers between the closing elevator doors and still she extended her arm. The brightness of the hallway lights was making her eyes burn and her head felt like it had been filled to the brim with lead. Her tongue was dry despite the numerous glasses of water she had drunk with the Chinese princess. “Calling it a night?” She did not like quiet elevator rides, which made striking up a conversation the natural choice. Or it would have been the most natural choice if the person had been someone else. Fanni pressed her lips together when her eyes met Arnauld’s cool ones. ( @vrnvuld )
She placed the cup and the saucer on the table before taking a seat at his table. It felt like a biannual thing: the way she decided whether she found his entirely too despicable to be around or if his company was easily more preferable than being seated alone. “You did not have to side with me,” she pointed out. “At the wedding.” What she was yet to determine was whether he detested Arthur more than her. Arthur had done very unlikable things to him, his taunts found their targets easily — but Fanni’s crimes had been of a more personal nature. “Does that mean you think my threat is not real or that you have stopped wanting to support the duke?” ( @vrnvuld )
“I apologise for not scheduling this.” The way he planned his days had not slipped her mind, it had not been difficult to guess when he’d have a free slot for a surprise visit. It was a shame it had to be so late in the day — she had not been able to do anything but think about what she’d say, how she’d represent herself, which strings she’d try to pull. The anxiousness riddled afternoon had moved at the pace of a slug. “But it’s time-sensitive.” ( @vrnvuld )
