OC-Tober, Day 3 - Fav OC
My most beloved Féanne (she/they|163 cm|26 years old). She is living my ideal life and her story is the fic I am most proud of to this day! So I wanted to draw one of my favourite scenes from said fic...below the cut is a drabble I wrote two years ago but never posted - the same scene, from Lata's POV.
With each passing day, Lata is regretting having taken Féanne on as an assistant.
It wasn't that her work was poor; quite the opposite, indeed. She was meticulous and listened to every direction and remark Lata gave. She brought him lunch and put on tea, arrived on time every morning and stayed late at night - and did it all without so much as a fuss. She was, objectively speaking, the perfect research assistant.
Which was exactly the problem.
Because now, Lata could not get Féanne out of his thoughts.
It had started innocently enough: wanting to see her grow and succeed, in such a way that he could have passed it off as professional pride. Chalked it up to amused bewilderment when she'd been so enraged by his being slandered that she'd punched another mineralogist inside a crowded bar. And discounted it as empathetic compassion when she'd arrived at her shift so dejected after receiving a thinly veiled threat of an invitation to her family’s yearly banquet.
But Lata could not deny to himself that it had grown into more than that.
He would not be waking up early, buying coffee and pastries for the pair of them before the workday started, if it wasn't. He would not be thinking about creative potential ways to lift her spirits if it wasn't. And he would not currently be returning to his laboratory after dark to try and get some extra work done - in a futile attempt to get his mind elsewhere - if it wasn't.
But Lata soon realizes, as he unlocks the door and steps inside where oil lamps are dimly lit, that he won't be doing any of that work at all.
Féanne is asleep at his desk, ink smeared on her hand and face where she lies against a half-written sheet of notes. Her dedication and eagerness mirrors Lata’s, and he finds it pleasantly endearing - ah, there she is, in his thoughts again. The stress of the last few days, with trying to figure out a solution to Sir Aleyan’s invitation, must have worn her out...
Wait. Why does Lata care? Why is he trying to figure out a solution, too?
He could...offer to go with her to the banquet. He really doesn't want to go to some fancy soiree, but he could. Lata realizes that if he had to go to any noble gathering in all of Clarines ever again, he'd probably want to go with Féanne. She's easy to converse with, a breath of fresh air...Why does that fact make his stomach clench so unfamiliarly?
But no. He won't offer. Féanne would likely scoff at the very notion, talk about how she could solve the problem herself, as she is apt to do. And, oddly enough, Lata doesn't feel he could bear the weight of her rejection - even if he doesn't want to go in the first place. Maybe it's his offer of help that he doesn't want her to turn down, instead.
For now, however, she is asleep, having come here far past the end of her shift to finish up her work. And...she cannot refuse an offer he makes while she is asleep.
Before he can think about it further, Lata tugs off his own lab coat, draping it over Féanne’s shoulders like a makeshift blanket. He doesn't want to disturb her, not when she looks strangely peaceful like this, despite the crane of her neck and the hardness of the wooden surface she lies on. But maybe the comfort of his coat will provide some sort of small reassurance that she has done well, that she has earned her rest, that things will be alright.
If nothing else, Lata hopes she will accept that much.
