Second Chances /./ [Smitten]
Simba was on his way home from court, taking a long way ‘round, going through the woods that skirted the edge of town.
It had only been two days, but he could already feel the weight of it on his shoulders--it hung there, like some sort of demon on his back that he couldn’t shake. His throat was dry and craving a drink--the kind of drink that would numb him up and give him a coat of armor to wear when he went into battle every day, but he knew that he couldn’t. If anyone caught so much as a whiff on his breath, the case would be over before it started.
And he would’ve failed Kiara.
So, he walked a lot and he ran a lot and he battened down the hatches and refused to let them budge. He didn’t let anything in and he didn’t let anything out. And on the outside, he appeared happy and confident as if he had already won. Sitting lazily in his chair in court, smiling and laughing with his mum and Nala and Ber--cracking jokes and snorting about the ‘competition.’
In quiet moments, he knew Ber was looking at him and seeing through it all, but he didn’t say anything about it, and Simba was grateful for that.
He was kicking up leaves that had just started to fall along the path, reaching the edge of the trees. When he got there, he started skirting along the edge of the lake back to his cabin on the other side of the water. He hadn’t even been thinking of anything in particular but he stopped in his tracks when he saw a familiar profile sitting on a rock near the edge of the water, bent over something in her hands.
Mitte--the prostitute from 1876. The one who, apparently, was friends with Bambi. Who Simba had tried to help, giving her a position in his household (which was kind of embarrassing to think about now, but at least he’d still had the urge to help people down on their luck as that stuffy, Victorian asshole.) The girl who looked out for children.
Simba stopped in his tracks, leaned forwards on his toes a bit and then rocked back on his heels--hesitating. But, y’know, he felt like shit. Beaten up and trod on, and he wanted to do something. With Kiara’s case, there wasn’t much he could do. Sit and listen to his friends and family take the stand for him. Listen to Murphey’s lies. Feel betrayed by his aunt. His hands were tied. Of course, he knew in the end it would do something, but right now, it felt like he was frozen in time.
But, Mitte, he could help.
Changing direction, Simba moseyed over to her rock, sticking his hands in his pocket and tilting his head. “Mitte?” he asked softly, still kind of incredulous. “Long time no see.”