"Oh, this?" Jinana gives a little twirl, causing the hem of hir lehenga to flare out a bit. The whole set is the vivid color of ripe cantaloupe, trimmed with plum silk and heavy embroidery.
"Heron's mother made this for me, years ago. Sadly she passed away before she could complete the skirt... but Heron and I finished it together. Maybe it's sentimental of me, but whenever I wear it, it's like I can feel the love that went into it, you know? Like a part of her is still here with us. That's why I like to wear it for happy occasions, or just because."
S/he smiles. "So thank you... that means a lot to me."
Vesuvia is home to many little open-air cafes, whether overlooking the canals or perched high so as to offer a view of the city itself. This is one of the former, gondolas drifting by like gilded leaves on the sun-dappled water.
Franquelin and Jinana have come here to sample the fresh raspberry gelato, tiny ornate spoons clinking against dishes of fanciful pressed glass. February is late summer here, and the berries are at their most luscious peak, the gelato refreshingly cold.
Jinana finishes hir portion and sits back with a pleased little sigh, licking hir lips. "What do you think?" s/he asks. "Does it live up to its reputation?" S/he chuckles.
Franquelin gives a glance from under particolored hair, a little smile. "I think... well, it's very good, but I also think that um, just about anything is better... when I share it with you." Faint color rises in their cheeks, but they do not look away.
Jinana lifts hir brows. "Truly?" S/he smiles. "They do say that the company makes the moment." S/he leans forward and gently hooks hir ankle around Franquelin's, under the table.
For the kiss prompt - 39 or 47 for Jinana and Franquelin? 👉👈
39: Kissing tears from the other’s face.
(Cut for length because I got a lil carried away, I’m always a slut for h/c lmao)
It's quieter, here in the gardens, and under cover of darkness it offers many opportunities for solitude amidst the manicured hedges and curated trees. Lovers frequently take advantage of this; others, like Jinana hirself, simply seek a temporary respite from the hubbub of a Palace gathering.
A small, soft sound gives hir pause, and even as s/he stops, it is repeated. It sounds like a sniffle, desperately muffled.
Moving as quietly as s/he is able, s/he finds a huddled shape, curled in on themself. S/he considers leaving quietly, so as not to disturb them... but there is something familiar about them, distinctive parti-colored hair visible even in the moonlight.
"Franquelin?" Hir voice is low, but the figure starts all the same, hurriedly brushing at their face, sniffling mightily. "Are you all right?"
"Oh... Jinana! I, uh... I was just..." Despite their attempts to hide it, their voice is thick, their face blotched from tears, and they slump against the trunk of the cultivated mimosa tree at their back. "Ugh. No use pretending, huh?"
"What's the matter?" s/he asks gently. S/he seats hirself next to them, hir skirt folded under hir legs.
"I... thought it would be all right," they say, miserably. "But it's so noisy, and there's so many people..."
"It's a lot, isn't it?"
"...yeah." Franquelin sniffs. "But I hate that I get like this." They hunch in even more on themself, even more miserably.
Jinana reaches out and gently touches their cheek; they at first turn toward the touch, like a cat, but then start to shrink away.
“It’s all right,” s/he says. “Come here.” After a moment’s hesitation, Franquelin relents, allowing hir to draw them into hir arms. “It helps, doesn’t it?”
“...yeah. It does.” The other’s body starts to relax against hirs.
"There's nothing wrong with feeling like that," Jinana says softly. "You just need more quiet, and less people. You know... there was a time when I couldn’t even handle going to the Market, I would break down.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. And this is what Asra would do for me.” S/he gently brushes Franquelin’s hair back from their face, and rests hir forehead lightly against theirs, careful of the jeweled tikka that rests at hir hairline. “And just have me breathe slowly with him, like this.”
S/he takes slow, even breaths, counting internally. Franquelin unconsciously starts to match the rhythm, and bit by bit, along with the human contact, it seems to help calm them. It isn’t a fast process... but Jinana has nowhere pressing to be.
“Better?” s/he asks presently, and they nod. “Good, good.” S/he lifts hir head, placing a kiss on each cheek; imbued with hir magic, it instantly dries the tear-tracks on their face, and s/he smiles. S/he rises to hir feet, extending hir hand to Franquelin. “We don’t have to go back if you don’t want to. In fact, the gardens have a lot of weird secrets. Want to see?”
