Humming in agreement, she blew the crawling steam from her mug before inhaling the warm, herbal fragrance and taking a sip. The soft clink of porcelain as she placed her cup squarely atop the table heralded her reply; a mastered balance between rehearsed loyalty, false platitudes, and a seed of truth to from her lies to spring forth.
“I totally get that.” she nodded, pretending not to notice the conflict flit across his features as he studied her scars, and then apparently thought better of it. The aversion of his gaze might as well have been a luxury given the prevalence of careful study within their world. Taking another sip of her tea, she considered how she found herself mildly surprised by his courtesy. It seemed a rare thing, in her experience, to be considered by another. “It’s not so bad to be surrounded by other people, but the noise is too much sometimes. I like to keep training to stay strong for His Majesty, and the other girls have pretty different Schrifts from mine, so I usually end up by myself anyways. Though Bambi is always complaining how gross it is when I’m ‘all sweaty’.”
Pausing, she considered Äs Nödt a moment. Her fingers wrapped comfortably around the mug, a dull burning sensation barely felt through the layers of scarred skin. “—You don’t seem to mind though, so it must not be that big of a deal.” she said with a shrug.
As he withdrew the small book from within the folds of his jacket, she blinked in confusion, eyes trained on the sketch as familiarity settled in the pit of her stomach not unlike a wave of nausea. Memories stirred, the barest whispers of vague impressions left upon the inner recesses of her mind; written on her body like scars unseen. Fabrics too fine had been draped across her, obscuring the musculature of her silhouette in a softness she’d never known. She recalled the featherlight weight of a veil crowning her head, and the feeling that she was meant to appear as something delicate. She recalled choking down the near hysterical laugh that had dared to bubble forth from her lips in that moment, the concept too foreign to even begin imagining. Gaze downcast, placid and gentle as she cradled palm fronds in her arms, she obeyed the order to remain still as her visage was recreated in the image of a saint, of all things.
She finally spoke after a stretch of silence, and another long drink of her tea. “It’s a pretty picture. Did you do this yourself?” Neither answering or refuting his question, her lack of an immediate reply was answer enough in itself, but Äs Nödt was also clearly attentive enough to suspect what no one else had in nearly a millennia. Weighing her options, Meninas concluded that if was bold enough to ask her outright, who was to say he wouldn’t search for answers on his own when she inevitably rejected him? And should she lie too brashly, how much else of what she said might be called into question by someone paying a bit too much attention?
“I get it if you have a crush or something,” Propping her elbow upon the table top, she rested her chin in her hand, meeting his gaze with her own unwavering stare.“—But I don’t really like it when people draw me without asking first, even if you’re just copying someone else’s work.”
“Ah well, there’s no need to worry about something like that.” Äs says with a simple shrug. There’s the slightest tinge of hesitation as he peels away his mask, letting it hang from his face to take a delicate sip from his mug. He knew she had already caught him, and if she inquired, it wasn’t as though the injuries on his face were from anything truly traumatic, just one side effect of many as a result of being imbued with his Majesty’s gift. The scars weren’t quite faded, still pink and fresh, taut over his mouth and chin, where a nervous expression might be instead was the permanent grin of his white teeth. “Besides, it would be rather hypocritical of me wouldn’t it, to complain about something as mundane as sweat.” He says taking another gulp. “I’m not as vapid as Basterbine. I don’t have a right to be.” He glances up at her from over his mug.
There was a lack of reaction that spoke volumes about her true feelings, her intent behind the piece. Something unspoken. A nostalgia, but not a pleasant one if her silence was anything to go by. He was right, but perhaps not in the way he was hoping. Not that he expected her to pour her heart out to him about the exact details of the image, or her age or her history, just a mere matter of curiosity, but the deft divergence away from anything relating to her suggests it was a sore spot. So noted he thinks. Stay away from the saintly Madonnas. And yet, his curiosity urges him to press further.
“A hobby of mine.” Is all he offers, eyes narrowed on the page. “Though it’s interesting, the statue I drew this from was fairly… old. You seem to hold the grace of someone rather well worn and eldery, I’m surprised you’re not familiar with the artists story or pieces.” He says, trying to broach the gentlest of ways to call a woman as captivating as her ‘old’. “He was rather renowned, albeit in all the worst ways. Died penniless and destitute after almost all his works were destroyed, they say it was a heartbreak of some kind. A humbling story.” His black eyes glance back up to hers. “Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong though.”
Her next words fluster him, and upon reflex, he shuts his book with perhaps slightly more force than required, more out of nervousness than annoyance as he tucks it away neatly back into his jacket. “Nothing of the sort.” Äs says firmly. His eyes flicker up to hers before glancing away again. “Had I known it was you then I would have sought permission…” He adds, clearing his throat. A lie of course, he had drawings and sketches of nearly all the Sterritters. “I’m very firmly devoted to the cause, much to the point where all other matters are irrelevant.”
“I trust you share the same devotion, considering your diligent training.”
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