fanfic: Wings of the Storm Crow

[bellaknoti]

Series: Wings of the Storm Crow
Title: Girl Side of the Force (Chapter Fourteen)
Rating: AO
Pairing: Lily/Zevran
Summary: You know what? I might be a girl, but I'm also a carpenter. So yeah, I wear jeans and flannel shirts a lot. I mean, seriously, what's the point in wearing a dress that I can only have on for an hour or so, before I head out to the shop? I'll just have to change anyway, so I might as well dress sensibly, right? So, steel-toed work boots, heavy jeans, and working shirts, that's the thing. Only... Sofia's right, it's not very girly. And then I remember: any time Zev gets the chance to grab something that he wants me to wear, unless it's pyjamas, it's a dress. *sigh* Dammit. Time to go over to the girl side of the Force... at least sometimes. I guess. If I have to...






There is an uneasy sort of silence between us for the next day and a half. We talk about things, mostly philosophy and zombie apocalypse conjecture, but we talk. We just don't... talk. I know what's going on, though. He's looking for his own sort of grip on the situation, and I see all kinds of articles from health forums around the world in the browser history. Sunday, he guts the kitchen, and I’m apparently going to be eating an Antivan* diet from now on, which is completely different from the more Western way I’ve eaten all my life. Seems to be a... Mediterranean, kinda Spanish thing. It's all new, but I’ve always been adventurous when it comes to eating, and I can't argue with the taste. Besides, I get to keep mushrooms and artichokes, so everything else is negotiable.

Monday, after lunch, instead of going out to the shop, I pick up my box of family photos and sit down next to him on the couch. “Zev,” I say, softly, and he looks up from the book he's got his nose in. I’ve broken our routine, and he is a little surprised. His brows furrow as his eyes drop to the box in my hands.

“Eh? What is that?”

I open it, and show him the first picture on top. “This is me, and my little sister Erin, when she was a baby. I’m five, in this photo...” He leans over, laying his book aside, and takes it from my hand, looking at it intently. Sorting through the pictures, I methodically begin to lay out the members of my family on the coffee table, transferring books and piles of notes to the floor around it as I go. My mother, my father, my aunts and uncles, my siblings and cousins, my grandparents, and my great-grandma, listing off all their health problems, and all their causes of death, where it applies. Diabetes, Parkinson's, bad hearts, Alzheimer's, cancer, communicable diseases; bi-polar disorder, schizophrenia, depression. Some of them have extenuating circumstances – for instance, my grandfather got his Parkinson's from exposure to DDT and other chemicals he encountered during WWII, and his brother went schizophrenic from all the drugs he took.

Zev listens carefully, studying the faces, watching me, and I know he isn't missing a thing. He's calculating odds in his head, the despair being sublimated by determination. “Some of this, it was just the times,” I say. “Medicine hadn't caught up to these things. I’m not going to catch tuberculosis, like cousin Annabelle,” I say, pointing to one of my great-grandma's nieces, “because I’ve got immunity to it.”

He wraps an arm around my waist, looking grim, and I lean in to kiss the side of his neck. “Baby, I know it's hard, and you've already lost me once, but we have a second chance here; we have the chance to live the life we only talked about, the first time. We get what anyone gets: we get a lifetime,” I say, paraphrasing Neil Gaiman.

Nothing escapes his notice; I defended my mobility in bed, and so in bed is where I shall have it, apparently. After Wednesday, I start thinking I’ve had too much and I’m going to tell him 'no' next time, and then I just... don't remember I decided that, until... afterwards. I keep thinking that I’ve had so much that it's just not going to work next time. I don't understand it; every time he puts his hands on me, I’m just lost, and it's like he's the one with the map – nothing I can do but follow him.

It's absolutely crazy how upside-down my life has turned in eight months. It's a good thing I’m good at rolling with the punches, 'cause... gods, he's intense. Life rushes by at a hundred miles an hour.

Saturday night, I pin him down on the bed, and show him my packet of birth control pills for the next month. I’ve been thinking about this all week. He's right. I’m likely to leave him again, definitely before either of us is ready for it... and then he'll just be cast adrift in a life where I was his only anchor. He'd crawl into the grave with me. There has to be a reason for him to keep going, once I’m gone, and I’m not getting any younger.

“Why do you give me this?” he asks, turning the plastic over in his hands.

“That's the next pack. I start them tonight.”

“Yes?” He looks at me, confused.

“I don't want to take them anymore.”

He frowns, looking at me for a moment. “I thought you said... that you may not be able to...?”

I nod. “I might not.”

Zev passes the pack from hand to hand, tracing the little vacuum-sealed buttons with his thumbs as he thinks. He holds it between his fingers, and it looks so small in his hand. “It is strange that something so tiny can prevent a man's seed from taking,” he muses, then glances up at me. “Cara, whether we can or cannot... that does not matter. I never requested for you to take these precautions. I abided by your decision on it, and this too, I shall abide by.”

I cock my head, chewing my lip. “I didn't want to just... spring it on you. It's your choice, too.”

He runs his fingers down the outside of my ear; catching the earring between them, he turns it. “Did I not ask if you wished to spend a lifetime with me? To possibly make a life between us, in all the ways two people can?”

I nod, turning my face into his hand, automatically. Trust... trust. Here I am. “This is me, trying to do that.”

Zev smiles, tossing the packet into the waste-basket – his aim is dead-on, of course, even though he's not looking – and I hear it plop to the bottom. “Then let us see how strong my seed truly is; let us find out if it can overcome such varied obstacles... And if it cannot, then it will not be for lack of trying.”

And, oh. Oh-hohoho. Oh my gods. We are apparently trying very, very hard.

The full moon of July comes and goes, and I am not pregnant. I try not to take this as a bad sign, even though I know that getting pregnant the first month off birth control is low odds, and he laughs at me. “Even healthy women with perfect fertility do not always get pregnant the first month, cara. You are so impatient!”

And so another two weeks tick by; I sell the vanity and the sideboard, a stand mirror, a set of a dozen cups commissioned for someone's wedding feast, two hand mirrors, a toy-box, a child's table and two benches. It turns out that most of my pieces of furniture need... thorough testing... before they can be sent out. Gods, it's like he's always touching me. I am surrounded by a cloud of his scent. I don't know how I ever get anything done, but somehow I’m more productive in between. I guess I feel like I have to hurry before he shows up again and I get lost in a haze of hands and breath.

The third Saturday of July, Sofia comes to visit me. When she arrives, I’m sitting on the beach, carving chess pieces. I’ve got almost the entire white fish army finished. Something else for someone's wedding. Summertime. I always love wedding season, because I sell so many pieces, and it's all I can do to keep up with it. It's good when I’ve got something to occupy my hands.

She sits down next to me in the sand; I’m propped up behind my shop, staring out at the far line of waves and picking at the tail on one of the prawn/pawns. “Chess sets are hard,” I say, totally bored with carving prawns.

She picks up a finished prawn-pawn and turns it over in her fingers. “These are really cool,” she says. She dusts some sand off the sketchbook at my side. “Black army is gonna be tropical, huh?”

I shrug. “Heat is the natural enemy of the cold-water fish,” I say, grinning. “It works, because he's from California, and she's from here; it's for a wedding. Picked it up at renfaire last weekend. Sold a whole box of toys, too.”

“Another commission, eh?” She tucks the piece back into my basket and looks at me, askance. “Got a lot of wedding work this summer?”

I scowl. “I cannot believe how many things I’ve had to make that are multiples this year. I must've turned forty cups. Time at the studio using the lathe is not cheap, even if I do have a deal with the instructor and the principal at the high school. I guest-teach for a week during summer-school, once a year, and Brett takes his wife to Seattle for a week's vacation.”

She smirks. “Ah, Seattle: the destination of choice for the not-exactly-solvent hipster/metro-sexual dink swinger couple. But... you didn't hear that from me.”

I laugh. “Anyway, since it scratches his back, and I pay enough to replace anything that breaks, the principal agreed to let me use the lathe in the off-hours after school's out, until 6 or 7.”

“That's a hell of a lot of cups,” she agrees.

I sigh. “I’m sick of cups. No more cups.”

She nods, solemnly. “Well, it's good that you've got chess then,” she ventures cautiously, and I smile. “You gonna paint them?”

“Nah. Got some dark wood for the black army. Might do like... a metallic band around the bases. Dunno. Good idea, colour. Hmmm...” A chunk suddenly comes off the back of the tail at exactly the right angle, and I realize that another prawn is finished. “Ugh. Just one more prawn. I’m so tired of prawns.”

“Prawn pawns. Ha! Clever. It'll be awesome when it's done,” she says, decisively, and I nod.

“I know. I’m just stuck in the jungle of the middle of it. So what's up?”

“I had to bring over some paperwork and stuff for Zev, and I thought I’d do some... research. You're my guinea pig.” She smiles wickedly, and I frown.

“What.” My voice is so flat, it's not a question.

“Well, you've seen my costuming stuff, right? Well, I’ve decided that your usual garb is getting shabby, and you don't do nearly enough to pretty yourself up, anyway. So, as your best friend, I’ve appointed myself your official fairy garb-mother. I’m trying to make you something for Autumn War, and I have to fit it on you. Problem is, I can't do that without showing you what it is, right? But I don't want you to see it until it's done, just in case it goes badly and I have to start over or something. I want it to be a surprise. So... I brought this.” I arch an eyebrow, and she grins, producing a blindfold.

I groan. “Noooo... Really? A blindfold?” She nods.

“'Fraid so.”

I sigh, getting to my feet. “All right.” I stuff everything in my basket and sling it over my shoulder. “Lead on.” I close my eyes and put my hand on her shoulder. “I won't look. I know this game well.”

She pauses. “Kinky,” she says, and I laugh.

She leads me back to the house, and into the living room. I actually know exactly where we are... Sometimes Zev and I get bored and so we play these games where we run around the house blindfolded in the dark, and... Anyway. It stopped being funny the night he moved a chair, and now it's war. Even when I lose, I win. I like that game. She says, “Stay here, and keep your eyes closed.” I wait, and listen to her run out to the Hearse o' Doom, rummage around, and come back in with a large parcel. Then I hear her close the curtains. “Okay, woman, strip,” she says, and I laugh.

I toss my flannel and my jeans on the chair, and I hear her gasp. “Hey. You're peeking,” she accuses, and I laugh again.

“Nope. Just know where the chair is.”

“Hmmm... Nope, don't trust ya.” She ties the blindfold around my face anyway, and I laugh again. “Okay, now hold still.”

I hear her rummage in some tissue paper, and then I smell Amarinth. “Hey,” I say, and she shushes me with a hand over my mouth.

“No. No questions, no comments. Just hold still.”

I feel... light silk... a chemise with... long sleeves. Dagged. Something on the edges weighs it down. There's three layers of this gauzy silk chemise; the second one has elbow-length sleeves, and the third one has drapes. I can smell the Amarinth on it, but it's like... it's the actual spices, not my perfume. I love it. There's... some kind of heavy lace on the sleeve cuffs. It comes down over my hands. “Nrr... I’ll have to take that up,” she mutters, and I turn my face.

“No, no, don't take it off the back of my hand. I like that.”

“Oh, that's right. Shirts down to your fingertips. Fine. I’ll leave it. Except for... well...” And then... heavy fabric... a brocade, maybe – no, muslin, and something else, something that whispers; taffeta, silk, organza...? A bodice... Laces. Oh, gods, no, it's a corset. I bite my lip. I’ve never had a custom corset. It's got steel in it. Steel!

In no time, she's got the dresses off me again, and is stuffing everything back into its packaging. “Okay, put your clothes back on. I’ll be outside.”

“So, planning on taking me over and bringing me to the girl side of the Force, hmm?” I ask as she re-enters. I am opening the curtains.

“Uh... You can take the blindfold off,” she says. I smile and toss it to her. She shakes her head when I look at her through slitted eyes. “And yes, that's it exactly. I got this certificate from Roxy as my maid-of-honour pay check, and it's a day at the spa for two – she wanted me to take you, as a thank-you for helping plan the wedding. So, I know how you are about people touching your feet, but I swear this isn't just some strip-mall mani/pedi place. This is the real deal. Look.” She tugs a little brochure out of her bag, and I look it over. “The sky's the limit with this; we got the deluxe package, baby. Mud baths, massages, being carried around, cucumbers on your eyelids, the works. We'll be treated like queens.”

I hesitate, and she arches an eyebrow at me. “You want me to let people touch me,” I say, pleading with her.

“I'll tell you what. We'll go there, and if you're not happy, I’ll see if they'll let us do it ourselves, okay? Then we're just kinda paying for the place to be there and use their stuff, instead of paying the staff. But I am still getting a massage for me. And!” She points at me and fixes me with a fierce eye. “You're letting them do your hair, nails, and make-up. You can't be all jeans and t-shirts, all the time. Do you know you almost always wear black? You will be girly, dammit, just for one day! I’m even going to make you wear a dress!”

I throw my hands up in surrender and laugh. “Okay, okay.” She grins hugely.

“Good, because we're going next weekend.”

I am super-busy this week, finishing up the chess set and prepping a set of nesting tables for shipping, as well as making an entire set of four stools for the bar table I did last summer. Burning the knot-work into the top takes even more time, and by Thursday, I’m scrambling to get everything finished in time to ship it Friday.

Saturday, I spend all day at the spa with Sofia. I let her convince me to eat a brownie in the parking lot, and I have to admit, it does a lot for my nerves. We get this one chick named Annie who promises to be with us, all day. I let her put me in a mud bath, and then I let Sofia convince me that it would be a good idea to have my legs waxed, which hurts like hell. There's some kind of milk bath, during which I reluctantly submit to the expertise of this woman who swears up and down she knows how to do this strange cream thing to my face that will smooth it out and get rid of all the blemishes and stuff.

“Don't touch her throat,” Sofia warns, and I’m grateful to her, because I don't always think to tell people these things. Nobody touches my throat. Ever. I sigh and lean back in the tub, with the promised cucumbers over my eyes. Annie takes her leave, promising to return in fifteen minutes.

“So, Jack's nephew came over the other day, stayed for the weekend, right? He's seventeen, and he brought his Xbox along. I was in the kitchen making sandwiches and tea, and I heard Zevran in the front room. Now, I had something I'd intended to ask him the next time I saw him, so I went in there, and you know what? It was coming out of the TV.”

I swallow. “And?”

“I watched him interact with this character for a while, and you know what else? The more this character talked, the more I heard things that Zev says come out of his mouth. In the same voice. And it wasn't like... entire sentences, but...” She pauses, and I hold my breath. “Elric says, oh, Zev's just a hardcore cosplayer, you know, does the whole bit, but... The more I get to know him, the more I think that he wouldn't bother obsessing over something as trivial as a game. He's got too many other pursuits.”

Oh, oh that's low. It's my obsessing that brought him here in the first place.

“Also, no cosplayer would be in character a hundred percent of the time. Nor do I see any of them actually getting tattooed on the face. All that's not to even mention the fact that his ears move around when his moods change. Lily, you know I’m not crazy, but I’m also not one to deny the evidence of my senses. You were there the night the cat randomly bi-located.”

That was a weird night. We were not on anything intoxicating, not at all; we were too young for that. We were in eighth grade, and I was sleeping over at her house when we both watched her cat cross the living room and go out the back door – twice. From the bedroom to the cat door, and then out of the bedroom to the cat door again. Not two cats, the same cat. No open window, no other explanation, and this was about four or five years before 'The Matrix' came out. “I know we don't talk about that, either, and that's exactly my point. What I need to know, right now, is this: is the question of where Zev really comes from something else we don't talk about, for pretty much the same reason?”

I sigh. “Yes. That's exactly it.”

I can almost hear the frown in her voice. “Is that sarcastic?”

“I wish it was. He just washed up on my beach last fall. I got the game on pre-order and played it, without looking anything up. It has love interests, and Zev was mine. I was playing another elf, and there was just... something about him. He seemed a hundred percent real to me, from the very beginning. He was a puzzle, and every conversation with him was difficult, because he was too keen, too logical, too... literal sometimes, but so very opaque. He was easy to touch, but hard to get to know. He wore his sexuality like armour, and accepting him, physically, was kind of a trap. It took me a long time to get to know him well, but... by the end of the game, I loved him. And there's this really poignant moment where he gives an earring, as a token of how he feels about you. It's an extremely pivotal action; it changes everything. That's the moment where he shows you that he's not just yours by oath, but by design.

“At the end of the game, you have several choices. I went into this game blind. I didn't know what was going to happen. There's a choice you can make at the end, to make your brother-in-arms go into the arms of a woman he finds repellent and betray your order just to make sure you all survive. There are three Wardens, and one has to die in order to slay the dragon at the end. The eldest of us said he'd take the blow, so I wasn't worried. I told the witch I wasn't going to sacrifice Alistair to her, and went forward with the assault on Denerim, the capital city. You end up having to leave most of your people behind, and they want you to pick a general for that portion of your party. So, I left Alistair, my brother, there to lead my people and guard the gate, and I took Zevran with me, as well as, our healer, Wynne, and Sten, one of the tanks.

The problem is... If you don't accept Morrigan's help, and you leave Alistair at the gate, then it's you who has to die. I didn't know this, you see. In the cutscene right before you head up to the final battle, Riordan, the eldest Warden, falls off the back of the dragon, failing to kill it, and lands on the ground in a broken heap. There's no option to tell any of your companions anything; it's all a Warden secret. So I went up to the roof, and slew the dragon, and saved the day, but I died. Like so many fangirls, I wrote the entire story down, but I did it in a diary I had been keeping about it since I first started. I filled in gaps in the personal storyline as I went along, making stuff up, making it better for myself. It was fun. Right until the end.”

There is a silence, and I say, “What? I do that with all my rpgs. It's fun. Anyway, I finished writing the last page, the ending where I died, on the second day the power had been out, during that storm. I'd spent several days in a tangled ball of agony, being crazy over something so frivolous as a video game, but the idea of my own death scene, and the image of Zev, with me lifeless in his arms, in agony, mourning? It tore me up; I stressed myself out so bad I threw up. It was like it really happened to me. I can't even tell you how bad I was; it was horrible. And then? The big storm: we were in the eye of it, and I looked out the kitchen window to see someone laying face down on the beach.”

“Just like that?”

“It sounds delusional and stupid when you lay it all out, but... Yeah, just like that. I went out there and dragged him back to the house with me, thinking he was a castaway or something, and only realized who he was once I finally got him into the firelight.”

“I don't see how that's even possible.”

“Tell me about it,” I say, sighing.

“Did he know you?”

“I named my character 'Lily', and gave her my same profile. So... yes. Eventually.”

“How much time passes in the game?”

“Ah... depends on who you talk to. The wiki says about one year, but I just can't see it, with all the travelling you have to do, so I posit about two years.”

“So that's why he says 'almost three years' and you say 'almost a year' when I asked you two how long you've been together.” She sighs, aggravated. “You know and I know that there's weird shit out there. Remember who I worship? Loki? God of chaos and fire and all that goes boom for fun? He who plays tricks on the very gods themselves? The true hero of lost causes? C'mon! You know I'd believe this, you know I'd never think you were crazy for that, not with what you and I both know...”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, you're not as sneaky as you think. Jack and I have been talking about it, and he says sometimes Zev seems out of place, in very strange ways. He told me about this day when he took Zev to Thai, and Zev didn't know what to do with the noodles, even though Jack asked him beforehand if he liked Thai. He just sat there for a second, staring at the bowl, before going off to the jakes.” I laugh.

Annie returns, washes our faces, has us transfer to couches, and wraps our feet in this crazy lotion fabric stuff; I don't really understand it, but there's steam involved, and once she assures me that she won't be putting her actual hand on my actual foot, I agree to let her do it.

“He called me from the bathroom and told me they had 'done something strange to the noodles', and he didn't know what to do with himself, because they gave him two sticks to eat with,” I tell Sofia, picking up the thread of the conversation.

Sofia laughs as Annie begins working on her nails. “What did you tell him?”

“Ah, I didn't mess with him. The consequences of that are awful, for more than one reason; he doesn't let me protect him much, but I do what I can. So I said, 'ask for a fork, some of their tea with milk in it, and if it's too spicy, ask for more bean sprouts and lime or some sliced cucumber'.”

“Did he do that?”

“I think so, but he wouldn't get a fork. He insisted I tell him how to use the chopsticks, so I tried to describe it for him, but I ended up having to text him a video. I know his hands are capable of it; I’m sure it didn't take him long to get the hang of it. Anyway, I didn't hear anything else about it, so I guess it went well.”

Sofia snorts. “I dunno; I guess so. Plus, you know, now that I think of it, Jack said they had 'some weird conversation', but Jack didn't press him, and he wouldn't tell me what it was about. He figures we all got secrets, I guess. I told him that he should trust his gut, which he always does. We both trust you - you and Zev. It's just a little crappy that you felt you couldn't trust us.”

“Oh, just punch me in the heart, why don't you. It's not really my secret, it's his, so it wasn't about trust so much as respect. If he didn't feel like sharing, how was it my place? I trust you, I really do – both of you – and I think I’ve been demonstrating that in every way I can, lately.”

Annie ducks out to fetch a tray of nail polish. Sofia sighs and nods. “I know, but it just sorta sucks. We love you both to pieces. He's the big brother I never had, and you're the sister of my heart. I don't think Jack's ever had any 'real' guy friends. He's always been too straight-laced for his own good, and once he became The Law, everyone tends to be frightened off by that, as if he's The Law all the damned time.”

I snort. “Well, look, what was I supposed to say? 'By the way, my boyfriend is actually a character from a video game, stepped straight off the screen and come to life, and p.s. I’m not crazy'?”

“Well noooo, but... Oh, I don't know!” She sighs in exasperation. “I mean, to me you could have. Or you could have just, like – I don't know – sat me down and said that you needed me to trust you and that you were fairly sure you weren't crazy. And then shown me the game yourself? Oh, ugh, never mind. I just, you know, sometimes people have to call each other on their shit, and that's what we do for each other.... you know?”

“I do. I really, really do. I didn't know how to broach the subject, honestly. No one asked me how we met or where he came from, so I just let it lie. I figured you'd get around to it, eventually.”

Annie returns, and Sofia selects a very pretty shade of blue-green metallic, then cocks her head to the side, looking at me. “So, if he's your boyfriend, how come he says he's your husband?” Sofia asks, her voice deceptively casual. Calling me on my shit, apparently.

I swallow. Oh, shit, here we go. “Uh. Well... It's because he is, actually. I’m still not used to it.”

She growls under her breath. “You didn't invite me to the wedding?”

“We... didn't have one. We just... sort of... decided,” I say, shifting uncomfortably.

“Well, when's your anniversary, then?”

“Uh... He got here November 11th... so... the 12th.”

“You just decided to be his wife, the day after you met him?” Sofia asks, shocked.

“Uh... Technically, I knew him for two years before that, remember? We're kinda... different.”

She sighs. “Don't I know it. Well... there's certain... different things about him that Jack is to never know about. At least not... officially. You understand?”

I snort. “Psh. Like I'm a secret-spiller.”

“I know that!” She sounds exasperated. “But you know what I mean. You're going to have to be careful.”

“Believe me, I know. It's hard not to keep that in mind,” I say, sighing.

“Jack will need to know how careful he has to be about certain things, and what he may have to warn Zev about, too, y'know... but... this would explain why you both were so careful to imply that you were the one to... you know... do that... service to humanity, even though you know, I know, and Jack knows who really did what had to be done that night. The law woulda understood, but they still would have looked at him too closely.”

“Yeah. We didn't want that because it's all just a house of cards.”

She holds up a hand. “I don't wanna know! You know how I get when I get into the 'truth serum', and that's one thing I will always have to keep from Jack, even though he'll know, but so long as it's not said aloud, he won't be obligated to do anything.”

“So noted. Well, so, there you have it. Zev is an impossible thing, and I'm trying to hang on to him any way I can. I'm sorry I didn't know how to tell you, before.”

“Oh girly, it's all right; you know I love you, so don't worry about it. I just, I wanted to make sure that by the end of the day everything was fully on the table. New life to look forward to and all that good stuff.”

I don't quite understand what she means by 'new life', but let it lie, because we've already said way too much in front of a simple spa employee. I’m pretty sure she missed all the parts we meant to keep secret, though. Maybe Sofia is talking about the idea of making me more girly. Welcome to my new, girly existence. I snort again. I watch how professional she is, and I’m relaxed enough at this point that I decide I don't really care, and let Annie do my nails, too. “French,” Sofia directs.

Somehow, it turns out to be dinner time, so someone sends a platter of meats, cheeses, fruits, and crackers along, and a couple bottles of muscat. I’m all about the wine, oh my gosh, it's so sweet. I love it. After two glasses of that, I don't really care that Annie is brushing my hair and making it pretty. After the fourth glass, I don't care that she's doing my make-up, either. “Peacock eyes,” Sofia mumbles.

Sofia spends almost an hour getting a massage from a really, really cute guy while I get my hair done. I’m almost tempted, but then I get this overwhelming flash of sensory memory: Zev's hands, sliding up my shoulders and tangling in my hair, his breath hot on my neck, and his voice murmuring in my ear, Lily, cara mia..., and just like that, I can't. I can't let that guy touch me; the very idea suddenly, and quite literally, makes me want to vomit with revulsion. The feeling is shocking to me; I’ve never reacted this way before, at all, ever. I’ve always been able to accept a massage, and regarding other men, at least entertain the notion, but not anymore, apparently.

It's getting close to sunset when we run out of our long list of things to do, and we head back to the little room we got undressed in. “Now,” she says, as soon as the door is shut. “Stand still and close your eyes; it's dress time.”

I smile and do as I’m bid, waiting patiently while she does up the laces, fusses with the sleeves, and straightens the skirts. “Is this my Autumn War dress?”

“Yep! I thought we'd give it a trial run and see how it holds up against Zevran. If it's still in one piece tomorrow, you should be okay for a whole event.” She giggles, and I echo her.

“How do I look?” I ask, hearing her circle around front again.

“Like a goddess. You can look at it, now.” I open my eyes and look down. There are three layers of chemise, all in shades of emerald; the inside layer is a dark china silk, the second layer is a medium shade, mottled and dip-dyed, and the top layer is a sheer, pale, silky organdy. The three skirt layers interact, showing hints and peeks of each colour, and the sleeves are of the three lengths I noted before, allowing the different colours to be apparent. The bodice itself is made of a heavy silk in the same colour as the under-dress, and just enough of it to bear up my breasts, leaving the dresses to fall over my stomach and hips naturally. I can barely see it for the way that it pops up my cleavage in a rather frightening way.

“Uh, are you sure I won't fall out of this...?”

Sofia laughs at me. “No, no way. It's built for you, and it shows. I told you: you look like a goddess. Now, come on, let's get you home so your man can molest you.”

“I thought there was a corset involved,” I muse, toeing my shoes on. “I felt spiral steel boning.”

“Oh, yeah, that's still in the works; I meant to have it finished, but it gave me unexpected difficulties. It'll be ready for Autumn War, but I wanted to see how the dresses fly, in the meantime.”

“Hey, wait, don't I at least get to look in a mirror first?” I protest, as she takes my arm and leads me out.

“Nope,” she chirps happily. “If I let you look, you'll be too self-conscious to leave the building. So come on.”

This does nothing to reassure me, but I let her put me in the Hearse o' Doom and drive me home.




* Oh gods, my shopping list: Rice, potatoes, poultry, fish and shellfish, sausages, tomatoes, onions, lentils, artichokes (<3), spinach, basil, cucumber, zucchini – gods, everything green – mushrooms (\o/), squash, eggplant, chickpeas (oh, hummus!), pineapple!, lemons, limes, oranges, grapes, apples, figs, dates, cherries, strawberries, blueberries, pears, pomegranates (*\o/*), grape-seed oil, olive oil, honey, asiago cheese, yoghurt (oh, Greek yoghurt *raptures*), pistachios, hazelnuts, almonds, and wine. All this is not even to mention how the flavours change as he packs my spice cabinet, and it suddenly holds far larger quantities of saffron, turmeric, cumin, cinnamon, clove, nutmeg, black pepper, and coriander. He completely took over my kitchen! It's like learning to cook all over again. Wow, no complaints from me, seriously. [back to top]