sugarlips | Put That Thing Back Where It Came From Or So Help Me

Put That Thing Back Where It Came From Or So Help Me

Desolation. That's what Harrow feels when the King Undying tells her that what she wants most is impossible. Not even what she wants, but what she needs. She cannot live without Gideon Nav, and she will not. Unending life, in spite of being what she had sought after in the beginning, is now unthinkable. She looks up into his surprisingly normal face, his unearthly eyes, and lets her gaze drop.

A horrible certainty rises in her, and becomes a morbid hope. Her face is serene with unspeakable grief, none of her wild plan showing as she asks to see the body of her cavalier. He grants her this, and she walks like a woman to the gallows down the ship to the cold storage. He has the grace to leave her alone with her grief, of course, and she opens the door with her heart in her throat.

The chill of the corpsetorium echoes the cool calm of her mind. Her chest aches, her throat is sore from screaming, but the sight of Gideon, hole in her chest, laying on a slab like so much dead meat does not inspire the crushing grief she had expected to. It fuels her. Motivates her to think harder, to dissect the theorems she studied and the one megatheorem that led to this cursed conclusion (damn Sextus for being right).

Harrow has no idea how long she sits there, her mind working in overdrive, peering inward to slowly pull out the stitches she had made in her own soul only mere hours before. It feels like only seconds at the same time it feels like eons. She has to do this carefully, slowly. I will not live without you. she thinks to herself and to the traces of Nav that exist inside her. She repeats it like a mantra. I told you that I am undone without you. We are both undone if I must go on alone.

It's the most delicate work she's ever done, and it hurts. It's a pain right down to her marrow, like she's trying to peel layers of calcium off of her own bones. At the end of it, it feels like she's holding a doll in her metaphysical hands. A little gauzy imitation of Gideon Nav. She pulls it free of herself, feels blood drip from her forehead into her eyes, and with all of the ferocity she had to hold back during the excavation, she slams the soul back into its rightful body.

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That grunt sounds like the grunt of a Gideon who has no idea what's going on and doesn't want to admit to it. Harrow turns, in time to see the reach and the wince. She reaches out to gently touch Gideon's arm, pressing it down with firm kindness.

"Let me?" It's half an order and half a question.

It is exactly that kind of grunt. When Harrow presses on her arms, she lowers them and nods, but also looks away. Harrow's not the only one unsure she deserves tenderness. But still, she sits on the bench, her back to her Necromancer.

Edited 2021-10-11 16:35 (UTC)

Harrow tilts her head slightly, wet strings of hair falling against her cheek as she watches Gideon turn. Did she look... shy? That's not something she's ever seen before. She isn't sure how she feels about it.

It motivates her to not be shy herself, at the least. She takes up the soap and lathers it into Gideon's hair, massaging it into her scalp. She drags fingers backwards through shorter hair, keeping the suds away from her face, and for the indulgence of touching.

Oh that... that's good. That's really good.. That's good in a way Gideon hadn't realized good could be. She exhales shakily, wishing that this weird, surreal moment of warmth and gentleness could never end. If you told her they had both died in that courtyard, and this was their reward, she'd probably be OK with it. She means to mumble some thanks, but what comes out instead is a soft, "oh."

It is more meditative and comforting than Harrow expected it to be, washing someone else's hair. Washing Gideon's hair, specifically. It feels almost scandalous, the service of it from a necro to a cav. That only makes her enjoy it more.

She doesn't respond, just curls her lip in between her teeth and chews to fight a smile.

She was right, the crusted blood, sweat, bone powder, and who knows what else in Gideon's hair is absolutely loathsome. It's deeply satisfying to watch it come out and fall away.

The water around them is far less clear than when they started, but bit by bit the gunk of the battle is coming free of their bodies. Dimly, she thinks that she should be doing something productive, like scrubbing at the parts of herself that she can reach. But she's helpless from the sensation of Harrow's fingers on her scalp. She's hypnotized, paralyzed, unwound. Her eyes slip close and her shoulders slump, not with dark unconscious, but with the warm wonder of the moment.

The satisfaction Harrow feels at seeing Gideon fully relax under her touch is akin to solving the complex challenges of Canaan house, but with a softer sort of thrill. A warm little electricity that sparks through her torso to remind her that they're both still alive.

"Lean back toward me," she rinses her hands in the water and combs fingers back through Gideon's hair to clean it, lifting her other hand to brace at the base of her neck as the cav leans.

She does as she's told without complaint or comment. Startles just a little when she feels Harrow's hand and realizes she's meant to lean into it. But carefully, slowly, she lets the weight of her head fall into Harrow's hand. She still certainly can't look at Harrow, but her eyes are open just slightly. She looks tired, certainly, but somehow peaceful as well.

It feels like crossing another bridge together, the way Gideon leans into her hand and allows Harrow to hold her up. A sign of trust that banished her previous fears about not being forgiven.

She carefully rinses red hair with passes of clean fingers, careful to keep water out of the other's eyes and ears. When she deems Gideon well enough rinsed she settles her other hand behind the cavalier's head and smiles down at her, lowering her own face until their brows and noses slot together, frontal sinus to frontal sinus.

She looks up in time to catch that smile. Her insides warm again with a feeling she can only pinpoint as big gay. She can't bear it, and closes her eyes again. But she's certainly not pulling away. She wants to reach up, touch her back, but her damn arms just don't move that way right now. Instead she whispers the other girls name against her forehead.

The whisper of her name makes Harrow's insides squirm. It's strangely not unpleasant. The fingers in Gideon's hair curl a little more, blunt nails lightly scraping scalp.

"Gideon." She responds, softly spoken and with a hint of amusement.

"Do you... do you want..." she swallows audibly. God she wants to kiss Harrow so bad it is literally making her stupid. But what if that's not what Harrow wants? Now or ever? She's been selfish enough lately, she can't risk ruining this perfect moment with her horndog smooch desires. She chickens out, "do you want to get out of this nasty water?"

Harrow feels a tightening in her chest, a rising of her heart into her throat... anticipation for something, but Gideon trails off and then the moment breaks. It's obvious that she changed her mind on what to ask, and that strange squirming feeling in her stomach returns.

She releases her hold on Gideon, gently pushing up to encourage her to sit and not just fall into the water, looking sideways at the unspeakable color the bath has turned. Her nose wrinkles. "Yes." She agrees, though part of her sounds hesitant, still drawn to chase after that aborted question.

Harrow is a smart girl, she can sense the tension. She suspects. But even if she's right... what they are to each other is complicated enough as it is! There are so many reasons to pretend she does not see it! She fills her mind with the reasons and excuses as she pulls herself out of the water.

Gideon follows her out. A little slower, a little more awkwardly, a lot swearing at herself in her head. She picks up a clean towel and wraps it around her necromancer.

"They have beds around here? I wanna sleep for a Myriad."

Edited 2021-10-11 22:43 (UTC)

Harrow pulls the towel around herself like a shroud, hugging herself and letting her wet hair drip for a moment, just to bask in the warm feeling the moment inspires.

But the moment has to pass and Gideon makes a good point: she's exhausted. Surely they both are. She lifts the towel over her head and starts to try herself, pointedly not peering up at Gideon's naked wet muscular body, flushed from the heat of the bath. Nope. Definitely not looking.

God those arms, though.

"If they don't, I'm sleeping on the fucking floor," she announces with a little smirk as she stands, wrapping the towel around herself like a dress.

"Right," she snorts. Gideon then wipes down her GLISTENING MUSCLES with the soft towel. Steam curls around her like a vision of some holy saint. She is simply hot like fresh buttered toast. Even wrapped around her, the towel doesn’t cover like it does for Harrow. Her hair flops in her eyes, but at least it’s clean.

“How about trousers?”

Edited 2021-10-12 01:42 (UTC)

Saints save her Gideon steams like fresh tea. The towel doesn't reach around her and there's still a sliver of warm-toned flesh visible. The side of her abs, a hip, some thigh...

Harrow swallows visibly and turns to snatch a comb, running it through her stringy hair so it's smoothed back over her head.

"They brought spares for us," she gestures behind herself toward a shelf with two sets of neatly folded cohort-issue clothes. One in several sizes larger than the other. Is she watching Gideon in the mirror as she combs? Maybe.

OK, those peeked looks are impossible to miss. But what does it mean? Is Harrow just amazed with herself for the ressurection? Glaring at her for the audacity to die? There's many possible explanations that have nothing to do with Harrow growing a hormone. It simply isn't possible. So that means it's fine to tease, right?

She takes the trousers, and tries not to think about the circumstances she expected to put on the uniform for. Instead let's think about terrorizing Harrow.

"See something you like?"

No they're not they are very subtle! Stop noticing her staring!!!! Harrow can only hope that Gideon is confused enough, or still embarrassed enough after their mini-fight to not say anything.

She hopes in vain.

She doesn't even get a chance to try to control her reaction. The reaction just happens. The noise Harrow makes is something close to "gurk" followed by coughing on her own aspirated saliva. The fluorescent blush on her face that reaches out to her ears completes the damning picture.

The vision comes to Gideon unbidden:

A single perfect brow raises slowly. She secures the trousers with as much of a casual affect as she can manage. Then she slings the towel over her shoulders, so that the ends barely cover her breasts. She closes the distance between them with as admirable swagger and leans one arm against the wall next to her, effectively pinning her against the counter, "What was that, Nightboss?"

Instead she replies, "Whaaaat???" and slaps Harrow on the back awkwardly.

Edited 2021-10-12 02:46 (UTC)

A vision comes to Harrow, too, in the form of a memory. Gideon, half delirious, sprawled on the tiles and reaching up to touch her face. Not exactly how I wanted to get naked with you.

The slap to the back does actually clear the burning from her airway, so there's that.

She turns around, a hand still clutching the towel to the side of her chest, her face more exposed than it has probably ever been in the presence of another person- no facepaint, no hood, not even a loose strand of hair to mar the view. She looks intensely into Gideon's face, peering with hard, coal black eyes. Her perfect cupid's bow is pouted out a little in thought as if she could think hard enough and see an answer written on Gideon's face.

Gideon looks into her face, her open, vulnerable face. And all she can think is, “oh shit.” And that “oh shit” is written plainly on her own expression. For a long moment her eyes are locked onto Harrows lips. But she blinks first, unable to bear the intensity of that unguarded gaze. When she looks away, she’s still flushed bright.

Out loud she manages, “y’know, if you wanted to kiss me, that would be a pretty normal reaction.”

Edited 2021-10-12 03:12 (UTC)

The thing, the really stupid thing is, Harrow does want to kiss her. Probably would have kissed her, but then Gideon had to go and say stupid bullshit with her mouth! One hand finds its way to a bony hip and Harrow puts on her best sassy pose.

"Right, a very normal reaction for all the other girls our age we've had the chance to spend time with or kiss." The sass isn't as bladed as her usual, and the corner of her lips twitch.

“It would be! Understandable! Is what I mean. Because I’m so hot.” Great Nav, this is going fucking excellently. Just keep digging.

A deep inhale that lifts her chest and seems to gain her a centimeter in height, and then a rush of exhale. Is that what this is...? Gideon just being... stupid and horny and stroking her own ego, like always? Harrow felt so sure a moment ago and suddenly the insecurity returns.

"Oh go put a shirt on," she complains, reaching out to push Gideon away by the abdomen as that seemed a safe enough place to put her hand.

But then her hand alights on the abs and she realizes it was, in fact, a mistake. Soft skin and a thin layer of softness over rock-hard abs and Harrow freezes with her hand there, the flush on her face creeping down her neck.

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