#maralaan

Marasi doesn’t look up when MeLaan leans casually on the rail next to her.  When the kandra leans into her shoulder, though, she speaks.

“I should feel… different,” she says.  MeLaan waits.

“For a few minutes, I was a god, and… I gave that up.  And it seems to me that something should have changed, but I don’t feel… reborn.  Or anything of the sort.”

MeLaan glances sideways at her.  Marasi is still in her constable’s uniform, the shoulders and back of her jacket now soaked through.  Strands of her hair have escaped from their bun and are plastered in dark tendrils to the skin of her neck.  She’s not quite bedraggled, but careless in a way that’s unusual for energetic, driven Constable Colms.

“You are different,” MeLaan says quietly.  Marasi’s eyes flick towards her, then back to the canal.  “Just not in the way you expect.  If you’d kept the Bands, maybe it would have been… something dramatic.  I don’t think you could have solved every injustice with a wave of your hand, but I expect you’d try.  But just because you’re changing slowly doesn’t mean it’s not happening.  You’re doing what mortals always do.”

Marasi turns to face her now, and MeLaan shrugs under her gaze.

“And you chose that.  You chose being Marasi.  Perhaps it’s not a rebirth, but…”

Marasi’s eyes are wide under dark lashes, focused on MeLaan’s with startling intensity.  On impulse, MeLaan leans forward to press her lips to Marasi’s forehead.  Her skin is cool with rain, but warm underneath - human, alive, vibrant.  When MeLaan pulls back, she sees that those eyes have closed, and the tension in Marasi’s jawline seems to have eased.  Gently, she reaches out to touch Marasi’s chin, tilting her face upwards just enough, and leans in again to kiss her mouth.

She wouldn’t call it passionate, but nor is it quite chaste.  Marasi’s lips part and slide against MeLaan’s, damp with rainwater; her breath as she sighs into MeLaan’s mouth is the warmest thing about the kiss, as their bodies are still decorous inches apart.  MeLaan breaks the kiss just as Marasi reaches for her, putting a little more distance between them.

On the whole, Marasi felt she’d done an excellent job adjusting to living with one of the Faceless Immortals.  It was an unusual situation, to be sure, but there were advantages - she had no fear of intruders, for one, and MeLaan didn’t need to breathe, which could be… useful.

Still, every now and then something would happen that reminded her that her girlfriend wasn’t human, let alone mortal.  For all her cavalier attitude, MeLaan had been considerate in easing her into that strangeness, and had even asked if Marasi was comfortable with her wearing her True Body in their apartment, but since they’d passed that milestone she’d spent less effort on pretense.

The latest consequence of this was that Marasi returned from a long day at the precinct, collapsed on her couch, and stared up at the ceiling to find… her girlfriend there, hanging impossibly upside down.

“Do I want to know how?” she asked.  MeLaan shrugged, which looked bizarre in reverse.  She seemed to be sitting cross-legged on the ceiling, dressed in trousers and a loose shirt over clear flesh and her wooden True Body skeleton.  Her face was a little  more human, which if anything made it more bizarre:  she wore lipstick, eyeliner, and mascara, but it was a thin veneer under which Marasi could see her carved skull, as if she’d drawn makeup on glass.

“It helps to clear my head,” the kandra said.  “A change of perspective, you could call it.”  She chuckled at her own joke, and Marasi gave an unladylike snort.

“What do you need a new perspective on?” she asked, stretching across the couch like a cat and pulling sore muscles taut.  The movement tugged her work blouse out of the hem of her skirt, and Marasi allowed herself a smirk as MeLaan’s eyes drifted to her waist.

“My place in the Cosmere,” MeLaan intoned, sweeping one arm out in a grandiose gesture.  “Indeed, the reasons for which we all exist, even you young’uns-”  Marasi pitched a pillow up at her in a half-hearted arc, which MeLaan easily dodged.  It landed on the floor, and Marasi barely glanced down before deciding not to bother retrieving it.

“- and the merits of finding Wayne for a drink in the middle of the afternoon.”  MeLaan grinned down at her.  “But now you’re home, so I have much  more… attractive options for company.”  She stretched her arms over her head, down towards Marasi, and they began to elongate. Before she got far, though, Marasi sat bolt upright.

“Before you get down from there, there’s something we might as well try.”  MeLaan raised an eyebrow, lips quirking as if she settled her arms back into her lap.

Marasi’s legs had enjoyed the respite; she winced as she got to her knees, balancing on the couch cushions and reaching up for MeLaan’s head.  It was just within reach if she stretched, and she placed her hands on the kandra’s smooth translucent skin with care.  MeLaan was nearly indestructible, as she’d seen more than once, but she cradled that elegant skull as if it were spun sugar as she leaned in for a kiss.

The angle was strange, but the mechanics of kissing were basically the same, and Marasi had learned from the very best.  She slid one hand down to MeLaan’s neck as their lips moved against each other, then worried at MeLaan’s lower lip with her teeth.  The kandra’s groan sent a shiver through both of them, and Marasi’s knees shook.  Then MeLaan’s tongue was in her mouth, always a little colder than she expected no matter how many times they kissed.  MeLaan nipped at Marasi’s upper lip, then drew back to allow Marasi to breathe.

“This doesn’t feel fair,” she said.  “Give me a minute to get down off of here and we’ll even the odds a bit.”

Marasi shook her head and leaned in again to catch MeLaan’s lips in a quick series of kisses, more insistent than sensual.  She paused, chest heaving, to stare into the kandra’s eyes.