#thornecanis

Day One: Coffee & Chocolate (G)

"Rook…" Lucanis began slowly, the sound of his voice pulling her out of her reverie. Andraste's tits, she really was tired. She scrubbed at her face with one hand and waved at him with the other to continue. It was the one that held her mug—nearly empty, she noticed, and having noticed she tossed the end of it back like a shot of spirits. It wasn't really hot anymore, but it was bracing and she needed the support; by the look of that furrow on his brow, there was some soft concern coming, the kind that she didn't know how to handle at all. He hesitated again, and then, to her complete bewilderment, finished, "Do you… like coffee?"

Day Two: Open Doors (G)

"Did you know," Lucanis said without preamble, "that Spite doesn't understand that 'warden' can mean anything but 'someone who opens doors'?"

Day Three: Warmth/Touch/Romance (T)

Awash in her excited chatter, he shook out the grey-knit something in his hands and found he held a scarf. The wool was a little coarse but very warm in his freezing hands, and the stitches were close and even… except toward one end where a span of four or five rows were a mess. He looked from it to Mila, utterly bewildered. "What is this about?" "Rook knows how much you hate cold. She asked me to teach her how to knit so she could make something for you but she's awful at it, like really bad, so I offered to finish it for her." The girl grinned, and whispered conspiratorially, "I kept her bit because I thought it was cute."

Day Four: Peace (T)

Lucanis hummed rather than answering as he turned to shut the door behind him; it was silent on its hinges, and did not even click when he turned the lock. Showoff. It did not take him long at all to cross her little room; she had declined the offer for one larger, though she was entitled to much better apartments per her station. She was glad of it. With him suddenly here, she begrudged even the slightest distance between them. Their moments together were no longer stolen from an impossible, onrushing fight, but even in peacetime a war-scarred heart could not take them for granted.

Day Five: Spite (E)

Lucanis shook his head, a rueful, knowing smile on his lips, but even as he did Rook watched him withdraw carefully to make way for Spite. Once again their shoulders stiffened, their back curved, and between one blink and the next violet replaced brown. The deep glow of her demon's stare was intoxicating this close up, otherworldly, atavistically wrong, and she leaned in to gladly it until they were forehead to forehead.

Day Six: Dreams (E)

He had never dreamed of marriage; it had simply been an inevitability, a duty. He had not been able to picture that future, but he had offered it anyway because it was what you did with a ring and a lover and a life curved unexpectedly out of darkness. When Rook refused, he'd tucked all of it away with a distant pang. But this—the bright metal swinging above him, her eyes burning on his as she began to move faster, a mounting doubled pleasure so keen Spite's silent cry stole his own breath—he had never dreamed of this, either. It had not been anything he'd been capable of imagining.

Day Seven: Free Day (Truths) (T)

The frown that elicited was telling. Warden dress uniform, then, or on the outside something borrowed from Neve; a waste, all of it. It wasn't even a matter of being on the arm of the First Talon; there was power in presentation, and Teia was determined to show her. No stuffy armor or ill-fitted finery would do.

"There." The modiste stepped back to regard her work critically. "I should have the adjustments completed by tomorrow."

"Thank you, Camila. A moment before you undress her, if you please."

She bowed. "Don't let her mess up the pins, Seventh Talon, or I'll have to do the fitting all over again," she said evenly, and then turned for the door.

Rook stood silently where she'd been left as the seamstress left, looking down at her cuff like it and the wrist it encircled belonged to someone else."I feel like a mummer in this," she said as soon as the door clicked shut, her broad voice small. "I look ridiculous."

"You do not," Teia said firmly, and took her hand to pull her off the platform. "Come here."

Rook's footsteps were reluctant as she was steered toward the mirror. It was a grand old thing, its gold frame running in heavy lines rather than ornate curls, and was large enough to see oneself in toe to crown even if they were well beyond its owner's build. Viago liked to make fun; she did have it carted with her to wherever she was taking up residence, and it was a pain. But he was allowed his foolishness. Teia knew the value in studying what others saw.

Perhaps that value was dawning on Rook now. Her steps ceased their dragging, though they slowed, and she reached out to touch her fingertips to the glass with something like reverence. Bewilderment slackened her handsome face.

It was rather brilliant on her part, Teia decided. If she'd said the word dress, her friend would have run directly back to the wetlands. Doublet had produced skepticism, but it has also produced her on time for each fitting.

What a piece of work it was, though. Truly, Camila had outdone herself.

The jacket was black-on-black brocade, slashed at the arms to show the black shirt beneath. It was tailored sharply across her torso, flaring open subtly at the waist to accent her hips—and from the left shoulder, a dramatic fall of a cape edged in a strip of silver embroidery, secured with a grey-and-silver rope crossing her chest to tie just under her right arm.

"I didn't look like this last time…" Rook murmured, and turned. The cape moved with her, perfectly draped, light enough not to drag at the line and heavy enough to trail after her movements in stately sweeps.

"It wasn't finished last time," Teia laughed. "Just wait until the pins are out, and I've done your hair."

She got a scoff in return, but it was half-hearted. Good. It would not be a fight. Casting a critical eye over the ensemble, she nodded to herself. Hair left simple, her unruly waves oiled only enough to put into order, and a little makeup—eyes, brows, accentuate the beautiful cut of her cheekbones—and perhaps simple eardrops. Were her lobes pierced? There would be grey hose below, and black boots, so a shock of color was needed. Sapphire. For the Wardens, of course, but it would bring out her eyes.

"Teia, I—"

With no small amount of triumph, Teia watched Rook turn slowly from her reflection to face the doorway, where Lucanis stood in the silence of his failed voice. He took a step forward looking for all the world like he was unaware he'd moved.

"Now, Lucanis," Teia said, not trying terribly hard to keep the smirk from her voice when his eyes snapped to hers and his mouth clicked shut. "I realize we've run late, but you'll need to give us a little time to clear the room for your final fitting. I'm under strict orders not to let Rook ruin any of the pins."

"Pins?" he repeated vaguely, his eyes dragging back to his lover. Rook's blush was high on her cheeks and rising visibly up her neck.

Teia smiled. It was a curling, pleased thing she could feel on her lips. She stepped up and took Lucanis's elbow. "Yes, pins," she said soothingly, and patted his arm as she walked him out of the room. His neck craned to keep his regard trained on Rook. Behind them, her laugh was faintly breathy. "Camila, you can come in now. Rook will let you do your job."

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