fandomtownies | The Perk, Sometime During the Dance (Late Saturday Night)

The Perk, Sometime During the Dance (Late Saturday Night)

Karla ran out of the doors of the dance, dodging around buildings and away from people. She was breathing in large, whooping gasps, like girl barely rescued from drowning. The adrenaline and the cold air was burning off the alcohol, leaving her mind reeling and fully aware of how much of an idiot she'd been.

Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful, she thought, doubled over with her hands on knees. How could I have been so stupid, acted so foolishly? I'm an idiot, he'll never want to talk to me again...

Of course, just as soon as she thought that, she heard footsteps coming up behind her. A very familiar psychic scent announced who it was long before George came in sight. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she said, whirling around to face him. "I...guess I owe you that explanation now, huh?"

She glanced around and saw that they were fairly close to the Perk. "Wanna go inside?" she asked, hesitantly; unsure if he wanted to do more than make sure she was okay. "We can have some tea. And talk?"

[George modded with permission. Thread locked to

noearsyet, but the Perk open for all your late night coffee needs!]

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George - didn't have any idea what was going on. They were teasing and kissing and then she'd run away, and he didn't think he'd kissed her that badly.

"It's okay, lass," he said slowly, eyes searching over her to make sure she wasn't hurt at all. "If ye want t'?" He shoved his hands in his pockets for a moment. "Not goin' t'push ye to."

He wanted to push her to tell her what it was and what he'd done wrong, but the son of a priestess of the Mother knew well enough just how much that'd press th'goddess into anger.

"Oh George--" she said, voice cracking a bit. "No. No, it wasn't you, see? And that's why we should talk. Because--because there are things you should know up front because if this happens again...and I can't swear it won't...you need to know that it isn't you. I--"

Karla buried her face in her hands, counted to ten, and strove for calm. "I want to tell you," she said, bringing her face back up to look at him. "I want you to know. To understand." She reached out for him, a little afraid that he wouldn't take her hand.

"It's okay, lass," George said again, moving close enough to slip his hand into hers and squeezing it just a little. He meant it more this time, and the weird offense was being quickly drowned out by her obvious distress.

"C'mon," he said softly. "We'll go inside, and I'll get ye some tea, and ye can tell me what y'like."

Karla nodded taking his hand with something akin to gratitude. Whether if was the implicit promise of understanding or just the warmth of human contact that helped, she couldn't actually say.

She chose a booth towards the back of the cafe, one that was relatively private and unobtrusive even when it wasn't the middle of the night. The hardest part was trying to figure out what to say, how to explain. The words trembled on her lips (or maybe it was just her lips were trembling), but she wasn't sure how to force them into a narrative with any semblance of coherency.

When her tea came, she grasped it with cold hands and stared into the murky depths, thinking of a place to start. She couldn't look at George yet; not while she was still gathering courage to start.

"The parties were the worst," she said quietly, almost startling herself with the words. "Not the first few, of course. I was barely thirteen when I was summoned home from the coven and just thrilled to be allowed to stay up late and dance. As Hobart's niece and the late Queen's daughter, I was told that it was my duty to attend them, actually. But all I knew was that there were glittering parties every few nights, and I was petted and adored and cosseted. If you'd seen me then, you probably would have thought I was a hopeless aristo and never talked to me again," Karla added with a ghost of a smile. "Things weren't what they seemed, of course, but I didn't know any better. Not then."

George nodded slowly, having no real idea where she was going with this but more than willing to listen.

"Y'never do at th'start," he agreed softly. He dripped some honey into his tea cup, still watching her with some mix of concern and curiosity. "'M surprised ye ever want t'be goin' t' a dance again."

"I've always loved dancing," Karla said as a brief smile flitted across her face. "It was something my father and I would do together. Sometimes he'd interrupt my lessons with my dancing master to teach me himself. Dancing is something I associate with him."

That and piano. Karla was grateful that neither of those things had been ruined for her by Hobart's machinations.

"It was probably the third or fourth dance when things...started to happen," she continued. "I'd been dancing with a male--he was probably four or five years older than I and I was flattered he'd asked me. He was handsome and popular and even though I was too young to be interested that way, I also knew I was too young to be interesting that way, either. So I assumed he'd asked out of kindness or friendliness or something. We danced together and at the end of the song, rather than returning me to my uncle, he whisked me away to a darkened corner of the room. I just remember how hard his lips were against mine--there was no softness, no warmth. And his hands hurt me where they gripped my shoulders. When I could I asked what was going on, and he laughed and called me a tease." Her face burned with the memory and she kept her eyes away from George. "He said that I'd riled him on the floor and it was only fair--that I owed--he kissed me a few more times and groped my bodice and when he was done I ran to my room and ran my bath so hot I scalded myself. And that's how it started."

George's hand tightened for a moment on Karla's, and his expression darkened - none of the anger was for Karla, all for the noble boy who'd dared.

"He shouldn't've done that," he said, his voice quiet and almost dangerous. "Not t'any lass and not t'you."

"No, he shouldn't have," Karla said quietly. "And he shouldn't have been allowed to get away with it, either. But...there was more going on than just...over-excitement." She sipped her tea for a moment, grateful for the warmth. She also got so cold talking about this.

"At first, I thought it was a one-time thing. That it was my fault. I was young and while I knew all about sex, it was purely academic. I'm a Healer, I had to know how males and females differ and how babes are made. It's part of my job. But I didn't understand, you know. So I thought that I'd accidentally done something wrong. But when it kept happening, when it didn't become a question of 'if' I'd end up shoved in a dark and out-of-the-way place but 'when,' well, I stopped going to dances. And then Hobart came to see me. Threatened to stop letting me go into the city to Heal. What was I supposed to do? Put my safety before everyone else's? They needed my Craft because as awful as things got at the estate, they were worse in the city. If being fondled in the corners was the price to make sure that I could continue to Heal my people, well, then I had to pay it."

She tilted her head forward, hiding behind the veil of her hair. "I didn't see the connection between what was happening to me and what was happening in the city. I should have. I should have known there was more going on the first time I met my uncle's eyes and he deliberately turned away."

"An' ye truth tell as well as the rest?" he asked. "Tisn' somethin' a wee gixie should have t'be lookin' out for."

There was something about being called a 'wee gixie' that made Karla laugh. Maybe it was just a way to release the tension still knotting her up inside, but when he said it, Karla's eyes flew up to his and she began giggling uncontrollably. "I don't know why that was funny," she gasped out. "I think I'm slightly hysterical."

Her giggles subsided and she tentatively reached a hand over to George. "That's how it started. And...it gets worse before it gets better. Do you want to hear the rest?"

"Aye, well, anythin' t'make ye laugh," he agreed, smiling at her though his eyes were still worried. He reached for her hand, stroking her fingers lightly. "I'll hear th'rest. If ye do want t'be tellin' it."

"I don't mind telling you," Karla said, looking down at his hand on hers and giving then back up to give him a soft smile. "I just don't want you to...get bored?"

Boredom wasn't her worry, exactly, but it would do.

"I think maybe I should give you a little more context," she said, after another moment to gather her thoughts. "So, you know I have Craft. Well, my Craft can be taken away from me--we call it being broken. Anyone can be broken, but it takes a lot of time and effort to do so. At least, for males and grown females anyway." Her color heightened, but neither her eyes nor voice wavered as she explained. "It's much easier to break a young female; we are vulnerable in ways that young males aren't, because our power is tethered to us by our hymenal thread. That's why a witch's Virgin Night is so important; the male chosen for her is an older, gentle, experienced male who can guarantee that when she rises from the bed her hymen is the only thing that's broken. But that leaves a powerful tool in the hands of anyone willing to use it. Break a witch and all the power, strength, and potential she once had was gone and nearly irretrievable. It's a good way to control a young witch--broken witches are complacent witches. They're meek, docile, good for warming a bed and taking orders and not much else. It's not just their power that's gone...it's everything."

"Wouldn' get bored listenin' t'ye," George pointed out.

And he didn't mind, no, though he was blushing a little as she explained it. And he'd not grown up on the streets for nothing which led to the first thought of 'are you tryin' to tell me we're never canoodlin'?'

But he didn't say that. he had enough tact. Really.

"Don' that mean ye can' be a Queen an' th' like then? If there's no more magic?"

Not talking about sex, la la la.

Karla also blushed at the question. "I am still a Queen. I still have my Craft. I haven't had my Virgin Night yet."

With her the hand not being held by George, she tucked an errant curl behind her ear. "That's not to say it wasn't close. I should have expected it--not long after Hobart bullied me into continuing to go to the parties, the boys started backing off and the adults started...pressing their attentions. I cut off all my hair and started only wearing pants and stood on a table in the middle of a party one night and threatened to gut the next son of a whoring bitch that tried to stick his hand--or anything else--in between my legs." She snorted. "It kept their hands above my waist if nothing else."

Still, when it came time to relate what happened, Karla dropped her eyes to the table. "The day before I arrived at Fandom, I was ambushed outside my bedroom. There were three of them, all grown males. Jewel outranked theirs, but they had both their Jewels of rank and their Birthright Jewels, so when their Jewels of rank were drained, they still had a reservoir of energy left. I...didn't. My shields collapsed. They grabbed me. I killed one with my serpent's tooth, and my cousin Morton arrived in time to kill the others." If it wasn't for the slight tremble in her voice when she admitted to killing one, she could almost have been relating something that happened long ago and to someone else.

"I was badly bruised from where they--from the struggle, but unbroken."

"I didn' mean you you," George said quickly. "Just - ah, if that'd happened." Yeah.

He stretched his other hand out to cover hers reassuringly at the tremble. He almost wanted to get up to sit next to her, but he wasn't quite sure she'd be okay with it.

"Y'shouldn't've - I mean - 'm glad yer all right, lass."

Hopefully his concern about coming to sit next to her was alleviated by the speed with which Karla grabbed for his hand and how tightly she held it. "Oh. Yeah, I see. I, ummm, sorry."

The apology just slipped out, which was a good measure of how rattled she was.

"But you're right. If a Queen is broken, she's not really a Queen anymore. Hobart had my parents killed six years ago so he could take control of Glacia. Morton's parents too, because his mother was the strongest Black Widow in the Territory. I'm already the strongest witch in Glacia save one. My very existence is a threat to his continued power. Killing me would be an inconvenience, especially when he could just have me broken." Bitter? Karla? No... "Then he'll have a puppet he can trot out at need, docile and obedient, still capable of bearing one child to keep the dark bloodline going."

Her fingers tightened on his. "I'm still the same female I was before, George. I still like dancing with you and kissing you and nipping you on that sensitive place on your neck. I just...also get scared when I'm at a dance and suddenly find myself in a darkened corner. There may be other things that scare me, too. But I'm not afraid of you or what you might do. Am I making any sense at all?"

And that, at least, George had some sense of reference too. The doxies at th'Dove did talk every so often, and a lad could overhear if he were careful.

"Aye," he said, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand. "Yer makin' sense t'me. Though what I do want t'know is - when d'we go take care o' yer uncle?"

Boy of the streets, oh yes.

"When I make my Offering to the Darkness and can set up my own Court," Karla said immediately. "What he's doing now is horrible--" she hadn't even gotten to the reinstitution of slavery "--but it will be worse if he's taken out before anyone else is capable of stepping in. It's bad enough my people will face a civil war when I come forward to become Queen. I'm not going to force it upon them several years before I can do anything about it."

Hobart gave his bullyboys kept a very loose hand on the leashes of his bullyboys--but they were leashed. Taking that little control away could spell disaster for her people.

She couldn't help but smile a little (okay, maybe a lot) at that 'we.' "You'd come to Glacia and help me go after him?"

George nodded instantly. "Tisn't even a question," he told her. "I don' care what happens between us, but yer me friend, lass, an' I stand wit' me friends."

Karla dimpled at him. "Friends with an aristo, huh?" she teased, lightly. "Whatever would your friends back home say?"

He chuckled, dipping his head. "Probably wonder what ye wanted out o'me."

Karla leaned over and whispered, "You can tell them you're handsome and a really good kisser."

A lady wasn't supposed to kiss and tell, but, then, Karla wasn't a lady. She was a witch.

"Can I come sit next to you?" she asked, sounding a bit plaintive. "It's cold over here. And you're snuggly."

"So what ye really want is me warmth an' - snuggliness," George smirked, tugging her hands in answer to the question.

Of course she could come sit byhim.

"Well, the kissing is nice," Karla pointed out, sliding across the booth to be next to him. "But my hands get awful chilly. My toes, too. And it can hardly be considered my fault that holding you feels so nice."

She snuggled up against him, letting go of one hand to wrap an arm around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. "Thank you for listening," she said quietly. "I'm sorry it came up the way it did."

"An' if yer thinkin' 'm warmin' yer toes, you've th'cracked nob," he teased.

George waited for her to get comfortable before reaching up to stroke her hair lightly.

"Won' say 'm happy that it happened tha' way either, but wasn't somethin' ye could help. Don' make no reason to apologise."

"Don't be like that, George," Karla said with a laugh. "You'd let my poor toes freeze off? Then how am I supposed to dance with you?" She gave him her best pout, already planning sneaky ways to get him to do just that.

"I still feel bad about it," she said, enjoying the feel of his hand in her hair. "We were having a lovely time and I ruined it."

"I'll get ye a nice warm pair o'socks," he decided teasingly. The pout was unfair. "An' mayhap a hot water bottle. Jus' t'make sure yer toes are safe."

"Bet there'll be other lovely times," George said. "An' now I do know enough not t'tease ye too terribly some places." He wrinkled his nose. "Besides. This way we're out o' all that terrible pink."

"Big, thick woolly socks?" Karla asked. "Knitted with brightly colored stripes?"

She'd totally rock a pair of those. Without shame.

"The pink was kind of awful," she admitted. "Blue would have been a nicer color." Not that she was biased or anything. "Why'd you go with pink anyway?"

No those questions weren't meant to distract from his almost-promise of other lovely times. Perish the thought.

"Aye, an' a tassle," he decided. "Mayhap one of them pompoms on the top."

And now this was actually going to happen. Somehow.

"Tis th' proper colour fer th'season," he said instantly. "Dean Stinson did say twas traditional." He nodded though. "Blue'd be better. Next time we'll know, aye?"

Yes, because apparently George had a career in party planning.

"I could get matching mittens!" Karla said, grinning. "With stripes and pompoms and all!"

"So that's why everyone was in red or pink!" Karla said, snapping her fingers. "I'd wondered. "You could have mentioned." She poked his shirt.

Not that she'd been around for the warning. Or had a red or pink dress. But details.

"I would've if I'd known," he defended himself, poking her back. "Besides I'd've thought y'd like t'wear a blue one."

"It's been awhile since I wore this one," Karla said, playing with the green fabric of her dress. "Even if it does show off an indecent amount of leg." Emma was an ermine, she wouldn't get in trouble for saying that. "Are you disappointed I didn't wear blue?" she asked lightly.

He reached curiously to play with a fold of the skirt. "Th'lasses at home wear longer skirts too," he admitted. "But these aren't so bad, aye?"

He might have been prejudiced.

"An' I liked the green. Didn't have any ideas one way or t'other."

"I feel kinda funny wearing things this short. Or even shorter, like the bathing suits," Karla admitted. "Back home, witches have no problem bearing a lot of bosom--" or not so much, in her case "--but this much leg is kinda scandalous. It's fun...when I don't feel like an idiot."

Privately, Karla was kind of pleased with the shortness of current fashion. Swimming and riding made for nice legs. She just had to get used to showing them off.

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The Perk, Sometime During the Dance (Late Saturday Night)

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