i couldn't show you even if i tried. Who: Red & Div What: Drinks. Where: Sackheim Inn. When:Hereabouts. Rating: PG. Status: Complete.
As though the Harvest Festival had not done its job, the rain angrily announced the end of summer. The woman pulled her coat more tightly around her, water sliding off her jostled umbrella as she did so. The grey skies and slick pavements were too reminiscent of another evening, not long ago—
Divina grit her teeth against the turn of her thoughts. Already, she could see the well-lit windows of Sackheim Inn. It was not long before she found herself darkening its doors, passing coat and umbrella to a ready attendant. The skirts of her dress billowed gently behind her as she strode toward the bar.
Taking a seat on one of the stools, she folded her hands in her lap, eyes darting around the surrounding opulence for Redwald’s familiar figure.
He emerged from a haze-filled corner of the inn, lit cigarette already perched between his lips. Redwald sidestepped the waitress he had spent the last ten minutes chatting up with a quick, apologetic smile. It was Divina who had his undivided attention now, and he gave her one of his customary smirks as he took the empty stool beside her.
“Rosemary over there was kind enough to give me a glass of red on the house, so you’ll have to catch up,” he said brightly, skipping right over the usual greetings. But he usually bypassed the standard noble platitudes with Divina.
(There was that bit of awkwardness from the other day to consider, but there was no sense in dwelling on it now.)
“Rosemary,” Divina said. “Of course.”
A pointed glance had the bartender scurrying over to the noblewoman. She quickly rattled off her order (tequila, neat, sangrita on the side), before turning back to the orator, eyebrows raised and lips curled into a smirk to mirror his own.
“Do tell me your day has had less insipid delights.”
Red shrugged as he gave her a sidelong glance. “Not really, no. I was forced to spend time with Tristan and his fiancée today. I’m sure you can imagine how that went.” There was a beat; he became aware of the tension that had worked its way into his shoulders and switched gears.
“And your day? Better than mine, I hope.”
“Indeed. It is never unpleasant to train.”
Her liquor arriving, Divina took a long sip. The finish was smooth, made delightful by the quick bite of citrus and pepper. She exhaled. The chaser was left untouched, the mention of Tristan’s fiancée not unnoticed. No attempt to bait her, certainly.
However.
Her lips dallying at the rim of her glass, she considered the merits of sweeping the matter under the rug. Yet anyone who knew her knew to expect brutal honesty where women of her station might have employed fawning coquetry. And what patience did she have, if at all, for the inanities of small talk?
Glass met coaster with a decisive clink.
“Speaking of fiancées,” she said, “what was that, over the networks?”
He froze for a moment. But only a moment.
“Nothing,” was Redwald’s automatic response, his voice as smooth as glass. “Mostly a joke, really. I didn’t see the harm in floating a hypothetical past you.” A hypothetical she quickly passed on. It didn’t sting quite as much when he wrote the whole thing off a jest. Simple folly. He took a long drag off his cigarette, savoring the familiar burn in the back of his throat.
He was careful to blow the smoke away from her, silent as the gray cloud drifted down the bar.
“But you truly intend to, then?”
Her question was met with a smile. “I don’t think I have much of a choice in the matter. I rather like my inheritance.”
Divina scoffed, took another sip. Sobered. The fell knight lived off the pin money that was thrown her way. Disgrace or no, she was a Marcos, and a Marcos lived only to the height of the avant garde. But such a concern would only go so far. Although she had heretofore succeeded in keeping the topic of marriage at bay, it was high time she secured some means of financial independence. Lest the earl hold hypotheticals over her head.
Divina shifted as though a lick of flame had whipped its way up her spine. Her options, she understood, were limited. The mocking edges of her voice gave way to a lilt that was almost contemplative.
“I had not… considered it, until the hypothetical.”
The slight arch of his eyebrow gave away his surprise. He had assumed she was in a similar boat, that she would’ve considered all the possibilities; then again, there was the age difference to consider. Red had spent the last ten years of his life wheedling his way out of any potential betrothal his mother managed to secure for him. It was no surprise his family’s patience was wearing thin, really.
“You really know how to flatter a man’s ego, Marcos,” he said dryly, but his voice was rich with amusement. “I’ll have you know you were my second choice after Finch. Either of them. I am partial to blondes.”
“I suspected I was not your typical fare,” she countered with a sharp grin, grip tightening over her glass only briefly. “But no, marriage is not a viable option.” Divina shrugged, strands of dark hair spilling over her shoulders. “What church would marry me? To be turned away at the Cathedral steps—how auspicious a beginning for matrimony.”
“I had not—considered that,” he admitted. A sheepish expression on Redwald Vannes’ face was a rare sight, but miracles happened every day. Her association with the Dark wasn’t something he spent too much time pondering on, but he knew how privileged such a thought would sound aloud. It could slip to the back of his mind, but not Divina’s. The majority of their peers certainly didn’t forget.
He took a quick drag. Then: “Surely there must be ways around that. Throw enough coin at the church and who knows.” Red never hesitated to fire off a negative opinion about the church, but his voice always instinctively lowered in volume.
“Who knows.” She paused, deliberating. Again the thrill ran up her back; immediately was the glass raised to her lips. One could not put a price on damnation. This time, Divina went for the chaser.
“At any rate, I have no desire to be chattel. Employment is by far the more palatable option.”
“Chattel,” he repeated, trying to restrain his laughter. “It only seems preferable because you’ve never been wooed by yours truly.” Red threw an arm around her shoulder as he leaned into her, though it was clear by his over the top eyebrow wagging his flirtation was only in jest.
She contained her flinch, instead giving as good as she got with a playful elbow to his side (not strong enough to hurt, but certainly enough to push him back).