ιѕαвєℓα (rivaini) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2015-11-21 17:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, isabela, leliana |
Who: Leliana & Isabela
What: Drinks and catch-up times for these two ladies
When: Fridayish, maybe
Where: A classy martini lounge in the OC
Rating/Warnings: There's some crude talk but nothing awful
Status: Complete
Bela had a busy week, she was quite in need of a drink. At a quaint little place, nothing too loud, too boisterous, too hipster, or too teeming with drunk frat boys - no, she chose a martini lounge that was sinfully classy (an interesting contradiction, no?) and passionately red on the interior. There was an open space for dancing, but at the moment she in her sleek and simple black dress, with ornate cutouts, chose to sit and sip on a cranberry martini - it was just the right amount of refreshing she needed, and a martini was a classic drink that could still be energised and done well, if they were made with all the right details. The place was also a former speakeasy so it had a sexy vibe to it - she thought they fit in well, her and her ginger guest of the evening. Hell, it had been ages since she’d seen Leliana! Isabela probably ran into her around the same time she first ran into Hawke at the infamous ‘boobs for booze’ bar. But nowadays, Bela was curious about her friend’s career transition and such - she wanted to hear all about it, over adult beverages. Her own work was going well though. She had special requests to fill - a rare copy of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory on her list - and she had a few clients who collected rare books simply because they liked the aesthetics of the vintage covers. They were very detailed and colourful illustrations - she’d just gotten one of the Maltese Falcon that was exquisite. So, booming business. But Leli was much more interesting. “There might not be enough hours in the night to catch me up,” she sighed, tapping her fingertips upon the table. “But I’m yours til you wish to be rid of me, love.” Ah, dearest Isabela. It’d been ages, technically, but it didn’t seem long ago that she’d dreamt of the woman. A lovely lady in Thedas, they’d met under interesting circumstances (as in, threesome) during the Fifth Blight and Leliana’s adventures with the Warden all those eons ago. A shame they ran in different circles - she’d heard many things about the pirate queen’s adventures. And all that had gone down in Kirkwall. Isabela’s rumored involvement included. Mischief twinkled in those powder-blue eyes, secrets untold, and the French dame’s poison in a chilled martini glass was a fruity cosmo. A lengthy black dress slitted on the side, sleeves and neckline all rose-printed lace - it was a simple choice of fashion, a classy sort of sexy. And those shoes, as always, were so sharp they’d double as weapons. “You, my dear? Never,” she giggled, tilting her cocktail in Bela’s direction. “But for starters I’ll drink to my retirement. Putting the mantle of Nightingale down for good, I think.” A name that served her well. It shadowed her identity, kept unwanted persons from discovering the actual bird underneath the cloak. An orphan girl raised in the Catholic Church, all by a zealot widow who passed long ago. Nothing interesting, but the lack of past ties made the career a seamless integration. It wasn’t until she developed more personal connections that the problems arose. Nothing she’d regret, mind you, but such was the nature of the field. It was lonely. “Oh, right. How did that happen, by the way?” Isabela inquired, tracing the edge of her glass with one finger. The lounge was quiet, good enough to hold a conversation in without having to yell over thumping bass - as much as she enjoyed getting lost in the swish and sway of UFO lights in a nightclub, this intimate setting was a bit more preferable for the occasion. Not to mention it was a bit adorable how the bartenders wore vests and bow ties - really looking quite dapper, there. She took a sip of her drink, eyes nearly gold in the light of their surroundings. “Last I heard you were up to your tits in espionage,” tone conspiratorial, words all cursive and scrawling sex in bold, blinking letters. “What could have shifted that so abruptly?” It was also nice because she didn’t have to hide what she really did from Leliana - most people just didn’t get all the details about the black market underworld that Isabela reigned over. Ms. Orlesian ought to consider herself special. Up to your tits in espionage. Such an odd phrase. It made Leliana adjust her own soft chest pillows of hers for a second. “I met someone,” was her explanation. Simple enough, yet it spoke volumes. Relationships had a way of changing everything - and this one had changed this for the better, you couldn’t convince her otherwise. “I met someone, and the person I thought I could trust with operations in my circle used him as a tool for a dramatic plot of decade-old vengeance.” A death faked, a vampire sent off to eat the minor traitors, murder in an abandoned place of worship with her baby bird. October had been a dreadful month, Maker’s breath. “Easiest way to explain the situation without getting too bogged down with the details,” chuckled the redhead somewhat pensively, stirring her pink-hued drink with a thin black straw. “Things are well now. We’re settling into the...simpler things life has to offer.” Settling. Was that a word that gave Isabela hives? The idea of being tied down? Probably. Bela acted as free as she remembered her, she had a hard time believing that had changed over the years. Leli called that one. As soon as the word settling was mentioned, Isabela’s nose crinkled as if she caught a whiff of the rubbish bin, breezing on by. That’s essentially what she equated settling down to anyway - a whole bunch of rubbish. However, if it worked for other people, then why not? People should be free to make their own choices, marry who they wanted, and all that nonsense - she’d been denied the luxury, once upon a time, and now that she did have a choice, she simply... Chose to seal off her heart in a pretty velvet-lined box. Besides, she knew she wasn’t the best person in the world. Loving the likes of her would be a dangerous game, why drag someone into it? “I’m glad for you, kitten,” she said, after swishing her drink and taking a sip. “Well, glad that it all turned out alright in the end. And I hope that this person got what was coming to them. Though I’ve got to admit, the image of you playing house is actually somewhat adorable. If you’re happy, I’m happy.” She’d be climbing the walls if she settled (Ugh! That word!) for the simple things life had to offer, however. “Oh, don’t worry,” she snorted softly, eyes narrowing to express just the right amount of chilling danger. “I settled the score.” Had all her people sucked dry of life, her throat slit after the smug revelation that her plan failed. It was over, all was well. Gale was back home. A happy ending, she supposed. The Cosmo was tilted against her mouth for something more of a sip - it was a gulp that drained the glass, and she beckoned the bartender for another round. “You’ve been well, I hope? You stumbled into an interesting part of the world, but I can’t say I’m terribly surprised. It brings those who dream of Thedas close together whether they like it or not.” An impish wink to her friend. Maybe a giggle. Alright, definitely a giggle. Isabela might choke on the concept of commitment, but she had no idea what she was in store for just yet. And with the arrival of a certain Champion, well. Leliana was looking forward to see how that would unfold. Another round it was, and Isabela quickly finished off her first drink too - matching her redhaired friend gulp for gulp, since this half-British thief could hold her liquor quite well. “Does it?” she inquired, referring to the claim that those who dreamed of Thedas tended to congregate. Sounded heartwarming, or not - overall, Bela wasn’t certain how to feel about any of it. “I’ve met a couple, though Hawke said one was possessed. Suppose he moved away or something?” They came and went, how sad. But considering she was seriously considering flitting off also, she had no room to talk. Her dreams hadn’t progressed past the point of being trapped in a loveless marriage and expected as a ‘good wife’ to do things she’d rather not think about (and Luis was no prize, that was for sure) but who even could fathom what was in store. Part of her didn’t even really want to know, hence the see-sawing about running. Everyone was entitled to their secrets, right? Maker knew she had a whole restless cemetery’s worth of skeletons in this life - it ought to not be sharing and caring time. Yet Leliana’s devious look was telling. “And what’s so funny?” Bela lifted an eyebrow. “You clearly know something I don’t.” “You mean Anders?” Both copper eyebrows rose at the reference, right before those eyes rolled. “He was, he was freed from the spirit, and then ran. It’s a long, sordid story. You’ll learn about it soon enough.” Considering both Anders and Bela were friends of Hawke while in Kirkwall, she’d learn all about the mage with the embodiment of Justice stuck in his head firsthand. That entire debacle left a terrible taste in her mouth, but what was done was done. Anyway, to the more interesting things! Such as the reason as to why Leliana looked so amused. Reasons she couldn’t tell the pirate queen right this second, but she’d make vague, frustrating references. Seemed fair, no? “I know a lot of things you don’t,” she smiled, pulling the second pour of girly drink towards her more. “Such as what becomes of you. Your involvement. Your friend, Hawke.” Truth be told, the moment he graced their presence on the internet, it only took minutes for her to gather all his information. Location, family members, number, bank statements. It was also entirely possible she did that with everyone she knew would dream of Thedas, but shhhhh. Anders, right. He probably had the right idea - moving away, that is. Because Isabela wasn’t so keen on disturbing the webbed-over mysteries of her being - adding a whole other bunch of people and places to the mix seemed a volatile, dangerous cocktail. “I can hardly wait to hear the story about the possessed person,” she remarked with desert-dry sarcasm, and picked up her drink to sip from the glass. Please, really, that one could afford to be glossed over or skipped entirely. “Well, and if you know what becomes of me and my involvement, then why should I even bother finishing?” A rhetorical question, that gave her a snort of a laugh. Then gold bangle bracelets jangled on her wrist as she flicked a piece of black hair from her eyes. “What about Hawke?” Kirkwall wasn’t a story she was present for, no. Once, she entered the City of Chains. Justinia’s orders, shortly after she was appointed the Divine’s Left Hand. The shadow behind the sunburst throne. It was to assess whether or not tensions in Kirkwall required an Exalted March and to advise the Grand Cleric to leave. Not that she listened, of course, but during the encounter she’d met Hawke and his misfits. Bela among them. Bela the closest one to him. “It isn’t an easy journey, for any of us.” It was the unfortunate truth. Leliana couldn’t see herself leaving despite the hardships - too many people here that her heart would miss. It brought her and Gale together. For that, she was willing to endure it all. “But one worth seeing, I believe,” she said, sipping her cocktail pensively. “In a way, seeing what I had become there taught me that I did not want to become that here. It saved me. But as for your friend...” ‘Friend’ was said with a certain emphasis. She wouldn’t be surprised if they were in the sack together, but it wasn’t something she had asked about. Their internet banter said it all (and yes, she was a stalker for gossip). “You two go through alot together, is all. It will be good to have someone to share things with. It can get lonely otherwise.” Saved Leliana. It was an intriguing concept, Bela had to admit. However, she personally didn’t think she was due for any of those philosophical lessons - because in either life, she couldn’t really win no matter what she did, right or wrong, she never had anyone on her side. At this point, all she wanted was that ship. The Siren’s Call - that beauty was a part of the Raiders of the Waking Sea, the Felicisima Armada, and they were a plague upon the lands. Pirates, dastardly ones who made wealthy merchants their bitch - she would have it, once Luis was out of the picture. Almost in her bloodied grasp, Bela could feel it. How she would end up coming into contact with Hawke, she didn’t know. But Leli seemed to be privy to that information. Oh, blast it all for not dreaming all this in one night - she hated the suspense. “I’m probably not the best person for him to go through it with though,” she said, with a frown, and poked at her drink with the slender cocktail straw. “He could use someone as decent as he is. I’m just not that. But his dimples are cute,” she added thoughtfully, after a pause. “I’d stick around for the dimples. And yes, we’ve fucked.” May as well put that all out there, what with the connotations of friend that Leli seemed to be applying each time Hawke was mentioned. “He’s lovely in the sack. Still the only person I’ll morning cuddle with too.” Isabela was as subtle as a dwarven hammer, wasn’t she? Mentions of cute dimples, morning cuddling - Leliana knew where thoughts like that led. Not she’d mention it. They didn’t need the night to end with an allergic reaction towards commitment. “I figured you two did,” she giggled softly, nudging her friend’s leg with a foot. “I only met him once, in the dreams. He took everything as a joke.” It took a special kind of person to make inappropriate comments in the face of impending danger, but she supposed there was a certain appeal to that. If you were someone as equally inappropriate as Bela, for starters. There was a comment that stuck with her, though. It simmered at the edges of her mind. I’d stick around for the dimples. Humming, she sucked the straw in her mouth to idly chew on. “Are you looking for a reason to stick around? Or do you plan to avoid all this?” Hawke taking everything as a joke? “That’s not surprising,” Isabela snorted, amused at the thought. It was an excellent coping mechanism, for one thing - and for another, it seemed like so many Theodosians just needed to lighten the hell up. Well, good on Scruffy Beard for attempting to bring some humour to even the most dire of situations - though he’d been a bit morose about Bethany, that she’d observed. Bela tried to navigate that smoothly, since she couldn’t imagine it was pleasant to dream of family in any capacity being ogre fodder. As for whether or not she wished to avoid all this, well, there was still an internal debate going on. Isabela was great at running - she was thisclose to lacing up her trainers and making a break for it. Fuck only knew why she was still sticking around. There were some great bedfellows, sure, but the truth of the matter was that another would come along soon enough - that was the way of the world, it kept turning because of sex. Plants, flowers, people. It was why relationships based only on sweat, moaning, and what was between someone’s thighs didn’t work in the long run - because there was always someone else around the corner with a boner, always someone else needing to be boned. Isabela understood that - she didn’t try to make anything work beyond that. Those dimples, however. “I’m really not that important in the scheme of things anyway, Leli,” she said, reaching over to pat the woman’s wrist. “I think you lot would be fine without me, no?” Leliana knew what that meant, the underlying meaning. Bela wanted to go. Flee this mess. Hadn’t she done something similar to that in the dreams? It was Cassandra who so vehemently interrogated a certain dwarf in regards to what caused Kirkwall to be in the state it was in, not her, but she had birds everywhere and the Seeker had relayed his story. Tensions with the Arishok, the City of Chains lit in flames, a certain relic. And a Ferelden immigrant fighting for a thieving pirate’s freedom. Isabela had supposedly returned. She caught a finger before her hand retracted. “You very much are important to the scheme of things, my friend. More than you realize. No one can force you to stay. But know it is something you may regret. You have more to leave behind than you think.” This thieving pirate didn’t believe so, Isabela just didn’t see herself in that way - how could she be important to anything besides importantly cocking something up, and making people’s lives difficult? She knew she was a shit. Everyone else ought to just stay the hell away and yet they didn’t. Masochists, every single one of them. “Hmph,” she made a displeased grunting noise, not necessarily one of disagreement - but it wasn’t quite assent either. “I suppose we’ll see. What do people even do when they have shit dreams, besides drink? I’ll need a liver transplant for my next birthday at this rate.” Fine then, Orange County. Challenge accepted. She tipped her glass back and drained the second martini. “But enough about me.” Because it was vastly disconcerting, “...tell me about this person you met. And are enjoying the simple things in life with.” “Drinks, tumble in the sack…” All things Isabela had already been doing. “And we try to live our lives while we struggle not letting another one bleed over. They don’t last forever.” Every story had its end. Some had the unfortunate experience of dreaming a second set of events, but Leliana had a feeling they’d be spared from that. Call it intuition. Still on her second drink, she’d been pacing herself. More out of habit than necessity. Not that she had any pressing commitments to follow up with in the morning, anyway, though she guessed old habits were hard to kick. “His name’s Gale,” she answered, a sideways glance to the dark-haired woman, and gently swirled the liquid in her glass. “Military background. He worked for me for a bit, and our dreams had similar themes.” Different worlds but ravaged by war, and they had to make decisions no one else wanted to make. “Using each other for stress relieve turned into a more serious commitment, but...I’m more than happy about it.” “That’s often how it goes, isn’t it? It sneaks up on you, the commitment thing.” Not that Isabela would know or anything - she’d managed to sleep with one eye open and also grow eyes in the back of her head when it came to foiling the commitment monster. Always one step ahead, this one! But a military background. That sounded nice, especially to a woman who grew up around swarthy sailors. “He must be all...muscle-y,” the dirty siren purred, mouth on her straw in a purposely provocative way. “So much rigidity and control...mmm.” Someone splash water on her, it was getting hot in here. Was she - ? Oh that funny little hussy, Leliana wouldn’t splash water on her. Instead she snapped her out of it by leaning over and taking a bite out of her shoulder. “Isabela. We’re in public, don’t wet your knickers.” Assuming she wore any. ...she probably didn’t. “Though he is muscle-y,” she eventually concurred, this time taking a generous swig from her cosmopolitan. “Tall, very tall. Big hands, too.” Among other things. ‘Big’ could describe a good bit of him, let’s be frank. “He somehow manages to be both precious and sexy. Must be a gift. No dimples, though.” Considering it was a tiny detail her naughty friend paid attention to, she had to tease her about it just once. Not under this dress, nope! Isabela refused to allow herself to be subjected to awkward panty lines, so, free as a bird it was. She laughed, swatting at Leliana playfully. Even had a bit of devious gleam in amber eyes at the other mention of the infamous dimples - what, they were precious and sexy too! “I like that you can still see them through the beard,” she said, sounding contemplative, as if preparing to write a dissertation on the subject. “And I’ve been spoiled by that beard too,” Bela gave a bit of a sigh, twisting her black straw between her fingers, “The sensation of scruff adds a lot to the overall experience of a face between your thighs. Hm, I wonder what he’s doing later...” She’d segued from military muscles to a pleasing prickle on the nether regions. Well done. It was a very impressive skill, to go from ‘muscles’ to ‘pleasurable beards.’ So much interesting focus on the tiniest of details, though, it honestly nagged at Leliana with the desire to flat-out point it out to her. That was trespassing onto the path of something more than just a ‘fuck and leave’ arrangement, but perhaps it was best the redhead remained silent. Bring it up to Isabela now, the epiphany would hit her all too soon and then she’d really disappear off into the rest of the world. Only to resurface when she wanted to be found. “Probably you, if you give him a call,” she smirked, tapping their glasses together for a ding. “I’m much too taken at this point, and I don’t have the beard to please you the way you wish.” Women were such lovely creatures, weren’t they? But she was happily taken by her muscle-y soldier; there’s nothing else she could want. Leliana was right to keep quiet about that - because Isabela was dangling on a precipice, and one false move, she’d go plummeting over the cliff. And to the airport. It’s not that she was afraid to love someone else, but for one thing, she wasn’t sure she was ready. For another, it went back to the whole ‘I’m a shit’ concept. She’d just end up hurting that dimpled bearded Dog Lord, it was inevitable. But some things were best realised in due time. That was how life worked - and she had never been one who could be rushed into things either. “Much too taken,” she laughed, her eyes dancing with glee. “That’s a phrase I’m not certain I’ll ever use. But oh, it’s alright, he can wait a moment. I appreciate you coming out with me.” Her finger traced the stem of her glass, thoughtfully. “It’s nice to just...have friends, I suppose.” The real ones were in short supply for Bela. So very few of them, like those rare books she dealt in. “Moving around gets lonely after awhile, no?” Now that smirked turned smile, sympathetic and sweet; it matched the decadent Français accent. Leliana knew how it went, had been convinced that this place was only a temporary spot for work purposes, and now she’d chosen to stay permanently. With her own family of domesticated beasts, with feathers and fur and the three bald ones. Actually, she’d have to introduce the Isabela to the nugs! She’d at least recognize what they were. But if at all possible she scooted the bar stool closer to her friend, engaging in a platonic session of footsies. “Wherever you may end up, you’ll always have me as one. Us women who’ve dipped their perfect nails into the more illegal side of life need to stick together, don’t they?” Another round, Mister Bartender, sir! This time she switched to another cocktail, a Chocolate Kiss. With godiva chocolate liqueur and strawberry flavors. “Books, though. I still think that’s a fascinating choice.” It was also a hilariously ironic choice - the cosmos having a bit of a laugh at her, you see. Only Bela wasn’t quite in on the joke quite yet. “It’s good money,” she said, accepting her next beverage - something sweet for her too, something decadent, a dark chocolate martini with a tinge of orange zest. “You know my...ex-husband - “ Unfortunately deceased, ahem, “...mostly dealt with gold.” Restrictions of imports of the stuff into India meant the inevitable - short supplies, higher prices, booming black market. Really, anything in short supply could fetch for a lot on the black market if you knew where the clientele was. Rare books were no exception. “But that’s predictable. I just wanted something different, you know, take the reins on this whole underground world,” she grinned cheekily. “Which reminds me, I’ve got a few romance novels you might like.” The really juicy ones were as decadent as these drinks. Cheers! With an arrangement like that it was no wonder Isabela coveted her freedom like she did. Leliana wouldn’t pry too much about that, really. Old wounds scarred and whatnot, because she’d imagine being forced to marry someone having been...quite traumatizing, come to think of it? No consent on her behalf in her marriage - what was she able to even consent to? If she thought about it too hard while drinking, she’d end up ruining the mascara after a session of tears and wrapping her arms around Bela in some kind of beautiful, heart-felt embrace. Odd things happened when she drank. Like waking up in shoes and a towel, or getting stuck in pudding. “There’s a market for everything,” she mused. A black market for everything, anyway - could be as harmless as books or as gruesome as organs. Even babies. Stop, Leliana, you don’t want to think sad things drinking. “But how divine, I’ll be happy to take a look. I’m sure I can trust you do better than that 50 Shades of Dubious Consent horror.” It was made into a movie, wasn’t it? That’d be something fun to tear apart over wine. “There’s an art to collecting rare romance books. One of the first editions of Wuthering Heights, even, can go for...mm, quite a pretty penny,” Bela said, fingers stretched, examining her nails casually. That particular run of the book was limited edition - even a worn copy could fetch at least $200,000 from collectors. But let’s just say she did find and sell one to a salivating scholarly type - not all of the profit went to Isabela anyway. She had her network to pay, but she still wouldn’t complain about the income generated in this business - it allowed for a certain degree of comfort, even if she was certainly playing with fire. Most useful thing that her terrible ‘husband’ had ever done for her - because he certainly hadn’t been any use otherwise. She chuckled merrily. “Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure,” she told Leliana, with a slight tip of her martini glass in the redhead’s direction. “Considered the first prose pornography, and a synonym of obscenity. You’d love it. The best part was when Fanny compared her lover’s dick to a Maypole.” Leliana had to laugh, although muffled with the attempt to not spit her drank out, thank you. The ‘maypole’ bit had been said in mid-sip but she swallowed her Chocolate Kiss like a lady. “I’d love to, though I think I’d find myself giggling about it more than being aroused.” But oh, why not? She had the time for books now, time for a leisurely sit on the porch with tea and some old pages of literature. Maker. That made her sound like a little old lady, didn’t it. “Cheers, then,” she proposed, glass raised. “To dicks the size of Maypoles.” Hiccup. |