06-01-2018, 10:27 AM
She had yet to translate her work into Marcus's app, though only because she wanted to make sure she thoroughly understood the foundations herself first. The work ate the hours even when she wasn't ensconced at her study in the Kremlin, chasing the shadows of the night and protecting her from the dreams it brought. Though she had to sleep some time, usually when the exhaustion grew too strong to fight, and most often during the day.
She woke with a jolt, instinct gripping her own palms around her wrists. Unbound, the healing scars still raised against the graze of her thumbs. Memory filtered back through the afternoon light, pierced by the shrill alert of an incoming call. Ghosts retreated. She swept the hair back from her face, and the tablet she'd been working on slipped free to land with a muffled thump on the floor beside the sofa.
Fear fought disorientation; the rising anxiety as tendrils of nightmare left her. Natalie stuffed it down, swung her legs free from the tangled blanket, and padded to the kitchen to pour herself some lukewarm coffee before she accepted the call. Audio, no visual, though her mother hated that. She'd probably hate witnessing the dishevelled mess of her daughter more, though.
"Yes I'm well. No I'm not ready. I told you, several times in fact: I'm not going to the fundraiser."
She pressed the cup to her lips, eyes half-lidded, focused on the mundane.
"Duty doesn't care for desire, Natalie, and as far as duty goes it's hardly an onerous one."
"Then perhaps you ought to be here yourself."
Silence. She regretted the wound almost immediately, pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. Pulled herself together. The last subject she wanted to bring up was that of her father, the reason Eleanor avoided Moscow with abject diligence. And the very same reason Natalie had allowed herself to be so easily manoeuvred into her current position. Not that any of those plans had unravelled as intended. And now she was stuck here.
"I'm doing my part; I'm here like you asked me. But don't make me do this. You recall what happened the last time I went to one of these functions,"
she said instead. Bitter in her plea and the low blow of it. She might stoop to making a public spectacle, but it was not like she could run off to Africa this time.
Her mother only sighed. "You're expected to be there, and it would be ill advised to snub the Ascendancy's graciousness. We're his allies, Natalie. You don't have to like the people, but it won't do you any harm to try. Your grandfather has ordered a car for this evening, please don't keep it waiting."
The call clicked off. Natalie spent several more moments in silence, fingers wound around the cold coffee mug, before she stood. The dress was still in the box it had arrived in two days before, its pale, smokey folds nestled in tissue paper. She'd not even looked at it properly before discarding it on the unslept bed. She ran her fingers over the fine embroidery now, and despite the beauty felt her heart sink. There'd been two tickets originally, one already disposed of. She should have rid herself of the second damn ticket.
*
Duty was an anchor she tied to her own fucking foot. Despite her reservations, she gave in, perhaps not entirely truthful as to every reason why she acquiesced once again to her family's wishes.
The gown wreathed her like smoke in gauzy pale blues and greys, sheer across the shoulders and down the length of long sleeves. Embroidery glinted across the gossamer fabric, deepening to her waist, where it fell from her hips like the glitter of fallen stars. Her hair swept thick gold waves over one shoulder, and aside from a pair of simple diamond studs, she wore no jewellery. A muted figure in the finery surrounding her.
The last time she'd been surrounded by such crowds it had been to the melody of screams and bombs, not the clinking of glass and polite conversation. The dissonance stirred nausea in her gut; watching these people swoon and awe over Brandon's generosity, utterly ignorant of the gross excess surrounding all of them. It was worse that she was so accepted among their number; blood recognising blood. Natalie circulated easily amongst the unfamiliar faces. No one noticed the frustration fizzing just beneath her skin, or the dull shine of smiles that did not reach her eyes.
"Yes. Interesting how the Ascendancy chooses to care now, when he has something to gain from an alliance with the Legion."
And perhaps a Congresswoman to impress. She said it so sweetly that the poison took a moment to permeate. Her latest companion's brow twitched as he debated whether she meant it as an insult or was just insufferably blunt. Her pale gaze latched on to his discomfort. "The CCD was not so swift to intervene when Wallace-Johnson was dropping bombs on his own people."
As he excused himself she swiped another glass from a passing tray. It wasn't as though she minded the solitude of her own company, but it was going to be a dull evening without some lubrication against the sufferance of fools. Ignoring her better judgement, of course, but when did she listen to that? She glanced at the swirling smoke at the other end of the golden hall, and wondered if Brandon somehow watched them all from its inky depths. It would hardly surprise her.
She woke with a jolt, instinct gripping her own palms around her wrists. Unbound, the healing scars still raised against the graze of her thumbs. Memory filtered back through the afternoon light, pierced by the shrill alert of an incoming call. Ghosts retreated. She swept the hair back from her face, and the tablet she'd been working on slipped free to land with a muffled thump on the floor beside the sofa.
Fear fought disorientation; the rising anxiety as tendrils of nightmare left her. Natalie stuffed it down, swung her legs free from the tangled blanket, and padded to the kitchen to pour herself some lukewarm coffee before she accepted the call. Audio, no visual, though her mother hated that. She'd probably hate witnessing the dishevelled mess of her daughter more, though.
"Yes I'm well. No I'm not ready. I told you, several times in fact: I'm not going to the fundraiser."
She pressed the cup to her lips, eyes half-lidded, focused on the mundane.
"Duty doesn't care for desire, Natalie, and as far as duty goes it's hardly an onerous one."
"Then perhaps you ought to be here yourself."
Silence. She regretted the wound almost immediately, pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. Pulled herself together. The last subject she wanted to bring up was that of her father, the reason Eleanor avoided Moscow with abject diligence. And the very same reason Natalie had allowed herself to be so easily manoeuvred into her current position. Not that any of those plans had unravelled as intended. And now she was stuck here.
"I'm doing my part; I'm here like you asked me. But don't make me do this. You recall what happened the last time I went to one of these functions,"
she said instead. Bitter in her plea and the low blow of it. She might stoop to making a public spectacle, but it was not like she could run off to Africa this time.
Her mother only sighed. "You're expected to be there, and it would be ill advised to snub the Ascendancy's graciousness. We're his allies, Natalie. You don't have to like the people, but it won't do you any harm to try. Your grandfather has ordered a car for this evening, please don't keep it waiting."
The call clicked off. Natalie spent several more moments in silence, fingers wound around the cold coffee mug, before she stood. The dress was still in the box it had arrived in two days before, its pale, smokey folds nestled in tissue paper. She'd not even looked at it properly before discarding it on the unslept bed. She ran her fingers over the fine embroidery now, and despite the beauty felt her heart sink. There'd been two tickets originally, one already disposed of. She should have rid herself of the second damn ticket.
*
Duty was an anchor she tied to her own fucking foot. Despite her reservations, she gave in, perhaps not entirely truthful as to every reason why she acquiesced once again to her family's wishes.
The gown wreathed her like smoke in gauzy pale blues and greys, sheer across the shoulders and down the length of long sleeves. Embroidery glinted across the gossamer fabric, deepening to her waist, where it fell from her hips like the glitter of fallen stars. Her hair swept thick gold waves over one shoulder, and aside from a pair of simple diamond studs, she wore no jewellery. A muted figure in the finery surrounding her.
The last time she'd been surrounded by such crowds it had been to the melody of screams and bombs, not the clinking of glass and polite conversation. The dissonance stirred nausea in her gut; watching these people swoon and awe over Brandon's generosity, utterly ignorant of the gross excess surrounding all of them. It was worse that she was so accepted among their number; blood recognising blood. Natalie circulated easily amongst the unfamiliar faces. No one noticed the frustration fizzing just beneath her skin, or the dull shine of smiles that did not reach her eyes.
"Yes. Interesting how the Ascendancy chooses to care now, when he has something to gain from an alliance with the Legion."
And perhaps a Congresswoman to impress. She said it so sweetly that the poison took a moment to permeate. Her latest companion's brow twitched as he debated whether she meant it as an insult or was just insufferably blunt. Her pale gaze latched on to his discomfort. "The CCD was not so swift to intervene when Wallace-Johnson was dropping bombs on his own people."
As he excused himself she swiped another glass from a passing tray. It wasn't as though she minded the solitude of her own company, but it was going to be a dull evening without some lubrication against the sufferance of fools. Ignoring her better judgement, of course, but when did she listen to that? She glanced at the swirling smoke at the other end of the golden hall, and wondered if Brandon somehow watched them all from its inky depths. It would hardly surprise her.