Gods, when would Tallulah get here? She was late by two hours, nearing three. . . No. No, she wasn't late- she was late six days ago. She was possibly sick or hurt three days ago. Now she was dead. Ha- no, no, of course she wasn't dead. That was just his nerves getting to him- his frustration and near-constant fear that things would go wrong. But where was she? Perhaps she went home after their last visit and realized just how incredibly stupid she'd been to agree to run away with him. Of course he'd known it was a stupid idea. Hasty, made at the spur of the moment out of giddy schoolboy excitement brought on by young love. It was a gushy, sappy, hideously romantic ideal. Run away from our problems and all of society together? Yes, let's. Let us run into a fantasy world that doesn't exist and never will! What a moron he had been to even suggest it. And now Tallulah was two lessons and three hours late, without even a letter or message of any sort to explain why.

Ka-CHUNK! One of his many throwing knives joined five others, lodged in a target he'd painted on the wall- near-dead center. It was a vain attempt at exerting all his negative energy- letting off steam. She wasn't coming. He wondered, briefly, if their game had ever really come to an end. If, while he got caught up in things- in the emotions Tallulah had brought to surface- if Tallulah had been quietly smirking behind all her smiles and laughs and tears, still playing her cards. And if her sudden absence was a sign she'd won- that victory was hers. No. No, surely not. All those emotions had been real- hadn't they? He could see it all clearly in her eyes. Or... or she was just a fantastic actress.

No. Perhaps she was hurt? Or sick? Or simply.. had forgotten that they had agreed to meet four times a week rather than two? Forgotten that their lessons had been doubled so she could get more practice- so she could actually improve? But that still wouldn't explain why he hadn't seen her in almost ten days. Not even for a simple visit. A cup of tea. He'd contemplated paying her a visit more than once. He knew where she lived. But that would be... odd. It would come across as possessive. Or clingy. Or just plain odd. Perhaps rude. Gods he was a mess. It was only a week... a week in which his time had been wasted waiting on his student and friend and love interest to come to her lessons. A week without his pay- he still had money for food but it would soon dwindle if she didn't come to their lessons soon. Just one week. Nothing to get anxious over. She's fine.

Ka-CHUNK! Dead center. He sighed, crossing to the wall and unceremoniously pulling each knife from it. So why did he have a bad feeling about all of this? Why did he feel like something was going to go wrong?

Because it always has. He crossed to the sink, soaking a washcloth in cool water and dabbing his face and the back of his neck with it, relieving some of the hot, sweaty soreness from a long day's workout, more intense than usual. Deep down he hadn't even expected her to come today since he'd awoken this morning.

(( Hope this is ok. I just realized how hard it is to write worried/anxious/pissed without crossing into the realm of creepy/possessive. I will edit if it seems that way- so please inform me if it does. ))

Oh, goodness. Tallulah was late- but by how much? Gods, what day was it? She'd been drawing for hours . . . Had she been painting for days? Lu couldn't tell.

Over and over again- she'd been trying to paint away that horrible snake-like feeling in the pit of her stomach. She'd been trying to paint away that part of her that was sewn with indecision, clouded with worry.

She wanted to leave with Artemis. Of course she did. She needed to, she had to . . . Her bags were still packed. And yet- she'd put him in danger. Danger from her. You see, the longer she'd painted, the closer she'd come to realizing that she was so similar to that blackness which had nearly consumed her when she'd first stepped foot in the Dives.

And she nearly looked just as bad.

She hadn't slept since she'd started painting, hadn't really eaten. When Tallulah cought a glimpse of herself in her wash room mirror, she'd been disturbed by the barely concealed insanity in her own eyes. She was becoming obsessed with painting those women. The image of her own face haunted her thoughts as she left her home, chasing her away from her brushes and colors. She had to get away from herself. Away from that house, away from the memories.

Tallulah really did need a break- and she wouldn't be gone for too terribly long. No. Not long. Not long, at all.

And as she was walking to Artemis's home, she couldn't help but notice how her hands shook. How her eyes ached in the light. How her attention flitted and faltered constantly, moving to and fro with a nervous flicker that was not unlike the rhythmic scratch of pencil on paper.

Oh, no. She couldn't be late. She was perfectly on time. Maybe a little late, but not by much. Her hair hadn’t even been that tangled, and that had to count for something. It simply had to.

'I mean, I don't feel too late . . . '

Of course she'd changed into pants and a shirt, but she still looked disheveled. Paint of all different colors splattered her pale hands, some sticking to her hair in odd spots, her cheek smudged with the oddest shade of blue. Her nose was smudged with charcoal as well, and she'd missed a button or three on her shirt. She hadn’t meant to. It just sort of happened.

And her shoes were untied. And loose. And she was nearly running, breathless and a tad dizzy by the time she reached Artemis’s door. She knocked quickly- oddly, the jog had helped her calm down a bit. It cleared her head. Gods, how was she going to tell him? How was she going to say what she had to? How could she . . . No. She wasn’t abandoning him. She would just be pushing their departure back a week or five. He’d understand.

And so, she fixed her glasses (shit, her glasses) and made an effort to smooth her hair out of her face. She’d taken a bath, but it hadn’t done much good on the paints she used. She hoped he wasn’t too angry . . . She never wanted that. Not because of her.

Another fifteen minutes had passed, and Artemis was just about to settle in for a bath when he felt a familiar, strong field- faint with distance but growing as its source grew stronger. But no, she wasn't here, was she, after being so late? And then there was the sudden, sharp, quick rap on the door. The familiar knocking, but.... hasty. Hesitant. Uncertain. And he noticed it in the field as well- something was off. He sighed, expecting the worse, then got out of the bath- looked like he wouldn't be taking one for a while and when he did it would be cold rather than slightly warm- and wrapped a towel around his waist and crossed to the door, unlatching each lock with a strange, sinking feeling of dread. Something in Tallulah's field definitely spoke of bad things to come.

And then the door swung open and he saw her and the dread unexpectedly switched to rage, matched only by concern. But when he spoke his voice was under tight control- even, if stern, containing minor tension from restraint. "Tallulah." He took in the paint in her hair- might have teased her about it if he were of a better disposition- and jerked his head, beckoning for her to come inside, closing the door behind them with a sharp click. "Might I ask where you've been the past week?" He faltered, about to lose control of his temper- to let loose the rage boiling inside him. "Did you merely forget about our lessons? Conveniently decide it wasn't worth a visit, or even a letter to explain why you couldn't make it? Or have you been intentionally wasting my time?" His lips twitched. It wasn't right to attack her like this, and he knew that deep down. What if she had been sick? What if she had genuinely wanted to visit but for whatever reason was unable to? But that did nothing to ease his anger- his frustration.

Needing to do something other than just stand in the doorway he crossed into his room, still talking to her over his shoulder as he slipped pants on under the towel, "I had no inclination of where you were, if you were hurt or sick. Well.. it looks to me as if all you've been doing the past week was fussing over your silly little art projects." He let he towel drop as he buttoned his pants, turning his cold gaze on her. Of course he had nothing against her art. She was undeniably talented, and it was low to attack her for doing what she loved- downright nasty, even. But he was pissed. He wasn't thinking about how much he was hurting her, or about how much he would regret it later. He stood his ground, rigid, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. ".... Well?"

Tallulah swallowed. Hard. She could feel his rage roll off his skin in waves, each one hitting her in the stomach, twisting that blackness inside of her. Each one furrowing her brow and tugging at her heart. She hadn't meant to make him worry . . . not really. She'd just been so absorbed, so immersed in her work. Gods. She felt horrible.

But there were other feelings there, too. There was a warmth that filled her in the strangest of ways, making her blush as she looked at his back, his chest, his stomach. His arms and neck, tensed with emotion, the hardened skin of his hands as he motioned subtly with them. The water lining his scars. He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. Funny. She wondered if he ever saw her that way . . . It was so strange, the capacity for emotion. How much one woman could feel. How much one heart could hold.

And then he was talking about her art . . . Her paintings. Her "silly little art projects." The only thing she'd had for most of her life. He . . . She thought . . . Was this all just a game to him?

Tallulah flinched, taking a step back as if he'd struck her. In a way, he had. Staring up at him, eyes searching his, she felt used. Betrayed? No. She felt lied to. If he was so damn worried, he could have just said so. He didn't have to . . . to hurt her like he had. Tallulah shifted her gaze to her hands, like she was prone to do any time she felt the need to hide. Which she did. But her hands were shaking, so it was next to impossible to curl herself inside the would-be scars.

She had nothing left to guard herself with. Not now. And she thought he knew. She was trying to be angry at him- but the guilt of what she had to do, the pressure, the fear . . . it kept her anger at bay. She didn’t blame him, really. She was rather horrible, most of the time.

"I didn't mean to, Artemis. I just . . ." She shrugged, shaking her head, still not meeting his gaze. "I thought you'd understand."

Gaining strength, she stared him in the eye, slowly taking off her glasses. This sort of control was hard for her. All she really wanted to do was be held by him. All she needed was to hear that everything would be okay. She just wanted comfort. She thought he could give her that.

“Obviously, I was wrong.”

He glanced hat her, a moment of confusion, a moment of concern. A moment where he wanted to reach out to her. A moment where he wanted to comfort her as he had a week ago, when she was crying in his arms. A moment where he couldn't bear being angry at her. But it was just a moment. Fleeting. Gone in a heartbeat. Replaced yet again by anger. "You want me to understand?" He snapped, "You want me to bow to your every whim, understand every little decision you make, every move, every breath, without so much as a question as to why? Tell me, then? How the hell am I supposed to understand when you don't even speak with me about it? When you don't even provide rhyme or reason? All you had to do was send a messenger. A letter of some sort to inform me of why you couldn't make it! I thought.... I almost..." His rage began to falter. His worries- his concerns- his fears- all about to consume the rage and his own words- he was about to lose himself for just one moment. Just one moment in which he looked utterly pitiful. Utterly pathetic.

He clenched his fists, set his jaw. "You want me to waltz around in your shoes as if I had nothing else to do with my life, when never once have you even bothered stepping in mine! How the hell am I supposed to understand why you were gone- why even now you refuse to give me something I can work with- when you don't even talk to me?!" He felt like shaking her with every word. But no- he couldn't do that. Much as he was angry at her, he couldn't hurt her like that. Couldn't raise a hand to her in any way. And yet he was still yelling at her as if that were any better.

"Do you have any idea how that felt, waiting for you? I even considered paying you a visit just to make sure everything was alright- that you weren't hurt. But I thought that might be rude of me. Thought you might view that as a lack of trust on my behalf. So I waited for you, patiently, making all sorts of excuses for you. And you didn't come. And you still have yet to explain why. Because I am trying- believe me, I really am- trying my best to conceive of any reason as to why you've been absent for a week." His voice was lower, now. A bit calmer. Less of an edge to it, though it was still there, still rolling off his tongue in bitter vehemence.

His anger was nearly as physical as his scent, as the water rolling off of his hair and onto his shoulders. As nearly as beautiful as his joy, almost as glorious as his smile. Gods, how could her heart swell with love for him, even as her stomach twisted in anger? How could she be so . . . confused?

"If you were so damned worried, Artemis, just say so! You're always welcome in my home! Next time, just come by instead of jumping to conclusions! You know what it's like to be absorbed in a project, dammit. So don't judge me. Don't you dare judge me." The burst of energy was gone. Completely and totally gone. It took nearly all of her willpower to keep herself vertical, but even then she faltered for a second, reeling.

How long had it been since she'd- oh, yes. A week. Ten days- but she did eat once. Yes, she remembered that. Bread and cheese and she'd been drinking water non-stop. That she knew. But still she felt so light-headed, so shaken. Couldn't he see? Couldn't he tell how much this was tearing her up inside, how much she needed him? How much she needed to keep him safe? To keep him from that blackness she'd felt?

She placed her thumb and index finger on the bridge of her narrow nose, pinching softly, leaning against a chair for support. "There's no need to insult me or my art." Her anger was still burning, still flickering in her field. Gods, was he blind? Tallulah sighed, her eyes closing. She really didn't have the ability to do this. Not now.

". . . If this is how you're going to react each time I make a mistake, maybe we should wait a while. Before we leave, I mean."

It nearly killed her to say it. She felt the pain ripple across her features, flux in her field, consume every part of her, before she regained control. Which she shouldn't have to do. Not around him. Not around the man she loved.

Strange. As upset as he was it simply wasn't as easy to keep himself boiled up into a rage as it used to be. Largely due to the woman who had just instilled the anger in him. The woman he was looking at, now, taking in. The woman he loved. And now he noticed. Now that his anger was slowly draining, now he noticed how drained she looked. How tired.

He sighed heavily, taking a deep breath in through his noes and letting it hiss out through his teeth. Damn it all, why couldn't he stay angry at her? Of course he had been just a bit paranoid. And he could have paid her a visit, but for some reason that had just seemed odd to him. And now she was saying he was welcome at her house at any time, which he'd only just caught. Everything she was saying seemed to be muffled- he could hear it, understand it even, but it was distant. She looked like she hadn't eaten since their last visit. And she looked weak from it. She clearly wasn't in any sort of mood for his yelling. So, with some effort, he pushed his urge to yell his frustrations away. Locked up tight the need to argue. Held at bay his anger, his frustration, his words which would make this situation much worse. For her.

"I'm sorry." And he was, despite all his excuses, despite his justifications for his anger and by extension his actions. "I just... I don't know." He rubbed his temples. Let out another sigh. "I didn't mean it... what I said about your art I mean." And he hadn't. He'd said it completely understanding, at the time, that it was merely spoken of his anger. Nothing more. No meaning behind it. He'd also realized it would upset her and while his anger hadn't allowed him to give a damn, he now did. He now cared. He now felt guilty for it.

"You look terrible. Please sit down." He pulled out a chair, guiding her carefully into it. "When was the last time you've eaten?" He crossed over to the cupboard, pulling out pots and pans, two plates, two cups, and various utensils. He wasn't entirely sure what he would cook, but Tallulah had to eat something before she passed out, or worse.

And just as easily as he pushed his frustration aside, Tallulah was forgiving him.

"I know, Artemis."

She stretched up on her tip-toes to gently press a kiss to his rough cheek. Maybe she was simply asking his forgiveness in advance? It took a bit of effort, she had to admit, but being close to him was worth it. Tallulah laughed quietly as she sat, rolling her eyes. Her anger dissipated easily, simply because she no longer had any reason to defend herself.

"Thank you, Artemis. You look quite dashing yourself."

She meant that. What she didn't mean was to be so fragile- really, she didn't like it. She'd just been in an odd place, of late. Her emotions seemed beyond her control, her mind completely void of logic. Her heart no longer belonged inside her chest, it seemed; she couldn't stop the dreams when she slept.

But they weren't bad dreams- no, they were good. Beautiful. Populated by blue eyes and an unnoticeably scarred face. Goatee and all. Sometimes, though, there was this feeling of dread, this feeling of doom. She'd try and keep his hand in hers, but it kept slipping, kept pulling away. Those nights, Tallulah awoke shaking. Those nights, Tallulah was too frightened to go back to sleep.

Gods, what had he done to her?

Obviously more than she had expected, because she stood slowly and padded across his floor to stand beside the man who'd changed her so irrevocably.

"The last time I ate? . . . Four? Five days?" She shook her head as she helped him set up pots and pans and things, moving easily to his stove and lighting it quickly, setting a full kettle on top.

"I didn't mean to worry you. Would you- could you forgive me?"

Looking up at him in an attempt to catch his eyes, she smiled sheepishly, her bangs falling about her face.

She wasn't doing a good job of sitting. He rolled his eyes but allowed her moving about his kitchen. He would be there to catch her if she fell. Then she was asking him to forgive her. Interesting how they always shared their apologies, neither one fully to blame, and yet both always the source of the other's frustrations. "I should have trusted you. Or swallowed my pride and come to visit you. The fault does not belong only to you." He gave her a reassuring smile, "I forgive you, though there is little to forgive."

He started a pot of tea to boiling before he crossed over to grab some vegetables to slice and peel and set to steaming. Four eggs he grabbed, as well, intending fully on cooking them with the vegetables. Things were quiet for a while before he spoke again. "So what's this about waiting?" He shifted his weight on his bare feet, "I understand we need time to prepare... and we have been taking things at an incredible pace." He looked her in the eye, "I admit I've had myself terrified of it at times. Afraid we've taken things too quickly. If you want to wait to forget the rest of the world, I have no place to blame you. I just want to be sure.... you want it."

It sounded as if he were asking if she still wanted to wait. But he really wanted to be sure she still wanted him. Them. Together? And he realized, deep down, they still had yet to tell one another those three little words. The words that were oft over used. Said too much. Weren't enough. But at the same time were the three most powerful words of all time. Perhaps tonight would be that night. The night they let go of their fears, their reservations- swallowed their pride and admitted their feelings. He felt as if the silence after that question dragged on for an eternity- a long, awkward, painful moment. But it was probably no more than a second- or fraction thereof- before she answered.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Or maybe she was loosing her mind. But whatever it was, the next thing that happened made the young golly more open than she'd ever been in her entire life. Ever.

Tallulah turned to Artemis slowly, closed her eyes, and released the control she had on her field. On her emotions. On everything. She couldn't say the words- no, she was . . . too much of a coward for that. But she could let him in.

The mona she'd gathered over the years morphed almost instantly, becoming something . . . more. Her neutrality disappeared completely, all the harshness that had clung to her aura gone. In that blank place grew something warmer and gentler and completely hers but planted by him. Something unguarded and vulnerable and so much there it would be impossible to deny.

Love.

It was the strongest emotion she'd ever felt- stronger than her sorrow, than her regret. She felt it upon thinking of him, even though he did make her so indescribably angry at times. Gods, this was embarrassing. The strength of her want, the power of her own emotions when manifested. When Tallulah was finally able to look at him, it was with a shy (almost timid) smile.

"I want this, Artemis. I . . . I want you."

And it was the absolute truth. Her very fingertips sang with it; her heart rejoiced in it. But she still wasn't sure if she could have him. If she was healthy for him. If she was strong enough for him. She slowly drew her field back, taking the reigns once more- becoming a mere echo of the force she'd been before- and placed her hand gently upon his forearm.

"I'm just- I'm scared. I don't know what we're getting ourselves into, and I'm terrified."

He'd said he wanted her to be more open with him- and so she was trying. Trying so hard to explain herself, even as she was choking back her fear of rejection.

It was so sudden- her field bursting forth, hitting him in such powerful waves it felt as if she'd cast a high level spell. The power which lay not only in the strength of her field, but the emotion it contained- need, want, joy, fear, pain, loss, laughter, confusion, unbridled desire. It was one of the most terrifying and yet one of the most beautiful things he'd ever felt. It made his hair rise on end, and tore and gripped at his heart as if they were his own emotions. And then the cherry on top- the words that followed the sudden burst of raw emotion.



And then it all dissipated, nearly as quickly as it had come, leaving him feeling empty and weak in the knees- breathless. He was about to say something, though he found it difficult to speak after that experience, but then Tallulah continued.



Of course. Of course she was terrified- he understood that, because so was he. Terrified beyond belief at the aspect of their future, of what they planned to do, of what society might do to them, as if their love was an abomination- as if it would endanger the entire world. But surely they could overcome all that- surely, despite all the obstacles they would face, it would be worth it in the end? "I know. So am I." He paused, the words coming to mind, pressing against his lips, but the instant he deigned to speak them his tongue seemed to swell- to hold them back. "And yet... I think I can overcome that fear... with help." He busied himself with stirring the contents of the pot, feeling oddly small, as if speaking the words would make him the greatest of victors, and yet would shatter his world and everything he knew completely. So want was the word. Want. Not love. Want. "I want you, too."

The corners of his lips flicked up into an odd sort of smile- a mildly painful one, his disappointment in his cowardice breaking through in every action, or so he felt. He pulled the teapot off the stove, pouring them both a cup of tea, then turned to serve the meal they'd prepared. Defeated. Defeated because he was a damned coward. Moron. There he'd had such a perfect opportunity and he'd wasted it on saying "want." And now he'd be searching endlessly for that next chance all night, rather than just saying it because it felt awkward. Fool.

She could tell what he wanted to say. She knew, because she was walking the same line, the same narrow pathway which separated him from her. The path that she’d never stepped foot on before. Tallulah understood. She did. She’d passed up the chance as well and Good Lady how she burned to have it back. But she couldn’t turn back the hands of time, no matter how hard she tried; so they moved together, separately steeped in their spinelessness, completely connected and completely alone.

She couldn’t do anything to ease her own worry- but there might be something she could do about his. So, when Artemis handed Tallulah her plate, she caught his hand. She caught his hand and squeezed it gently, letting her field out- but only a bit. Only to what was natural. It wasn’t much, just what she felt in that moment. Just her understanding. Just her hope. Just her fear. But it was all she could do, really.

She looked him in the eye as she had so many times before, and tried to tell him that she'd always be there. She'd always try. She'd always love him. But the words wouldn't come. They simply got tangled somewhere in her larynx and stuck on the roof of her mouth. Gods. She was an idiot.

It didn’t seem a time for words anyway.

Tallulah released Artemis's hand and sat at her place across from his, her feet drawn under her chair as her brow was drawn into a crease. She was simply staring at her food, biting her bottom lip, feeling rather tumultuous. She loved him, but she couldn’t say it. He loved her, but he couldn’t say it. What was wrong with them?

And then, Tallulah was laughing quietly, shaking her head, glancing up at him from behind her bangs.

“What a fine pair we make.”

Her grin was chagrined, small, but bright none-the-less. It was only then that she realized she’d forgotten to take her field back, forgotten to remain an objective third party. It was odd . . . For once, she didn’t much care.

Ah, there was the emotion again, not as powerful as before, but there, a pleasant buzz. And accompanying it was the gentle caressing of her soft, cool hand against his. He offered her a smile, an understanding silence passing between the two of them before siting down across from her. He did not comment on her words, still vaguely uncomfortable with his prior statement- or lack thereof.

After a moment of eating in silence, he met her gaze. Gods, she was beautiful. Perfect, clear white skin, wrapped around the lovely, soft contours of her face. Her hair falling like a river of snow about her shoulders, cascading down her back- he wanted to run his fingers though it- bury his nose in it. And her eyes- her ruby eyes were something he could easily get lost in. Of course that all sounded very corny in his head, but that didn't make any of it any less true.

He cleared his throat to break the silence. "So. Out of curiosity... what have you been busying yourself with this past week?"

(( Short. Fail. Artepost for you. ))

She had started eating slowly- cutting her food in to small pieces, stabbing those pieces, lifting them to her mouth, chewing, tasting, swallowing- and everything about the action seemed off. Not wrong. Just like a limb that hadn't been stretched in quite some time. It was funny, really, but throughout their silence Tallulah couldn't keep from watching Artemis.

Good Lady, he was hansom.

Strong shoulders, grace and ease hidden behind lean muscle, hard chest riddled like a page with the stories of his scars. Arms that were nearly twice the width of hers, finely toned and completely wonderful. The line that creased in his cheek when he smiled, nothing but a shadow when his lips were straight. Large hands, rough and warm, calluses built with hard work and care. Dark hair and brows, the color of the night sky.

And, when he looked at her, ice blue eyes which shone with a flicker of a question and then were captivated. Staring at her the way she was at him. Brows knit with that strange curiosity when looking at the person who had, so suddenly, become very much a part of the onlooker's heart. It was enough to make Tallulah's stomach warm, her cheeks tingling in preparation for a blush.



Her laugh was sudden, quick, bright. Impassioned. Head shaking as she thought of how to answer him. Quiet, but only for a moment. And then she stated very plainly, very nonchalantly...

"Whores."

And waited for his reaction, a smirk flirting with the corner of her mouth.

Her laugh was sudden and unexpected, and made him wonder just what had gone through her mind when-

'Whores.' It was all she said. Simple. Flat. No humor in her tone- overall very nonchalant in the way it had been delivered. 'Whores' as if no other explanation was needed. It was. Because all Artemis could do at first was stare at her in disbelief. Whores? Really. She didn't seem the type. But there was a spark of humor behind her eyes, somewhere. Either this was a joke or there was more to the whores than met the eye, so to speak.

He cleared his throat. "Whores." Just a simple, flat tone as he tried to work out what exactly to say in response. "Well. I should hope you didn't have too much fun there. Such affairs are quite unbecoming of a lady of your stature, after all. Wouldn't want the noble upper class thinking you were the type to consort with the lesser beings- that would be quite the tragedy." It was all said in good humor. Yes, an explanation was in order, but that didn't mean he couldn't make light of the situation.

Tallulah laughed again, bringing her paint-splattered hand up to press against her lips, slipping her foot from her untied shoe and sliding it to nudge against Artemis's. He looked rather worried (but only secretly, and only for a moment)- as well he should be. Unbecoming to a lady of her stature was an understatement. Well, at least no one but Bain- the Darling Ditz- and Campy- the . . . well. Campion was Campion. Not much more could be said about that- had witnessed her little escapade.

"Oh, yes. Quite despicable, really."

Another nudge to his foot, pressing her socked toes against the place where his ankle met his leg. Her lips were curled, her body filled with warmth. She was surprised she hadn't started to glow. Gods, but she was tired. Maybe that's why she felt so silly. So stupidly happy.

"It was nothing like that. I had an adventure- sketched the women of the night. Believe me, whores are wonderful at becoming motionless, if you pay them their normal wages."

Of course, she'd left out some details as to where and with whom, but Artemis already worried too much. He didn't need to do more than what was absolutely necessary. Pressing a finger to her chin, Tallulah pretended to grow serious. It wasn't too hard, really. Except for the fact where she had to not smile.

"I wonder what it would take for you to stay still . . . certainly I don't have to bribe you."

Tallulah was fully aware of the few less-than innocent implications that statement made, and she reveled in them. How often did a lady get to tease a man so crudely, anyways?

Was that..? Huh. She was rubbing her feet against his legs. It was strange to him- an alien sensation. He wasn't entirely sure what to do with it- normally if some golly were footing him he would kick them under the table or worse. This was different. Mildly irritating at first, but the woman clearly didn't mean any harm by it- indeed it seemed her way of playing wit him. So he relaxed and let it be, eventually getting into it and returning the favor- just e gentle nudge of his bare foot against her soft, slender ankle.



He smirked, the best way he could think to react to the little, not-so-subtle innuendos, shaking his head, then finally allowing a laugh- low, quiet, but there- sincere. He smiled up at her, "Tallulah, if you want me to hold still I am afraid that might be difficult. You would have to catch me while I am utterly exhausted from a long day's work, or reading, or even sleeping. The point is I simply cannot allow myself to hold still for too long. Let's say it's a certain restlessness I've always possessed. Sadly, it is not within my nature to sit quietly whilst someone captures my likeness on canvas."

He tilted his head, fork in hand. He'd hesitated to ask this- obviously Tallulah was perfectly safe. She'd made it here alive and well, after all, but it was still nagging at him. Still pulling at the back of his mind. "In any case..." He began, finally allowing the burning inquiry, "That you were drawing prostitutes leaves me with the assumption that you delved deep into the Dives. Even in broad daylight that is a dangerous venture for one such as yourself."

For an undeniably beautiful, delicate galdor lady, armed only with magic which might not be enough if she were jumped by a large group of unruly men who would have their way with her. Even the outskirts of the dives were dangerous- but the deeper one went, deeper into the lions' den, where the majority of the whore houses resided... that was treacherous ground. Perhaps his fears- the bad, sickly feelings that had settled in the pit of his stomach- hadn't been entirely unwarranted after all. "I do hope you brought someone with you?" He wasn't entirely sure who she would bring- last he'd checked Tallulah wasn't the type to surround herself with friends, even from her own race. He just happened to be the fortunate one who had fallen into her good graces. Still, he hoped she hadn't been fool enough to go alone, even as safely as she'd obviously made it out. Again, there was the worry. He did that too much. It seemed, as hard as he might try, he would never really be an optimist.

Thoughts of Artemis sitting, reading, sleeping, smiling, hair falling in front of his face as that smile-line traced his mouth and defined his cheekbones filled Tallulah's mind. She could see it. Him. Them. Together. Her sitting with him as she sketched his hands from memory, him sleeping with his head in her lap as she memorized his face. How strange her ideas were. Like predictions. Like wishes. Hopes. Dreams? Yes. Dreams.

And then, quite suddenly, the blackness of the dives had returned and was pressing against her gut like some demon. Like some horrid sickness, some feeling she couldn't shake. What if she hurt him? What if, like everyone else she'd loved, he left? What if he finally wasn't careful enough, and his "job" cost him his life? Was her happiness worth his safety? He was the one worried for her, and perhaps Tallulah had been in danger in the crapheap, but as she looked at him . . . She felt this overwhelming ache in her chest. Like her heart was too big for her ribcage. But this time, it didn't fill her with warmth. She grew cold and heavy, her stomach like a stone.

But as quickly as it had come, the darkness in her eyes had passed, and Tallulah was smiling once more.

"Yes, I had two chaperon's. I was quite safe, Artemis. You needn't worry- not for me."

Perhaps for himself, though- no. No. She wouldn't think it. She wouldn't let that thought root itself in her mind. She wouldn't. And so, it was with a forced ease (if such a thing was possible) that Tallulah spoke.

"And how did you keep yourself busy this past week, Artemis?"

There was a moment of quiet contemplation, it seemed- she was off in a happy place, her eyes misty, a small smile tugging the corners of her lips as she thought about something unknown to him. And then, quite suddenly, there was a certain darkness behind her eyes- terror, pain, loss. He couldn't help but wonder what she had suddenly seen in her mind's eye, what had suddenly disturbed her so deeply- was it something from her past, a deep, metaphorical wound that was playing up even after it had scarred over years ago- her mother's death, perhaps? Or was it something she feared from the future? Or maybe her little trip into the Dives was more eventful and less secure than she'd let on?

He was curious- and more than that, he was concerned. But before he could inquire as to what had shaken her, she appeared to have snapped out of it. Huh. Maybe she was just over tired? She did have an awful tenancy to go incredible lengths of time with no sleep, whether she was inspired or simply had something troubling on her mind. She allowed things to trouble her too often- perhaps that was a weakness the two shared. Constantly worrying over things that ought be left to the past, or the future, as the case may very well be. Still, even as he pushed aside his worries, he couldn't help but have this niggling concern for Tallulah's well-being in the back of his mind. She was keeping something locked up in shadow, refusing, for some reason, to confide in him. No- no, he wouldn't pry. She would let him know when she was ready.



"The usual. Reading, writing, keeping in shape... Utterly dull activities, I might add, nothing overly eventful. I've not even been out much, this week..." He munched on a rather crunchy spear of asparagus, mind wandering.

Tallulah looked at him for a moment. Surely he had something more to say. Surely he'd done more than worry about her the entire time . . . ? She felt horrible. Really. She could have written, or just- ahg. Couldn't she go one week without hurting someone she loved? Obviously, not. She loved him, Lady damn it all. Couldn't she find something less superficial than the weather to discuss with him? Wasn't there something more she could say, more she could do?

". . . I really am sorry, you know."

Obviously, not. Well. On to more questions. Or maybe- yes. Maybe she could talk about her company during her time at the dives. That should be rather . . . interesting.

"I met this spit-fire of a prostitute, Lita. She kept calling me a . . . Oh, what was it? A 'tin-Lizzie.'" Smiling, Tallulah stabbed a piece of asparagus herself, and twirled it. "I'm making dresses for them, you know. Well, I'm paying someone else to do it. But I've designed them." Her smile grew as she bit down on the vegetable, chewed, and swallowed.

"This other woman, Ann, was . . . very interested. In my purse, anyway." A mock-frown formed on Lu's face, humor twinkling deep in her eyes as she remembered Ann shoving her rather large breasts in Tallulah's face. She wondered if men even liked that sort of thing. More importantly, if her man liked that sort of thing . . .

Sorry for what? Had he sent her the wrong signals, just then? He wasn't still upset with her- not really. It seemed his silence had made her feel a might uncomfortable. As if she'd done something unforgivable. He was about to open his mouth- about to say that there was no need for further apologies- that she had a life, too, and was allowed to live it without his constant pestering or wasting of her time- when she changed the subject. Back to the whores. Must've been interesting women, these prostitutes.



He laughed- quiet, low, but a laugh nonetheless. Of course the whores would not take too kindly to a golly lady. Or a golly man, at that. Their money, they might love, but certainly not their company. Harsh lives as they lived, most of the time not by their own choice- just a means of survival. Of course they would look at all gollies with bitter hatred. And fear. Of course they would view the visits as a mockery of their situation- so locked into their poverty as they were- in their filth. It wasn't humor at their predicament that he felt, but humor at the fact that Tallulah seemed surprised by their reaction to her. He listened in silent interest as she continued talking of the different women.



"Of course. I am sure some of those women would love nothing more than to earn enough to get themselves out of their situation. But then... Sadly, even when they manage that, by the time they have they're scarred beyond repair. They know nothing more than the life their situation had presented them with. Try as they might, many of them cannot simply escape their way of life, once they have been forced to live it for too long. Please, do try not to judge these women for that which they cannot help. That life is all many of them know, some brought into it from birth- their mothers possessing the same line of work."

"Judge them . . . ?"

Tallulah looked at Artemis, curiosity burning in her red eyes. How could he think she judged them? She admired them. Their strength. The way they lived with the darkness which she had so readily been consumed by. But she couldn't say all that. She couldn't talk of that vulgar thing which had slithered up her thighs and curled in her mind like so much bile rising to the back of her throat. So she blinked once, sorting through her thoughts, and continued.

"I could never judge them, Artemis. Not when they've still got as much life in them as they do. Not when they're so vibrant." She was looking him in the eye, but had to suddenly turn away to stare at nothing, motioning subtly with her stained, horrid hands.

"They're so . . . Beautiful. In the way they've been destroyed. In the way they've been inducted into this machine-like business and the profit from men's pockets. All of them, every last one, is stronger than me. Most likely wiser than me, too."

Here she turned back to him, eyes lit with that same intensity. "No, I could never judge Lita. Or Ann. Or Joan. Not when I respect them as I do." Tallulah's smile was small as she shrugged, looking away once more. "Birth has nothing to do with it, I think. It's about character- for me, at least."

Well, that was certainly unexpected. But a pleasant surprise- respect was certainly more desirable than pity, which was the most any low-class citizen could expect of the galdori- of course, Tallulah never really had been a typical golly. It was part of her charm. One of the many reasons he enjoyed her company. He smiled. "Good." He leaned back into his chair, sipping his tea, staring off into some point in the distance before focusing once more on Tallulah's eyes, "So, can I expect to see these paintings, at some point?

"Really, I've not seen much of your work, only simple sketches here and there, and while all you've shown me was skillfully compiled, nothing was complete. I expect there is far more that I've not seen, and that your finished works are even more grand than the initial sketches." It really was strange. That as long as he'd known her not once had he seen a finished painting from her. It was curious that she hadn't shown him. Perhaps the fault was his- that he had simply never asked. Never shown interest. That thought left a bitter feeling of guilt to settle in the pit of his stomach, like bile sitting stubbornly at the back of his throat. Well, at least that was being remedied now, albeit in a mildly awkward fashion. He really wasn't very good at expressing interest in others, even those close to him it would seem. Clearly, he'd spent too much time to himself. Too much time hating everything that breathed, being bitter about things that really weren't anyone's fault but his own.

“You . . . You wish to see my paintings?”

Everything about Tallulah spoke of unbridled excitement. The light behind her eyes, the suddenly hectic blotches of color blooming on her cheeks, the smile which touched her face- enough to make her lips part, but not enough to make her smile. She set her fork down, pushing her plate to the side as she thought of him . . . looking. At her work. At her soul . . .

Gods. The thought was enough to inspire.

“Really?” She was looking at him as if he’d just suggested they run off together all over again, her tone incredulous. No one had ever taken an interest in her art- besides the few oddballs, every now and again. No one she cared for had ever really asked.

She’d always been a rather private person- her life hidden away in the most secret of places, her passion always kept close to her heart. She’d not been forthcoming about her second love (art) to her first (Artemis) and it made her a little . . . embarrassed. They were to be living together soon, weren’t they? He should know more of her than what she chose to share. He should know everything- except her fear. Except her darkness. That was hers. Her burden to bear. Not his.

“Well, I have several finished pieces at home . . . Perhaps, if you’d like, you could stop by? Later this afternoon . . . ?” She was suddenly shy. Fancy that. He knew where she lived, or so she hoped. But there was something about inviting him to her home now that they were what they were that was oddly intimate. Not uncomfortable- just close.