At last, I return! I missed you all on very much.
Has it really been five months? Yikes. With school and nano, I've had no time to write, and I apologize for that!
A little backstory for this fic: Sometime after I finished Goliath, i decided Lilit and Adela would have the most perfect dynamic ever. Unfortunately, they never... actually meet. And never would.
However, Scott started his little 'extra art' vote, and I realized it was my last chance! I knew it was slim, but together with my Tumblr army... I mean, friends, we managed to get around twenty five votes. It was impressive indeed, for a write in answer.
I never thought we would win, i just hoped we'd get acknowledged! So Scott posts the art, which covered all of the provided options, and a fic to go along with it. I, understandably, got very excited when Adela showed up.
To be crushingly disappointed when Lilit did not follow suit. So I decided the best way to solve this was to write a little 'fix fic' to satisfy those of us who really like the idea of lady revolutionists and reporters being friends.
Enjoy!
Adela Rogers was a constant mystery.
Lilit had doubled over with laughter when the reporter had presented herself, all shaggy fake fur and gold, shockingly bare forearms out. She looked ridiculous, but her smile was bright and beautiful, lips adorned with a garish gold lipstick.
Lilit eyed her lips. "No one is going to see that, you know. You'll be wearing a mask." The former revolutionist gestured towards the feathery thing in Miss Rogers's hand.
"It's the thought that counts," said Adela, facing Lilit outside the hall. The twenty year old adjusted her hair, making sure all the pins were tight and secure around her curls. The other young woman could spot the hidden excitement in her friend's posture, how eager she was about this event. It never took her long to get used to someone's unique body language.
They had met at a party only a few months before. True to her nature, Lilit had despised the reporter at first, for no reason other than her career. Infuriatingly, Adela had begun to show up time and time again, notepad at the ready and always with a fresh new question on her lips for the eighteen-year-old Armenian women. Her random appearances had only started to take a turn from annoying to pleasant when the reporter had insisted they were now close friends.
After that, Adela had insisted on taking Lilit with her everywhere, especially events where the former prince was reported to be attending. Lilit was positive her attendance was completely unrelated to 'assisting Adela with equipment' (and Alek, for that matter.)
She had her own theories for why she was here with her tonight.
Adela's Californian lilt interrupted her from her thoughts. "And on that matter," she said, nose pointed towards the elegant carpet, fingers tracing their way up her long neck, "Your costume fails entirely. If you can even call it that."
Lilit glanced down at the long cream sleeves and heavy skirt, trailing down to the floor. She and her mother were the exact same height: short. "It's still a costume."
"But a bride, Miss Lilit, really? I spent weeks on this costume!" Adela waved her arms for emphasis, the pelt of her bodice shaking. The revolutionist had simply taken her mother's old wedding gown and dusted it off. Meanwhile, she had to assist Adela with glue and sewing needles. Lilit's sewing was less than elegant, but it got the job done.
"It's ironic," Lilit said stubbornly. "It works on a mental level, as this is the last time I ever plan to wear one of these things. Therefore, it's an excellent costume."
Adela Rogers gave her a look, one that was often accompanied by an "Honestly, Miss Lilit." But all she did was press her shimmering lips together and shake her head with disapproval. "I think we're fashionably late enough. Come along."
Adela was flitting about, notebook in hand and mask on from person to person with her usual debonair and charm. Lilit watched her with weary brown eyes, acting as a look out while managing niceties to all who approached her. At least people understood her costumes. (People were freezing, baffled, in front of Adela.) She had been told she looked stunning, the perfect blushing bride. She hoped they didn't really think she was that dull. She was hoping to get into this society, one way or another. She was curious about what the retired midshipman and her prince were up to.
Then again, Adela would never stop pestering her.
The worst part about becoming the ambassador's assistant was that she was actually supposed to be pleasant. Revolutionaries did not have the same standards.
Adela had carefully instructed her to look out for both Aleksandar and "the bell captain." Lilit supposed she meant mostly the latter.
The reporter saw Lilit as the key to figuring out a Mr. Dylan Sharp, ever since she had seen the two of them leaving the party together. She suspected Dylan for something. Lilit didn't think she had quite caught on yet. However, she knew something was different about the 'boy,' and she had cleverly guessed that Lilit knew exactly what this was.
But Lilit refused to tell.
She wondered, sometimes, if Adela only kept her along as a tool for sneaking. She wasn't comfortable with how much the idea hurt. When on Earth had she become so soft? It was probably Dylan's fault.
She sighed, staring out across the costumed heads. There was a young woman who didn't seem to be wearing any costume in particular. Lilit could only see the back of her skirt, though. She decided she'd point out the lady to Adela, proving she wasn't the only person using minimal effort.
The dress was of the deepest blue, with a shawl that went to her shoulder blades. It was slinky, accentuating the curves of her waist, her thighs, her…
Lilit cleared her throat, reddening. The women she was eyeing turned ever so slightly, and Lilit found herself gasping before she quite realized what she was seeing.
The delicate jaw was unmistakable. The girl she knew as Dylan Sharp—perhaps not quite so Dylan, at the moment—was standing not five feet away from her.
She was stunning. The light hit her fair features, and Lilit marveled how she could pose as a man and a woman so fantastically.
The revolutionist had wondered what Mr. Sharp would like as the fairer sex more often than she'd like to admit, though she was morally opposed to the idea of the blonde being forced to comply with standards she so obviously despised.
But her mind was a traitor, and she had pictured Dylan soft and feminine, dressed in long skirts and deeply cut dresses often. She was almost glad for this- it reassured her that her thoughts of a certain reporter were no more than hormones. (It made a fair amount more sense than actually fancying someone that obnoxious and irritating.)
She hadn't seen her friend since the party months ago, although she had been able to piece together all that had happened through newspapers. ("You, Lucky Austria, shall marry." Really, what was the boy thinking?)
But she knew that she was still keeping up her disguise, so what was her motive here? Costume party or not, it was still an awful idea. Anyone could see those curves were not artificial.
She wondered what she would tell anyone who asked. Oranges, maybe?
Heart already hammering, she felt added nerve at the idea of speaking to her, after all this time. She had narrowly avoided letting a few things... slip, since they last spoke.
She had reassured the blonde she had no feelings for her. It was as easy enough lie; she hadn't wanted to give the girl the added stress of a 'mad anarchist lassie' being all hung up on her.
But she wasn't sure if she'd be able to keep up the charade. This perfect image in blue had confirmed, once and for all, that it was not 'Dylan' she had been so attracted to.
Lilit sighed, hands on her face, feeling her mother's old wedding band hit her cheekbone. She could talk about her costume. She'd appreciate the irony, unlike Miss Rogers.
You, lucky Austria, shall marry.
On second thought, she didn't want to talk about marriage with the solider. She swallowed, pushing away a reminder of who that dress was for.
She watched Dylan swing her way through the crowd, movements coming off as awkward and under-practiced. She kept an eye on her, hesitating.
What curse had been put on her? She had always seen herself as immune to mooning over people, never batting an eyelash or feeling the deep urge to act silly and coy near a boy. She thought she had dodged that bullet…
…but she'd received a bomb instead.
Ever since that first kiss, tasting sweetly of dirt and blood and sea salt, her eye had been pulled towards elegantly dressed women, drawn to beautifully draped gowns and the flash of bare wrist. She had dealt with it, accepted it, embraced it, even. But she had a feeling society would have some trouble with the concept.
She shook the thoughts from her head, veil fluttering around her ears, and headed after Miss Sharp before she lost her in the crowd. Feelings or not, it would be nice to speak to a friend who didn't see her as an object. She picked up her skirts, as lady like as she could manage, and…
"Miss Lilit!"
Speak of a reporter, and she shall appear. "You wouldn't believe who I just found!" Lilit nodded for her to go on, looking for the hat with the tall feather—where was she going?
"Mr. Hohensburg! Properly costumed, unlike someone I know, in a dress of all things. It's been ages, so we caught up. He dodged most of my questions, however."
Lilit was completely capable of tailing Dylan without her knowing, but Adela was certainly going to notice if she ran off. And start asking questions, too. The last thing Dylan needed was Adela to catch sight of her like that.
"Mhm, that's nice, glad you saw him a….. did you just say dress?"
Adela nodded seriously. "He claimed to be dressed as Ada Lovelace."
"What kind of dress?" Lilit said, gloved hands folded and looking politely curious.
"A pinkish purple one, with a bustle… late 1880s, I would guess, all bows and frills. And a parasol!"
"How lovely," Lilit said, and the other women nodded. "A compliment to his, his skin…" was all she managed to let out before she once again doubled over with laughter, veil flipping over the front of her face.
Adela held her composure for a full minute before joining her. The two women clung to each other to prevent the other from falling to the ground, completely undignified.
"Oh, you're horrible," Adela said between giggles. "I'm not supposed to be this silly! I managed to keep a straight face all while talking," she giggled too loudly. "And he really did give an excellent explanation, but you… you're just contagious!"
"You do not know Alek like I do," Lilit said, cheeks red. "All the comments and attitude and properness, and, and you can't even imagine… Perhaps he is trying to curry favor with the royals."
Adela's laughter turned silent, and returned with a snort.
She recovered, face red. They stared at each other for a long moment, not saying a word.
Lilit finally found her voice."Did you just…"
"Oh, shush!" Adela exclaimed.
"I can't believe I didn't know that, after all these months…"
"I try to hide it, it's horrible."
"Not at all," Lilit said, and she smiled genuinely at her companion. Adela smiled back. "Well, I've accomplished something today. And I don't believe Mr. Sharp is in attendance tonight."
Lilit unwittingly glanced at where she last saw the blonde. The reporter didn't seem to notice. She supposed the two's attire was connected. A bet, perhaps, she knew the two often made them.
"And I'm shedding everywhere. Shall we return to our rooms, Lilit? Room service, on me."
"That's kind of you."
"It's on the condition that you don't let my… quirk slip to anyone."
"The blackmailer gets blackmailed!"
Adela shook her head. "You wound me, Miss Lilit. You don't think I'm that awful, do you?"
"I would never lower your tyranny to such a simple title of blackmailer, no."
Adela giggled again, snort suppressed. "So, what do you say? Would you rather stay a while longer?"
Lilit watched Dylan going, going, gone, through the crowd. Doubtless on her way to finding the boy she chose.
There were days to sulk and stay stuck on the past, but she didn't think today was one of them. "Room service sounds perfect, Miss Rogers."