It had been a long, rainy day, and all Isabela wanted after she'd come back from a job and had dried herself off, was a stiff drink at the bar and perhaps a quick tumble. But it was long past midnight, and there were only a handful of other customers around, and none of them looked even remotely doable. She shouldn't be drinking at the bar at all. At the rate she was making coin, it would be years before she could afford a ship. The thought made her maudlin and miserable and swallow the infernal brew before her in one draught.
Just when she wanted to retire, the door opened, revealing a weirdly shady figure. Quite literally shady, there had to be an enchantment on the cloak, even as the person stepped inside, Isabela had to squint to see the figure, the cloak kept shifting, like murky water or storm clouds.
She was wary at once, no one who could afford that kind of enchantment would want to drink here.
But then the cloak came off and Isabela could only stare. The room suddenly fell completely silent. She'd have expected someone to whistle or make a lewd comment, considering how much skin the dress showed. But Lenore was not only a beautiful sight, she looked almost eerie, skin all but glowing in contrast to the deep red dress, pale as a ghost. In the dingy taproom, she was the strangest, most out of place thing one could possibly imagine. Isabela looked around quickly and could actually see fear in the men's faces. Then those grey-blue eyes fixed on her, and Lenore strode over.
"Take me to your room, Isabela."
Isabela did not usually obey commands, but this seemed rather reasonable. She took Lenore by the wrist and pulled her up a small, dark staircase and into her tiny room. Once the door was closed, Lenore whispered:
"Take me to bed. I know you can find yourself a whore more talented than I, but she won't let her hair down for you the way I do, and she won't need to be fucked the way I do tonight. I'll let you do anything you want."
"You had me the moment you came in here, sweet thing, you needn't beg," Isabela said, but something about the way Lenore looked made her falter. "What's wrong, dove? Where did you come from, looking like that? Are you drunk?"
"Not enough by far."
She averted her eyes, and Isabela took her by the wrist.
"Tell me."
"It's nothing." She pulled Isabela close and kissed her deeply. For a moment, Isabela didn't fight it, but then she pushed her back gently enough.
"Lenore." She gave her a wary look, then frowned. "There's blood on your arm."
Lenore craned her neck and twisted to see the back of her arm.
"I was at a soiree given by the king. There was an assassin, nothing to worry about, it's positively par for the course."
Isabela felt herself growing angry, suddenly.
"Someone tried to assassinate you and then you come here, wearing no armour at all?"
"I wasn't the target. And my cloak makes me near invisible on a night like this."
If anything, it made Isabela angrier.
"So you just threw yourself at someone else's assassin? Maker, I hate your type!"
Lenore gave her a very odd look. Then her shoulders seemed to sag slightly and she muttered:
"Marian Hawke was the target. She's fine, though."
Isabela just stared at her, feeling numb. She wanted to ask a lot of questions, but all she did eventually was shrug. Then she quickly brought her hands under the cloth barely covering Lenore's chest and pushed it aside, down her shoulders, effectively baring her from the waist up.
"Let's just fuck, right? That's what you came for. Come on, let down your hair for me, like you promised."
Silver strands started falling all around her as Isabela's mouth latched on to one pebbled nipple, grazing the other roughly with her nails. Lenore shivered, gasped, pressed her chest closer. Fingers tugged away Isabela's bandana, then buried in her hair, rubbed down her neck in small circles.
"I missed you," Lenore whispered, barely audible. Isabela bit her for that, before her free hand grabbed Lenore's ass through the fabric of her dress, dug her fingers into it, then moved up a little and yanked the dress down over Lenore's slender hips. She let go of Lenore's breast for a moment, to mutter:
"Did I hear you say I could do anything?"
For emphasis, she let her fingers slip under Lenore's smallclothes and between her cheeks, brazenly nudging at her other entrance. Lenore pulled away a little, looked down at Isabela with a hint of something unnameable in her eyes. But then she closed her eyes, lips parting to whisper:
"Anything."
"Anything," Lenore muttered, her heart beating too hard, everything inside her insisting that she shouldn't have come here at all. She'd just ached so badly for her after talking to Hawke, and for some reason or other, Sigrun had explained to her in detail where Isabela was staying.
She brazed herself for what Isabela would do, but suddenly every touch ceased.
"Why?"
She opened her eyes, looking down at Isabela, whose expression was guarded, unreadable.
"Does it matter?" she said quickly, failing miserably at keeping her tone aloof.
"Do you really want me to fuck you like any whore, Lady Cousland?"
"It's what you do, isn't it?" Lenore replied sharply. "You wouldn't have me wanting any more from you now, would you?"
They stared at each other for an unbearably tense moment, then Isabela cursed, took her wrist again and dragged her over to the bed.
"Sit," she ordered, and Lenore sat down on the altogether too dingy mattress, even as she gave the other woman a wary look. Isabela undressed casually, then followed her. Lenore watched her closely, unsure what to expect.
"Come here, Lenore," she just muttered, tugging on Lenore's shoulders, and she let herself be pulled down against Isabela, feeling unpleasantly out of her depth. "Close your eyes, dove, and forget who I am, and who you are, and just tell me what's going on in that head of yours."
"Isabela..."
"I know you never do that. But you can't go on not letting anything out, ever."
She pressed her face against Isabela's shoulder.
"Can you go on not letting anything in?" she replied, a lump in her throat.
"Perhaps not," Isabela said slowly.
"I said no strings attached, and I meant it. Then. I am as inapt with feelings as anyone could possibly be." Lenore searched hard for the words to express what she'd barely allowed herself to feel. "But I want more from you."
Isabela was silent for a while, stroking her hair gingerly. Then she said, once more in that unusually soft voice:
"Look, sweet thing. I... I'm sex, and giggles, and good times. I'm moans in a back alley, and coins you won't miss the next morning. What I am not is someone to fall in love with. There is nothing about me to fall in love with. Especially not for a hero."
Lenore huffed.
"You're selling yourself short, Isabela, and you must know it. And why don't you let me decide who and what about them I fall in love with, and the only thing you have to worry about is whether or not you requite my feelings?"
"It isn't that easy, dove. It never works out. I cannot live up to your standards, and I'm pretty sure I don't even want to try. I'll just let you down."
"I am not Hawke, Isabela. Whatever happened between the two of you, doesn't mean it will happen between us."
"You're a maker-be-damned hero, Lenore, and I'm nothing but... flotsam."
"Just tell me, honestly, that you don't have feelings for me and I'll leave you be."
Isabela was silent.
"Will you run away now, like you always do?"
"Did Hawke talk about me?" she asked lowly.
Lenore gave a small nod.
"Do you still love her?" she asked, her throat dry.
"I don't know, Lenore."
"She said you always just run away from yourself," Lenore said very lowly.
For a long time, Isabela was silent, just lying there, stroking Lenore's hair.
