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Bossy Polly fussypants comes calling at about her usual time on her usual day. Or at least whatever day has been set aside for her showing up. With the weather being colder, she's turned in her usual sundresses for tights, skirts, and sweaters. That it might help Lucia with her touch sensitivities some is a side bonus.
Wearing her long wool coat and a poofy black wool beret, she looks toasty enough. She would be rosy cheeked if she didn't look like a walking bubble of light shaped like a lady. Knock knock knock, "Ay, Luuuuuciaaaaa! It's me. I brought cookies and cuddles and news." She adds in a hopefully unnecessary, "If any of that sounds neat and fun?"
It may have only a week or so since Polly last visited, but Lucia has been doing some redecorating, and the speed at which the Chatelaine can get things done is truly astonishing. In a couple of days she's repainted the concrete floors and brick walls of the warehouse-slash-workshop she lives in, as well as the ceiling, and added some lights and other decor.
The floor is painted like a field, down to grass so detailed it looks almost real, random assortments of wildflowers, even insects on closet inspection. The walls give the illusion of distance, trees, birds. A deer? And of course the ceiling looks like the sky, with clouds that truly look like they'd be soft to the touch.
The lighting change is a fixture made to look as close as Lucia could get it to the sun, on a track that lets it make it's slow way across the ceiling and back over the course of a few hours.
It's like a room purely designed to fight off Seasonal Affective Disorder.
But Lucia always seems perfectly happy to basically be in the dark most of the time. It doesn't seem at all like something she would do for her. Getting Lucia to do things for herself is a challenge.
At the sound of Polly's voice Lucia pops get head up from behind a workbench that had what appears to be a giant printer sitting on it. She's wearing overalls and her face is smudged with ink.
"Hi Polly," she says. "It sounds good". Enthusiastic for Lucia, and since she does stop what she was working on to come over to Polly, that's a good sign too.
Polly's got some rock solid clarity, so the fact that the room is uncanny valley perfect when you're walking through it, and the perspectives are shifting about doesn't hurt her perceptions too much. Nor does the fact that it looks like a perfect clear day of the sort she'd often decorate back 'home' with Sweetness. It all registers as something that ought to bother her, and it's all something she chooses not to let do so today. Lucia is super worth it.
Her smile redoubles when she spots Lucia and can come bounding a little more speedily in her direction. "There you are," Polly enthuses, hugging her tupperware of cookies to her chest. "They're peanutdoodles with chocolate kisses in the middle," Polly explains before extending the cookie container Lucia's way.
"Sorry. If you don't want kisses in the middle, I brought some anyway." Ooh, smooch humor. Polly's feeling her oats today. "I caught you being busy. You're all smudge-faced and sweet looking. What are you about?"
The illusion's not perfect by any stretch, which probably helps. Realistic, but not photorealistic, is pretty much the result of Lucia's work in this case.
As the tiny woman meets the colorful one part way across the room she reaches out to take the container. The clockwork mechanisms within her chrome and neon body whir softly with the movements, and as always she subconsciously takes steps to avoid physical contact with other people when she gets near them, including Polly. Sometimes she chooses contact, but if she's not actively making that choice she avoids it.
Color touches Lucia's cheeks at the implication in the kiss comment, her face being pretty much the only part of her that looks like it's still original and not cybernetic. Except for her eyes, with irises that glow the same green as the light with in her. Those eyes come up to look at Polly's lips for a second before going back down tot he container in her hands. "Thank you," she says. "Kisses sound good."
She hesitates, eyes going back and forth from the container to Polly a couple of times before she looks around. "You don't like it, do you?" she asks in a whisper as her shoulders hunch up, as if she expects to be castigated if she made a mistake, and expects that to castigation to be physical.
"On the contrary, Lucia, I miss it." Polly has never really talked about her durance. With anyone. And given what she just said, that's probably not entirely an accident. "No, this looks like some of the best kind of days I can remember having. Actually. I mean, look at it! It's beautiful! I just wanna..." Polly actually giggles, then reaches up above her head and stands up on her tippy toes. As though she could somehow fill the room, or cover it all with herself. The fan of colored tendrils about her do waggle about, creating a broad arc of color around her. So. There is that.
"And sometimes missing it makes me sad, and sometimes missing it makes me angry. Or makes me... I don't know. Resentful. Hurt. Jealous? And sometimes it means choosing to put you under that perfect sky, too. And have that be okay. And part of that."
Polly concludes by folding her hands up before herself to keep from doing the Very Jewish Hands On Your Arms All The Time thing. "You keep accidentally doing the best things, actually. You're good at it."
Relieved to be wrong, Lucia stops shrinking in on herself and looks up at Polly again. "I don't understand missing being there, so I can't say if that's worse or better than only being glad to be out." She sighs out the anxiety that had been wound up inside of her when she thought Polly didn't like the work she'd done. Sighs, and then lets go of the container with one hand so she can reach out and brush the back of Polly's hands with her fingertips.
For Lucia this is a very intimate gesture, even if it would mean very little to people who didn't know her well.
"I know my place isn't very inviting for most people," she says. "I thought that, especially since it's winter, it might make it more pleasant for other people."
Oh yeah! Polly asked what she was doing! Lucia remembers that and turns around suddenly, hurrying back over to where she'd been working and setting the container of cookies down. She just about forgets about them at that point, caught back up in her work, but stops to open it and take one out before putting it between her teeth and going back to the contraption.
When she gets to it she grabs a pair of pliers with absolutely miniscule tips, fiddles around inside of an open panel for a second, then closes the panel to flip a power switch.
As it boots up she grabs the cookie in her fingers again so that when she finally bites a piece off the rest doesn't just fall on the floor. "These are good," she says.
She still hasn't explained what she's working on.
"Well, you've succeeded. It's gorgeous." Polly's never really felt unwelcome here, and she's always sort of found a place to scoot things out of the way and deposit her ass. But the interior decorating intention is clearly landing on her nerves well, once she's recontextualized it with Lucia being its centerpiece.
Polly smiles with a lover's sweetness at that light little touch. She turns her hand about carefully to offer her palm, too, should the touch dare it. But as ever, there's never any attempt to push boundaries Lucia isn't leaning towards already with these touches.
She comes trundling along after to try and make sense of the contraption, but only ends up grinning down at Lucia and the cookie. "I hoped they would be. I can bring some with weed in 'em next time if you want. I met a guy with really good weed."
Lucia nibbles on the cookie as she waits for her device to start up, and she also scoots closer to Polly. Close enough to lean slightly to one side and lightly rest her shoulder against Polly, not quite letting her weight rest there but clearly conveying some closeness.
"I've never tried weed. Losing control or not being able to perform at my best makes me anxious. I start to be afraid I'll be called on to do something and not be able." Unsaid: and not being able, be punished. "It might be possible to set up circumstances where I don't worry about it?"
Around this time it dawns on Lucia that so far most of this conversation has been about her and more words come out in a hurried, "sorry, how are you doing? Has anything interesting happened lately? I want to hear what you've been up to, too."
"We could make a to-do list of the things you'd want to get done before you'd let yourself relax for a day, and then we could work on them together. It'd be fun, you'd teach me a whole lot about your shop! And at the end, you and I could reward ourselves with a day of relaxing and pot brownies and staring at the ceiling and talking quietly and maybe holding hands a little and maybe, just maybe. Smooches." Polly does paint some pleasant pictures as she gently encourages Lucia to take the step forward her lean wants to become.
"You'll have earned some reward by then, I think you'd have to agree." Right?
Her smile warms again when Lucia brings the focus back to her. She's not at all upset for making things about Lucia, that's why she comes here quite often let's be honest. "I've been okay. Met a new guy, like I said. Phyx is his name. He's sweet and cute and hot and a great musician? I don't know quite where to file him in my life yet, though. We're still sorting that out." A beat. "Been doing a lot of work with the court, too. Healing, mostly. Sort of how Phyx and I got hooked up. He's not super smart and took an explosion to the face." Another beat. "Sweet guy, though."
Briefly there the expression Lucia's wearing is so perplexed it looks like the green glow of her eyes might turn blue in response to her brain crashing. You can make a list of things to get done and then just stop when they're all finished? What?
Oh, then she got told she'd have to agree. Things are back to making sense in Lucia's world. Someone told her she has to do something, so she does. "Right," she agrees, giving the idea a nod. She agreed to do it, so now it must be possible.
She's still leaned lightly on Polly when she stiffens at the mention of her meeting a guy, and maybe it being something more. It's one thing to know this relationship is open, and that there were other people, but that doesn't stop her from suddenly being afraid she's being replaced when a new person comes along after, and it probably doesn't take a lot of skill at reading people to pick up that that vibe from the wizened. Even if all she says is, "that happens sometimes" as though it's normal to get explosions in the face.
This is where the device finishes its boot up and beets to indicate readiness, with the big clear button on the front going from a red octagon to a green square on its simple display. Lucia steps away to press it, and it starts making noise before a large sheet of greenish paper starts rolling out of it a few seconds later. A large sheet of uncut $20 bills.
Briefly there the expression Lucia's wearing is so perplexed it looks like the green glow of her eyes might turn blue in response to her brain crashing. You can make a list of things to get done and then just stop when they're all finished? What?
Oh, then she got told she'd have to agree. Things are back to making sense in Lucia's world. Someone told her she has to do something, so she does. "Right," she agrees, giving the idea a nod. She agreed to do it, so now it must be possible.
She's still leaned lightly on Polly when she stiffens at the mention of her meeting a guy, and maybe it being something more. It's one thing to know this relationship is open, and that there were other people, but that doesn't stop her from suddenly being afraid she's being replaced when a new person comes along after, and it probably doesn't take a lot of skill at reading people to pick up that that vibe from the wizened. Even if all she says is, "that happens sometimes" as though it's normal to get explosions in the face.
This is where the device finishes its boot up and beets to indicate readiness, with the big clear button on the front going from a red octagon to a green square on its simple display. Lucia steps away to press it, and it starts making noise before a large sheet of greenish paper starts rolling out of it a few seconds later. A large sheet of uncut $20 bills.
Lucia may well stand amazed at the prospect, but Polly certainly seems to think is true. Her smile is, indeed, so very certain that such a feat is possible. And in this lifetime. It's right there on her face. "Right," she agrees a little more quietly, but with emphasis just the same. "We'll make the list together. We'll work through the list together. And along the way and at the end, I'll remind you that you promised yourself at the start you'd owe yourself a rest. And it'll be okay. I mean, it may not be easy or necessarily comfortable for you at first. But I think the first time you get to go to sleep with your head on on shoulder and wake up in the same place a few hours later, you'll be sold on it. And you'll want to try doing it more. A little, you know. Virtuous cycle, I guess."
Whatever else Polly might have been about to carry on about in her well-intentioned way is cut quite short by the bills rolling on out of that contraption. "How the titty fucking shit did you-- how?" Polly is very impressed. Like. Very very impressed. "Holy shit this is such a felony, oh my God, Lucia. Oh, we're so bad right now."
Polly hasn't been this naughty since that TMZ spread, detox, and some time in Arcadia. This is super naughty. In very novel ways. Polly enjoys a whole number of these facts judging by the slight glow in her smile and gentle wavering of her body on what stands in for her feet.
"I make the paper." Of course she does. "The strips, too. I feel like I should be offended by your lack of confidence in my professionalism." Polly is most likely going to be able to tell that's also a joke.
"Part of me was afraid you would be upset," she says, and that's not a joke. "Every time I reveal something more about myself I'm afraid of that, and you always accept it. Or embrace it. I don't understand it." Her head turns so slightly, bringing her cheek so close to Polly's hand that the fine hairs of some of her only remaining organic skin brush Polly's palm. She goes as still as a statue then touches cheek to palm completely.
"I don't know anyone else who makes me less afraid and more confused, but I love that about you. Along with a lot of other things."
"I'm worried, but that's not the same as upset, Lucia." Polly answers quietly. It's hard to 'pull someone to you' without ever touching them. But her hand stays as still as it may as she herself glides gently forward on a raft of rippling light. Once it's done she's just so close. But not, hopefully, too close. And even then, not touching. Maybe a brush of her skirts over a clothed thigh. But that's not so bad.
"I worry that sometimes you do things that worry me to see if you can make me react? I don't know if that's entirely true. But. It's sort of how I end up feeling when I keep saying it's you I'm here for. You I care about. You I like. Not the stuff you make or the things you do. And you keep not wanting to believe me about it. Or quesitoning it. You can seal my words whenever you want, we've been over that. And you don't need to impress me, we've been over that too. I thought."
Her other hand lifts to mirror the other on the opposite side of Lucia's pretty face. "I want you to tell me everything already, so that I can accept that, too. But not until you're ready. I've been ready. I came in here ready. I've always wanted to know everything about you from the moment we started hanging out. I was starting to wonder if it's me? And I know that's not.. it. That's me. Projecting. But. If you really want to know what upsets me, hon, it's that. It's how hurt you are, and how little I can do to help."
Lucia does better with contact when there are layers of clothing in the way, too. Skin on skin can be so healthy and healing for most people, but it seems to make her uncomfortable. Especially if it's the chrome metal skin of most of her body, and not the bit of organic skin on her face. It's probably why she's fine with the brush of skirt and thigh, or even when shifting forward so that, very lightly, the two of them are actually touching.
"I don't mean to worry you, but I do know that some of the things I do might be worrying. When I let you see those things I think it's more I'm trusting you to see things nobody else does. Well, nobody I care about. Sometimes it might just be that I want to show something off, and I haven't thought about how worrying it might be, but usually it's because I want you to see me. Maybe sometimes I also figure the sooner you find out the sooner you'll leave, and I won't keep having my hopes up for no reason."
"It's not you. It's that. I'm afraid, because you're the most important person in the world to me, and every bad thing you find out about me is another reason you might go away."
"I'd like to make you a deal, Lucia. I will sit here and sing us both a pretty little song, and it will help me get nice and calm and relaxed. And when it's done, I want you to pick the one thing you want to tell me today. To see if I'll leave. And I want it to be the worst one. I want it to be the biggest, ugliest secret that you have inside of yourself. And I will swear to you, Lucia, that I won't get mad at you. And I won't leave. I may-- I don't know. Cry. Or-- something else! And that's okay, Lucia. Because your big complex scary feelings are big and complex and scary feelings and I'll be feeling them with you, at that point. Right?"
Polly hazards careful, gentle touches of her hands on Lucia's upper arms, so close to being a hug. So close. "If you do that, I will tell you a wonderful, beautiful secret. I secret I've been keeping from you out of... my own fear? So maybe. Maybe if you face this down with me, then I can face down what I have to say to you. And we can... we can grow. Together."
"That's what. What girlfriends do. Right? Will you at least think about it for a little while before you say no? Please? Even that would mean a lot to me."
The expression Lucia wears for about fifteen seconds is sheer terror. It's the face of someone who, even if she isn't good at saying it, loves someone else intensely, and realizes they might be at a juncture in their relationship where it's about to either be stronger or over, and everything in her life could change in a matter of hours.
One thing about her fears is that they're all rooted in herself, though. She does trust Polly. Its herself she doubts.
Eventually the tide of her fear starts rolling back out and she becomes capable of noticing anything else and reacting to anything else. She notices the hands on her arms and shivers but doesn't pull away from the touch, which is so much different than things used to be.
"I think this might be a good plan, but I'm sacred it might be the worst. Is that what we are? Girlfriends? Not like... not like the way I hear straight women say it sometimes, but actually girlfriends?"
"I mean." Polly looks about their surroundings as though they will be of some assistance. "I don't. I'm not telling you what we are. I've been so-- so careful about letting you set the pace. I've been coming here, about once a week, for a couple of years now. To talk, and smile, and hold your hand, and listen, and give you a kiss now and then. And if it never became okay, I was prepared to be okay with that."
"But what you're afraid of isn't of it becoming that. It's a fear of losing it. It's a fear of losing something I have been coming here religiously for two years, waiting for you to say you were ready for. And I'll keep coming for two more years if I have to, because-- because. Because of you. And how you see me. And speak to me. And treat me. I have never felt more intentionally cared for than when you care for me. Never. It's true. I swear it's true."
She's stammering and a little flustered, and finally flushing redder in the spectrum, overall. "Fuck it. Lucia? The secret I wanted to tell you is that I am stupid, stupid, stupid in love with you. Just fucking dumb for you. Knock me over with a shove, I'm done in love with you. And sometimes a rainbow just wants to be seen, Lucia. Shining down on something. So. Please see me now. Please see me and my love. Here. Now. And look me in the eyes. And tell my love some truth."
"I want to be. I want you to be. I want us to be?" Lucia says in a hurry. "So bad. I always want to ask if that's what we are. Every time you come here I tell myself I will this time. I always hear some reason in my head why it's a bad idea to ask. Like being afraid you'll say you're only here because you're a Joyeux and it's your job, and that it won't be okay I thought maybe it was more."
They're touching, however lightly. It means Polly can feel it when Lucia starts shaking. It might not be the shaking of trembling muscles because that's not the way she's built any more, but shaking is shaking. For her it's like one of the bigger gears that can so often be heard whirring inside of her when she moves is out of alignment, and her whole body wobbles with it like a car driving at speed after hitting a curb too hard with one wheel.
"That's not the only thing I'm afraid of, though. Everything is... it all... Too many things are tied together. This, and the truth you just asked me to tell you. I love you too, Polly. I love you so much. There's nothing in the world more important to me than you are, and I'm so scared of the power that might give you over me. I just. I can't. I can't be that helpless again with someone I'm close to. I think it will break me."
Even talking this close to the topic has her breathing fast. There's dots of sweat beading on the skin of her brow.
"Play me some music, please?" she begs. Lucia has never begged before, has she? "I'm going to need it to tell you this. Please."
Polly startles just a little at the end of all of that. She's there through all the trembling and all of the shivering. And if it helps, her hands will give a gentle squeeze on occasion to try and ground her without terrifying her. But when it's over, Polly's still there, still looking worried and in love and also very worried.
"Okay," she says of the fear. She doesn't take it personally, or make a big deal of it either. Just okay. Acceptance. And then she's hurrying over to fetch her guitar from its soft case. A gentle test of the tuning, some mild adjustments, and Polly comes strumming her way back towards Lucia.
It's a sombre tune, and given the least provocation she'll actually start singing the damn song at her. She wobbles just a little closer still, her string squeaks near enough to be felt in the ears like shivers down the neck.
Lucia sits down on the ground when Polly gets the guitar. Furniture always seems to be one hundred percent optional in Lucia's life. The typical place where she sleeps is a shelf under one of her work benches with a single blanket, and not even a pillow. It doesn't seem to bother her in the least, it just feels familiar.
When the music starts her eyes close. She breathes in and out like somebody who has watched some YouTube videos about meditating but never been properly taught the way to do it. It still seems to work. The rapid wobble of her shaking slows down until it eventually finds the meter of the song, and like like that's her own resonant frequency she starts swaying instead of shaking.
Before the song has finished she seems to be ready to speak, calmer but still frightened. "There are a lot of things that are all connected. I don't know if I can put them all together in a cohesive narrative and still be able to actually say it all. Forgive me if things are a little jumbled?"
Her lambent eyes open to look at Polly. She reaches out and touches Polly's leg with the tips of her fingers to ground herself in the reality of the other's presence.
Polly is one of those guitarists than can pluck classical guitar melodies as beautiful as poetry while appearing to give her otherwise undivided attention to someone. Muscle memory melodies, perhaps. But she keeps them quiet and soft and soothing for now. Lets of minors and major 7ths. But with the classical plucking rather than strumming, it just sounds like a dancing and soothing walk through a Milne book.
"I was there too," she assures Lucia quietly with an encouraging nod, barring up a chord to bring the key up a step as though to bolster the musical message with that fact. It makes her work technically more difficult, but doesn't impact her conversation any. "You can say whatever you need to say, however you need to say it." She plays a full scale in her present modulated key, up and down again with her fingers before returning to the melodic plucking. As though demonstrating the fundamentals behind the beauty.
There's a little time between reassurances and Lucia actually starting. "I was born here in Philly in 1904. My parents were poor Puerto Ricans, and I was still a girl when I first started working as a housekeeper. I've been a servant for pretty much all I can remember of my life. Always at the lowest rung of the social ladder."
Sometimes as she's talking, Lucia lets the music carry her for a little bit. Sometimes it carries her words, too. "I was, I think, around 20 when I was taken. The Queen made me a servant again. A better servant. For all her most special people. Like Lux. Violette. If they need anything I took care of it. If I wasn't needed I fixed things. I rarely got to rest, and I couldn't say no to anybody who was my better, which was everyone." Her hand trembles where it touches Polly's leg, fear rising up to meet what she tries to get out next. She croaks it at first and has to start over. "I sti--. I still can't say no to people who are my superiors. A frailty."
The risk for herself in revealing this to Polly is surely self-evident, and it probably explains so many things about her behavior.
"Many of her favored asked for things I didn't want to do. Or give them," she whispers as tears start welling up in her lambent eyes, then overflow and run down her face. "I couldn't say no. I can force myself now, if I need to, but I couldn't then. No matter what they wanted. If one of them told me to cut my own throat, I would have, and that would be all for me. It happened to others I knew." Her hand starts shaking harder and she pulls it back, cradling it against herself and starting to sway back and forth, out of time with the music, as her tears come harder. "And you know how sensitive she made my artificial parts. Whatever they wanted, I did it. And my body liked it, even if I didn't want to do it. Even if I hated it, and hated them, and most of them convinced themselves..."
Polly's many tendrils of light, her little pseudopodynous appendages which frill out from what passes for her legs, they begin to curl up like tulip petals of light about the pair. Several move to takeover the fretting of the strings, another takes over the plucking with little wisps of color. This frees up her hands again, which she uses to gently grasp Lucia's arms again over her shirt sleeves. This time, though, Polly adds a slight squeeze to make her presence felt as well as known.
If Lucia had asked Polly to guess, it probably would have been something too much like this. It's just not an unfamiliar story. In arcadia. Anywhere else. She bears up through it all, staring down into Lucia's eyes with the horrible and terrible weight of her forgiveness and understanding. The terrible wretched horror of her love and acceptance. The gleaming knife of a tender smile. The grounding reminder of her squeezing hands to get her to choose the right parts of these things to focus on.
"I am sorry those things happened to you." She gently begins soothing her hands up and down Lucia's arms. "Breathe in through your nose slowly while I count to ten. Then hold it for a moment. Then breathe out slowly through your mouth while I count to ten."
"One... two..."
Lucia's twitches at the touches of those tendrils and starts breathing more quickly until she's nearly hypervenvilating, gasping out, "please." Gasp. "Don't tell." Another few rapid breaths. "Ask me."
She still tries to do what she was told, though. Her breath does start calming down and she slowly stops rocking back and forth.
Eventually she can start talking again. "I'm still afraid," she says. "Afraid of how it might shackle me if... if... women when I grew up were expected to be subservient to their partners. I don't know what it will mean for me if you're... also... So I've been afraid."
"Ask you." Polly self-scolds. Can't blame her for not thinking herself superior to Lucia, really. "Right. I'm. I'm sorry, Lucia. I will try to remember that." Polly takes a breath in herself and lets it out slow in her own right. This is a lot to not fuck up.
"No. Of course you were. Of course." Another pause, and her mouth works a little without making sound. "Would you like to try. To try talking to that Lucia? Would you like to close your eyes, and tell me if you can see the Lucia having to survive through all of those things? When she's alone and by herself?"
"No," Lucia says, punctuated by the firm shaking of her head. "That wasn't Lucia. It was me, but I wasn't Lucia. Lucia doesn't let herself be subordinate. Lucia can say no." Her voice turns into a hiss, even if it's still quiet. Polly has never, never heard Lucia's speak anything louder than a conversational level. "And gut someone if they don't listen." There's suddenly a knife in her hands and the glow in her eyes and from her joins and seams flares brighter.
There's a dangerous second where Lucia seems balanced on an edge as sharp as the knife in her hand.
Then she realizes it's Polly in front of her she flings the knife away from her, which goes clattering off under a workbench, and she throws herself back from Polly until she's pressed firmly against the cabinet that had been a few feet behind her. She covers her face with her hands and starts to cry.
Polly is not entirely helpless. She's no summer, but she's not entirely a pushover either. Not that she's used to having a knife pulled on her under any circumstances, nevermind ones like these. She doesn't leap back, properly. It's more of a springing flight backwards on wheeling tongues of color.
When she comes to a stop about a pace back, one swirl of color has taken form on her left arm, looking a bit like a Hoplite shield. The air about her begins to swirl with blades of cutting color. Two tendrils of her light hover up over her head, dancing like little vipers as though waiting for Lucia to strike.
Polly, though, doesn't look anything other than scared. It's pretty clear there aren't plan Bs, here. When Lucia surrenders her knife, Polly does not immediately surrender her shield and fury. If it can be called that. She's just another victim, too, at the end of the day. She's got that look on her face Elementals get when they've been numbed back to wherever it is their fears hide when they're lying about them not being there.
She keeps her guitar to her side and more or less behind her back with her right hand, like it's a kid she's trying to see out of a dangerous situation. Don't look, baby. Eyes on me.
There are a lot of things she's thinking and not saying.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She doesn't have anything else. She should. She knows Polly has been through shit, too. She knows Polly has been wronged. She even knows Polly has been wronged now, by her, but she doesn't know how to make it right except, "I'm sorry."
When you're in your own clarity shock, it's really hard to be a great Joyeaux. Her fear and uncertainty give way to that numb confusion again, and the swirling blades of light fall in a little shower of sparkles. The shield on her arm spins into a pinwheel of color and fades on the surface of a pond Lucia can't see. But the color keeps on bleeding from the room as Polly gains more and more distance with she and her guitar. Once she's reached the work table on the far wall, she stops with a little yelp and a gonk of her guitar.
"If that ever-- I told myself never again, Lucia. I can't-- If you. If you have to do that--" Her head shakes a little more rapidly in the firm negative. "I'm scared. Please let me text Jay?"
"I'm sorry," Lucia says one more time. "I would never..." But she did. She didn't actually hurt Polly but the danger was there. From her.
"Yes," she says, slumping as her panicked sobbing fades to miserable weeping. She rests her face on her knees, looking utterly defeated. "Take care of yourself, Polly," she says. "I understand. I don't know..." She starts saying something and changes her mind. "I love you. I understand."
She sounds like she thinks she's saying goodbye, maybe forever. Maybe she is. But she doesn't, once, try to convince Polly to stay in the situation.
Polly nods her head a few times to the apologies. Finally. They were sort of washing over her up to now, as has been most everything else. "I know. I know you didn't really want to kill me. I mean. I hope you didn't, any way. I'm not sure I care to consider what would happen if that were true, so I'm just going to keep on as I am, I think." Polly's continuing to back away, which leaves her in the corner of the intersection of two tables. And so she sets her guitar down on one table, then hops up onto the other to curl up against the wall.
She pulls out her phone and starts typing on it unselfconsciously. Someone with a security blanket who is not the least bit ashamed of the fact. She wipes at her face for a moment and takes a few deep breaths followed by a shaking sigh.
"I love you, too. Lucia. Is it okay if Jay comes over? I don't want to leave you, and I can't do this alone anymore. It's not fair to either of us. I promised no matter what you said I wouldn't leave, and that I might get upset and cry. And you said that was okay. So I'd like that to still be okay."
She takes one more shaky breath and adds, "See, I know myself pretty well. And what I can take. And how I react. And I'm still here. And I still love you. And it's hard. And I feel so far away from you right now. And I don't want to. And I don't know how to stop. So please let me bring Jay over? Please, Lucia. Or I'm going to have to go, and I don't want to go..." She can babble this circular explanation as long as it takes to get some sort of answer.
"No, no, no, I swear it, I... I wasn't here? In my head, at least?" She looks up at Polly, expression anguished. "I was back there, but not as Paloma. As Lucia, who isn't as powerless as Paloma was. When I was here again, with you again..." Her eyes start searching for the knife. She knows she threw it away from her, but not where it went.
"It's okay. Yes. Make yourself safe." She stops looking for the knife and wraps her arms around her knees when she looks at Polly. "You promised, but you're more important to me than your promise. I'll understand, but if you feel like you can stay if he comes, then do whatever you need to do for staying to be possible."
Jeremiah won't be able to sense the Wyrd snapping tight around Lucia's promise that she doesn't wish Polly dead. But the Rainbow wills it done, and the Wyrd agrees, and that's all there is to it, really. It does bring a measure of ease in Polly. Promises are potent things when you lock them up tight.
She looks down at her phone and frowns a little, then taps out another response. "He's watching us now. I'm pretty sure he can just-- be here. So. I'll tell him-- probably I just did. Hi, Jay. I love you. Can you hear me?" It's weird trying to look around for where your fiance is is trying to spy on you from.
"Paloma." Polly is putting the pieces together. "Maybe we can talk about her another time. Maybe you need more and better help than I can offer. I just keep making things worse." She sets down her phone and adds, "I'm sorry." She hugs her legs, herself, puts her face in her knees, and waits.
After a quick scan of the room through the scrying window Jeremiah slipped through the strands of reality and emerged a few steps away from where Polly sat, his expression one of both concern and determination. His gaze remained on Lucia to start, moving towards Polly and crouching down beside her. "I'm here, babe. You alright?"
Lucia is sitting on the floor with her back to a closed cabinet, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them.
The room Jeremiah finds himself in is basically a massive warehouse full of every manner of equipment imaginable for someone who wants to make things, but since he knows she made diamonds to put on a guitar she gave to him, that might not surprise very much. What might be a bit more of a surprise is that along the path between Lucia and Polly, closer to Lucia but still between them, is a very large printer whose output tray has a small stack of what seem to be uncut, freshly printed counterfeit $20 bills.
There are quite a few other oddities, but that one is close at hand. Beyond that the place is so stuffed with machinery, raw materials, half-finished projects, and all manner of completed works that it's hard to take in at once.
"Hi Jeremiah," Lucia says in a tone of profound shame, and she lowers her head to hide her face against he knees again. Briefly. She has to answer Polly, too. "You aren't making things worse, Polly. That was a bad moment. You also know the worst things about me now, and you're here. Still. That makes things so much better. I'm still scared, but I've been more scared of that than almost anything else for..." She shrugs her shoulders. As long as she's known Polly, that's how long.
Polly's entire demeanor changes when Jeremiah arrives. It's pretty obvious that Jeremiah is more than a boyfriend, and more than a fiance, and more than a lover, and more than a best friend even. He's her touchstone to fucking reality, and she wraps all of herself around him like an Octopus trying to open a jar of pickled anchovies.
"Jay! Jay. Jay..." She holds him and holds him and holds him, and inhales him, and holds him some more until at last she lets out a long, slow sigh and shakes her head a bit. It's not perfect, but it's starting. She stays right where she is, being held by Jeremiah, and then turns just enough to be able to open her arms to Lucia. The one thing, it seems, enabling the other.
"We both are. Lucia. We both are still here." Polly nuzzles Jeremiah's shoulder meaningfully. "This man has been there for me for every hard day, every bad stumble. He's why I've been able to be who I am. He's how I make it through, Lucia. He's been here for you this entire time. And I know him, I know him so well, and he's just so happy to be here for you now. Do you want to come here? Please?"
She asides up to Jeremiah, "Please keep your hands to yourself for now if she comes, Jay. Okay?" No explanation given, and she seems confident Jay won't ask.
The objects and equipment were noted, but in this moment the state of the people in the room were more important to the Warlock. As Polly glommed onto him Jay held her close, his own relief that she was okay as palpable as what he was able to provide her with his presence. He kissed the top of her head lightly as she nuzzled against him, looking towards Lucia as the Torrent addressed her and offering the Wizened a reassuring smile.
"Of course." He nodded to Polly's request, giving her a gentle hug. "Anything I can do to help."
It's one thing to know that the woman you love is deeply in love with someone else, too. Lucia has known that for a long time, and come to terms with it. It's another thing to be confronted with the full reality of that for the first time when you're at your most emotionally fragile since you first escaped Arcadia.
She very clearly is not at all sure how to handle this. Her face journey is something to be hold. What isn't there is anger or hatred. What's most there is fear and more than a bit of jealousy. How can she ever compare to this, broken and strange as she is?
When she finally swallows the lump in her throat it's so loud it's nearly audible across the room, but she unravels from the ball she's clenched herself into on the floor and stands up before moving hesitantly forward. Eventually she reaches Polly's side, but she doesn't embrace her or lean against her, she just stands there in proximity.
The only thing she can pull of the confused mess of her thoughts is, "does the guitar sound okay?"
Aaaand this is why Polly called Jeremiah. Because Polly has a certain set of skills, as the man on the phone says. And when they don't work, she is just flat the fuck out of ideas. Especially in her present state. She turns her face into Jeremiah's neck as though the question hurt more than anything else. She does her very best to keep Lucia from noticing, however.
The amount of Okay that Jeremiah is making things right now cannot be overstated. Which isn't to say all of this isn't pretty fucking terrible for Polly, it's just that how terrible it is? Is not really a problem any longer. She can just hide in Jeremiah and it can be okay.
Right? Right.
As Polly turned inwards Jeremiah did his best to soothe her, stroking her hair with his free hand as he held her close with the other. Close as she was Polly might notice a slight shift in his posture, an air of understanding and guidance settling about him like a cloak. Both women had a need for a star to right their sails by, he knew, and it just so happened that he had one to provide.
"It does, " he replied simply, looking Lucia over with a calm expression on his face. "I'm more concerned about you at the moment, though. For you, as well."
Lucia spent a century and change as a servant. She's bad at communicating with people, expressing herself, and otherwise performing normal day to day human activities, but being a good servant means being able to read people. She's far better at it than people would tend to expect. She doesn't miss the way Polly turns her face away.
She might have been trying to signal an acceptance of Jeremiah being there, but it didn't have the effect she intended. It had the opposite effect, in fact. It made things worse.
It leaves Lucia about as out of ideas as Polly. She looks between the two, trying to figure out what to say. What to do. How to respond to what Jeremiah just said. How to make things right.
Only one thing comes into her head, and she doesn't something she's never done before. She slides one of her arms around Polly, then the other, and fully leans into the other Lost. Actually hugs her, without trying to make the contact as minimal as possible. "I'm so sorry, Polly. Is there anything I can do to make things better?"
Sometimes things are selfish throws to lifelines, just so you can keep your promises. Sometimes that's all it is, ugly as it can be at times. Polly hides in Jeremiah's neck for precisely as long as it takes Lucia to start hugging her, at which point she turns right around in Jay's arms to return the favor to Lucia. And of course she starts crying. "You can keep doing this if you want," Polly finally learns how to correcty answer. "I like this a lot, this is so good."
And then she of course flips the tables, "Are you okay, Lucia? I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
A quiet smile crossed Sirius' features as Lucia went for the full-fledged hug, loosening his hold on Polly just long enough for her to comfortably rotate around to return it before settling his arm back in place. There were things that he could say and questions to be asked, but for the moment being the anchor for his lady love was enough.
"I don't even remember what okay feels like." Now that she's made the decision to do it Lucia doesn't just hug Polly but clings onto her. "The only time I even feel close to it is with you. I was so, so scared telling you everything I told you tonight, but I was also relieved. I'm still scared, but you're still here."
She seems to have all but forgotten Jeremiah is there, but hopefully that's understandable in the circumstances.
Poor Jeremiah. Polly doesn't forget he's here. She can't. But because he's here, and because she knows precisely the kind of man he is, she keeps her focus where it needs to be. On Lucia. "Then be with me. Okay? I've never wanted you anywhere but in my life. Which is messy, and brilliantly creative, and so much better with you in it. So, so, so, so much. I wish I knew how to make you believe me, but I'm going to figure out how. And we're going to help you build yourself up. This isn't the end of anything, I promise. It's just the start of the good parts, Lucia."
She finally does spare a glance up to Jeremiah, her eyes two big pools of overwhelming fucking gratitude. Soul deep gratitude. She pets at Lucia's back gently the whole time, soothing. Or trying to be.
"I'm here. You're here. We're here together. And maybe that can make the hard parts okay."
Sirius smiled down to Polly as she looked up to him, mouthing a quiet "love you" to the Torrent before turning his attention back to Lucia. "As the line goes, courage isn't just a matter of not being frightened but being afraid and doing what needs to be done anyway. We have your back when you need it, no worries about that."
When told to be with Polly the little Wizened woman's breath stops, there's a significant moment, and then it comes back out and her tension eases. She was told to do something. She looked within herself at whether she felt compelled, and finding the need lacking, wanted it instead.
"Yes. Yes, I want to be with you. I want to be your girlfriend, and I want you to be mine." She glances up at Jeremiah, hides her face against Polly again, and whispers, "Maybe more, some day, if that's even possible." She knows he can hear, but it's hard to share her feelings even without a less familiar audience.
Lucia shivers under Polly's hand on her back, in a way very much unlike the way she was shaking from her fear earlier. She goes rigid as a board, but she doesn't stop leaning against Polly, hugging tightly.
"I'm so sorry. Again. I can't say it enough times. You were trying to help me, you were helping me, and I... I don't remember ever being so angry, But not at you. You didn't deserve to have it directed at you. I'm sorry."
"We make the rules now, Loo. If we decide we want to be more than girlfriends, we'll make it possible. Look around us. We are surrounded with beautiful things you've made. We've got this. We're so good at talking, and being close, and being in our feelings together. It's like breathing!" Polly wraps her arms around Lucia in a whole new configuration in an effort to hold her a little more completely.
And then she glances up at Jeremiah and gives him a smile and a reassuring nod. "Jay, honey? We're good now. I'll cook tomorrow night, and we can talk about stuff. But-- I'm pretty sure I'm okay now. Thank you for being the man you are. Some things Lucia should get to say to you herself directly, rather than you happening to overhear them."
It's an awkward shitty situation of her own creation, but she's working it out again. Starting by putting her attention back on Lucia fully.
"You have every right to be angry, Lucia. But also to love me. And to hold me like this. And to talk with me like this. If we have to pass through your anger to get to the rest? I'm in. Sign me up. Now I've seen it. Your anger. And you know I've seen it. It's all done and behind us if we say it is, Loo."
"I already forgave you. I already made up my mind what I want. Would you like to go on a date with me? An official, real, I pick you up at seven carrying a carnation date? And we go to a place where a lot of people will see us ignoring them all evening. And we just stare at each other and talk about art, or something?" Not that she gave it much thought.
Jeremiah nodded in return, a warm smile on his face. "Sounds good all around. Glad I was able to help."
He gave Polly one more proper hug and a light kiss before stepping back, the smile still in place as she made the offer to Lucia. "I'll see you both later. Give me a call if you need me."
"Loo," Lucia echoes back in a tone that Polly knows but doesn't hear often. It's Lucia's warm-and-fuzzies voice. "I like that. From you, anyway."
The small Wizened woman steps back from Polly only far enough to look up at Jeremiah. "Thank you for coming. I mean it. I don't know how we would have got past that moment without you." He was probably not surprised by profound gratitude from Polly, but he might be at it coming from Lucia.
A short pause.
"Would it be okay if I visit again soon?" Both of them are included in the question.
Polly looks to Jeremiah here, not quiet knowing what Lucia means by visit, or where she'd be visiting, only that it's fine. She's certain of that much. "I-- I don't mind! I'd like more visits from you, Lucia." Her head nods eagerly. For being an awful terrible piece of shit, this day is pretty great.
Polly is quick to steal one more kiss from Jeremiah after the 'would it be okay question' because anyone who gets that reaction out of Lucia after two meetings deserves a kiss from Polly. "I will, Jay. I love you so so much."
And then she's content to wait to be able to give Lucia's thoughts just a bit more privacy in the here and now.
"You're welcome." He replied, smiling a touch as he nodded to the question. "Of course. Feel free to come by the Cafe any time."
The kiss was happily returned, of course. "Love you too, with all my heart and then some."
With that he gave the girls a polite bow and blipped out of sight, leaving the pair to talk things out privately.
Once they're alone again Lucia relaxes even more. It isn't that she minds having people in her space at all, but the circumstances, the particulars of who it was, and her not having a chance to prepare herself for it means it was stressing her out a little bit. Just a little.
"Should we go sit down?" she asks. She does have a sofa... now. Her seating options were very limited at one point, but she's made changes. There's even a guitar stand near the sofa, empty except when Polly wants to make use of it.
"Hate to see him leave," Polly murmurs, giving Lucia permission to appreciate her man's ass if she likes. And if she doesn't understand that, she gives Lucia a look and tacks on a, "Love to see him go." Polly gives her a hopeful smile. It was, at the very least, kind of funny.
But they're as alone as anyone ever gets in a world with mages in it, and so she's free to take in a deep breath with a big smile and hug her arms in around herself for a few moments. She holds her breath, and then lets it out nice and slow, spreading her arms up and out in a big bendy arc. Her light tendrils frill out above her until the rainbow is visible in the air over her head. It's brief, but there she was.
When her eyes open, her cheeks are rosy and her eyes are clear. A little damp from tears, but just so fucking unapologetic for them. Yep. We cried. Awesome.
She looks over to the couch, spends about two seconds staring at it, then swings her attention back to Lucia again. "Yes." She carefully helps Lucia to her feet before trying to make it up herself. She has the bigger butt of the two, and centers of gravity are a thing. She has to recover her guitar from the table, but she second guesses putting it immediately onto the rack. She slides it back over her head and adjusts the tuning a bit, dropping the D string a bit.
"May I sing you one more song?" She asks it as she settles onto the couch, testing her retune with a strum that sees her smiling in satisfaction.
Once Lucia's up on her feet again she does a little round of stretching out some muscles. Roll of the shoulders, up onto her tiptoes a couple of times, shaking out her arms. It's like a little reboot ritual in some ways, or at least that's the impression it gives.
She does glance at where Jeremiah had been, then at Polly, and a touch of color creeps onto her cheeks. She also doesn't try to hide the slightest hint of a smile.
"Of course you can," Lucia answers as she and Polly head over to the couch. She's a half a step behind, in her usual way whenever she's not leading Polly somewhere. It's yet another hint of the subservience that's been drilled into her since her age was in the single digits. "I'm always happy to hear you play, or to hear you sing."
She sits down next to Polly, first the way she usually sits with her feet flat (even if not on the floor), back straight, posture rigid. She starts to fold her hands together, realizes she wants to do something else with them instead, and looks at her companion. Her girlfriend. "Is it okay if I'm touching you while you play? Would you mind it? Would it interfere? Just, like... my hand on your arm, or your leg?"
Polly spends a moment or two eyeing Lucia's torso, and then her own arms thoughtfully. There's another quick, bright smile and a cheerful hair bobbing nod of the head. "Oh, I wouldn't mind it at all, Lucia. In fact. I have-- I have a really-- I have something I would like to try with you, but only if you're okay with it. If you'll sit in front of me and hold my guitar, I can play it for you. And I can sing ... mostly quiet. Real quiet for me. You know? And it can be a ... song. Hug. But only if you want! But I thought with your sensitivities that--"
She's blushing and flushed straight to the cheeks, "I have, you know. A lot of vibrato and vocal fry. And. I thought you might enjoy being in the middle of my music more than most. Would. Ever." Then a tacked on. "Have. Ever." Nope, not even Jay.
The glowing green of Lucia's eyes makes a few rapid disappearances and reappearances as she blinks. "I-- I think-- yes? I want to try that. I don't know how well it will work. For me. I mean. It might be too much. Please don't be mad at me if it's too much. Please don't be hurt. I always want to touch you so bad." With a soft laugh and a truly furious blush she ads, "Dios sabe que es la verdad." God knows, it's true. She's always had enough of an accent to hint to someone who has only seen her Mien that English might not have been her first language, and that it might have been Spanish, but she's never lapsed into Spanish before. Not that Polly has heard, anyway.
"I just-- I was afraid. Of hurting you when I couldn't do it. Of finding out I can't. Of finding out I like it, and aching for it even more, and you not wanting my touch. Of you being disturbed by how I might react. As disturbed by it as I am."
"Baruch dayan ha-emet," she agrees in Hebrew. Blessed is the true judge. Her smile acquires dimples it's so damn wholesome. There is no mistaking her Hebrew for learned second hand at the elbow of some Zayde or other.
"So," Polly starts with a pause. So Spring. Start talking before you know what you're gonna say. "You can't hurt me by telling me no about your body, Lucia. You can only make my day by telling me yes. I don't have a right or an expectation to your body. Not even as your girlfriend. Not even as your wife. I feel like I have negotiated for every touch and kiss and shared breath we've ever had together. And I keep coming back because of the woman giving them to me. Not because I hope she'll give me something else."
"Maybe we do this and you like it and it's all we ever do. Maybe you find you like this so much that it's enough and you're happy with it. All I would do about that, Lucia, is come here and sing for you. Over, and over, and over, and over. Just to make you happy. Because I love you. And if I need sex? I'm a rock star, sorta? Like. I do okay, Lucia, if I want to. And I haven't wanted to for almost three years because I met Jay and I met you, and I was goddamn happy. So happy."
"Now look at us. If you want! So happy. Aiming for happier. Just a future full of possibilities and things we can try and questions we can ask and rocks we can turn over together. Secrets we can share. Moments and touches and kisses and glances through our bangs. Hooked pinkies under blankets. Sock feet twining by a camp fire. I have ten thousand, thousand fantasies to exhaust with you before I ever get your clothes off, Lucia."
Through all of that, Polly maneuvers herself about on the couch to make room for Lucia to scoot in before her. ((More.))
She waits to see just what pressure Lucia feels comfortable giving her. She can play with her elemental tendrils if she has to, but she'd prefer to do so with her hands naturally. Once Polly has Lucia situated as comfortably as Lucia can manage. Polly settles the guitar onto their shared lap. Polly's thighs are thick and full, and Lucia's are metal rods. So mercifully the body rests on Polly, not on Lucia.
Once she gets her hands properly on the guitar, she cranes her head back and to the side so as not to be speaking or breathing directly on Lucia's neck. It's a good start position to see if she can even handle this much.
"If this is okay, honey? Go ahead and rest your arm on mine if you want. My plucking hand. It's going to stay nice and still, but you should be able to feel my muscle movement through your shirt if you care to try that. If you want, your other arm can be on my knee. But I'll need to maneuver my pick hand a bit. Okay?"
She waits a little bit more to make sure this is okay?
"I love you so much, Lucia. Are you ready?"
Just the very suggestion of wife makes Lucia's head snap around like she's been bitten. Except not like she's been bitten, because it's not pain on her face. Or fear. Wonder is probably the closest thing, perhaps. Wonder at the very idea that might be an option. A little hope, too.
Eventually she remembers to nod to acknowledge the other words that were said.
She gets up only to sit back down, in front of Polly instead of in her own seat. She shimmies her way back. The process slows down once contact happens, but while Polly is still she seems to be able to treat the whole thing like she's sitting against a chair, not against another living person whose touch she's been desperately craving for years, but feared reaching for.
She ends up leaning her weight fully back against Polly, but she's shivering by the time she does it. The way she lets out her held breath in a deep sigh and starts to relax might communicate that it's not bad, but she voices the assurance anyway. "I'm good. At least now." Lucia takes another breath and lets it out, and it comes with a quiet little hum of pleasure when it's released.
Following Polly's guidance she puts one arm over Polly's right. She rests her other hand on Polly's knee. She tries to relax. She nods her head. She says very little and her eyes stay closed any time she doesn't need to see where she's moving one hand or another.
She opens her mouth to answer and what comes out instead of "yes" is a strange hitching expulsion of air that briefly sends a tremor through her whole body. It's like she's about to start crying, more than anything else, but it's followed by a couple of quick breaths, each one a little slower than the one before it, and she tries again. "Yes," she says. "Yes," she repeats. "I love you, too. Yes."
It begins quietly. Lightly. Soft and lilting. A little mournful at first. The minor fall, the major lift as the man once sang. Polly doesn't bring any voice into it at first, just letting Lucia feel the gentle roll of the melody as her fingers pluck over the strings in slow succession. Thumb, finger finger, thumb finger finger, thumb finger finger, thumb finger finger.
The first potential problem might come from the squeak of the strings as her left hand shifts three frets upwards for the prechorus. She twitches a little wince at that, hoping that wasn't too much just in its own right. But her playing continues unless Lucia starts to tap out in some fashion.
The pass back down to the verse is the sonic equivalent of a release of breath. Strings releasing as the barred chord gives way to the open string. A tension released in tone. But it resolves back into melody, that release. It resolves into music and the rum patter patter rum patter patter of her steady, persistant plucking of the strings.
The guitar speaks. It's an instrument with a mouth. Its vochal chords are its strings, and its diaphragm is the pick arm. She makes it breathe quick and steady. The grip she has on the neck all the deep eye contact the sound needs just now. And still, under Lucia's sleeve. Thumb finger finger thumb finger finger, thumb finger finger, thumb...
The guitar pauses for breath, the hand holding its eyes on song's quieting the strings. Her voice, then, replaces the strings with a soft, boozy crackle of fry. "More?"
None of the sounds involved seem to be any trouble for Lucia at all, not even the squeak of the strings as fingers move over them. Lucia always enjoys listening to Polly play, so there's nothing different or new in her enjoying the music. Her closing her eyes and getting lost in it.
She shivers when Polly starts moving against her, and when she shivers there's a return of some of her tension and hesitation, but she doesn't give any signs of being uncomfortable behind that, and as she has a little time to adjust the tension melts away again. By the time Polly asks her if she wants more she's picked up the rhythm and the tips of her right fingers and tapping gently against the top of Polly's arm in synchrony with the movements of that hand for each note being played.
"Yes," she pleads when Polly asks if she wants more.
Polly brings the verse back around again with a small confirmatory nod. With the sound not being an issue, she doesn't moderate her voice as much as she might. But the sudden intake of breath into her belter's chest does rather press said chest into Lucia's back and gently roll her forward need of volume.
It's what Polly does with that air that's so remarkable for her. She goes right to her head voice and croons in a sweet, crackling confessional tone.
"All the flowers cut to die,
Holy silence and perfume,
In the flashing of the lights,
Everyone deserves the truth."
As she sings the clearer, sweeter notes, she turns her head back towards Lucia, popping her p's right down the side of the other woman's throat. She has the most exquisite diction.
"Don't want to be the picture,
I'm not part of the show,
I'm not gonna play along,
And act like I don't know."
"There's no hiding in our future,
And no promises we owe,
You'll never have to lie to me,
I'll never be the enemy...."
The song is, indeed, something of a hug in sound form. It is, in fact, a song more or less about this sort of moment. The death of the old, the birth of the new. The fear of old pains, the yearning for a tomorrow without fear. Without lies. Without pride. It's a beautiful song, and the more she sings it, the more her head turns towards Lucia's own. Until she's singing near to her ear, though pointed away to spare her the direct assault of her full voice.
Lucia reacts to the whole process they're going through in a very similar way to what you might expect from someone who's getting one of the best massages they've ever had.
It's the same kind of heavy, relaxed breathing. The same kinds of small shifts, occasional gasps, twitches and moans. If someone wasn't aware of Lucia's sensitivity being dialed up to 11 it might be very strange, or seem faked.
For Lucia it's clearly wonderful. She melts in a way Polly has never seen from her. She lets her weight rest fully against Polly, despite the rise and fall of Polly's chest for every necessary breath. Eventually she leans her head back, too. The percussive breath of every P on Lucia's throat sends new shivers through the Wizened, like tender kisses might for many other people.
She soaks it up for most of the song, just being in the moment. By the end of it her left hand is carefully stroking Polly's thigh, while her fingers curl and uncurl. By the end of it there are tears in her eyes again, but they're very different than earlier, coming softly and sweetly and slowly, only occasionally breaking free from one corner or another of her eyes.
With this all concluded, Polly quiets the strings and her voice to match. She gives the song and its subsequent silence its little moment to breathe, and then Polly makes a satisfied, happy little note in her throat. The guitar is carefully set aside with her fret hand so that she never has to dislodge Lucia's on her arm. She doesn't try to put her guitar away safely. She just caaaarefully eases back on the couch and lets Lucia melt into her more completely.
She uses her own breathing control to keep the rise and full of her chest uniform and even. She's quite good at meditation, and quite contentedly turns her brain off to a degree. Letting herself become warm, soft furniture in the shape of Lucia's girlfriend. If she falls asleep, well shucky darn. Wouldn't that just be terrible.
She has nothing more to say, for her part. At least not in her own right. She just settles into the moment to let Lucia rest, recover, reflect, or simply curl up and sleep on something more warm and receptive to her than a bare shelf.
"Rest, if you want. Sleep, if you want. Kiss me, if you want. It's all okay."
She lifts her hand with all its slicing fret caluses and stubby nails and brings it once more up near to Lucia's cheek. She's careful to find a perch for her elbow where she can hold the pose, but then very gently sets her hand to rest, fingertips first on Lucia's cheek. This, a slight lean to the right, and a slight shift of her right hip, and Lucia's able to slump a bit into Polly's arms and look right up into her eyes while Polly ever so gently cups her cheek.
Lucia's probably never had the Rainbow Connection song to her as a sweet lullaby from a face that tender. From the look on Polly's face, she sure hope's that's so. There's a gentle rocking to it all, too.
"Why aren't there many songs about rainbows?"
Lucia twitches some, occasionally, as their positions are shuffled around, but for the most part seems to accept the necessary little bits of shifting, sliding, and bumping, and ends up curled against Polly, looking into her eyes. There are streaks on her face from tears, but she looks content in a way she never has, and she doesn't even close her eyes this time when she nuzzles the hand on her cheek. Just keeps looking into Polly's eyes.
"I don't know. There aren't many about strange robot girls, either, are there?"
With a sigh she eases further into relaxation.
"April 3rd, 1910. That was the last time someone held me and I felt like I might actually be safe," she says. It's a very exact date. She has a good memory, but to be that exact it must be significant, right?
"Long enough, then," Polly responds, refusing to let the ugliness of the distance get in the way of how beautiful the two of them are together right now. She doesn't male a fuss over the tears, though her thumb does brush through them gently. Accepting them, too.
Polly's expression softens by degrees as she goes right on staring. A robot and a rainbow. Genuinely two of the more patient things in creation. Even she can see how sweet it is, in its way.
"Who was holding you? When they held you like this? I wish I could tell them thank you."
Lucia's face, the parts of her that are still "biological", have always been where she's most comfortable being touched, and when her tears are brushed away she closes eyes and gives Polly a contented sigh.
"Mi mami," she say answers when asked about the date. "I was five, almost six." With a thoughtful look at Polly, which required her to open her eyes again, she transitions that oddly into, "I want to ask you about... earlier. And the way you reacted. Some time. I also don't want to ruin this moment. It's okay if we decide to talk about it later, but I want to be sure you know I'm not pretending it didn't happen. That I care about your hurts, too, and knowing about the things you struggle with."
"No, no. It's fine. Actually, I can talk about it pretty well these days. Did a lot of therapy. Went to Arcadia about it." Polly adjusts her position enough to give the strain of her back over to the corner of the couch. She can relax, no, as much as Lucia can, and she rests her head back on the couch arm with a gusty sigh, staring up at the ceiling and soothing Lucia's scalp with her fingers as her other brushes a thumb over her cheek.
"I don't talk about my durance a lot, honey. Because people get jealous, or they get angry, or they mistrust me. They mistake what Arcadia did for me for what it took from me. It was a hell of a trade, and it made me grateful to be here again. On this side of things."
"But before I was taken, my life was-- a lot different. The band I was in was on its third record. Money. Drugs. Men. Women. People of all sorts. Live fast, dead by twenty seven. You know? Got a boyfriend who I thought was a user. He was a pusher. He starfucked me until I wanted out. Then he didn't let me out. And he'd get physical about it. Arcadia stopped that."
"Arcadia dried me out, Arcadia cleaned me out, Arcadia destroyed my career and my name and also all the mistakes, too. I try to tell myself I'm running towards joy, but I am still running from that when it shows up where I don't expect it. And the last person in the world I expect it from is you, Lucia. Still."
"I don't really talk about mine either. For different reasons. Some time I'd like to know. Not necessarily now." Lucia re-settles after Polly does, but stills completely at the fingers on her scalp. Even her breath stops for a second. When it starts it does so in studders, with the faintest moan of pleasure buried in the breaths.
Briefly she seems to have forgotten what she was saying.
"I'm good. That was good," she finally breathes out. There's another pause to collect herself.
"I'm sorry that boyfriend treated you that way. I was wondering where your reaction came from. This sidebar was not unrelated. Are you going to be okay if I talk about the domestic violence in my past?"
She opens her lambent eyes again and reaches to carefully stroke her fingers along the line of Polly's jaw.
"I can't promise that, and I don't think you'd want me to. Because it would show I don't really know myself the way I claim to. Do you understand?" Polly looks down her body at Lucia as best she can from this angle. With the touch to the scalp going well, she chooses not to make any real ado about that fact at all. It can be a normal thing that happens now with them. Not some goal to reach for. Just another thing that happens now.
Her fingers really drive that home by lingering there and petting slow and absent pets. It stops when she goes silent for thought. And it restarts when she starts talking again. And that can be how Lucia learns those are called pauses, and not rejection. Or perhaps worse, a preparation for something further than this for now.
"But I've been through a lot of therapy, and I have some pretty good touchstones now. So if you'll be okay if I start crying, or if I have to just hug you, or similar? We can do this together, and it can be okay. But what I feel going into this is that it's probably going to hurt to hear what you had to go through and that at the end I'll be okay, just wanting badly to know what I can do to make you feel better in that moment. So be thinking of that ahead of time, and I think you can toss my poor little mind a lifeline if you need to."
And then she taps her nearby phone. "And Jay's just a call away, worst case. I'm showing you this so you know I think things through, and don't go diving in. So you can feel better trusting my I'm pretty sure so than you ever would have been accepting my self-certain 'of course'."
"I understand, yes." Lucia's slight nod results in a shiver through her, because of the fingers on her scalp. "That all makes sense, and I appreciate you being clear. I'm probably going to ask you if you think something will be okay a lot, if we talk this much about our feelings and traumas more often. Maybe we should have a shorthand for all of that. Like, "in summary, probably" or something. I'll be okay if you're crying, or need a hug, I think. As long as you aren't scared of me. I never want to make you scared of me." Pause. "If you're ever struggling with clarity, should I call Jeremiah?"
She stops and closes her eyes, soaking in the sensations. The feeling of feeling safe with someone's touch for the first time in so long.
"Or shove me on stage. But. That's. If I'm really bad, that can make things worse. So don't pick that one. If I'm having a bad day, if I seem grump or out of it, or like I just need a nap or a good cry? I mean a nap and a good cry might do the trick, but like. Put a guitar in my hands and tell me to sing it out, and I will feel better by the end. Just how I am."
"But, yeah. Jeremiah?" She draws in a breath and holds it for a moment, trying to decide how to put it. She exhales slowly, "The Lost aren't really ... great anchors for one another. Jay is walking a clear path with wide open eyes. I'm almost certain before the end of it, I have to let go of his hand. And watch him walk those last steps without me. And he just makes every bit of that sound okay and right and fine to me. I can't explain it. When you get to know him, though, you'll see it, too. He's just full of light. All the time. He's not something you keep from the universe. He's not something that's mine. But he's something that feels like home."
"And that's the stink of it, I guess. We're all just making do with the best we have, Lucia. But look what we're making with it." She sighs at that, the hand on Lucia's cheek squeezing her chin and cheek bone gently.
"I don't know what you mean about Jeremiah, but I'll take your word for it. He's been nice to me so far. I thought...I would be more jealous. Sometimes I am." She looks apologetic, like she thinks she shouldn't be. That maybe it's wrong to be, in their circumstances. "But now I'm heading away from finishing my story about what I remember that date so well. The last time someone held me."
She needs to brace herself, mentally, so she basks herself on the warm rock of Polly's presence and the love she's receiving. She looks into Polly's eyes, doing her best to return it. And eventually she explains.
"My father," her mother is mi mami, her father is just her father, "was angry and violent. Always, but more when he was drunk, which was often. Violent with both of us. I remember that date because it was the last time I saw her alive. I woke up in the middle of the night to him screaming in anger, then her screaming in pain." She has to pause to breathe. She sniffles and tries to blink back tears. Fails. When she continues her voice is tighter. "When I peeked out of our bedroom to see what was going on she was on the floor. Already dead. He had--" Her words are choked off as she swallows down a sob. For now, she has to stop and just breathe.
"You might with time," Polly says of Jeremiah's weird golden retriever zen abilities. "It's not important right now." And it isn't, genuinely, which is very good, because what follows from Lucia makes that very, very apparent if she hadn't been willing to concede it up front.
Polly does grow pale at what's shared, a little mixture of shame and a little mixture of horror in there for good measure. With Lucia lying there against her, it's hard not to squeeze her tight in a sudden hug that would probably not be received as support. So she just tenses her arms and hands on Lucia briefly. The idea of the hug, but not the hug itself.
"I can't-- I can't even imagine-- Oh, Lucia." She keeps her hand on Lucia's cheek to ground her as much as she's able, her expressin full of concern. "Take all the time you need. I'm here."
Lucia does take time. It doesn't take her very long to be ready to continue, but getting her emotions controlled enough to speak does take her a minute.
"After that he only had me to focus his anger on," she says quietly. "Most of the time. There were other women that came and went, and it was always the same. When he eventually started demanding I find work to help pay for things it was a relief to have time away. I was only eight, but scrubbing dishes or floors was better than being at home when he might be there. Being a servant was more freeing than being..." she shrugs her shoulders.
"The reason I'm telling you this is so that you know why I never want to be like him. Why I'm so sorry for earlier. I know you forgave me. Thank you. But if I ever did hurt you like that? Please don't let me convince you to stay."
Polly's turn to need to get her emotions in check. Her lips tremble, and she needs to reclaim one hand to rub at her eyes and cover her mouth for a moment or seven. Big breath in. Hold it. Out slow. She clears her throat, and slides her hand back into Lucia's hair gently, and with no less affection than before.
"Listen. I don't. I try not to do ultimatums. I think they're bullshit. Especially in a world where Gentry can make us do the things we did. But, yeah. If you ever hurt me like that, I think that would have to be it for us, Lucia. At least until you had gotten the help you need. And I'd had time to process. And maybe not even then. Maybe that just gets us back to being friends."
"I'm not here because you frighten me, though, Lucia. Or because I believe I can save you. At least I don't think I am. I'm here because you are so special, and so lovely, and so creative, and so effortlessly kind. So selfless. I love all the things about you that came from your mother. All those things he couldn't kill, because she hid them all in you."
"I'd like to think if she were here, she'd agree with me, too. And she'd be happy we have each other now. And that you finally feel safe enough to be afraid again with someone holding you. I think she'd say you're the bravest girl in the world. And that she's so, so proud of you, Lucia. And what you've done. And what you're doing. And what you will do. That's what I think."
"Good." That's Lucia's answer to Polly's words about how things would go if Lucia hurt her. She seems to mean it, fully and sincerely. "If I ever hurt you like that then I deserve to be alone." Her hand goes searching for Polly's. When she finds it she takes it, slowly lacing just the tips of her fingers between the tip's of Polly's. "I promise you that as far as I know, I've never hurt someone who wasn't already a danger to me. I hope I never do. I just need to be sure you know that if it happens, and you leave, I understand and think it's the right thing for you to do." For her this is just something that needs to be said, not left unspoken and assumed.
And there rest of it? That's too much for her. She's blushing a little bit at the initial compliments, and it's probably not hard for Polly to tell that she doesn't believe them, but she also doesn't argue against them. As soon as Polly attributes those things to her mother it's over, and all she can do is cry.
"Te amo, mi amora," Polly murmurs softly, leaning in to claim a soft kiss right from those burbling lips. "Mi amorita," she coos just slightly more playfully before kissing those lips again, then her cheek, and then just pressing her face against Lucia's to hold her through the tears. Sometimes love is surprising someone with your Duolingo score.
She knew there would be a time this reveal would save the day, and here it is. "Cry all you need," she continues in Spanish, "I am here for..." Someone phoned in a lesson. "...enough?" She's working on it. "I am here for you." There.
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