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STATION 72 ; mental link
KALI She Who is the Great Destroyer ; She Who wears a Garland of Skulls | LAKSHMI She Who Believes in Truth ; She Who is the Mother |
DRAUPADI She who was Born of Fire Sacrafice; | DURGA She Who is perpetually endeavouring to protect the weak and the poor and remove their misery. |
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[ Her sigh, is thick heavy in her throat, she reaches to hook the bottle again. Another longer sip, heavily drawn back into herself. When was the last time she did this? Years and years ago. Here she is now. ]
Naturally, the most foolish ones always are.
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Dude, are you actually getting misty over assholes of days gone by?
[ She grins, a little goblin expression of total mean spirited laughter. ]
Tell me. Pick one.
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You say that like there is many, I'm afraid there hasn't been. I haven't... haven't had the time.
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[ She nudges Lakshmi in the ribs, grinning childishly. Nothing makes Annie quite as amused as sticking her fingers in other people's sore spots. ]
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Damned idiot through himself off the houses of Parliament. Fool, wretched fool. He had to be fished near dead out of the river. [ She snatches up the bottle. He's clear in her mind, clear a glass. An older man, he had been full, of himself when she was being sharp with him, but of his own honor, too. But her memory of him was his form weak, laying in bed, unconscious and half a breath from death. Devoted to it and she -
- she laughs. Because what else is there to do? ] He is my gallant knight.
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[ Snickering. God, no wonder she'd liked fuckin' Nyx of all people. Annie had gotten a heaping dose of his gallantry, fighting his way through a war he wasn't going to win, chasing after a princess he couldn't curtail. ]
C'mon, you gotta have a little lesbian in you. What about a lady knight? I'll do you right.
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...
????????!?!?!!?!?! ]
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[ She clearly misheard that. ]
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[ She doesn't think either are particularly noteworthy. ]
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[ Who wouldn't want to...... ]
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[ Well that's. Something. Good job, Lakshmi. When was the last time she got a compliment from anyone? Not a courtly half poisoned thing, but just - super hot and regal and shit.
This might be easier to process if she were a mark more sober but like any moment of hindsight, it didn't help particularly much in dealing with the consequences. ] Is that how they say that now?
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That's how I'm sayin' it.
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I am afraid I am not usually... propositioned, in such a way. By women... [ Wait, that isn't exactly true - ] Often. By women. Who aren't requesting, ah, payment.
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[ Drinking happily, babbling without much thought. ]
I think I was up to... eight dudes, as of Nyx.
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A education that had been furthered, so to speak, after living so long in brothel houses and slum streets. ]
There has only ever been... four men in my life, if that. I simply... did not have the time.
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[ Most of what Annie thought about was fucking. All day, every day. Noctis has asked her, in despair, do you ever think about anything else? She certainly tries not to. ]
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You answered your own question, I'm afraid. I would be taking advantage of most of the women I know - in such a case, with my rank, and men become... assumptive.
[ Men are garbage, Annie, and her ladies either way to take advantage, as Malhari so often did - or could not so no to their Rani. ]
Besides... that is not satisfying to me.
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[ Annie bursts out eagerly, laughing, imagining Rani taking advantage of her handmaidens. Fans herself. No big deal, this isn't a big deal. ]
Well, you don't actually have any rank on me.
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I would never do that to them. They look to me for their livelihoods, their care, not - [ except, she's thinking about - how many of them... would not have minded? It might have been at relief, in the days of the war. The particular not quite image, not quite sensation, of laying on her stomach, where Sita so carefully dotting the lines of henna on her back, pushing her hair back up her neck and - it was the cool-warm, of fingers bracing on skin to the dot of the paste. ] - not like that.
Besides... what on earth do you even feel for me apart from appreciation? [ It matters, it does not matter. That feeling that sits under her tongue that says - there was never a half ]
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I like other soldiers. It's comforting.
[ In all the ways that Rani herself imagined, the comfort of her women, knowing they were at her side. Annie's idea of that subtle senuousness just wasn't so subtle. She liked to be touched more directly, to be battered around in it, to batter others, and come out still whole. ]
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A purpose that pushes her up - and why should it be any different? Annie asked her as a soldier, like Lakshmi has some line between woman and queen and battlefields in herself. Like she hadn't all fed that into kindling that settles into her fingers, her limbs, in each movement as she leans in close, snatching at the pushed back veils, holding her and holding her and holding her and it isn't a kiss so much. Isn't polite, and maybe that's why she doesn't let it happen often, can't be sure of herself or others, not all turned out. A test that this is - this is something she is doing and then the fact that she is means:
She catches her mouth against Annie's as she yanks her closer, against the corner of her mouth in a thready exhale that when she draws back in she lets fill her like smoke, lets it bleed between the connection. That she won't have comfort, or another soldier - she will have Annie and she will have as much as she can. Turns herself that little more, rolls her shoulders back, pushes herself up a inch, to slant her mouth fully against hers, the hand that runs the edge of possessive in it's need to have, over her shoulder. Her tongue against her teeth, the set of her own in turn against her lip. The way she pushes even when she knows she shouldn't, takes when it isn't her, these things she wants to burn inside of herself.
That when she pulls back and away - it is kept, if barely, inside of herself. ] - because I only know how to play one sort of game.
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It exceeds the shape that Annie had made of the Jhansi Queen in her own landscape. She'd thought too small, and now Lakshmi Bai has risen up to show her what she's really toying with. God, it could make a girl's heart catch in her throat.
And then she's not fumbling the carafe so much as no longer finding it important, her hands lift to twist into the front of Rani's robes. ]
S'okay. I won't tell on you.
[ What's to tell? That a burning tiger prowled across her mind, whiskers and claws kissing, sizzling across the landscape? Sounds like Nyx, too full of passion to ever just fucking lay down and be quiet. ]
( Come here, come here. )
[ All the way back in, with or without hands and mouths, come back in and stay, keep me warm. Languid with liquor Annie is perfectly ready to be set alight. ]
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She liked her men broad and heavy and set well, she knew that much at least. Liked to feel something broad and powerful in her hands and for all she has seen Annie do, say of herself, the things she has done - she realises, that at least, hasn't changed, simply the form of it has. But who better equipped to understand it then?
Because the form had changed, and she thinks on it. Annie was lean, not just in difference, but in that Lakshmi knew herself, where she curved, where she was slight and then fuller, but Annie was - sleek, fine boned as a racing horse. It makes her feel so light under her hands - over aware of her strength in a particular. But realises at least, she is familiar in a way that Annie, perhaps is not. It takes her nothing in the cover of their tents to unwrap the material around from with hands that don't have to look. To peel her out of layers, without ever raising her head to look at what she's doing. The pull and yank and thread apart, as she finds mouth and then her throat. A drag down over her skin as she pushes veils and material out of the way - barking laughter, in her memories - was this how Gangadhar felt unravelling her from her jewels?
( Probably not - the English were the ones hung up about covering a woman's chest. )
It's a disregarded thought, as she pinches skin between teeth, the steady cover of her mouth over it to suck dark and red on her skin, she doesn't know exactly what she's doing, - but she knows what she likes, and like this, skin to skin, the hive burning the connection of the hive between them - was there a difference in her to Annie to back again? To the deeper breath she takes as she pushes the other woman back. Annie had no harsh lines, didn't have the rigid form that Lakshmi kept herself in that with the invitation that she didn't have to, just not, not for a little while - she spreads like ghee set afire and sweet. Rich as butter could be, the long guttering flame that pushes Annie back, pushes herself up between her legs and covers her as she works at the rest of her clothes.
No middle breath, no moment before the plunge, the thunder of horses and canon in her mind. Front line cavalry charge as she moves her. ]
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There's the wiry little body kicking beneath Lakshmi, pressing bones to bones, and then there is the slosh of some slimy water-dwelling thing that lives in her mind, that has been wallowing quietly in liquor and mud. Stirred to wakefulness by the stampeding of hooves and the biting of teeth. Its touch is a sickening cascade of color and light, intangible, indefinable.
That's the rest of Annie Westwind, a sprawling mess of every other potential.
Sex, at least, is something to put that formless energy towards, to disperse the most frenetic, molten layers into the air, like a body breathing out carbon. A lure down into the small body she was born into that is not quite hers, to make it focus and feel, burn and tremble. A machine performing a function it was made to perform in satisfaction, rather than daydreaming about an enormity which eclipsed suns.
Annie opens up, prismatic, making room for thundering horses, for pillars of fire, for strings of jewels. For Rani, who she had not thought would turn to her at all, but since she has... there's a girl in the body. Someone willful, lonely, hurting, struggling on as she has always struggled on, who would benefit from the outpour of someone much the same.
She loops her arm around Lakshmi's waist, possessive of what's there to share, of what's to be forgotten for a moment or two: what's been lost, what's been wounded, what's been scarred. They've already seen all of each other's scars, it's not the looking, not even the fingertips in the grooves of it all. The intimacy is in the willingness to expose an unease and take comfort for it. To be angry and sorrowful, in triumph. ]
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