[Closed] Chance Encounters (Chrysanthe)

[Georgianna Morgenstern]

Bethas 37, 2720
Flat Iron Pub, evening.

Georgie trailed after Chrysanthe, bowing and caprising as she was introduced to some of the ladies involved in the Vienda chapter. It did seem there were quite a lot more of them when they stood between herself and Chrysanthe and the freedom of the front door. Georgie was, of course, pleased to know them, and looked forward to seeing them again, but she was also quite eager to catch up with her friend, and it made the effort to be polite seem tedious. Thankfully the conversations were kept short by everyone also wanting to talk to everyone else. She was interested in Mrs. Palmondon, at least. She seemed a charming lady, and the history of the organization was interesting. Georgie smiled warmly as she said that she hoped younger ladies such as herself and Chrysanthe would see the change they were fighting for.

“I certainly do hope so, madam,” she replied with a warm smile.

Georgie felt Chrysanthe’s hand on her arm, and let herself be guided through the throng of other ladies getting ready to leave and out into the cool evening air. The street was quiet, and it was a stark change from the thrum of conversation and all those fields all pressed together, brimming with energy and excitement. Out on the street it was just the two of them. Georgie gave a quiet sigh, slightly relieved to be out in the open air again. It was dark enough now that the phosphor street lamps were beginning to glow, casting the street in their blue hues. The light glinted off Chrysanthe’s golden hair as she adjusted it and smoothed her fingers over the short, straight strands. Chrysanthe turned to look back at her, and the blue light hit her face in just the right way. She was all angles and lines, the light and shadow bringing out the sharpness of her cheekbones and the blue of her eyes in a way that made Georgie wish she had her camera spectra to hand. Had she always been so pretty?

Chrysanthe mentioned that the place she wanted to go for drinks was down the road away, snapping her out of her reverie, and Georgie nodded, following her with a smile. This was, she thought, perhaps not the best place to be having such thoughts. Or the best person to be the object of those thoughts. Chrysanthe had always been her brother’s friend. They had been familiar in school, certainly, but only by virtue of Chrysanthe and Baz spending time together, and all the times in their last four years that she had been invited to the house for lunch or dinner by their parents. She was sure that Chrysanthe knew where her inclinations lied; she had not exactly been secretive about it in her youth, nor was she now. However, she had no idea about Chrysanthe herself. Best not think too hard, Georgianna, she told herself, she’s only a friend and you’re only catching up.

Chrysanthe, blessedly, offered something else for her to think about. She smiled warmly. “It was lovely,” she said, “I’m so glad I was finally able to attend one here. I’ve been in the city for about a month and a half, now, but I’ve been so busy, and then there was the issue of them moving around every time. I had to write to a friend in Brunnhold who knows one of the ladies here in order to find out where they were meeting next. I’m glad I did. They seem like such a wonderful bunch.”

They came upon the pub now, and Georgie followed her inside and to the booth where she wanted to sit, taking off her own coat and hanging it on a hook as well, sliding into the seat across from Chrysanthe.

“A blushing hingle,” Georgie said, smiling as well, “with pomegranate, if they have it. And perhaps something to nibble on? You've been here before, I'm guessing, so I'll defer to you on that.”

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, 37 Bethas, 2720
Flat Iron Pub, Uptown

Chrysanthe had smiled back, warmly, pleased by Georgie’s kind words about the meeting group. “They really are lovely! There are several chapters in Vienda, actually; I’m glad you ended up in this one.” She grinned. “It sounds cliché, I think, but – in addition to the work which we do, I find the meetings really very restorative. It’s helps one not to feel alone, I think.”

“A blushing hingle with pomegranate,” Chrysanthe said, smiling at Georgie. “Yes, they’ve rather good pretzels; hopefully there’s some on offer.”

Chrysanthe made her way through the crowd. It’s just drinks with a friend, she told herself, rather firmly. You’re only catching up; whatever Baz might have said, you’ve not the least idea if she’d even be interested in you. Besides, Chrysanthe thought, rueful, it seemed awfully difficult to mention. What have you been up to since Brunnhold? Well, funny you should ask, I’m mostly been being quite lesbian, and I suppose working a bit.

“A blushing hingle,” Chrysanthe said at the bar, leaning forward slightly and smiling politely at the young wick behind the bar, “with pomegranate, if you have it. And a moonlight, please.” She paused. “Do you still have those soft pretzels?”

A moment later, Chrysanthe made her way back to the table with a warm basket in her hands, filled with several long, thick pretzel sticks, still steaming. Little cups of mustard, pickled vegetables, and folded up cold cuts were tucked into the basket. She set it down with a smile for Georgie. “Just a moment,” Chrysanthe said.

She went and came again, and set down her own glass, offwhite with a faint purplish hue, and a twist of orange test set into the flute glass. Georgie’s was rather brighter, the sharp pink-red of pomegranate juice, with a few delicate seeds floating in it.

Chrysanthe sat back down, smoothing out her skirt. She smiled at Georgie. “Cheers,” she said, softly, twining her fingers around the stem of the glass and lifting it up slightly. Once it had clinked softly against Georgie’s own, she took a small sip, and sat back, setting it down once more. Chrysanthe smiled across the table at Georgie.

“How’ve you been?” She asked. “I saw Baz rather recently, actually, in the Rose, but he didn’t say a word about what you’re up to.” Chrysanthe hoped she wouldn’t have to elaborate on the evening in question; she rather doubted Baz would have mentioned it to any of his family – even Georgie!

“You look very well,” Chrysanthe added after a moment, smiling. It was a polite nothing, or it might have been, if not for the way she bit her lip, for just a moment; if not for the way she smiled at Georgie a little lingering across the table, and then looked back down at her drink, and then up again. She was, Chrysanthe thought ruefully, behaving nearly as embarrassingly as she had those first months in Gior, when she’d fallen head over heels for the first time in her whole life, and felt as if the experience had knocked her back to somewhere around fifteen in terms of maturity and emotional control.

Her field, at least, was indectal, warm with an edge of heat as always. Now that they were out of the crowd, she had let it explore Georgie’s a bit more – never more than politely, just as any belike acquaintances might – and she had let the faintest pulse of bastly warmth slip through at the compliment. Really, Chrysanthe chided herself, just like a schoolgirl.

[Georgianna Morgenstern]

Bethas 37, 2720
Flat Iron Pub, evening.

Georgie made herself comfortable as Chrysanthe went and ordered for them. She came back shortly with a basket of gently steaming pretzels and several other things which, frankly, looked delicious. She was actually quite hungry, having not really eaten since much earlier in the afternoon before she had started walking to the meeting. She decided to wait, though, and it wasn’t long before Chrysanthe returned once more with their drinks. She lifted her glass and clinked it gently against the other woman’s in a toast.

“Cheers,” she replied, taking a sip before setting it down again.

“You saw Baz?” she said brightly, “I hope he’s doing well. I’ve been so busy, I haven’t been able to write to him. I only just started my residency here, and it all happened on such short notice. I was on a waiting list for the program, and I didn’t expect to hear back again until next year. They had someone pull out at the last minute, though, so here I am. I’m glad I ran into you, the only people I know here are my aunt and uncle.”

She helped herself to a piece of one of the pretzels, lightly spreading some mustard on it and popping it in her mouth. She was pleased to find it was every bit as delicious as it looked. She looked up as Chrysanthe spoke again. You look very well. The words themselves were rather innocuous. Nothing one wouldn’t say to a friend they hadn’t seen in years. There was something in how she said it that gave Georgie pause. Something in the look on her face, the way she bit her lip, the warmth in her field as she said it— and there was the startling realization. Was she flirting? Surely not, there had to be some other explanation. Then again, she really didn’t know Chrysanthe that well…

“Thank you,” she replied. She couldn’t help the colour that came into her cheeks, just a bit, which she tried very hard not to acknowledge, for fear of making it worse. “You, too. I like what you’ve done with your hair. It’s lovely, and it frames your face very nicely.”

She thought again of the image of Chrysanthe on the street, looking back at her, bathed in the blue light of the phosphor. She was no less pretty under the orange glow of the lights in the bar. Georgie felt her cheeks grow a bit warmer and she looked away, chiding herself internally, and busied herself with her drink. A blushing hingle — there was more than one of those at the table now. She really ought to get a hold of herself.

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, 37 Bethas, 2720
Flat Iron Pub, Uptown

Residency, Georgie called it as she spoke of being busy, and then program. Art? Chrysanthe remembered Georgie as an artist, and not only the ill-fated tomato and courgette painting Baz found so amusing. Over the years she had seen other examples of Georgie’s work, things she remembered liking, though she didn’t know much of art.

There were other, suddenly more urgent concerns.

Georgie’s checks flushed red at the compliment; Chrysanthe found her own pinking slightly as well, more at Georgie’s reaction than her own daring. She hadn’t quite hoped - no, Chrysanthe thought, ruefully, she had very much hoped. She had very much hoped indeed, and there was little sense in pretending otherwise.

They were, after all, just two old friends catching up over drinks - for now.

“Oh,” Chrysanthe said, smiling and pleased; the blush in her cheeks warmed. Her hand moved to reach up to her hair; she quelled the impulse at the last moment, somewhat barely, though it was rather a struggle. "Thank you,” she said, instead, taking another sip of her drink.

She studied Georgie across the table for just a moment; they were both of them blushing now, only just visible in the orange light. By the way, Chrsyanthe wanted to say, I’m gay. Haha, isn’t that funny? By the way, you have just the loveliest lips, which is absolutely the sort of thing one notices about their best friend’s sister. She utterly regretted not having managed to slip it in earlier when Georgie had been practicing her speech - just a few more seconds, Chrysanthe thought ruefully, and perhaps she could have.

Baz, Chrysanthe told herself firmly, should not mind in the least. Really, he had encouraged her, and should have only himself to blame. That he had been right about Georgie liking her hair mattered not in the least. Funnily enough she rather thought he would be pleased with this, either cheerfully earnest or maybe just a little smug, in that Baz sort of way where he was always smiling.

“What sort of residency are you doing? Will you be in Vienda long?” Chrysanthe asked, smiling, steering her mind away from Baz - really the last person she wanted to think about just then - and back to the lovely, charming artist sitting across from her. She took another sip of her cocktail, setting it down; she didn’t want to drink it too fast, not wanting to embarrass herself nor to rush the evening to a conclusion.

Georgie had blushed, though, and then complimented her; Chrysanthe let herself think about that, just a little longer, and she found it warmed her smile and her field both, and that it was hard to look away from the other woman, the thickly dotted freckles on her face and the answering smile which warmed it so.

[Georgianna Morgenstern]

Bethas 37, 2720
Flat Iron Pub, evening.

Georgie caught it, how her hand twitched and almost rose to her hair, but was redirected to her glass at the last minute. She had to guess that this haircut was a recent change, and that she wasn’t yet used to it. It was an adorable tick, really, she thought. She almost wanted to mention it more, to see if she could actually get Chrysanthe to play with her hair, but she decided against it. Chrysanthe had asked about her residency, and she was happy to elaborate.

“I got a placement at an art institute in the city,” she said, “it’s for a year, currently, but I’m hoping to work my way into a longer term. The directors were impressed with my application. I actually turned down an institute in Bastia for this one, which may seem mad, but they allow for less focus on classical styles and techniques and more room for innovation, which is what I want to do. I respect the classical masters for what they did and for their talents, but I refuse to be held to creative standards laid out by stodgy old men who died centuries ago and spent most of their time stifling the voices of their feminine contemporaries.”

She sat up a little straighter as she spoke, as though she’d given this speech to someone before, who had been less receptive of her ideas and motivations than she knew Chrysanthe would be. They had, after all, just come from a ladies’ rights meeting. She took another drink, just a sip, before setting her glass down again and leaning closer across the table.

“That’s enough about me, though,” she said, “I want to hear about you. What have you been doing since graduation? I know you went to Gior to study, but that’s about all. What was it like there? I hear the scenery is beautiful.”

She tried to imagine Chrysanthe five years ago, braids straight and orderly, bundled up against the chill, silhouetted against snow-capped peaks. She wasn’t sure if the image in her mind was anywhere near correct, but she liked it all the same. Really, she liked Chrysanthe. She wanted to draw her, to see if she could do those cheekbones justice. She wondered if the other woman would agree to sit for her. She was sitting right now, of course, but it felt rude to take out her little pocket sketchbook and ask then and there. She would have liked to take her back to her flat, in a proper environment, with the lighting just right. That, she thought, was absolutely out of the question. They barely knew each other. Really this was all entirely too intimate to be thinking about here, now, while they were trying to talk and drink and catch up. She didn’t bring it up; she didn’t want to give the wrong impression.

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, 37 Bethas, 2720
Flat Iron Pub, Uptown

Chrysanthe listened, grinning at Georgie. Her eyebrows went up when the other woman straightened, and she found herself sitting up too. She laughed, delightedly, not at Georgie so much as sort of unable to help it. “Oh, brilliant,” she said, warmly. “Well done, and congratulations.”

Chrysanthe leaned forward as well when Georgie did. She grinned, just a little; for a moment her eyes were caught on the sheen of freckles on the other girl’s face. She could half imagine trying to photograph her – not quite like this, Chrysanthe thought. As she’d been a moment ago, sitting up straight and looking across the table, drink forgotten, and passion burning in her eyes.

Chrysanthe found she was running her tongue over her lips, just a little. She stopped, smiling instead, intensely aware that she was still holding Georgie’s gaze, and had been a rather long time.

“I shall tell you about it,” Chrysanthe said, firmly, sitting back just a little and taking another sip, “so long as you tell me about your art work afterwards.”

“Qrieth is beautiful,” Chrysanthe said, once she’d extracted Georgie’s promise. “Very strange,” she grinned. “It’s a lovely city, all underground carved stone in these enormous caverns. It’s truly hard to describe, but it’s stunning,” Chrysanthe paused, wryly, and grinned. “And cold!” She laughed.

“One enters through the Gates of Imaan,” Chrysanthe said. “They’re deep within a canyon, and the walls are lit all orange as one approaches. Before one ever seen a hint of the city, there they are: these two enormous white pillars which stretch up further than anyone can see in the dark, so tall that one feels like a speck of dust against them,” she shivered, remembering. “It really sets the tone.”

“I was there for two years,” Chrysanthe said, cheerfully. “I saw a great deal of moss, and ate some of it,” she grinned at Georgie. “And some really strange mushrooms. There aren’t so many students who go to the Temple, but I was lucky to make a few friends from all over. I came to Vienda afterwards; for the last few years I’ve been at Pargeter and Sons Flat Glass Producers.”

Chrysanthe paused; she glanced at her drink, and then back at Georgie instead. She smiled, wryly, but she straightened up. “I’m the only female engineer,” Chrysanthe said, evenly, “and I was the youngest, when they hired me.”

“Most of the last two years have been eaten up with work,” Chrysanthe said, her mouth twitching a little. “Work, and then when I had the time suffrage meetings and tea or drinks with friends. I thought if I worked hard enough, if I did enough, that it would stop mattering.” She swallowed, just a little, and took a deep breath.

She grinned, then, wryly, looking at Georgie. “I haven't seen you in years and here I am pouring everything out. I’m sorry,” she sat back, then, taking another sip of her Moonlight. “It’s a good job and I’m quite grateful for it. I’m sort of splitting my time between Vienda and the Rose for a bit – they’ve another production facility there,” she played with the edge of the glass, and set it down.

“Enough of my turn,” Chrysanthe said, smiling at Georgie. “Tell me about your art, please.”

[Georgianna Morgenstern]

Bethas 37, 2720
Flat Iron Pub, Uptown, evening.

Georgie listened with rapt attention as Chrysanthe went on about Qrieth. It truly sounded like a breathtaking place. She tried to imagine a city carved underground into the mountains, and the Gates of Imaan stretching far, far up into the darkness. She would have liked to see it for herself, but considering that Gior had recently closed their borders to outsiders again, she did not believe she would ever get the chance. She would just have to rely on her imagination, she supposed, although she wasn’t sure that it really did the spectacle justice, based on Chrysanthe’s description alone.

She began to speak instead about her job, and how her life had been for the past few years. Georgie felt a little pull in her chest as she listened to Chrysanthe talk about how being both the youngest engineer and the only female engineer had affected her. She knew that in male-dominated fields, such as engineering, there was astronomical pressure for women to prove themselves, and she was sorry to see that Chrysanthe faced that in her own career. Even in her own field, there was sexism and unfair advantages given to her male contemporaries. It made her want to fight harder. She reached across the table and placed her hand over Chrysanthe’s, giving it a gentle, comforting squeeze.

“It shouldn’t matter,” she said, “not for the reasons that it does to your employers, at any rate. You should be proud of yourself for what you’ve accomplished.”

She smiled, then, as the conversation was steered back around to her art.

“I’ve been painting more landscapes since coming here,” she said, “the botanical gardens are beautiful in the spring. When I have a day to myself, I like to take my little travelling easel and some watercolours out there and see if there’s anything new blooming.”

She finished the last of her drink, setting the empty glass on the table and smiling faintly. “It’s much easier to show than to tell with art, I think,” she said, looking up at Chrysanthe, resting her chin on her hand. “If you’d like to see what I’ve been working on, perhaps we could go back to my place? I’m staying in a flat that isn’t far from here, and I have some pieces there that I could show you.”

It seemed rather fortuitous to Georgie that Chrysanthe had brought up her artwork so soon after she had been considering asking the other woman to sit for her. She wasn’t sure if she would ask such a thing tonight, but it didn’t seem so inappropriate to invite her over now that she had expressed interest. It seemed a nice way to end the night, really, showing off some of her better pieces and talking more with a friend.

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, 37 Bethas, 2720
Flat Iron Pub, Uptown

Georgie set her hand over Chrysanthe’s, and squeezed, lightly. Chrysanthe smiled at her, intently aware of the warmth of the other woman’s palm, the light scrape of her artist’s calluses. She found herself aware of a pinch of disappointment when Georgie drew her hand away, which was, of course, absurd.

“Thank you,” Chrysanthe took a deep breath. She was proud of what she’d accomplished, she told herself. She’d set out to win a job in glass manufacture, and she had; she’d known what the odds were, and she’d done it all on her own merit, and kept the job two years beside. Not just kept, Chrysanthe went on at herself; wasn’t the work she’d done in the Rose proof that she’d excelled? She was good; she was very good, and if Pargeter and Sons couldn’t recognize that in her, than she could at least be proud of herself. And she was, generally, most nights.

“That sounds delightful,” Chryanthe said with a smile, imagining Georgie with an easel in the midst of one of Vienda’s many gardens; it was rather easy to picture. “I’ve mostly been to the gardens with my nephew; he has rather a passion for ducks, and loves to go and feed them. One doesn’t have much time for the flowers in such circumstances; if you take your eye off him for even a moment, there’s really no telling what he’ll get up to.” Her smile was warm and loving; Phileander, the dreadful little stinkbug, was a delightful boy, and Chrysanthe enjoyed the outings with him and Amaryllis deeply.

Chrysanthe didn’t hesitate when Georgie invited her over; perhaps she should have. Georgie was a school friend, asking her over to show off artwork she’d asked about; surely there was nothing more to it than that. Yes, Georgie’d said she liked her hair, but so had most of the ladies who’d mentioned it at the meeting; there was no sense in reading in anything which wasn’t there either. In that case, Chrysanthe thought, sensibly, above the warm fuzzy feeling of the gin, there was no reason to hesitate.

“Oh, yes,” Chrysanthe said, smiling, all the same. “I'd love to.”

Georgie had finished her Blushing Hingle, and Chrysanthe wasn’t far behind with her Moonlight. The pretzels had gone too, along with the cold cuts and the pickled vegetables; neither of the women were anywhere near shy about finishing them off.

Before long both girls were pulling their coats on once more; Chrysanthe brushed her hair out over her collar, carefully, and smiled at Georgie, letting the other woman lead the way this time as they went back out into the cool Vienda evening, beneath the cool blue phosphor lights and the more distant pale stars, almost drowned out by the clouds and the lights of the city.

“Were you mostly in Brunnhold before this year?” Chrysanthe asked, smiling at Georgie. She found she didn't quite want to look away; there was, Chrysanthe told herself, nothing to be nervous of excited abut, not in particular. So why did there seem to be a whole host of butterflies in her stomach?

[Georgianna Morgenstern]

Bethas 37, 2720
Georgie's flat, evening.

Georgie smiled as Chrysanthe mentioned her nephew, giggling as the young boy's passion for ducks was mentioned. She considered what sort of things she and Baz likely would have gotten up to at that age. She scarcely remembered much herself, but she had been told stories of how she had drawn all over the walls of their nursery. Baz had been complicit in her escapade, but mostly spared the blame, even though she could have sworn that not all the work on the walls was hers. It cemented her rather early on as the willful, disobedient one, and she had hardly become anything less with age. Sometimes she felt bad for her poor parents, but figured that by now they likely knew more or less what to expect.

Chrysanthe had accepted her offer, which she was glad of. They were out on the street before long, back out into the cool night air and the blue phosphor lamps. She felt a bit giddy, really, at the prospect of having Chrysanthe back to her flat. She would have attributed that to the vodka, had she not known her own tolerance better than that. Really, it was nothing. Chrysanthe wanted to see what she was working on, that meant that Chrysanthe would need to go where what she had been working on was. She supposed she could have suggested the institute; she did have a key for the studio that she shared with the other people in her residency program, but it was a bit further than her flat was, and it was also well past regular hours. The pieces she had back at her flat would be enough of a variety to give Chrysanthe a sense of what she had been doing with her time.

“Yes!” she replied, smiling, “I was. I was staying with mother and father while I tried to get my foot in the door painting some portraits, but it was all rather boring, so I decided to apply for a few programs and see where that took me.”

She smiled warmly as she led the way in the direction of the flat she now called home. “If you’re ever back in Brunnhold, you really should stop by the house. I’m sure they’d love to see you.”

She knew her parents were rather fond of Chrysanthe. She had practically become part of the family in their last four years at school. After her sister had graduated, Baz had made a point of inviting her over for dinner or even just to spend time with them, so that she wouldn’t be lonely. Baz really was a sweet boy. Georgie hoped that he was having a good time in the Rose. Keeping his nose clean, staying away from dangerous people. She did worry about him being there all by himself, sometimes. It reminded her of their first few years at school. They had been together since the day they were born, and it had been hard to be so far apart. She would write him soon, she told herself. She needed to let him know where to reach her now, anyways.

There was a bit more small talk as they made their way along. Georgie found herself watching Chrysanthe as they walked. Watching her hair sway about her chin, watching as the lights they passed caught in the angles of her face. She really was quite beautiful. Georgie had found herself thinking that a lot over the course of the evening, she realized. Her mind drifted back to the pub, to Chrysanthe very clearly flirting with her, and her cheeks coloured slightly once more. She was thankful for the darkness of the street, which made it a bit less obvious. She wasn't quite sure how to bring it up, and so she didn't, simply walking along beside her and chatting.

They soon arrived at the building where Georgie was staying. She led Chrysanthe inside and up two flights of stairs to her small studio flat. She unlocked and opened the door, leading the way inside. It was dark inside. Georgie excused herself for a moment to open one of the phosphor lanterns she kept. She had a few different colours scattered around for lighting subjects. The one she had grabbed was a warm yellow, and the light quickly filled the room. It was a modest flat, with a woodstove and a comfortable chaise in one corner and a soft bed with a floral duvet in another, under the windows. There were a few other pieces of furniture, such as a wardrobe and a bookshelf. The walls were adorned with various paintings and some framed sketches, and in the middle of the room was an easel, a messy table of paints and brushes, and a pair of stools, and on the easel was a half-finished painting of a city street at sunset.

"You can hang your coat by the door," Georgie said, smiling back at Chrysanthe. She took off her own and tucked it away into the wardrobe. "Most of what's on the walls is mine. Except the one of roses over there by the stove, that was a gift."

She made her way over to a cabinet in the corner. "Can I interest you in a glass of wine?"

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, 37 Bethas, 2720
Georgie’s Flat, Uptown

Chrysanthe smiled when Georgie suggested she stop by in Brunnhold. “They were always very kind,” she said, thinking of Baz and Georgie’s smiling, friendly father and mother. “How is Millie doing?”

As kind as the Morgensterns had been and as many dinners as Chrysanthe had had at their house, she had never quite belonged. She understood now, as she hadn’t fully then, some of what her early upbringing had lacked. Funnily enough, watching Phileander grow and thinking over her own years at his age had rather cemented it. She understood too how terribly fortunate she had been to have Amaryllis.

The Morgensterns had been wonderful parents, Chrysanthe thought, looking back on it. But they had never been hers; she had never let them come close to it. If at some point there had been a parent-shaped hole inside her - an absurd metaphor, Chrysanthe thought, wondering at the strength of the gin - then it had filled before fourteen.

She hadn’t, either - even looking back, Chrysanthe couldn’t be sure if she would have called her feelings towards Georgie a crush. She had come to realize that there had been a handful of girls she had had feelings towards, entirely unknowing, that some of the intensity she had experienced had been, in truth, romantic inclinations, which she had not even recognized. She certainly remembered liking Georgie; she remembered enjoying talking with her, and Chrysanthe supposed she would have said Georgie was beautiful.

Now, Chesyante throughly, wryly, looking at her best friend’s twin sister, she was quite sure.

They made light conversation through the streets, bathed in blue light and smiling at one another. Chrysanthe, when she felt nervous, told herself firmly that Georgie had only asked her over to look at paintings, nothing more. Thoughts about Georgie’s lovely features were entirely out of place - perhaps.

Chrysanthe took her coat off at Georgie’s, hanging it up. The whole room was given over to painting; Chrysanthe smiled to see it, wandering to look at the walls. “They’re lovely,” she said. “And yes, please.”

Chrysanthe wouldn’t have said she was much for landscape; she didn’t much care for flowers and ponds. Even such, though, she could tell were beautiful, and paintings of the city were splendid. She went slowly along them, taking in every detail; she didn’t know quite what she was looking for, but she knew what she liked.

Chrysanthe’s fingers brushed Georgie’s just a little, unthinkingly, as she took the glass. She smiled at the other woman. “Your passion is just wonderful,” Chrysanthe said, lifting the edge of the glass in a toast before taking a small sip. ”I really admire it.”

“Tell me about this one?” She went to the easel, tucking her hair behind her ear unthinkingly, and studying the night lights of Vienda, the beautiful sweep of sunset gleaming again metal, glass and stone.