Healing Halo

They called her scum.

Indoline scum, but scum nevertheless.

Similar to being a cannibal, wasn't it?

Nia felt it all too close to what she herself had experienced.

Only problem was, she was scum. This girl wasn't.

The way she walked, like she'd never known anything but grace and purpose, like she could never possibly forget what she was meant for because it was so wholly ingrained within her.

The way she put a stop to the entire fight without even having to move a muscle and without second-guessing herself one bloody inch.

Nia wanted that.

Oh, she wanted it so bad.

And she's still watching the beautiful lady, the Goddess of the Praetorium, as she leads them into the sanctum. She'd not been watching her on the ship - that'd been Mythra's call (with that faraway look in her eyes, and the half-diamond Core, and more of that bloody history) - but she'd been thinking.

Why had she never seen Fan before? She'd been round the Praetorium enough, much as she'd tried not to be, and she knew at least a little bit of politics, from Torna's planning and her father before that.

Torna. She'd felt proper violated when the damn Monoceros surfaced in the harbor, like she'd not made a lick of progress and her past had been just waiting to come back and haunt her the whole damn time.

But they didn't take Fan. Didn't even look at her. It was like they knew she was...untouchable.

Pretty well best-kept secret, huh?

But that made her sound dirty. Common. Cheap.

Not that she looked expensive, either - that's Brighid's job.

She looks as though she'll crumble away to porcelain jade dust if Nia touches her, almost more because of who she is herself than because of the identity of any around her.

And somehow that makes Nia want her all the more.

In the port, while Pyra's busy gushing about sightseeing and all, she bungles it again: she gets snippy with Mòrag and Brighid, lays all her cards flat about the fact that yes, pretty little kitty's been in jail, ain't that nice for you, but Fan doesn't twitch, nor does she look to have expected it.

Nia isn't bothered. No, she's not suspicious. She's just enamored. How annoying.

How annoying that she shakes hands and makes up with the Special Inquisitor just because Fan la Norne is standing there, just because she wants to look exactly as magnanimous. Who'd she even be trying to impress otherwise? No one, that's who.

Least of all Shellhead, up the other end of their stay in Leftheria, the man who's done nothing but act a hapless, useless fool since the first time they met him. But no, Nia waves all friendly-like. Mature of her, ain't it?

And then he's the crown prince of Tantal. Sure, whatever.

She asks what the "No More Blades, No More War" stuff's all about, and who answers?

That's right, Shellhead. Still, she can't shake him.

But finally, when Fan's bid them all good night, and Nia thinks surely the boys will sack off to their own rooms and leave her alone to what she likes, she's gotta talk to him about it.

"You've been acting different, Furry-Ears."

He hasn't moved, instead propping hand on chin for anchor.

Automatically, Nia wants to retort about how on Alrest he should know, he's never even spent five minutes in polite conversation with her, but she stows it. Maybe there's something between the ears and the eyepatch, anyway. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Not necessarily. Do you swear to be on your best behavior?"

Fan's retreating figure has paused, but hasn't turned. Yet.

"Yeah, yeah. Swear."