Chrysalis Ch18: Debutante (pt3) (Patreon)

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           The blue eyed man’s dress is as strange as his presence here. Both poised and casual, his grey coat is heavy on his shoulders, accented by a scarf of brilliant Prussian blue. His shoes are white suede, his trousers cut to size, and his hands are smooth and manicured. The human is clearly older than L, but his hair is far from silver. As the Glade’s lights return, they shine off diamond stud earrings.
          He’s not the first human she’s seen in the Market. There was a sprinkling in the Suites, and many in the… worse parts. But she hadn’t seen any in the Glade before.  She had started to assume the Glade served an exclusively fae clientele.
          He’s laughing as he falls into his seat, expression beyond bright. His eyes are still filled with that sense of wonder.
          L pulls back, swallowing the immensity of the Glade from her perch behind the curtain. Her ears are still ringing from the applause, and her antennae are even worse off. She can feel them wobble left and right, vibrating in the air. Basking in the cheers.
          She takes a step away, letting the Glade disappear behind a wall of velvet. The pearl inset in her bracelet catches the final hint of spotlight, sparkling like a wink.
          “Yeah. We… we did it.” L is surprised at how relaxed her breath is. She still can’t believe it. No dramatic reveal of her song’s origin, no sudden intervention from Lyra. Nobody blew anything up, threatened her life, commented on her skull. It went perfectly.
          Not only perfectly. L enjoyed it. Was that even possible? She didn’t have better words for the rush coursing through her body, the adrenaline oozing from her veins.
          L lifts up her hand, watching it shake. She marvels at how her outstretched wing follows the motion. She lets them both unfurl before the full mirror Hedrick’s tucked in a corner. It felt good having these out, too. Elating, invigorating. Like some mask she’d spent a life cowering behind had finally, truly fallen off.
          Her final ounce of worry dwindles away as it becomes apparent Hedrick has no desire to return backstage. It feels strange, with how stressful her life has become, to think that she can just… walk away. But she’s not on schedule.
          She had planned only for damage control.
          L looks again to her wings. Ancient memories of short, excited flights over the couch replay in her mind. Those are the only other instances where she can recall this excitement, each fantasy buried under the crushing caution of ‘Safety First.’ But now… she is safe. In more than one way. Truly safe for the first time.
          … So what the hell does she do now?
          “Fuck it,” she whispers to herself. “Let’s celebrate.”
          She bounds through the stage, sights set on the bar.

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A bounding cheetah couldn’t match Ian’s speed. He's abuzz with an energy all his own, glasses sliding out of his hands with mesmerising rhythm and clarity. His mentor is just behind him, slithering around the counter like a constrictor, reaching for the brightest bottles on the highest shelf. The two are beaming as brilliantly as the nymph watching them.
          Ian catches her gaze between clients, showering her with a smile. It’s the one he had worn at Cro-Mart, back before her world erupted around her. Strange. She’d never thought she’d see that look again. And she certainly never thought it would make her cheeks this red.
          … Would he kick back with her? Probably not. For one, her success means that he’s drowning in orders, and, from Hedrick’s constant putzing, the Glade needs all the revenue it can get. Besides, it…
          … Ian seems relaxed already, in a fashion. At ease. And he’s been so stressed with… whatever it was that was bothering him. He’s earned a moment’s respite, but L worries that the second she sits him at a booth, his phone will rocket to his palm. His brow will furrow, his voice will turn snippy, his breath will turn short. It’s not easy seeing him like that. It felt wrong to tear him from a good spot for her sake alone.
          Cadogan was around, somewhere. Maybe he-
          A hand shoots up, the expensive watch attached to it glimmering in the pale light. L turns to see the human who so enthusiastically cheered for her onstage, blue eyes directed entirely towards her. His smile is playful, curious. He slides his other arm across the booth he’s sitting in. It’s an invitation.
          … On any other day, L would have flittered up to her room and congratulated herself on another close call avoided. ‘Safety first.’ She would have eventually convinced herself that he was waving to someone else, or thought she was serving tables.
          But she couldn’t this time. That look of wonder was still clear in his eyes. And with all the excitement coursing through her body, she couldn’t help but think…
          What had she been missing out on? Could this actually be… fun?  Could life, her life, be fun?
          Just for a couple minutes. An hour at most. Just a little taste, and then she could retreat to her room if he… bit her arm off? He was a human, what could he do?
          Maybe she could find out why he was here. An exploration. And she wouldn’t even have to piss off Ian.
          L darts a glance to the bar, where her friend still keeps half an eye on her, and flashes an apologetic gesture as she rushes forward. The nymph squeezes through the crowded tables quickly, lest any stop her for conversation. She’s at the man’s booth in a flash, her antenna catching the gentle whiff of mild cologne. She stands rigid, hands folded, eyes wide, suddenly very aware that she has no idea what to say.
What had gotten into her mind to make her-
          “Hi,” she breathes out, the word barely registering. It feels like she’s working off the song. She blinks. “... Is everything okay?”
          The human chuckles, leaning into the leather of the booth. “Now it is,” he says with a wide grin. “I just had to see if the woman plastered on all those posters was as beautiful as she seemed.”
          She’s not the only one getting plastered, it seems. There’s a soft slur to the human’s speech. Evidently, he pre-gamed. It makes his motions more fluid, relaxed. And she’s quick to notice it relaxes her, too.
          Cadogan liked it when she acted cute. Ian, too. Cuteness had been her go-to method in these situations before, but… What were the odds she’d see this person again? She had just struck awe in this man, she could have fun with this. Play around. L places an arm on her hip, leans into it, lets her wings flutter.
          “Oh,” she tries to curl her voice like Neith would. A bit rough. “... And how’s that turning out?”
          His eyes sparkle at the flap of her wings, his mouth growing a bit agape. That’s where his focus is, she notes. Curious. The human laughs again.
          “I don’t think they do you justice,” he smiles. She tries to keep her composure even as her cheeks turn red. L tucks her wing back, like her arm, watching that same fire erupt again in his eyes. “How about yourself? For how gorgeous your performance was, you seemed very nervous giving it. Had a chance to breathe yet?”
          That breaks her. L blinks, overpowered by the heat in her cheeks. She coughs. “I-it was my first time…” She looks back at him. He’s leaning a smidge closer to her with every passing second. And that’s when she realises…
          He’s into her. There’s sweat on his brow, a soft hunger in his eyes. Thoroughly charmed in ways no aspirational posters could match. It’s hard to believe she could be sexy, but… Fuck it, she can do this, she be as sexy as she wants. She’d spent hours staring at Selkie’s old Hollywood posters, and borrows a pose from them.
          “... But, I dunno,” she waves a hand, twisting her lips into a smirk. “Not quite sure how to gauge it, yet. You liked it.”
          The human breaks into another chuckle. “The spotlight’s probably terrifying for someone who’s never known it.”
          “So you have?” She shakes her hips as she asks.
          The human giggles, brushing her question off. “L… I know good singers. Those dilettantes at Royal Albert Hall would drop to the floor if they heard you. You’d shatter an entire industry. Heh, I’ll swear on every book you bring me that your performance was majestic. Beyond description.”
          L giggles. “Well, th-that’s nice to say, but I don’t think-”
          “A bit like you.” The human scans her wings as he smiles.
          It’s nearly impossible, but L somehow hides the wave of tingling nerves that overtake her body. It’s not terror, she’s used to that. Is she… flattered?
          The human giggles at her half-coy, half-bewildered expression. “So, when you aren’t resplendent on stage, what do they have you do?”
Focus. She shakes her head and tilts her voice. “I’ve served a few drinks, but I think there’s a much more interesting person in front of me.”
          The human smirks. “Oh, really?”
          “Really,” she smirks back. It felt good to yank chains. So many other people had been messing around with her, she deserved a shot. “How’d a human find his way in here? We’re a ways away from Royal Albert Hall.”
          “Heh, God, no. If I had to come here from Royal Albert, I’d be too intoxicated to finish a sentence. And my applause would be a touch less polite,” he winks at her, strumming his fingers against the table.
          “Ooo. I’d have to throw you out,” she coos. Where on Earth was she coming up with this? “Well, great knower-of-singers, where’s your expertise? Opera? Theatre?”
          “I suppose you could call it theatre,” he chuckles. “It certainly feels like it.”
          “Well how mysterious,” L quirks. “What else could I call it?”
          He laughs again, lifting his chin, watching her wings. “What if I want to be mysterious.”
          “Then I’ll be certain you just want to see my backside,” L flashes a wing, making the human glow anew. “And I promise, you’ll get a lot of backside to see when I turn around and leave.”
          “Fine, fine, I’ll cooperate, officer,” the human raises his hands, wobbling a little. “Politics. I work for the government… er, my government. The United Kingdom. Just some low-level position. Nothing major.” L’s antennae bounce in curiosity.
          Did… did he just-
          “The British government knows about the fae?” L asks.
          “At large, no,” the human shrugs. “Select ears know a little. Most importantly, they know the fae have money. Your King set up her Market right in Westminster’s backyard. She was hardly surprised when we came with a tax bill.” He chuckles at his own joke. “We’re all very simple-minded up there.”
          L blinks. It was strange to hear someone talk about the British and not include her. Strange to hear a human talk about humans as if she wouldn’t understand. “What’s that position called?”
          The human smiles. “You wouldn’t know it. But in this… locale… I’m a dignitary. Emissary, liaison, plenipotentiary, my little language has a whole bouquet of flowery words for it.”
          “And what do any of them mean?” L furrows her brow playfully.
          The human sure loves to laugh. “Tonight, they mean nothing. I don’t want to be a politician. I don’t want to be something special. Tonight, I just want a pleasant evening in an unlikely place.”
          L leans a bit closer. “And how’s that going?”
          “You tell me,” the human slides a thick wallet from his jacket pocket. He uses it to point towards the bar. “Which of those should I try?”
          “Oh, so you did need something from me after all,” she grins.
          “I hadn’t been sure that evening would be here.” He starts fishing through the wallet. “Now, I’m more certain. Don’t be shy on my count, I can spare a couple quid. Tell me your favourite.”
          She chuckles. “The pearly blue ones.”
          “Well…” The human starts pawing through his search. “Dammit, there’s so many cards these days-”
          “Actually,” L lets the word hang until the human looks up to her face. “Let’s try the pink. Seems colourful, innit? Blue’s got a taste of mellow. Comfort. Nostalgia.”
          “Hmm?” If the human has no idea what she means, he doesn’t show it. “Those all sound pleasant, no?”
          “I don’t want comfort.” L’s eyes flash. “I want fun.”
          Piercing blue eyes flash back. “Oh, I can do fun.”  Triumphantly he brandishes a familiar, obsidian black card before her. “That’s the right one, yes?”
          She nods. “No need to show off.”
          “Then why have it?” The human can barely look at her without turning to giggle. “A pink for each of us and whatever else you’d like to try. You’ve earned a chance to get off your feet. And, erm, wings.”
          When L takes the card from his hand, she notes the amazement in his look when he spies her black fingernails. First the wings, now this. It doesn’t seem like a coincidence.
          He likes nymphs.
          Excellent. Compared to being a girl, being a nymph was easy. How else could she tug him around? Maybe she could…
          “I’ll be right back,” L smirks, forcing her antennae to bounce. It works. He’s slackjaw when she bounds through the Glade, giggling.
          It’s only when she reaches the bar that L actually pauses to think about what she’s doing. He’s an absolute stranger, inviting her to drinks. Because he likes her. And she was going to accept. It was… this… she…
          Her reverie is interrupted by the bang of glasses on the counter, causing her antennae to frazzle. Her wings are still swirling in all the post-performance excitement. Excitement that seems to have only grown since.
          Trystan slithers into view shortly after the glasses. He smiles quietly as his free hands clean mugs with a rag. “There’s the little songstress herself. Unless I’m speaking with someone who’s very keen on borrowing my closet again?”
          “Absolutely not,” she says firmly. The thought, once so terrifying, now only makes her smile. Lyra is staying nice and tucked away tonight. “Thanks again for your help with the performance. Saved my scales back there.”
          “Anytime,” Trystan nods, passing drinks as quickly as he can clean them. “Big, scary world out there. Gotta protect our own. Come to see Ian?”
          The pang of guilt is quickly brushed away. “A-actually, I’m here for two of those pinks on the top-shelf,” she shows the card, and points to the table behind her. “Has that one been here before?”
          Trystan leans his massive body over the counter to get a better look. “Ah. Our ever-esteemed guest, Spencer Harcourt. Member of Parliament for whichever poor sods he represents.”
          L’s wings flitter in shock. “He’s an MP!?”
          “Not just any MP, but the King’s favourite MP. The MP who keeps the rest of his government out.” Trys fluidly slides up the shelf, grabbing the glittering rose liquid and giving it a shake. "Which lass has he got his arm around this time? Always fun to see their gaping faces here."
          Seamlessly, two full glasses appear in front of L, shimmering like sunlight on the ocean. They feel cold in her hands. She’s… blushing again.
          “I, uh, I think I’m the lass,” she stammers. “Uh… has he gone out with fae before?”
          “Not that I remember,” Trystan is already sliding to other patrons. “Lucky you.”
          “Thanks, Trys!” she shouts after him. “Tell Ian I say ‘hello’!”
          With that, she’s hurrying back to the table, setting the drinks with a bow and flourish. She puts her game-face back on as she slides into the booth, taking a quick sip of the pink liquid. A fizzy, tickling sensation quickly courses through her nerves.
          “Commendable service,” the MP smiles, taking a sip himself.
          She smirks, trying to act coy. “I don’t like being lied to, Mr. Harcourt.”
          Spencer’s eyebrows lift, his elbows pressing into the table. “Seems somebody got their homework done, mmm?”
          “Well you already knew my name,” she hissed playfully. “And don’t distract. ‘Nothing major,’ you say, when you’re an MP! Are you mad, or just taking the piss?” Was it okay to swear in front of the government? L knew a few people who would love to.
          Spencer’s bright eyes sparkle. L can tell the drink’s ‘flavour’ is moving through him, too. “Heh, I’m just being brutally honest. The position is utterly meaningless. What has Parliament ever got done?” The joke sends him into another fit of laughter.
          L tries to hide her smile. “Right. Then you’re mad, Mr. Harcourt. Completely out of sorts.” Why was she having so much fun? Was she really allowed? Was it just the fizzing drink?
          “Please,” Spencer pleads. “Leave that professionalism at the door. All day, I get ‘Harcourt’ this, ‘Harcourt’ that. What do you think this place is to me? My last holdout from my peers, or worse, my constituents. Call me Spence. That’s what my friends use.”
          He smiles, and L realises he’s blushing, too.
          “Alright, Mr. Spence,” L grins, leaning into the booth, letting her wings fold around it. Hmm. She has so many questions to ask, and no idea where to start. L holds up her glass, making sure Spencer can see her fingernails run along the rim. “Do you drink a lot of these?”
          “To be honest, not really,” Spencer’s still swaying from his human beverages. “I’m operating a little blindly, you know. I have to be cautious.”
          Is this what it felt like? To know things others don’t? She could get used to this.
          “Well,” she smirked. “I’m afraid to say your caution was misplaced. I’m not some innocent nymph, you know. I’ve charmed your drink. You’ll soon be in my snare. Enthralled by every word I say.”
          Spencer blinks a few times, skin turning pale. “I think it’s working.”
          A second passes before they both howl in laughter. The drink is definitely helping. L struggles to breathe between her wheezes, watching tears fall from Spencer’s eyes. He slams his fist into the table. “W-wait, I have to… hahahahaha… I… hehehehe.”
          “What, c’mon, Spence, spit it out!” she shouts back, all giggles.
          “No, heheh, no, no, absolutely not,” Spencer catches her glare for a moment, then quickly hides his face with his hands. “I was about to ask the stupidest question you’d ever hear.”
          “Don’t you dare think of hiding again!” She tries to lean forward, pushing his elbows out from under him. “I demand to hear this! I’ll call your office every day! I’ll go to my King and your Queen, if I have to!”
          “Okay, haha, okay, fine. Fuck me…” Spencer’s fingers unfurl from his eyes. His full grin slides from his hands as he leans forward. She can smell the spirits in his breath. “Are those antennae real?”
          “What do you think?”  she asks, making them quirk forward.
          “... Can I touch them?”
          L sputters for a moment as the question lands, her antennae twitching in a flurry. Did he… she… what?
          Her bravado vanishes beneath Spencer’s blue gaze. She buries her face in her drink, trying to drown out her nerves with dainty little memories. Painting with her fingers. Splashing in rain puddles. “Uhhh, they’re pretty sensitive. It’d be a bit weird. Kinda like if I asked to… I dunno, pinch your tongue.”
          “Well, I’m game,” Spencer playfully sticks out his tongue. “‘Ih fo’ ‘ah?”
          “You’re practically begging me to pour pepper in there,” L replies. Spencer’s childish approach keeps her giggling, but he retreats at her threat.
          “Okay, okay,” he lifts his hands. “No touching, understood. But what if I-” Suddenly, Spencer pounces onto the table, bringing his hands above her head and clapping hard. It sends her antenna into a frenzy, aided by the dizziness of the spirit. She can only blink away the stars in her eyes as Spencer laughs at her.
          “Stop it!” she waves her hands playfully. “It’s not, heh, it’s not funny,” but she’s joining in just as quickly. Spencer’s laughter is light, but hearty. Quick to come, easy to follow. Absolutely infectious.
          He uses his hands to press deeper into the table, lifting himself over L to watch her antennae writhe and bob. “What’s it like? Feeling with these? Smell? Taste? Can they sense me right now?”
          “They can sense there’s a politician about to be slapped!” she calls. The drinks, the humour, the flattery… it’s all building her up, making her feel more secure. More confident. More open. “What do you care, anyway? It’s not like humans have antennae!”
          “That’s exactly it,” Spencer pulls back, but not all the way to his seat. “It’s a whole world I’ll never know! It’s… what’s the word, alien? Exotic!” He smiles. “As exotic as those wings!”
          L lifts an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
          “Those aren’t native British!” Spencer slurredly shouts. He finally sits down, with difficulty. “If I was in the other party, I’d be throwing a fit!”
          “I was born in London, I’ll have you know!” More memories come. Her mum’s hot cocoa. The adrenaline of a mile run.
          “Were you? Ugh,” Spencer looks to the ceiling. “I was going to tell you all about the human world, super sexy like. Now half my material’s wasted.”
          “You’ll make do,” she chuckles, flapping her wings dramatically. “So what makes these foreign?”
          “At first, I didn’t, heh,” Spencer chuckles a bit into his glass. “I was certain those were pine-moth wings, but then I saw that dash of purple just now. So it must be… wait for it… Modest Sphinx! Canadian, eh?”
          L barely registers that her wings push her closer to the table. She does a quick double-take, looking between them and the man who was shattering her entire world.
          “It… it took me ages to look these up,” L’s eyes are wide. The words are coming out faster with every flutter of her heart. “Y-you can just… name them off the top of your head like that? Do… I… you know a lot about moths?!”
          The laughter dies on Spencer’s lips. His body grows rigid, eyes watching her in wild fright as his skin turns pale. He looks like he’s made a greater faux pas in the Glade than all his years at Westminster.
          “Well, uh, heh, why not? Wh-what else would I be doing, my-my job?” Spencer has a hand pulling at his collar, eyes darting from his drink to L to the floor. He’s trying to laugh at his own joke, but the giggles are mere staccatos. “L-look, it’s-it’s just a childhood hobby, right? Bugs and all. Put a boy on a f-forest estate with no f-friends and he’ll find companions a-all his own.”
          L’s antennae have perked back up. Spencer swipes his drink and downs half the contents in a few anxious gulps. He looks like he’s expecting the nymph to call the police.
          “I-I know it’s w-weird,” Spencer stutters. “R-really weird. Sorry, I’m sorry for bringing it up.”
          “Hey, Spence, it’s-” L is cut off as the MP slides into the table, burying his face into his elbows. He’s quivering, and probably not from the memory drink. L can only watch in concern, at a complete loss for solutions.
          “Why d-do I always bring up bugs?!” he laments. “Y-you’re gonna run away now, like all the other girls. You m-mention swallowtail butterflies once, and they all bolt. I sh-should be better than this.” The self-loathing sparks another fit of nervous laughter. “Christ, when I was younger I would even invite them to see my bug collection-”
          “You have a bug collection!?” L starts, wings thumping into their full glory.
          With great hesitance, Spencer lifts a jittery head up above his elbows. “Y-yeah,” he mutters. “Sorry.”
No. Fucking. Way.
          She… she gets to talk about bugs!?!?
          It’s L’s turn to lean over the table. Her antenna flitter with nervous energy, her playful mask forgotten in her enthusiasm. “I… I had an ant farm,” she scans the room conspiratorially. “Like a big one. Really, unreasonably huge.”
          Spencer pushes himself up a smidge, his face close to L’s. His eyes have caught a hint of that wonder again. L scans the room, one more time. Is… is she allowed to share this? There’s no prank reveal coming?
          “I know exactly what you’re talking about,” she whispers. “I’ve… I’ve had to keep things quiet, but the ants never minded.”
          “Exactly!” Spencer pushes himself a little further. Neither is sitting at the booth anymore. “N-now, my mum would freak out if I brought anything in, but outside, under the trees… they don’t care if you have giant glasses and a stutter you’re trying to break. You can just relax.”
          “Just be,” L adds.
          “Finally release,” they both say. L blinks. She’s staring into the piercing blue eyes, her fellow bug enthusiast not six inches from her face. His cheeks flood into bright reds as he realises it, too. They both slowly slink back into the booth, watching each other like they’re trying to calm a bear.
          “It… it feels nice to be open about it,” Spencer holds up his empty glass. “After all these years, to know that someone cares.”
          “You’re telling me,” L giggles. She waves around her body. “Somebody actually likes this? Hell, two weeks ago, these wings were in a bloody binder-”
          She stops herself. Her drink is half-full. She’s sharing too much. That… that didn’t seem wise. He was a complete stranger. Worse, he was an MP. Why would he care?
          “You hid?” he asked, trying to suppress a hiccup. “With a… what are they called, glimmers? Was it like, I dunno, a spy movie?”
          “Glamours. And it was about as bloody far from a spy movie as you can imagine! Unless yours are full of hoodies and… lonely nights at home,” she chuckles. The mere idea that people would find that life exciting… bonkers. Absolutely mad. She’d only just escaped it. And she wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
          Spencer, however, doesn’t join her laughter. He watches her sincerely. “That’s an absolute tragedy, I’m sorry. Sorry for thinking it was all excitement and adventure. There’s just a certain thrill when you’re watching from the outside. You can’t see a person’s problems when they’re soaring so high above you. I know a lot of folks see me that way. Immune to hardship.”
          L chuckles, and raises her glass, aware of how her hand wobbles. “Well, ‘safety first’, right?”
          “Pfft,” Spencer blows a raspberry. “You sound like my father. A boring man with an empty life. You know what ‘safety’ hiding away brings? Safety from bug collections and ant farms. Safety from being seen. Safety from being beautiful. Safety from a life with meaning. You took a risk when you walked on that stage tonight, no? Look at how the crowd reacted when you finally left that hoodie behind.”
          L’s eyes watch over the sea of faces that populate the Glade. Smiling patrons, a space bursting with energy. Her energy. Energy she gave it tonight. All her excitement pouring into the space around her. It felt like she had performed a miracle, but Spencer Harcourt talked like it was the most natural thing in the world.
          “It… it’s been a big change,” she smiles softly. “And it’s had its rocky moments, but… I think I’m happy to be here. I think I belong here, for the first time since… I can remember.”
          “Not just here,” Spencer adds. “Everywhere. Pretty, talented, marvellous… Once you’ve opened up, taken the path you’ve started tonight onstage, you’ll see the world open up. I promise.” L couldn’t help but giggle again. She felt like the man was lifting her to the heavens with his enthusiasm.
          No surprise he got into politics.
          “Well,” L slides a bit back into her coy persona. “With the way you’re ogling, I’m sure you’ll be watching every step of the way.”
          “Why only watch?” he smiles back. He looks back at his glass and sighs. “It’s been really fun, L. Thank you, for everything. But… my bug collection won’t add to itself. Plus, heh, it’s fucking impossible to get a cab here. I’m still trying to get the King to just build a rack of Boris Bikes.”
          “Can’t blame her,” L chuckles, pointing to her wings. “There’s a lot less incentive!” They both chuckle at the joke, their laughter merging into a jubilant harmony.
          Spencer stands up, balancing himself on the table as he fishes again through his wallet. “You might not have been working, but you’ve left me one very happy client.” A small white card of thick paper gently falls to the table. “If you ever want a night with a bit of risk, or, God forbid, you want to see that bug collection, give me a call.”
          L picks up the business card, reads his name and address. Kensington Square, on the other side of the Thames. A borough of mansions, fine dining and galas. She looks up to him in confusion.
          “I…” she chuckles. “Are you planning to invite me to a ball!?”
          “Why not?” Spencer shrugs. “You’re opening yourself up to the world, after all. Why should we keep you stuffed in the Market?” With that, Spencer snaps little finger guns at L as he walks away from the booth. His bright eyes are as filled with awe as when she first saw them.
          L sighs, quietly sipping her drink and letting the Glade’s atmosphere envelop her. With Spencer’s absence goes a bit of soul, the excitement within her dwindling. But the magic of the place is still on full display. It’s nice. Without any threat looming above her, it’s easy to see why Ian-
Oh shit. Ian.
          L jolts, looking back over her shoulder and through the great mass of tonight’s patrons until she can spot her friend behind the bar. The frenetic energy of before has dwindled, and now he lazily swipes through his phone, hand on his chin.
          He’s watching her table.
          A sad smile on his face.

continue reading ->

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Spence Spence Spence!   He's a fun mid story addition.   We wanted to give L a simpler character for her to open up and let loose around.   Although I'm sure Ian is going to have thoughts of his own about the other human in the room.

Be sure to check in Friday October 21st for the first part of Chapter 19: Kept Women! With a name like that I'm sure only good things are ahead.

Until then, thanks for reading!
And thanks for stopping by!