~Dessa~

Dessa wasn't certain how long it was that she had been staring at Auntie's journal with a seemingly endless stream of tears spilling down her cheeks, until the notebook was unceremoniously snatched out of her hands and cast to the coffee table. She flinched out of instinct, though she immediately recognized that it was just Weiss breaking up her pity party, before he even dropped his shroud. She blinked up at him, his form distorted by her damned watery eyes, willing herself to be furious with him, but her overwhelming heartbreak would allow room for nothing else. He looked paler than usual. His expression was stony while he begrudgingly grabbed the sticky notes, crumpled the first one, and tossed it to the floor. He hastily scribbled something down, and when he shoved the pad into her limp hands, she sucked in a shaky breath, thankful for something else to think about besides the horror she had brought upon her aunt just by coming into existence.

"You make me sick,"   his note said.

Whether it was hysteria of some sort, or his unbelievable bluntness, coupled with his less-than-ideal word choice, it didn't really matter. The cleaving pain in her chest was lifted when she burst out laughing. Weiss looked instantly relieved, and understandably confused by her sudden shift in demeanor. Clearly, the unrelenting taste of her despair had been so disgusting that he finally broke and made it known to her that she was literally turning his stomach. But the way he had done it was absolutely priceless, and her incessant laughter must have been contagious, because his lips quirked up at the corners as he gave a silent chuckle.

"I'm sorry," Dessa gasped out, attempting to tame her giggling, "You just- "

She couldn't put it into words, though. So, she carefully folded the note and slipped it in her pocket.

"I'm keeping this forever," she told him earnestly, still grinning, when she finally caught her breath.

Weiss rolled his eyes at the sentiment, but his subtle smile still lingered. He most likely didn't understand how his note could have evoked such a reaction, or what it meant to her that it had, but regardless, they were both grateful in their own way that it had shaken her out of that dark place. Deciding that she needed to get up and move, to get out of this house that felt less like a home after all that she had just learned, and keep the associated pain pushed into the back of her mind, she stood suddenly and clapped her hands.

"We're going out to eat," she announced, heading to her bedroom to get some money from her sizeable stash. With Zaire going against her wishes and covering the expenses for all her bills, her envelopes of cash were beginning to stack up in her dresser drawer. And for old times' sake, she changed into a comfortable hoodie and jeans, so she wouldn't need to borrow a glamour to mask her shadows or her Mark. She made sure to transfer the note from Weiss into her the pocket of her jeans, determined to keep it on her at all times. When she returned to the living room, Weiss was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, no, you don't," Dessa chided, shaking her head. "Drop the shroud. You'll be seen with me. I refuse to be the crazy lady eating alone, looking like I'm talking to myself."

Weiss "rematerialized" by the door with a sulking pout. He definitely preferred being the silent, invisible bodyguard, but today, Dessa needed him to be a friend. All her other friends were busy at work, as she should be, too, but given the circumstances, and what had had occurred the last day she was at work, he was her best option at the moment, as quiet and grumpy as he was.

. . .

Deciding on a restaurant proved to be cumbersome. Weiss vetoed all eateries that they passed on their way to the city with a curt shake of his head. Only once they made it to the district formerly known to her as the Killing Grounds, did his gesture switch to a noncommittal shrug. Dessa surmised that he preferred to be in the area with higher security, and she couldn't really object to that. Unlike how it was before, the district was now one of the safest places to be. She couldn't wrap her head around calling it the "Safe Zone," though. She would have to think up a catchier name than that.

Downtown, crawling with Fae, not so dangerous, but not 100% safe . . . the "Dark Strip" . . .? That just sounds icky. The "Faerie Playground" . . . ? Too infantile. The . . .

Weiss suddenly crooked his finger at a ritzy-looking Italian place, breaking Dessa's train of thought. It was in that moment she realized he didn't have claws. In fact, not much about him exhibited the tell-tale signs of what he was, aside from his too-bright eyes (a glacial blue with a vertical streak of silver slashing up the centers) and the inhuman beauty that most Fae possessed. She found herself wondering, for a millisecond, where he was hiding his gruesome features.

"Um . . . " Dessa started, pulling out the cash she had brought and showing it to him. It wasn't going to be enough for a place like that. She kicked herself inwardly for not bringing more.

Weiss lifted an eyebrow at her coolly, and with the hand he had been pointing with, he made a pinching motion, literally pulling a fat stack of cash out of thin air. While she had been made aware that the Fae could do it, it was altogether different to see it happen in front of her like a damn magic trick. Dessa tried to hide her wonder, knowing full well he could taste it.

It was now her turn to roll her eyes - something that was quickly becoming their "thing,"

"Show off."

Weiss was parking the car when Dessa glanced down at her comfy clothes and cursed. His questioning look preceded her explaining,

"I don't think they'll let me in wearing this."

Not that she'd ever been to a fancy, rich-people restaurant, but in the movies, one was expected to dress a certain way. Weiss seemed to shrug off her insecurity, donning a glamour, and before she could argue, he transferred the magic onto her with a flick on her elbow. Now, they both appeared to be dressed for a red-carpet event - an elegant suit, and a floor-length dress, both in black with silver accents.

This time, it didn't make her feel repulsed to wear a piece of someone else's glamour. Maybe because she felt like they were bonding? Or because she was in a better mood than when she'd first been spat out by the Veil and crashed into Agron? Either way, she felt somewhat guilty for that. But why should she? If it wasn't for Zaire being so callous and cruel with his words, there would be no need for her to share another's glamour, because they would be together, in the same Realm. She would have insisted on traveling with them to the In-Between, regardless of how terrifying that unknown plane of existence surely was. It couldn't be worse than being trapped within the Veil. Dessa chose to banish the thought, because dwelling on Zaire and Talon's quest would only leave her wracked with worry and frustration. It was time to eat a delicious meal that she would fail to pronounce correctly, and probably costed more than a fridge full of groceries.

When they entered, Dessa was pleased to see that the establishment was less crowded than she had imagined. The reasoning for that quickly became apparent when a statuesque redhead asked for the name on their reservation. Dessa had to school her expression into something resembling calm as Weiss simply pointed at a name on the logbook without skipping a beat, radiating a level of confidence that didn't make sense for someone bluffing so hard. If the redhead wasn't truly doubtless, Weiss' natural, don't-fuck-with-me  energy would have sealed the deal.

Once they were seated in a rather secluded, luxurious booth, Dessa seized the moment, before a server would arrive to take their drink order, to breathe a sigh of relief.

"What happens when the real couple shows up?"

Weiss leaned back languidly and waved off the question, because of course he would. Usually, her anxiety would be skyrocketing in this sort of situation, but for whatever reason, the tension in her shoulders loosened, and she just stared at him. He seemed so sure that there would be no problem, and oddly, without him having to breathe a single word, she was put at ease. Some sort of Fae magic at play, for sure.

Weiss stared back at her for a long moment before his attention shifted to the server approaching the table with menus. The young girl was unperturbed when he only pointed at his drink order for her, and Dessa quietly mumbled, "Water, please." Weiss had a different expression on his face when he had ordered, and for a second after, one that was unlike his usual grimaces. Almost like he was embarrassed, or ashamed? But before she could attempt to decipher it, the wall of stoicism replaced it.

They sat in a companionable silence, perusing the menus, until the server returned with a small cart, placing a bottle of wine between them along with two wine glasses, and her water. Dessa's eyes went wide at the sight of the bottle, because even as uncultured as she was, she recognized that it was a vintage. On reflex, she went to flash a glare in Weiss' direction, though she wasn't sure why she was angry. Perhaps, on some level, she felt like she still belonged in poverty, and that drinking something so expensive and decadent went against everything she was raised on, spitting in the face of a childhood of scrounging for scraps to call dinner.

Her momentary anger was doused when she saw that look on his face again, more prominent this time as he watched the server open the bottle and fill their glasses. His brows were pinched slightly, and his uneasiness remained as the server prepared to take their food orders. He pointed out what he wanted again, and Dessa nervously tripped on her words, attempting to pronounce the name of the Italian dish in a way that didn't sound like something she had never said before in her life. As the server departed, Dessa caught the fleeting look dissipate when Weiss reached for his wine glass, and while he savored his first drink, the pieces finally clicked together in her mind.

"It makes you uncomfortable to be served," she spoke without thinking.

The way he stiffened and abruptly sat his glass down made her flinch. She immediately wished she had kept her assumptions to herself. A tic worked in his jaw, and though the glamour dulled his more intimidating eye color into a muted grey-blue, the sharpness of his gaze skewered right through her. She shrank in on herself, wishing she could blend into the booth like a chameleon. Her heart leapt to her throat. Had she gone and ruined their evening with her too-personal observation? But then, miraculously, his eyes softened and he nodded slowly, reclaiming his glass and taking a longer swig. Dessa resisted the urge to have a taste of her own, to calm her sudden nerves, and instead, placed her elbows on the table to lean in close enough and whisper the question,

"How many years have you been a sentry?"

While she murmured the words, she could see him hyper-fixating on her mouth more than he usually seemed to when reading lips, and it took her a second to realize why. The way she had been leaning across the table had unintentionally exposed far too much cleavage than was appropriate, and he was using all his focus not to let his gaze dip down. Dessa audibly gulped, and moved back into place, her face burning while she scrambled to rationalize it in a favorable way. No, no. She had just imagined that, because, surely, he wouldn't have noticed, and even if he had, the low-cut dress was a part of his glamour, and he could easily see through it to the more drab, modest clothing she was actually wearing even easier than her mortal eyes could. Right? She forced herself to look directly at him, and not chance a glance down at her chest. She didn't need to look to remind herself that while a glamour could effortlessly create the appearance of clothing, and soften non-mortal features, the exposed swell of her breasts would look exactly as it would in reality, and that was much worse than a false, super-imposed version. At least then, she could make herself feel better by telling herself it was fake, not even her real chest that she had practically thrown in his face. Guh . . .

Weiss' face was blank, but his eyes had a glint of mirth in them at her flustering, as he lifted three fingers from his glass in answer.

"Three hundred," she breathed on a sigh.

He nodded, swirling his wine around slightly. It was easy to imagine that he was young as she was, but he had been working for the Royal Guard for multiple human lifetimes. Serving the crown for so long, it was clear that being on the receiving end of service went against his nature. To some infinitesimal degree, it reminded her of her aversion to finer things. Nibbling on her bottom lip, she hesitantly reached for own glass, because everyone should indulge at some point in their life, conditioning be damned.

One tentative sip, and her eyes rounded like when she had first laid eyes on the bottle. She had expected it to have a bitter flavor, and it did, but it was rich and flavorful, as well, delighting her tongue with its fruity undertones. Weiss had the faintest smirk on his lips, watching her reaction. She couldn't muster any annoyance toward him - that's how wonderful it was.

"I know . . . " Dessa started, after taking another sip. "I know it doesn't mean much coming from me, but . . . "

Weiss frowned at her, then, waiting for her to continue.

"I feel like . . . with all that you've done, with what you've sacrificed - not to mention, centuries of service . . . " Dessa peered down into the deep-ruby liquid, afraid to look at him as she spoke. "You are deserving. More than most, in my opinion. And I think you shouldn't feel guilty. You should enjoy it, or at least try to. Because you've earned that, and then some."

Why had she said all that? Maybe she felt like no one would bother to say it to her, if she were in his shoes. Maybe she needed to hear those words, herself. He had taken a huge risk, deafening himself with a wraithbane  blade in order to go against his blood oath to the Queen. He had done it because he knew that the crown atop the wrong ruler would have led to ruin for the Dark Realm, and he refused to be the guillotine. He was a hero, whether he believed it, or not.

"Thank you."

The softly-spoken words resounded through her like an earthquake. She wasn't sure how she had expected him to respond, but she certainly hadn't expected him to speak! Her eyes snapped up to search his, and she was unable to stop the big, goofy smile from blooming on her face. She couldn't help it - she was overjoyed that he had conceded to use his voice to express his gratitude when she wouldn't look up at him. It was probably the first time that he had spoken since the day he took his own hearing. She was truly touched.

"You make me sick," Dessa joked affectionately, with a giggle.

Weiss rolled his eyes, cracking a small smile.

And so, that became their fucked-up way of saying, "Hey, you're my friend,"  without getting all mushy about it, which was a special kind of friendship that Dessa didn't know she needed.