Reunions (E 2.1, H 2.1, L 2.1)

I tilt my head to the side with interest when Zephyr says she's moving on soon. What plans would the daughter of Litch have for herself?

My attention is diverted by Plover's question though and I nod calmly despite her alarm. "Yes." I lift the lid off the tank and set it off to the side, then reach into the tank and gently scoop one of the wriggling leeches out in my palm, letting the water drain through my fingers until it's just her squirming body left behind. "They're my pets. And surprisingly self-sufficient. They can go weeks without feeding."

Plover runs from the room, slamming the door behind her as if it would protect her.

I raise an eyebrow at Plover as she bolts, slamming the door loudly enough to repay Peppering for at least one of her raucous nights with her lover. When Zephyr approaches, I turn my attention back to the leech, quietly considering her explanation for a moment, then her question. I should tell her the leeches are nothing more than pets, a triviality I allow myself, but I am tired of hiding everything, too tired to lie. "They take the darkness," I answer softly. I turn toward her and take her wrist, turning her palm up so I can dump the squirming leech onto it. I step back and lift the hem of the skirt she lent me, turning my leg to show her the inside of my thigh where I let them feed. "They help keep me...sane."

I watch Zephyr, my lips parted, and a soft breath escapes me at the touch of her lips. I stare down at her, unable to look away, a sailor transfixed by a siren or, perhaps, a savior. The only way to know for sure is to sail toward the call and learn if you are dashed upon the rocks or ushered into paradise.

I don't move away from her, nor do I move toward her. I don't drop the hem of my borrowed skirt, nor do I pull it higher. I am, for several too-long moments, a statue.

"Because...I am the Voice?" I finally ask, just above a whisper, words hesitant but not completely untrusting.

Desired. To be desired not in spite of the darkness, nor in ignorance of it, but because of it is a wholly unique experience. After all the worry that Wells would withdraw from my wounds, watching Zephyr worship them fills me with awe. The spike of pain as she sucks at one makes my breath catch, a mix of surprise and a yearning curiosity.

"Y-your siblings?" I ask, unable to form the whole question my heart and mind race so fast. Will they get impatient and return? Will they know of this? Will you tell them later how my hand is now reaching down to brush your hair, tentative but open?

The last person I had in my bed was a sailor from one of the long-haul supply ships that come around every so often, someone I knew I wouldn’t see again for months, if ever. But Zephyr I am guaranteed to see again, frequently if I continue staying with the Talons, though I suppose if she plans to leave, maybe not.

Even with those thoughts dancing in my mind, though, I obey her directive, crossing the room to my little bed and lying down, watching her. I’m quiet a beat, then say, "The leech will fall off when she’s done feeding. But your blood will be thinned. I have some bandages we can use to stanch the flow."

Release and escape. The two gifts granted by midnight encounters and one-night stands. The two needs I have more now than perhaps ever before.

I ignore the part of me that wants to overthink this and give in, lying back and closing my eyes to fully feel the sensations of her lips on my skin. "Okay," I whisper, to her but maybe even more to myself. "Okay."

Zephyr is true to her word - she makes you feel good. Whether she worships your darkness or your station as The Voice, she takes care of you in a devoted manner, caresses and touches that soothe and delight. Her fingers coax moans and whimpers. Her mouth is the gateway to heaven. She never moves up to kiss your lips, focusing wholly on your body.

How do you feel afterward? Do you pull her close or let her remain slightly distant?

It doesn’t take long for Zephyr’s dedicated attention to chase any lingering logic far from my mind. My body warms to her touch and for these few jumbled moments, I am no longer concerned with Sipps or Vaulters, no longer dwelling on Talons or ghosts. I am a tightly coiled rope, undone and limp on the dock by the time we are through.

As my breath returns and with it my mind, I don’t reach to Zephyr to pull her close, but I don’t withdraw either. I lie on the bed, spent and in no rush to redress.

"Thank you," I finally tell her, my voice softened with a mixture of awe and gratitude. "This isn’t what I expected when I invited you up." I consider now, after the fact, that the Whispers have sometimes reached to those close to me - physically or otherwise - and I lift my head to look at her with some concern as I ask, "Are you alright?"

I lie my head back down again, looking at the ceiling and nodding. "Things don't need to be weird." I take another breath, then sit up, pulling my shirt-- her shirt--down and then looking around for my panties. I find them in a ball on the floor and pick them up, slipping them back on under my skirt. I reach a hand up to my hair, loosened and tousled now, and start tucking it back into place. "The bathroom is through there if you want to clean up." I point to the little door in the corner. The bathroom is nothing more than a toilet and small sink. The tub, oddly enough, is actually tucked against the wall out here in the main room of this little studio space. I'm sure that wasn't always the case, but it is now.

Zephyr smiles - a rare expression from her - and heads to your tiny water closet to wash up. As soon as she closes the door, the Whispers start haranguing you, calling Zephyr a tralk, calling you a stupid fekkik. You don't hear Hard Strike's voice among them.

The Whispers return and I close my eyes under their barrage, weathering them like the heaviest rains of a bad storm. It's an apt metaphor. They did come to me in the rain after all.

"She is not," I whisper to them, willing them to quiet. "I'm just having fun. I'm allowed to do that." I reach a hand up and press it to my forehead, whispering again, "Just shut up."