mahalakshmi | [ open ] i.

[ He's a little buzzed, and that's...well. Lakshmi is a little thing, and she's clearly not used to this, but oughtn't she be able to keep up with him a little? She's Vor. Her family comes from a long, long line of drunkards. It's the Betan in her, it must be, that makes her so chatty and bubbly and full of laughter and wine-flushed.

Not that he objects. He'd never tell her - not unless it made her angry - but she's cute like this. ]

So you're telling me - [ He snorts skeptically. ] That you'd endure an entire conversation about agriculture? No, no, please don't answer that. I believe it completely. I believe completely that you have a dozen incredibly strong opinions about the dirt.

[ Her nose scrunches in determined thought, and yes, she does, but not like that. Oblivious to his thoughts of her, to much of her self in that moment as she gestures far too animatedly for - well, as he said, a topic about dirt. The glass in one hand that she takes another far too generous mouthful - all honeyed on the way down, as she keeps going. ]

I do not have strong opinions about the dirt. [ A pause, hovering, with the bite in her tongue. ] I have opinions about how things grow in the dirt, that is completely different.

And immensely more fascinating, I have no doubt.

[ He presses his hand to his heart, his expression utterly and completely sincere. ]

Please, tell me all about them.

[ He might just be leading her on, setting her up to tease her more - but as it is, that anyone would listen to her is plenty enough. ]

We behave like this is still the time of isolation. Like there isn't better technology available to us now, better understandings. And yet, people are still using the same crops, the same way as we have done for hundred of years - like we are unable to understand how one crop might affect the ones afterwards. Which it does. The earth must be balanced, so that we can produce more, feed those in our care more, and better quality so that they may become stronger.

[ Radical, perhaps, a hundred years ago. That they should think of turning that food inward, rather than just selling it. But, still. ] Yet, the same old rich idiots that think making do is the same as succeeding, insist that the same things should always be planted because that's how it has always been done. [ She makes a noise, wretch with disgust over having to listen to far too many people insist about it. ] And they will not use proper fertilisers, either to supplement a tired field. The Betans optimise such productions, why can't we?

Hmm.

[ There is a little sparkle in his eyes, amusement glittering in his face, but he doesn't mock her outright.

Just a bit implicitly. ]

Have you ever mentioned this to anyone else?

[ She sighs, heavily. Affects the tone of - well, a half dozen Vor Lords, he could pick any one of them. ]

'Leave that for us to worry about, Chhabili, don't you have other matters to see too? Why don't you see to your sewing?'

[ A familiar grouch. Her father might respect her - raise her differently to most - but that was an exception, and never the rule. ]

Ah, when you'd rather be sowing.

[ He leans back in his chair, his smile a little fond in spite of himself. ]

And how, precisely, did you pick up this passion for this deeply fascinating subject?

[ She goes to take another sip - how far was he? Further than her? She couldn't tell. Had -
to make sure she didn't fall behind. ]

You have heard I am sure my family is only a little better than merchants?

[ His smile at her is a little arch. His knowledge of the Vor is encyclopedic: of course he's heard. ]

[ She nods, swallowing down before she speaks again. ]

They are right. [ It's cheerfully admitted. ] But we are very good ones. Part of that is the land we own - it was some how missed by the Cetagandan's destruction. For a long time, I was the only heir apparent to them. So I took their cultivation seriously. Once I began to realise - how they were being worked, who was working them, through my father's authority where no one else would listen to me - [ Nana was stubborn and set, and Tatya scrapped to his wishes. ] - we began to implement them.

[ And she grins, reckless with the laughter that bubbles up. ] Now, I have a brother. [ If she is bitter, that she should be passed over for his birth - it is out weighed by how much she loves him. ] And enough money even your family does not care, and you are marrying me instead. All I am left with is 'strong opinions about dirt.'

[ In her best impression of him that she could muster. ]

[ A little glitter in his eye again. He's being deliberately provocative, though you'd never know it by the sweetness in his face. ]

Ah. So it was for the money that you learned about dirt, was it?

[ She frowns at him - offended so easily that he would even suggest it. But this time - small mercies - she does not slap him. Rather gives him a clumsy shove at his shoulder. ]

I learned about it because someone needed too. I thought, even if my lands just passed to my husband, that I would still have to look after them, the people on them. [ And she flushes, beaming with pride. ] They eat better now. All of them, because I did so. Every single one of them promised they would kill you in your sleep if you ever tried 'that Vorrutyer nonsense'.

[ With amusement: ] I see. An army of strapping, well-fed, loyal proles with a proclivity towards murder. It's a wonder you settled for a mere Vorrutyer, instead of intimidating the Emperor himself into matrimony.

[ She starts laughing - good lord, the Emperor? ] Never. Then I could never walk away from anyone again no matter how they bored me.

Well, no, you couldn't. But on the flip side, if they really bored you, you could take their heads. A proper mad empress.

[ She hums in the thought, leaning forward in a stretch, sheer indulgence. How a proper mad Empress should be, to her mind. They sprawled so well in those paintings. ]

I would need to be a Vorrutyer first. So you can teach me such things. Instead of yelling at them about dirt.

Ah, lessons in madness. A challenge. You need to have a natural facility for it, after all.

[ He leans back in his chair, eyebrow a little lifted. ]

First, you must start fussing far more about your appearance.

[ She thinks about it, then thinks about it again. Looking at him in a certain kind of scrutiny before she leans back again. Getting lessons in madness, then, is it? Well, she did tell him all her opinions on crops for all things.

Well, if there's any promise to alcohol, it is that she will not remember much of it. To her lessons then. ]

I suppose you are very beautiful. [ She does her best with it, tugging at her skirts to arrange it as best she can. ]

You're quite right that I am.

[ He presses a hand to his heart. ]

And I have been waiting for an acknowledgment of the fact all this time. Good heavens, it's taken far too long. I was starting to get worried.

[ her hand cups over her mouth as she laughs again ]

Will I need to tell you every day?

[ He smooths down his moustache. ]

It would certainly help my self-esteem if you did. I don't suppose you might write me poetry?

[ She bites her lips, thinking a minute - no, no she doesn't, not her own at least. But she takes her step forward, a hovering hesitation - he wanted poetry, well she could give him something half the same as she rocks the rest of the way, leaning her face closer to his, taking in that small soft breath that is - recklessness, as reckless as yelling at him in a garden. ]

'I swear, since seeing Your face, the whole world is fraud and fantasy. The garden is bewildered as to what is leaf or blossom. The distracted birds can't distinguish the birdseed from the snare.'

[ Sounds out each word carefully, sincerely, all of the meaning she needs. Not her own words, no, but she thinks, she thinks it will make do. ]

[ A flicker of surprise in his eyes gives way to a smile of genuine, unfeigned pleasure as he listens. A small nod, a tilt of his head. ]

High praise. I aim to confuse and befuddle.

[ A moment, and then he leans in and murmurs back at her: ]

Des humains suffrages,
Des communs élans
Là tu te dégages
Et voles selon.
Puisque de vous seules,
Braises de satin,
Le Devoir s’exhale
Sans qu’on dise: enfin.
Là pas d’espérance,
Nul orietur.
Science avec patience,
Le supplice est sûr.
Elle est retrouvée.
Quoi?—L’Eternité.
C’est la mer allée
Avec le soleil.

[ His hair looks so soft, it is hardly fair. She wants so very much to brush against it. See if that is some kind of illusion that her drink fogged gaze has put together out of the moment and the warm words she feels said so close. As much as she hears them.

A temptation too easily given into, as she lifts her hand up, and brushes against it,
lightly with the curl of her knuckles to keep it as unpresuming as possible. ]

Do you see me as an eternity, then? [ Laughed, because she is full of it. ]

[ Foolish, perhaps. This is his fiancée, not a potential conquest. But he reaches out in return, lifts his fingers to stroke hers, and replies in a warm murmur: ]

I am not usually a believer in eternity. But I must have faith, with you - because every moment away from you is an enernity of agony, and every moment with you makes me pray it will go on forever.

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