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[miagrimesbell-blog]

"Don't say anything." The words were loud in the quiet room, the only other sounds being those of swishing fabric and Mia's labored, post-dressing breathing. She stood in the doorway, glaring at Rick, her green eyes narrowed fiercely, her small frame swimming in layer after layer of fluffy Wintersday finery - lovingly chosen by her dear, somewhat insane (by Mia's reckoning) mother. Rick's lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk peeking through, and Mia tipped her chin up defiantly. "No," she warned, one hand half-rising from its position at her hip. Her voluminous skirt bounced with the small movement. "Wh--" Rick paused when her glare intensified, and he cleared his throat, barely managing to hold back a laugh. "This is your fault," she accused, stalking toward him, every step announced by the audible rubbing of fabric against fabric. She stopped when she was stood squarely in front of her husband, her back straight, chin upturned to maintain eye contact. "I wouldn't have to do this kind of nonsense if I weren't a mother." Rick raised a brow, his mouth opening to give some response, but Mia huffed and moved past him, collecting her pistol and tucking it into her dress, safely hidden in a nest of tulle and ruffles. "This family portrait is stupid." The sullen, childish remark was punctuated with a glance over her shoulder, her eyes meeting Rick's, a small, grim little smile curving her lips. "If Brenden laughs at me, I'm going to shoot him." Sniffing delicately, she fetched a much smaller, matching dress from its resting place atop a cabinet and swished out of the room, her dress knocking into this and that along the way.

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Mia groaned and straightened her back, stretching out stiff limbs before rising to her feet. She'd been bent over, intently focused on her work, for too long, and her body ached all over from the prolonged inactivity. "I'm getting old," she murmured to herself in the quiet of the empty house, yawning and rolling her shoulders as she moved down the stairs and into the kitchen. She was hungry; that, more than the nagging discomfort of sitting still too long, had pulled her from her crafting. She hummed to herself, barely paying attention to what she was doing as she made herself the usual sandwich, then popped it into her mouth before she'd even sat down. "Ugh!" she exclaimed, immediately spitting out the partially-chewed bite. "Is it bad?" she wondered aloud, peering at the sandwich dubiously. It smelled normal enough, but... "Fuck," she murmured, sighing. She ate the cheese and the bread, then took a nap, leaving the mangled sandwich on the table, forgotten.

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"Hey, I did it," Mia replied with a grin. "But I went unarmed. I figured there were enough weapons amongst the guests to make up for it. And if you're going to have a wedding, you may as well go all out, right? My only regret is that I didn't wear a fucking tiara."

☼ Mia leaned in close to Kit, grinning over the rim of her water glass. "Inappropriate question time! What's your favourite sexual position or location? Natural, hairless, or trimmed? And, last but not least, top or bottom?"

Kit snorted, “These are your inappropriate questions?” She leaned back in the chair; “Reverse cowgirl, goes back and forth between hairless and trimmed depending on how busy I am, and top. I love top.” She reached for her whiskey and hesitated, “Why in the Six are you drinking water?? Are you fucking pregnant?”

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Mia let out a low whistle. "Just a minor detail, that," she mused, eyeing the woman curiously. "I'm sure Rick wouldn't miss it for the world, and good luck keeping me away. Tell me you're going to wear white."

☼ Mia leaned in close to Kit, grinning over the rim of her water glass. "Inappropriate question time! What's your favourite sexual position or location? Natural, hairless, or trimmed? And, last but not least, top or bottom?"

Kit snorted, “These are your inappropriate questions?” She leaned back in the chair; “Reverse cowgirl, goes back and forth between hairless and trimmed depending on how busy I am, and top. I love top.” She reached for her whiskey and hesitated, “Why in the Six are you drinking water?? Are you fucking pregnant?”

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Mia laughed, taking a sip of water. "Interesting. You have good taste." She shook her head a small smirk playing across her lips. "Of course not. Rick made some smartass remark about me drinking too much, so I'm proving a point. That's all." She winked at the woman, then diverted the conversation smoothly. "When're you getting married?"

☼ Mia leaned in close to Kit, grinning over the rim of her water glass. "Inappropriate question time! What's your favourite sexual position or location? Natural, hairless, or trimmed? And, last but not least, top or bottom?"

Kit snorted, “These are your inappropriate questions?” She leaned back in the chair; “Reverse cowgirl, goes back and forth between hairless and trimmed depending on how busy I am, and top. I love top.” She reached for her whiskey and hesitated, “Why in the Six are you drinking water?? Are you fucking pregnant?”

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Mia walked up to the target and kicked it, annoyed with herself for not yet hitting its centre. She'd been trying all morning; her arms hurt and she was frustrated, and neither fact was helping her in her quest to improve. She had awakened early, determined to hit the damned thing dead centre by the time Rick got home - but even at such a close distance, she was still failing horribly, and that was beyond irritating. She felt like a child, anxious to prove herself, to earn praise . . . and that, too, was nagging at her. She was a grown woman - a capable one, even - and a couple of inanimate objects were kicking her ass. Mia plopped down on the ground with the bow, glaring at the target. She was going to win this standoff, even if it took all day.

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It was late in the morning when Mia found herself reaching, by force of habit, for the familiar bottle. She paused, staring at it for several long moments, her stomach doing somersaults, her pulse quickening with a sudden rush of excitement. Should she? Rick's words filled her mind; she could almost hear that low voice he'd used, taste his lips on hers, feel his hands brushing against her skin. Her eyes closed, savouring the memory, and she set the bottle back down, tucking it away into the cupboard. She would leave it there to grow dusty, to be forgotten, until it was needed.

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The wedding was non-traditional, held on a ship near Rata Sum's seaport, the guests a blend of family and a peculiar array of friends. Mia went alone, Rick having been busy with work, which exposed her to her mother's prods and nudges - but they were, in truth, welcome distractions from her overall discomfort. Mia had loved her wedding. Marrying Rick was a literal a dream come true. The experience had not, however, made her any more comfortable with watching other people do it. She felt awkward when the two spoke of their love, however heartfelt and sweet the words were; she simply couldn't shake the feeling that she was watching something not meant for others to see. Still, she was happy for her brother. The couple seemed both excited and content, and they certainly were not wanting for affection. She hoped that they would be even a fraction as happy as she was. Her thoughts flicked back to earlier in the day, and she felt a surge of heat mixed with raw adoration. She was going to have to excuse herself from the reception somewhat early - Mia was anxious to go home to her own husband, to see Rick's face, to kiss him and breathe him in . . . and her patience was severely lacking.

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Mia stared at the array of dresses laid out on the bed, feeling immensely dissatisfied with each and every one of them. None seemed quite right for Brenden’s wedding; she’d been pulling them all out and looking at them for several days running, and nothing was jumping out at her.

She sighed, flopping down on top of a green one that she’d worn twice and forgotten about. The truth was, her mind was not fully focused on the task; of course, she was excited for her brother, and she looked forward to his wishes being fulfilled - but her thoughts, in truth, were much more occupied with the conversation that she and Rick had had some days previous.

The subject matter had taken her by surprise, yet thrilled her on some secret level that she’d never been quite able to acknowledge in herself. She was anxious; she was … unexpectedly thrilled that such possibilities might exist for them. She looked forward to what the future could hold, whenever they again approached the topic.

But that was something to think on later, she reminded herself. Brenden’s wedding was just around the corner, and her silly dilemma needed to be solved.

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"Are your days of fighting over?" Brenden's question had been unexpected, and Mia hadn't been sure what to say; she'd avoided making a reply for a space, until after he'd clarified his meaning, then spoken in a decisive tone. "Marriage hasn't made me that soft. Onyx is still out there." The question reminded her of Kit, and the words they'd exchanged at the Sun. Mia had stated that she was domesticated, and it was true - but how true, exactly? Rick needed a stable wife, yes - but Rick was Rick; his stories were of the glory days, when he'd done wild things with wild people. Where did stable end? Where did it become boring? She didn't want to be boring. Six, but boring was probably the worst thing she could be, for him. She, herself, wasn't bored, of course, but she knew that women like Rivka and Kit were much more exciting - that they had given him stories to tell, while she made passable meals and fussed at him for looking at girls. Mia sighed. Brenden was putting down his weapons. He wasn't fighting anymore. It was appropriate; they were having a baby. Stability, safety: these things went with parenthood. It was the smart, correct thing to do. She, herself, wasn't thus encumbered, but her life mattered more, now. She had things to lose. She had more reason than ever to be cautious. She had a life - one she wanted to keep - with the man she'd loved almost on sight. Mia shook her head and circled back toward the house. No ambushes, no sight of Onyx. Perhaps he was gone, now, and she really was done with fighting.

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Have you ever really wanted something that has no practical use for you?

Mia quirked a brow. “...No practical use?” She hummed, considering the question for several moments. “Almost everything has a practical use, but I suppose some things are more symbolic by definition than practical. So yes, I have. Desperately.”

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It was a small, quiet ceremony with family and friends, held on 82, Season of the Zephyr, 1328 AE; the spot - a bit of peaceful field to the west of Claypool, across the lake - was of some sentimental significance, and the whole event was held without any real fanfare.

(( kitiaralance rickbell ))

[miagrimesbell-blog]

A flicker of some emotion crossed Mia's face, but vanished as quickly as it had appeared; she watched the other woman closely, then slowly exhaled. "An old problem. Someone I was too soft with, who transferred his grudge against me to my family." Her eyes narrowed, and she took a drink from her glass, giving a small shake of her head. "I'm not a fighter; it's not my first inclination to spill blood - but a great deal of hurt could've been avoided if I'd just shot him three seasons ago and been done with it."

Kit smirked at Mia and lowered her voice, "Have you ever plucked someone's eye out?" A morbid question, sure, but Kit had her reasons.

Mia arched a brow at the oddly specific question, her mind flicking back to the Sun and the brief exchange she’d most recently had with Kit there. She remained quiet for several moments, then shrugged her shoulders, allowing her lips to settle into a smirk. “Define ‘plucked’,” she answered in a light tone, her eyes settling on those of the darker-haired woman.

After a brief silence, however, she sighed and leaned closer to Kit, feeling guilty about always dodging the woman, who was often somewhat more candid with her. The volume of her voice dropped. “I don’t regret taking his eye. I regret that I didn’t kill him when I had the chance. That’ll be rectified, eventually.” She leaned back afterward, the faintest crease to her brow. “If he ever comes out of hiding, or my brother doesn’t get him first.”

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Kit smirked at Mia and lowered her voice, "Have you ever plucked someone's eye out?" A morbid question, sure, but Kit had her reasons.

Mia arched a brow at the oddly specific question, her mind flicking back to the Sun and the brief exchange she'd most recently had with Kit there. She remained quiet for several moments, then shrugged her shoulders, allowing her lips to settle into a smirk. "Define 'plucked'," she answered in a light tone, her eyes settling on those of the darker-haired woman.After a brief silence, however, she sighed and leaned closer to Kit, feeling guilty about always dodging the woman, who was often somewhat more candid with her. The volume of her voice dropped. "I don't regret taking his eye. I regret that I didn't kill him when I had the chance. That'll be rectified, eventually." She leaned back afterward, the faintest crease to her brow. "If he ever comes out of hiding, or my brother doesn't get him first."

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Mia snorted a laugh. "Did you just forget who I am? I hate strangers more often than not. Especially the ones who like everyone." She wrinkled her nose. "And the women."

Mia caught sight of the dark-haired woman from across the room and walked over to her table, drink in hand; not asking for permission, she plopped down on an empty chair, facial expression reflecting curiosity. "Have you ever just hated a stranger?"

Kit pursed her lips and nodded, “All the time.” She cracked a grin. “I’m not really friendly, I guess.” Kit brought her glass to her lips and took a deep drink. “What about you? Or are you one those people that like everyone?”

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"Have you ever pulled an all-nighter?"

Mia blinked at the blonde woman, a small, sly smile curving her lips upward. "In what context? Actually, nevermind. Yes, to all of them."

[miagrimesbell-blog]

...Mia might not be so cut and dry, though.

Send me 'Have You Evers' and my muse will reply with Yes or No

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS. plz. ;w;