#i know the timeline doesnt work really. but we're PRETENDING. we are playing MAKE BELIEVE darn it

[likemosaic]

@heirbane : “control  yourself.” / hhh... dealer's choice?? :> prompt : too lazy to go find it lol.

yotsuyu plays at impassivity, but inside, the rage burns like a cold fire. another man who scolds her like a dog is certainly nothing novel, but something in his voice echoes sashihai.

(she burns dinner, because she doesn't know how to use the stove; he makes her eat it off the floor like a dog, then takes her by the hair and-)

she's only returned to the past for a moment, but it's too late: regrettably, uncontrollably, yotsuyu flinches. foolish--the viceroy's hand reaches for his teacup, not to grab at her. but she refuses to throw out the entire gambit. her expression smooths out again, as if nothing has happened, and her timid expression returns. no, she can use this. she can pretend to be a simpering sheep, overwhelmed by the presence of a general. is that not what garlean men think doman women are? meek and stupid lambs, for breeding and for pleasure at best? the doman resistance wants information from the legatus while he is on doma, and yotsuyu wants to see if there are any cracks in the armor she can slip her roots into. what good is a flower that floats away when the flood comes? better to plant roots now, to secure herself something greater. the resistance will never succeed, even she can see that. it will not tread water, and she refuses to be dragged underneath the tide alongside it.

"forgive me, my lord," she says, faux-innocent, pulling her hand back from where it nearly touches his armor. playing at the shy young maid she has been instructed to be, she adjusts the tea tray she has brought instead, shuffling her foot.

"i have never seen such armor in person. i forgot myself. i-" yotsuyu pretends to cut herself off, pretends to chastise herself, to cringe at the sound of her own voice. it is a good performance, she thinks, the only give away that not all is what it seems the sharp intelligence in her eyes. perhaps her makeup is too fine for a maid, but her costume, otherwise, is excellent; hair pulled back loosely to frame her face, robe modest but tight against her skin. she is an actor, and this is a stage she could walk blindfolded.

"no, never mind it. i should not ask such questions." an unspoken invitation that yotsuyu has learned tempts most men: the opportunity to talk about themselves. "how is your excellency's tea?"