#lok's tech progression is also an influence I'm not original

[busterswritehand]

You're Timeless To Me

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Roughly 180 years after the events of ACOSF, Lucien looks up to find that he is surrounded by strangers. Meanwhile, Nesta realizes she has stayed still while the world around her keeps moving. Misery loves company, but these two can hardly make small talk.

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Part 3

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Footsteps echoed across the House of Wind. Exploring the house, Lucien noticed not much had changed besides the addition of Feyre's artwork and photographs of her family. Another nifty human invention. A way to capture the past as time escaped them.

Fashion had also changed a lot in the past century. Tunics had been swapped out for loose shirts, vests, and trousers. From what he could tell the Night Court still kept its own flair. Their more traditional silhouettes fused with the modern style Lucien had taken up wearing.

He looked in the mirror on the far side wall and fidgeted with his clothes. It almost made him look more out of place than he felt. He forgot how tentatively fae adjusted - mixing their own tradition with human modernity.

His focus shifted to one of the pictures hanging by the mirror. It was of Nyx with two other young Illyrians- who were all covered in mud and blood. The completion of his blood rite, if the memory of Feyre's letters served him correctly.

His brow furrowed in thought. The last time he had stepped foot in this place, the house had belonged to Nesta and Cassian. It seemed to have been converted into a guest house. Interesting.

There was a knock at the door. It only briefly surprised him. Feyre had said she would come to retrieve him in the morning.

Azriel had flown him to the house not too long after Nesta left. By that point, the party had died down inside. The mixed stares he received upon walking back in confirmed his suspicion that very few opinions of him had changed in the past century. Only Feyre, Gwyn, and Emerie had tried to keep the conversation flowing between them. Amren was just as indifferent as he remembered. Talking to Morrigan, Azriel, and Rhysand felt like walking on eggshells as it always had. They were either waiting for him to slip up or could barely acknowledge his existence. Cold. Unforgiving. Of course, it was nothing compared to the burning hole Nesta had stared into him for the whole night.

Another knock. Lucien shook his head; he had been lost in thought. He headed to the door and opened it to find Feyre. At least that's who he assumed it was. She wore a loose stone blue shirt with an ankle-length navy skirt. The fabric was light and multilayered, cinching at the waist with a ribbon-like belt. A floppy hat shaded her head and face - after a moment he realized that it was instead Nesta.

He looked past her.

"My sister," she said pointedly, "had a last-minute emergency that pulled her away. She sent me to entertain you."

She sounded just about as enthusiastic as he felt. Taunting her after a couple rude exchanges and a few bottles of wine was one thing. But to spend a day utterly sober and alone with her?

It took a moment before an all-too-obvious question hit him.

"How did you get up here?"

"I walked."

He huffed, amused by her dry sarcasm. She raised a brow. His expression changed to shock.

"Really?"

"No, not really," she snapped. "I'm disappointed in you, Vanserra."

She walked into the house. He watched her pass by him and spied Azriel a few steps below where she had stood. The shadow singer followed behind her, giving Lucien a cold glance over. Lucien barely noticed as his eyes stayed fixed in place. Nesta Archeron was joking. A rare sight for him. A smile tugged on his cheeks.

She took off her hat and placed it on the counter before walking over the adjacent wall. Her hair was in a downward crown of braids that wrapped around her head, secured in the front.

"Good morning." Nesta stroked one of the walls of the house like one would a pet cat. A light food spread scattered across the dining table. She gave the house a small, warm smile.

"Breakfast first," she turned to him, "then we go out."

If breakfast with Nesta and Azriel was awkward, then flying with the two was pure misery. No one looked or acknowledged each other much less talked. Lucien tried to not glance below them as the wind filled his ears. For a moment his eyes fell on Nesta who was trying to keep her skirt smoothed down with one hand and her hat planted on her head with the other. He decided that looking towards the ground was the safer option.

When they landed at the bottom of the steps, Azriel immediately disappeared into shadow without saying a word.

"You think they'd install one of those cage machines," Nesta grumbled, smoothing out her skirt.

"You meant an elevator?" Lucien turned to her.

"Right, one of those." She simply said as she started walking. Lucien had to jog half a step to catch up.

"Where are we going," he asked, falling in time with her.

"I have some errands to run," she replied. Lucien blinked. She glanced over and continued, "I'm not Feyre's servant. If she wants me to show you around, then you will tag along for the plans I already made."

He hadn't thought about that - not that he had time to. Was it normal for Feyre to haphazardly disrupt her sister's day like this?

"I'm sorry for interrupting your day." Lucien's reply might have had a slight bite but it was a sincere apology.

Nesta faced the path ahead again.

"It's fine I could use the company." She gave him a sly look. "I hope you like betting."

He returned it with a devilish smirk.

Nesta lead Lucien down the sidewalk through the heart of the city. It was a considerably hot day for the changing seasons. Winter was turning into spring. Flowers were in bloom and cafes began to open outdoor seating back up. It seemed like the perfect place to take a leisurely stroll, but Nesta was making a beeline for the outskirts of the city.

Lucien did not dare to ask any questions as to where they were going. It wasn't until they approached a set of buildings by a clearing that he realized where they were headed. He started walking towards the front doors when Nesta grabbed his wrist.

He looked over at her, puzzled. She pointed with her head toward the side of the property where a magnificent group of stables sat.

"A quick pit stop," she explained.

They rounded the building to a side door at the stables. A stable boy opened the door for them, welcoming Nesta with a nod. Lucien followed behind as they made their way to a brown horse with white spots around the face and hindquarters. The plaque beside the stable read "Lady Death".

"This is your horse," Lucien's question was more of a statement.

"I thought the name was clever." Nesta petted the horse along the face and mane. "She gives them a run for their money, literally."

"I didn't know you were an animal person." Lucien crossed his arms with a smug smile.

"I'm not." Nesta looked over to him, returning the look. "I just like to gamble."

His gaze softened. For a moment, he was reminded of Jurian and Vassa. The sly smiles exchanged. The sense of comfort and ease despite their sharp tounges and troublesome behavior. He missed them. Cauldron above, how he missed them.

Lucien's brief melancholia was interrupted as Nesta waved him towards the exit. He followed her out through another door that led to a betting cashier. She walked up to the counter where the cashier greeted her with a friendly hello. Nesta dropped a comfortable sum of money on the counter for her own horse. She turned to Lucien with a second sum. He looked at it hesitantly.

"Your pick," she urged

He looked over the stats of all the racehorses and picked a black stallion named High Lord. Lucien had a feeling that this horse could rival Nesta's own.

"I'm afraid I can't bet on your horse today."

She smirked, "It wouldn't be fun if you did."

An attendant rounded the corner. The faerie approached Nesta and gave her a quick kiss on both sides of her cheek. How often did she come here? The attendant led them up a few flights of stairs to a private box that overlooked the race track.

The race track was a lush green, and at the center, it contained a pond. The budding florals painted the back landscape of the track. No wonder she spent so much time here.

Lucien took a seat beside Nesta. They watched the horses and their racers prepare. The racers consisted of a myriad of faeries and fae, all different shades of the night sky itself.

"So High Lord," Lucien broke the silence, "did they name him after Rhysand because they bear a striking resemblance?"

"I heard they're practically twins," Nesta chuckled.

The ring of a bell interrupted their short conversation and with that, the horse race had begun. It didn't take long for an uproar to form from the crowd. Everyone cheered for the horse they staked their money on. Among the most vicious of them was Nesta. A fierce, competitive spirit erupted from her usually cold demeanor. Before he knew it, she was out of her seat, leaning on the railing, and hurling insults at the horse who threatened her prize.

Lucien looked over at the track to see High Lord and Lady Death were neck and neck. He jumped up in surprise, joining her at the railing. Together, they shouted in support of their own horses. Thrill raced through his body as the horses gained and lost ground to each other. For a moment, he was able to pry his eyes away from the track. Nesta was beaming beside him. She radiated delight and vigor, even as she was hollering like a war general.

As she leaned further off the railing, a gust of wind knocked Nesta's hat off her head. Before she could secure it, the hat began to fly away. Lucien hopped and was able to grab it with little effort. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a slender hand inches from him. He looked over to see Nesta practically leaning over him to get to her lost hat. They looked at each other, both keenly aware of the lack of distance between them. He placed the hat on her head, his hand accidentally brushing her stray hair. He pulled his hand away swiftly. She straightened her back while fastening the hat. Despite they're instinct to move away, neither one could break eye contact.

Roaring from the crowd brought them back to reality. They turned to the track at the same time. High Lord had won. Lucien laughed in victory. Nesta gripped the railing and groaned in defeat. However, her furrowed brows couldn't hide the smile peaking out from her lips.

"It looks like you're buying lunch," she said.