Before, Then, and After [MAR-APR 2024 8CC LIST]

9 - Good Morning

[Present].

When Adolpha awoke, her head was spinning with ill, and she groaned, frustrated with the early sunlight that beamed directly at her from a window. It seemed to purposefully aim for her eyes, worsening her migraine. There was a bit of ruckus coming from the kitchen; the sound of a pan on stove, and then of water — or perhaps oil, in hindsight — being poured into an enamel pot with a hollow sound.

Suspicious, Adolpha slowly pulled herself from the sofa, crouched, suddenly wishing for her sword at her side. As if on instinct, her hand touched her hip where its sheath should have been. But instead of wearing her familiar red cloak, she was wearing nothing but a delicate white nightgown, no armour intact. Her first thought rolled in a hurry, is it Virulent? Then, she quickly shook her head, dismissing the ridiculous thought. Still, her hair stood on end, lining her arms with nervous bumps. She found no sword at her side, but she knew well that her side-table's drawer contained a dagger. Beside the tanned leather couch was a short wooden side-table resting on four legs. It had a flat, shiny top, and beneath that a single small drawer. With light footsteps, Adolpha moved towards it, placing a quiet hand on the knob of the drawer and very carefully rolling it out. She was displeased with the soft sound it made, but the noise still came from the kitchen, unbroken, and she knew that she had not been heard.

Taking the gleaming silver dagger in her hands, she slowly turned, crouching behind the couch still. She did not lift her head to peak over it and see who was possibly in the kitchen; no, she was much too worried for that, much too cautious. Instead, she crawled from one end of the living room to the other, using the couches as her cover.

The sound in the kitchen moved, then, as footsteps heavy on the ball of feet. The footsteps turned down the hallway, ready to walk right in front of where Adolpha then hid. As the steps neared, she prepared. Finally, she leapt, raising, taking the intruder by the arm with one hand and pinning them to the hallway's wall beside the kitchen with a sharp thud, dagger to their neck in the other hand. She had pulled one arm above their head against the wall, keeping the blade to their throat, chin up stiffly. And she looked up at her.

As Adolpha's eyes quickly adjusted, she saw none other than Quince herself, and faltered, pulling away several feet with a horrified expression, eyes wide and brows furrowed. The dagger fell from her hand and clattered on the hardwood below. Quince gave a slight gasp as her tension released at Adolpha's retreat, and she slumped away from the wall, instinctively touching a hand to her throat, as if to ensure it was still there.

"Quince..." was all Adolpha could manage, hoarse and bitter, her mouth dry, her tongue feeling swollen. The dark woman caught her breath for a moment, placing her hands on her thighs and leaning down, then looked back up at Adolpha, straightening. "I'm sorry," Adolpha said, hating the lingering silence between them. More than that, she hated herself for being so rash; for suspecting the worst. She knew that Quince had slept in her home last night, and yet, the idea of her being there that morning had simply not crossed Adolpha's mind.

Quince chuckled, standing upright then, brushing off her slacks, "Well, I'm sorry for trying to cook you breakfast! I'll know better next time." She had meant it as a joke, eager to let Adolpha know that she was quickly forgiven; but to Adolpha, her words felt like a painful stab to the heart, and she fretted that Quince would no longer want to spend time with her. Quince noticed that dull expression, and took a step closer to her, softly saying, "Adolpha, it's alright." It was true; the swift panic in Quince's eyes had faded just as fast as it had arrived, and her posture was confident once again. Quince knew that there was no danger here, and the short moment of being pinned against the wall, blade to her throat, her best friend in front of her, was a memory much softer than any of her similar experiences. If she were to die to a blade, then it was only rightful that it was someone she loved to do it. Regardless, Quince knew very well that death was not an option for today. She knew that Adolpha had reacted on well-earned instincts, and not with emotion nor thought. She could easily forgive her for such a thing, as Quince knew she would have very well done the same.