What Polly Did Next: Intermezzo
Summary: If Monstrous Regiment could be filed under “What Polly Did” this would fall under the remit of “What Polly Did Next” covering as it does the joys, trials and tribulations of our eponymous heroine, picking up sometime in the year following the final paragraph of MR. (Polly/Mal)
Disclaimer: Polly and Mal (and Borogravia) (and Uberwald) belong to Sir Terry Pratchett. Author makes no claims of ownership in any way. No profit is being made from this work.
Warnings: This chapter contains discussion of a relationship between two women. If that's not your thing please don't click below.
Previous Chapters:
Summer,
Autumn 1/3, Autumn 2/3, Autumn 3/3,
Winter 1/4, Winter 2/4, Winter 3/4, Winter 4/4
This chapter is, as titled, a sort of interval in the passing seasons. The last chapter finished at Hogswatch which unfortunately falls in mid-winter, so I had quite a few months to go before spring. I didn't want to skip them entirely. So here it is, your extra chapter of blathering.
~X~
Intermezzo: during which the consumption of ices is permitted
“There is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval.” - George Santayana
Bonk's main (and only) theatre was filled to capacity. Everyone desirous to see or be seen was here, with many Not-Quite-Important-Enough Persons still out in the lobby fighting over the last few tickets. Everywhere dowagers were nodding to young sprigs of fashion, young ladies fluttered fans in a babble of unspoken conversational temptations, and proper gentlemen of a certain age loosened over-tight trousers with sighs of discomfort. But though the draw of the performance had been legendary, not every seat was yet occupied. The most expensive box amongst the many that ran around the over decorated walls of the theatre was the last to fill as two slim figures slipped in through the heavy velvet curtain and dropped into their seats just as the orchestra began to tune up.
Trust them to be nearly late, bloody vampires and their finicky need for lengthy toilettes. Slumping in her seat Polly ran a finger around a suddenly tight collar. There was no reason to be uncomfortable, the furniture in the box had all been designed by Hepplewhite and after a day bumping along in a stuffy coach the cushions of her chair should have brought her feelings of sitting on clouds. But the satin decorated box felt to her oppressive, the extensive gold trimmings overdone. She hated that they were on display up here in this extravagant perch, and would have been much more at home in the stalls below where she could see the last of the audience filing in like gaudy ants on their way to harvest a most refined cornfield.
veryone seemed to have dressed up for the evening, men in the latest fashion of evening dress, women fluttering about wrapped in the best fabric money could buy. Straightening in her chair Polly pulled at the jacket of her dress uniform, in an attempt to make it lie more gracefully. The laundry at HQ had always over-starched, but as she’d never thought she’d wear it the dratted thing again after she was posted she’d not done anything about it, sticking it at the back of her wardrobe and letting it fade from memory. Until now. Sitting here, with the collar cutting into her neck, the faint scent of mothballs did nothing to help her poise.
It was Mal that had persuaded her that even though they were no longer Cheesemongers, there was no reason why she couldn’t wear the red jacket with the gold braid. Actually, Mal had taken one look at Polly when she'd pulled on the royal blue Border Guards jacket that she kept for best and had shaken her head vehemently. Reaching into the wardrobe the vampire had quickly found the red dress jacket and held it out to her instead saying,
“This one. The other is much too scruffy.”
She had been right of course. Polly had never bothered with the expense of ordering dress uniform for her new posting and after over half a year of wear both of her Border Guards jackets were showing signs of age. But that didn't mean she should have gone along with Mal's orders just like that.
Beside her Mal sprawled gracefully in the overstuffed chair, her evening dress a delectable concoction of understated sartorial magnificence against the rich velvet of the seat cushions. Polly frowned.
The blue of the Border Guards Dress Uniform wasn’t a bad colour and she’d thought she might even look good in it, but with no opportunity to wear it on the horizon she’d decided to save her money instead. Now she wished she’d blown sense to the wind and blown her pay packet on something smart. Then Mal wouldn't have been able to say that. Scruffy? Pfah.
Polly shifted uncomfortably in her chair again, the material of her new trousers stiff with lack of wear. She’d adamantly refused to wear the skirt they’d issued her with back at the keep and Mal, with amusement in her eyes, had merely dragged her into a tailors in the town, ordered someone to measure her for new breeches and then sent the details off on the Clacks to Bonk where a parcel containing a pair of beautifully cut cream dress trousers were waiting for them as they stepped down from the coach. It was only when she’d opened the parcel more thoroughly as they were hurriedly dressing that she’d noticed the thin red stripe down the outside of each leg.
Red, Mal?” She’d swallowed the angry epithet. “I thought you were getting Border Blue? I’m not made of money, I can’t afford to splash out clothes I’m only going to wear once.”
Mal hadn’t even glanced up from where she was leaning into the dressing table, attempting to produce a perfect Waterfall from her 3rd cravat. Wrapped up in the complicated interweaving of linen, she seeming hadn't been able to spare any attention for her companion.
“Look Pol, I realise we’re not Cheesemongers any more. But face facts, it’s not like we’re going to be invited to any posh dinners as Border Boys is it?” She had drawn the fabric taunt, examined the result in the mirror and smiled at what she saw. “Besides, it goes with the jacket. And red suits you.”
Straightening, she had reached for the waistcoat hanging nearby. The garment had obviously been measured with great precision to fit like a glove and it was only when she had finished smoothing the silk lapels that she had noticed that Polly still hadn’t moved.
“Come on Pol.” She had reached out and clapped her on the shoulder. “Stop messing about and get dressed. We’re going to be late enough as it is.”
While she had scrambled into the trousers Mal had decided she should wear Polly had thought things. Many things. Was she allowed to get angry that the trousers were not what she had wanted? In fact, was she allowed to get angry about any of this?
Sitting there in the most sumptuous room she had ever had the opportunity to meet, Polly faced the questions again. They had appeared fairly recently, there had been no questions at the beginning. Well, obviously there had been questions. Questions about practicalities and the physics of the thing. But those had been very quickly answered and things had been wonderful. Occasionally surprising, but never less than wonderful. And now there were these new questions.
Everything seemed to have happened so fast. Which was good, she hurriedly offered in mitigation. Never say it wasn't good. Especially after the long months when nothing had happened at all. But there had been a Polly Perks before Mal had ever appeared on the scene and another Polly Perks (Sergeant) who had stopped a war without any vestige of vampiric distraction and those two Pollies were both getting a little tired of all this creeping around. They were getting quite vocal as well. “Either,” they said, “Mal likes us, or she does not.” “And the Mature thing to do,” they added, “would be to ask.”
But the Polly currently in charge knew that such a question leaves one open to a wide range of answers. Of course, Mal was definitely interested in her and expressed this interest in a variety of educational ways. But she hadn't actually said... Mind you, when you came down to it, Polly hadn't actually said either... (somehow she hadn't quite felt it was the right moment during that first highly clarifying conversation and since then there hadn't been an opportunity to drop it into general conversation). In light of all this saying and not saying, discretion was currently trumpeting its status as the greater part of valour and large parts of Polly's brain (suffering horrendous embarrassment) were threatening to secede. “Did we not stand up to the diplomatic might of the Moldovians, they said?”
“But still.”... whispered the quiet voice in the night. And so she had done nothing.
The house lights faded as the last discordant notes from the orchestra petered out and beside her Polly felt Mal sit forward, humming with a familiar tension. This balance of awareness and anticipation had become well-known to her over the past couple of months teaching her to walk lightly in preparation for the attack that was coming whether an explosion of action in the practice yard or in regard to other, more pleasant, pursuits.
She realised that with all the rush (and her own swamping thoughts) she hadn’t had time to ask how Mal felt about this. Turning to whisper her question she was halted in mid sentence by a strong grip that leapt onto her arm as Mal shushed her vehemently. The orchestra struck up with the overture and as the curtain had not risen and seemingly she was banned from making any sort of comment Polly turned to her programme instead for entertainment.
Bonk Civic Theatre is Proud to Present: The great Tiramisu’s
Last Ever Performance!!!
~X~
The tickets had fallen out of the envelope into Mal’s hand, stiff pasteboard with shiny gilt edging. Cut short in the middle of her tirade against Sergeant Kettering and his obvious anti-vampire tendencies when it came to designing the duty rota she had stared in shock at the objects in her hand. Polly's attention had been caught by the sudden silence, and she had looked up from the intricacies of the Cabbage Import Documentation urgently demanded by Sto-Lat. Mal, staring at the tickets, had been caught by such surprise that she had let her mask slip for a moment, emotions chasing over her face in a flurry of half finished expressions. Unwilling to reveal that she had seen this, Polly had merely asked if the vampire had received bad news, knowing even as she did that that wasn’t it at all.
“It’s nothing.”
But Polly had caught a glimpse of something hidden in her eyes as Mal had turned away. She hadn’t pressed the matter, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that something had upset Mal. But something had upset the vampire and she was obviously not going to talk about it to her friend who happened to be currently in the room and available for conversation. If Mal couldn’t work out she was shutting Polly out, then Polly wasn’t going to be the one to enlighten her.
Then Mal had turned back, a determined look on her face as though she had made a major decision.
“They’re tickets.”
Well, yes. Polly could see that. She had nodded encouragingly.
“To the ballet.”
Really?
“In Bonk.”
Oh.
Mal had paused then and a strange look had fluttered over her face. Memories tinged with sadness, Polly had guessed, and something else that the sergeant couldn't quite read. She'd thought she was getting better at Mal, but recently she'd not been so sure. Vampire expressions were, after all, well known for being impossible to decipher.
“She sent me tickets to her last performance.”
“Who?”
At that Mal had handed over the tickets for her to peruse. They were just as fancy up close, with delicate wording traced over exquisitely printed card. Polly hadn’t recognised the name and had said so.
“She was the greatest ballerina of her generation.” Mal's eyes had lit up, enthusiasm driving her gestures. “They said her ‘Princess-Who-Is-Also-A-Swan-Until-The-Idiot-Prince-Shoots-Her’ had to be seen to be believed.”
Her voice had faded away into memories, and she had added absently,
“...Gods it was so long ago. I didn’t think she would remember.”
Polly had waited but apparently no more was forthcoming.
When they had been just friends, Mal had started to open the book of her past. Just the more amusing incidents usually, but there were times when she had let slip a little more and Polly had begun to get a picture of the shape of Mal's life before the league. Some things, of course, had never been mentioned and Polly hadn't pressed, thinking back then that there was time enough to hear about those times when Mal was ready . But now there was hardly any talking at all.
It would have been better to frame the question more politely but unfortunately there was no kind way to put it.
“Did you bite her?”
“No.” Mal’s face had broken into a reminiscent smile. “Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to, but when she danced… It was better than blood. And she was just a scrawny little mite back then.”
Her voice had trailed off again into the mists of recollection and Polly had wondered whether to nudge her on with the story. Truth be told, she hadn't actually been that interested in hearing any more details. But Mal had kept on talking.
“She used to send me tickets, she said it looked good to have a gentleman in the audience.”
Polly had thought they were wandering away from the point in question, that being the irrevocable fact of two tickets, now held securely in Mal's hand.
“How did she know where to find you?”
“Oh, we correspond from time to time.”
It had been a simple statement. Mal hadn’t even looked at Polly when she’d said it, one delicate finger following the gilt edging on the card. As though such a correspondence meant nothing.
Polly, fuming, had known she was being stupid, had known it would take a single simple question to clear up the misunderstanding. But as it was a question she hadn’t had the courage to ask for weeks now she said nothing. The not asking of it had eaten away inside her for the past weeks until she couldn’t even hear a simple “Hello” from her lover without wanting to bite her head off. And wasn’t that a apt irony, she had thought, cursing herself once again as Mal had left to go about her usual nefarious business.
From that moment on it had all been travelling. A three-day-pass from the captain, a sleigh down to the edge of the snow-line, a fast (and excessively bumpy) coach back to PrinceMarmadukePiotreAlbertHansJosephBernhardtWilhelmsberg followed by an exceedingly fast post coach (the best seats Mal’s money could buy) to Bonk. No time for sightseeing however, just a quick wash and brush up in a small but delightfully located hotel before squeezing into the cobbled together outfit that was now causing her so much trouble. Mal had scorned her corporal's stripes for a ensemble that oozed expense through every seam with satin knee-breeches, a cream linen shirt with ruffles, an embroidered waistcoat and to top it all off, an opera coat and exceedingly tall hat. Where she’d been hiding that Polly couldn’t imagine. They had taken a cab to the theatre (Mal’s money again), the vampire urging the driver on all the way and Polly had scrambled out untidily as they drew to a halt to stop in awe before the ornate entrance to the theatre.
“Uberwaldeans always did go in for show over substance.”
She had turned to see Mal descending from the cab in a fashion most regal. Reaching the cobbles without incident the vampire had stood looking up and down the street, cane under one arm before adjusting the brim of her hat “just-so”.
“So much decoration, so much noise.” Mal looked up at the opera house again. “It almost takes one back.”
Polly had been just about to say something about how she'd seen better in Ankh Morpork (though to be fair she'd never actually been inside the famed Ankh Morpork Opera House) when the vampire had laughed and reached over to absent-mindedly straighten the braid on Polly's jacket.
“Leave it Mal, It’ll do!”
(“Especially as I didn’t particularly want to come anyway!” She had added silently.)
A flash of their tickets and they had been inside. Scurrying down what seemed to be endless corridors behind the flying figure of Mal, Polly had known she was being childish, sulking like a teenager in this fashion. But she was so lost in the mess that she couldn’t seem to see a way out of it. Mal had strode on ahead, seeming to know perfectly where she was going. When Polly had voiced an enquiry, she had only vouchsafed that,
“She always sent the same seats”.
Did she indeed?
Thinking back now, Polly sighed. With all that travelling, there should have been a at least one moment free to talk about this Tiramisu and how Mal's past fit into the picture of the present day. But Polly had cravenly felt unable to broach the matter and Mal had been seemingly lost in her own thoughts. They’d sat in silence the whole way.
The curtain rose, distracting Polly from her thoughts and she settled into her seat, bracing herself for the next hour of probable boredom before the interval. The stage filled with the tripping forms of skinny girls, dressed most inclemently for the time of year. Beside her Mal seemed to know the dance well, her indrawn breath in unison with the rest of the audience heralding the arrival of the culprit of Polly’s current inner turmoil.
A woman walked simply out onto the stage pausing in the middle. Standing there, picked out by a spotlight she smiled as the applause rose and waited patiently for the swell of appreciation to fade again. She just as small and skinny as any of the others and Polly wondered what on the disc Mal had ever seen in her. This was her competition? This was what she had spent the last week fretting over?
Then the orchestra picked up the theme again, the woman started to dance, and Polly was lost.
It was magical. There were no words for such perfection, such lightness or grace. The control that this artist had over every inch of her body, such that even the smallest movement of a single extremity was capable of expressing whole poems of emotion.
Polly tried to remind herself that it was only dancing, a stupid, silly, inefficient way to tell a story. It was no use. This dancer, who had invaded the small dusty stage and made it her own, was nothing other than perfection itself and the sheer beauty of it brought a physical ache. And Polly could do nothing but sit there, pinned into her seat, painfully hot tears welling up in her eyes. Tiramisu landed lightly from yet another graceful leap and Polly felt the cumbersome weight of her boots pulling her back to reality. She sat up straighter. angrily wiping away the moisture from her cheeks.
Suddenly, as soon as it had begun the dance ended and as the collection of brats moved in to tell the next part of the story Polly withdrew her gaze from the stage to the silent absorbed figure beside her. Mal knew about this. Mal had had this once, all this and more. Perhaps, even now if she wanted, she could have this again.
Polly felt a different kind of tear prickle behind her eyes.
The act went on. The IdiotPrince wandered into the story and, after meandering about the stage with no particular purpose, he eventually led the SwanPrincess into the centre of the stage again and once more they let the magic free. Watching them dance together Polly was torn between loosing herself in the beauty of it all and retreating from the entire theatre into a miserable world of pain.
Both woman sat in silence through both intervals, Mal was seemingly unwilling to venture out into the bar between acts, lost in the story and the magic. Polly was glad of it, she didn't think she could move.
As the curtain fell for the last time, after what seemed like a million curtain calls and after a whole warehouse of flowers had been thrown onto the stage, there was a knock at the back of the box and an usher appeared with a note. Polly turned from where she had been adding her efforts to the long standing ovation that the audience had been more than pleased to bestow, and saw Mal flicking the paper with her finger, a smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. She raised an eyebrow in enquiry.
“She’s invited us backstage.” A grin broke out over Mal's face. “Should be fun, there’s usually free drinks and food that the corpse never eat”
“I should think not.”
Mal laughed. “The Corps de Ballet, Polly. The extras, the other ones, not the stars.”
Oh. The skinny bratlets had a name then. Obviously people who were intimately connected with people who could dance like that would know such things. It was a shame such people were now stuck with country bumpkins who didn't even know what a plié was.
Polly trailed after Mal down the various staircases, crossing from the ornate front of house to the more utilitarian backstage areas. She supposed that she shouldn't have been surprised that the business end of the theatre was just that, business. But she thought they could have afforded their artists at least a little gold filigree.
Mal knocked at a door with a star on it and, turning to see Polly brushing unsuccessfully at the dull shine on her boots, laughed and told her she should have taken up the vampire's offer of proper boots earlier. Polly scowled at her cuffs as she straightened them but managed to drag up a smile as the door opened. It was a wasted effort, the elderly woman who barred the entrance was not one who would be wooed by smiles, fake or otherwise. Luckily her firm countenance, impervious to vampiric flattery, was susceptible to the little note that the usher had given them and they were waved through into the inner sanctum. Here Polly found her ordeal was just beginning as a crowded room, full of the great and good of all the mountain states in all their finery, turned to stare at the new arrivals. She wished she hadn't worn the Cheesemonger Red. It had meaning down here. That this was more than partly due to the past activities of a certain Sergeant Perks didn't help her piece of mind one iota.
“Maličká!”
The cry came from within the densest cluster of people, the crowd opening out like flower petals to reveal the diminutive form of the ballerina.
“Little one?” Polly's astonished whisper was pitched perfectly to travel no further than the vampire in front of her.
“I was smaller than most of the rest of The Bright Young Things.” Mal shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “I was younger then, remember? And I'm not that tall for a male vampire anyway.”
“So she thinks you're...?”
But the object of their conversation was upon them and Polly had to swallow her questions for another time.
“Ma chérie.” Mal bowed over the offered hand and delicately kissed the slender fingers. “You were exquisite. As always.”
“And your flowers were incroyable, as always.” Tiramisu indicated the bunch of bold blooms sitting in a vase beside the cluttered dressing table. “The gentleman from the florist could only apologise and suggest that perhaps the clacks message had been wrongly transcribed.”
They smiled, sharing a private joke and Polly, not wanting to have to observe their connection, shifted her attention and her balance to examine some of the more frivolous decoration.
“So this is your little soldier girl?”
Mal half-nodded, putting out a hand to bring Polly back into the circle.
“I am so very pleased to finally meet you.”
Gracious to the last, Tiramisu was extending a slim arm in perfect artistry and Polly, copying Mal's previous response, bowed over the offered hand and touched cold lips to the knuckles there.
“Likewise,” she murmured, swallowing the other burning questions that rose to her lips.
As Polly rose, she caught a look of relief on Mal's face that was quickly masked. All three shared a polite smile, Polly feeling the knife inside turn one more agonising rotation and grateful that she’d had practice putting on a bland faintly interested face. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. However, before Polly was forced to produce a topic of polite conversation, someone entered behind them in a great show of pomp and circumstance and the crowd flowed around them to reform in fresh formation.
“We should leave you to your adoring fans.”
“Again?”
Mal and Tiramisu shared another private smile while Polly examined the plasterwork in the ceiling and wished she'd been permitted to bring her sword. Not that she was thinking of using it on anybody. Just as something to rest a hand on. In case it were ever to be needed. She sighed. Even a stint on the high patrol, blizzards and all, would be preferable to this.
Mal bowed once more over that slim hand and then with a small wave from Tiramisu to Polly they were released. Polly didn't wave back. As they pushed through the crowd by the door, Polly took perhaps more pleasure than was necessary in planting her solid boots on some more delicate hosiery. Then they were out in the corridor and the cooler air was chill on the back of her neck.
“She liked you.”
Polly looked round. Mal was hovering at her shoulder, seemingly considering whether the corridor was wide enough to link arms. Polly didn't think so. Conceding that perhaps it was not possible after all, Mal fell into step behind her instead, hands dropping into her pockets with accustomed ease.
“She seemed to know me.” Polly glanced back to see Mal's shrug.
“I dropped in to visit her last winter, she was doing a tour of Uberwald and I had some free time.”
“While I was away in Ankh Morpork.”
“While you were in Ankh Morpork,” Mal agreed.
Polly turned her face forward again and tried to recall the way back to the foyer.
There had been some flyers drifting around Ankh Morpork about a ballerina taking the company to do a whistle-stop tour of her homeland. “Catch the greatest show on The Dysc before it leaves for the mountains” the posters had said. She'd been struggling with getting anyone to take her seriously at that point and hadn't had time for frivolities. Obviously Mal had.
The night was clear and cold when they emerged at the top of those wide steps. A crowd was circling in the street, some waiting for the ballerina to emerge, some struggling through the crush to get to clearer streets and on their way home to warm beds. Polly drew in a shivering breath and, looking up, tried to pick out a single familiar constellation out of the night sky. Before all this, Mal had been teaching her the many fables and ancient tales of the stars that pricked out the darkness above the border. Just one familiar twinkle would be enough. But the glare from the torches that lined the steps prevented her from seeing anything except a dark expanse. She pulled the collar of the hated jacket up round her neck and felt even further from home.
Mal, coming up alongside her, looked out of the crowd before nudging Polly with her shoulder.
“Cold night, hmm?” Her gaze swept the square. “I wonder if they still have late-night coffee shops in Bonk?”
Mal stepped forward and began to forge a way down the steps, Polly having to hurry to keep up. Damn vampires and their coffee addictions. There was nothing she wanted less than to stumble through these foreign streets looking for caffeinated beverages. What she really wanted to do was go back to the hotel, pull the covers over her head and refuse to come out until the world went back to how it had been when a certain vampire had been her friend and nothing more and things had been much less complicated. But, like the proverbial sheep, she followed on without protest.
They reached a wide boulevard and began to walk briskly along it. Before long Polly realised she’d been a little too quiet since their departure from the opera house. Wary of Mal’s inconvenient perception she struggled to find something to say.
“She dances well.”
That was the truth at least. And she hadn’t added anything about her being a girlfriend stealer.
Mal agreed, perhaps too vehemently. “You should have seen her back then, she had everyone falling at her feet”
“Even you?”
Polly couldn’t help it, though she wished the words unsaid as soon as they left her.
Mal stopped short, not bothered that she was holding up the pavement traffic. The opera goers tutted amongst themselves but divided around them without incident and flowed on down the road.
“Oh, is this what this is about? Are we doing this now?”
“I don’t know, are we?”
Recognising she was causing an obstruction, Mal resumed walking and Polly was forced to fall into step beside her or be left behind in a city she didn’t know. But Mal didn't follow the tide for long, instead turning into the first side-street they came across. Walking a few paces away from the junction, she came to a halt in the middle of the empty street. Polly, lagging behind, remained on the pavement, leaning against the side of the tall buildings that lined each side of the grimy little lane. She waited. Mal removed her tall hat, ran a distracted hand through carefully smoothed locks and then took a deep breath and turned to face Polly.
“I came here to see a beautiful talented dancer perform her very last performance ever. A very talented dancer who was once a good friend of mine, someone who meant a lot to me back in the times before you were probably even born.”
“Because I'm so very young.”
Polly folded her arms, leaning even more nonchalantly against the building. Who cared if the city grime transferred to her trousers? It wasn't like she had wanted them anyway. She watched from behind angry walls as Mal took a single step forward.
“You are quite young, Polly. Compared to me. I've a full-length couple of life-times lived that you know barely anything about.”
“Because you don't ever talk about them! And you've never mentioned anything about the lifetime that includes her!”
Polly had pushed herself away from the building in her frustration. The distance between them had thus abruptly shortened and Mal, who had been just raising her foot to step up onto the pavement, retreated back a stride.
“I told you some things.”
“Not recently.”
“I didn't think you'd want to know!”
“I didn't think I did either! But these pasts made you who you are, Mal. Not the person you put out for the world to see. I thought I was being gifted the chance to know that person, but now I'm not so sure. I don't even know why you came here tonight.”
Mal might only have been lower than Polly by the height of the pavement but non-the-less the sergeant towered over her as she looked up to angrily defend herself.
“I came here out of respect!”
“Respect for what?! For the heady days of your youth? For the times when you could bed four débutantes and a ballerina every night and still have appetite for breakfast?”
Polly turned away, vaguely noticing that the last opera-goers were still drifting past the end of the street. Behind her she heard Mal kick something that rattled away into the darkness.
“I’ve lived a long time Polly, what did you expect me to do, live the life of a eunuch?” Mal blew out a sigh of frustration. “Why is this harder for you than the fact I killed people in a multitude of inventive little ways?”
“I don’t know!”
But it was harder non-the-less. She angrily wiped away a rebellious tear.
She heard the crunch of a heel as Mal turned away abruptly, swearing under her breath. No-one swears quite like a vampire, especially one that has been in the army. It was a good swear and it went on some time. Polly shifted so that she could watch the vampire out of the corner of her eye. If Mal was going to walk off into the darkness, she wanted to at least be able to shout something aptly insulting at her retreating back. However, if, as it seemed, Mal was just going to stand there airing her vocabulary, then Polly wasn't about to hang around for her to run out of air. She was just about to leave the vampire to it, when Mal came to a close, very carefully didn't hit the wall and turned back round.
“Right.”
It was a very definite statement of intentions but as Polly was non-the-less still refusing to face her, staring out into the road with her arms crossed it didn't quite fulfil its purpose. Mal, placing a hand on Polly's arm, mounted the pavement and manoeuvred their positions until they were both stood face to face. Polly, having allowed her to come this far, found something very interesting to observe over Mal's shoulder and declined to meet her eyes.
“Polly, listen to me.” Mal’s hands were resting lightly at Polly’s elbows holding her still. “When I went to see her, all we talked about was you. Yes, I loved her, past tense.” Her eyes dropped, bad memories surfacing. “I loved her, I screwed up and I left her. It was a stupid thing to do and I did it in the worst possible way.” She paused for a second before adding “I heard she danced it off.”
Glancing over, Polly caught a the hint of wry grimace pass over Mal’s face at the thought of Tiramisu getting on in life thanks to her idiocy. She looked away again, not really in the mood to interject any sort of sympathy. But her unfaithful vampire was still talking.
“Now I love you.” Her hands slid up to Polly’s shoulders and began to gently shake her back and forth. Polly was forced to meet her eyes.
“Present tense. You.”
Those traitorous hands were sliding up to cup her face as that persuasive voice kept on, speaking quietly now with loving seriousness.
“My daft little soldier girl, who occasionally snores like a horse, has the unfortunate tendency to sleep on my arm more often than is comfortable and kicks me out of bed any time she has any sort of energetic dream. You.”
A look of confusion crept over her face as she met Polly’s expression.
“Pol? What?”
“You love me?”
“Did you think I only wanted you for your body? Not that it isn't tempting...” Mal's eyes quickly ran up and down that trim form. “Of course I love you! What the hell did you think we were doing?”
Polly felt the tiny flickering of a spark of hope
“Even if I don't like these trousers?”
The parts of Polly's brain that had been embarrassed earlier, suddenly woke up and cheered riotously. Mal, however, was saying nothing.
“I mean it Mal, you can't buy me things just because I'm not up to some special “standard”. My clothes might be old but they're mine, like it or lump it. If a skint office clerk struggling on a sergeants pay isn't good enough for you then you can...” Polly had to pause to swallow the lump in her throat. “You can just go elsewhere!”
She turned to leave, wiping a quick palm across her cheek but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder.
“Are you back then?”
The soft words held a note of hopefully enquiry that snagged Polly out of her straight course to the end of the street and she allowed them to swing her back round. The light from the main street fell over her shoulder, full onto Mal's face. Polly blinked. For some odd reason there appeared to be a look of relief creeping into Mal's eyes. The vampire took a couple of quick steps and, placing a hand on Polly's sleeve, squinting in the low light at her shadowed face as she tried to make out her expression.
“Are you really back?”
Polly frowned, confused, and Mal quickly dropped the hand that had captured her, stepping back to scuff a toe in the dirt.
“I missed you.”
Polly replayed that simple throwaway remark. Mal's hands were back in her pockets again, the vampire adopting disinterested position number 14. But there was something not quite right. Polly's mind whirled, observation and assessment working overtime. Position 14 ought to be accompanied by a detailed examination of the middle distance and yet Mal's eyes were seemingly rooted to the ground at her feet.
“You seemed to get lost somewhere, in all the... things.” Mal's deathly pallor lightened for a moment, in what Polly had come to learn was the vampiric equivalent of a blush. “I tried but I couldn't work out how to make it right, couldn't figure out where I'd gone wrong. I'm sorry, Pol.”
The wait seemed to go on forever.
“I didn't know if that was how it worked...” It was Polly who now found the rough cobbles of the street intensely interesting. “I wasn't sure...”
She felt Mal's hands take hers, the cool grip comfortingly stable as the world teetered around them.
“I told you, I tried to tell you... That time up on the tower... I thought you knew. Why Pol, you're crying!” Mal wiped away the traitorous moisture. “Sweet Pol, don't cry, please don't cry.”
Oh gods. She couldn't cry in front of Mal. (Those parts of Polly's brain that had cheered just moments earlier, were now contemplating ritual suicide)
“It's just... I was so miserable...” Polly caught her breath on a sob. “I missed you and I thought such terrible things...”
She was crying openly now, that ugly crying that hobbled the speech and produced hideous mucus from all kinds of weird places (she told the cringing voices to shut up, that as she was crying from happiness it didn’t count, and that seeing as they hadn't been any help earlier they could just go talk a long walk off a very short precipice). Mal gave a short laugh, the tension easing from her body, and pulled Polly closer, wrapping strong arms around her.
“Oh Polly. My dear daft human tasty snack. Naturally, I've only ever been after you for your body!”
And Polly went willingly, arms sliding under that oh-so-posh opera coat to rest at the base of the silk waistcoat, separated from that slender back only by the thin material of Mal's shirt. She could feel that the vampire was still quietly laughing, the rivulets of amusement shaking them both as they stood together, Mal's soft breath gusting over Polly’s hair. Let her laugh. Polly held on tight, inhaling the mix of coffee and good linen that was the essence of Mal and let the fear wash out of her on cleansing tears. Alerted by that grip, Mal's laughter evaporated, the arm around Polly's shoulders tightening securely even as the other rubbed soothing circles in her mid-back. Amusement put aside for a more appropriate occasion, she held the woman in silence.
They stood there in the empty street, the last of the opera crowd now long gone, and Mal even managed to refrain from commenting on the probably deleterious effect of salty tears on black satin. She did, however, raise a hand to lift away a blonde curl, her lips brushing lightly over the curve of Polly's ear, as she whispered,
“I love you, you daft idiot.”
Polly produced a most unromantic noise.
Mal made no further comment but merely kissed the small fraction of temple available to her and went back to ignoring the ruination of her opera cloak.
Before long the outburst waned and, wiping away the last of her tears, Polly allowed herself to be manoeuvred ever so slightly until she was settled, nestling in the curve of Mal's arm. She sniffed, refusing as yet to raise her head and patted her pockets for the ever elusive handkerchief. Mal offered a square of beautifully embroidered linen and made no comment on the damage that shortly ensued to its delicate folds. There was a somewhat awkward silence.
“I can’t believe I did that.”
“Did what?”
Mal was still holding her. Still protecting her within that encircling arm, a warm, almost human barrier that shut out the real world and all its stupid misunderstandings.
“All those hours in the coach, all that week before. I knew, if I just asked...”
She felt the rumble of laughter deep in Mal's chest.
“Oh, Polly Perks. My Polly.”
There was a brief flutter of hair against her ear as Mal shook her head sadly.
“The valiant Sergeant Perks, negotiator extraordinaire: stops wars and puts generals in their place. But yet somehow, can’t give voice to a simple question with regard to defining her dalliance.”
Mal's teasing words were softened by the gentle hand that had taken possession of the handkerchief and was now wiping away the last vestiges of tears.
“It's a terrible thing to see.” Mal gently kissed the eyelids that hid reddened eyes. “Oh woe, and such sayings. How are the mighty fallen.”
“Hey!” Polly pinched the skin under her hand and was rewarded by a surprised yelp. “Have some respect for the senior NCO.”
Ignoring her protest Mal tucked the delicate square of linen away and kept going,
“You know, I think I like you in this guise. A romantic figure ripped from the pages of a novella. I can just imagine you fainting delicately onto a chaise longue... calling feebly for your smelling salts...”
Mal would have gone on, but Polly reached up and silenced that mocking mouth with her own.
~X~
Thanks to whichever gods were keeping an eye on them this week they had found a coffee shop still open despite the late hour. Apart from a mature woman sitting quietly at a table alone reading, and a couple of what looked like the local mad inventor's apprentices whispering together over some plans, the place had been deserted. Being so far away from home they had decided there was no need to bother with appearances and had made a beeline for the couches in secluded alcoves at the back of the room. They were now sat snuggled up in one of these, Mal in what might almost be considered the correct position and Polly half-lying on her lap, resting equally between the arm of their cocooning furniture and a skinny chest with her feet up at the other end of the couch. There had been talking and then not talking. From the clutter on the table it appeared they had been there for some time.
“My cup is empty”
Mal examined the coffee cup that she was holding in her spare hand. It had been empty for a while but she had been up till now unaware of this terrible state of affairs. This was in good part due to nefarious behaviour on the part of the occupant of her lap who had refused to pass it back to her after they had been forced to put it down during an extended session of exploration.
“Oh dear.”
Polly knew she hadn't quite managed to dredge up the requisite level of concern. She was comfortably warm, curled up catlike on her human plaything, and held securely against the possibility of falling by loving arms. In short: she was happy.
Mal looked up from her cup, amusement bubbling into her eyes.
“I require a refill.”
“The man should be around somewhere, give him a wave.”
He’d been assiduously avoiding their corner even since he’d come by recently to check if they needed anything more and interrupted them in one of the more intense interactions of the evening. When her dismissive wave hadn’t shifted him Mal had managed to drag her mouth away from Polly’s for the briefest moment to ensure him they were fine. His scuttling departure had sent Polly into a paroxysm of giggles. Mal had responded differently, growling with frustration into the throat bared under her teeth even as Polly threw back her head to more freely express her amusement. The interesting sensations that the vibrations born of that growl threw up along Polly's spine as they travelled down her neck had halted the giggles abruptly and they had quickly returned to return to the business in hand. Much to their host's discomfort.
“I don’t think he’ll look over this way ever again.” Mal felt a ripple of silent laughter run quickly through the delicious weight on her knees. “I’m going to have to go and get it myself.”
“And they call this service?” Polly waved a dismissive hand. “I thought Bonk was meant to the capital of this fair country, these Uberwaldeans are crazy.”
“You’re just grumpy because you’ve got to move. Lazybones.” Mal tapped the end of Polly's nose disapprovingly. “Besides, it’s your fault; you shouldn’t have laughed at him like that. In a fair world you should be the one that has to wander over there and get me a refill of this wonderful beverage.”
“But I’m comfy.” Polly plundered her arsenal and produced a perfect pair of puppy dog eyes but Mal remained unmoved and merely jolted her with an unexpected knee twitch.
“Wiggle over Pol - caffeine awaits!”
Grumbling under her breath, Polly allowed Mal to slide out, settling back into the space left behind. But it wasn’t as comfortable without a Mal-shaped cushion so she hauled herself upright to sit against the arm instead, hugging her knees. Glancing round the café from her new vantage point she noticed that there were still crumbs of Pryaniki left on the table. She reached out a finger to collect them and was drawing it back to her extended tongue when she looked up to catch Mal’s eyes burning into her from the counter. Caught in the act, her demeanour switched suddenly from naughty child to wicked temptress and holding the vampires gaze she sucked on the finger, investigating it thoroughly with her tongue before pulling it out with an audible pop.
It didn’t quite have the effect she was looking for. Mal merely sighed and shook her head as she turned back to the coffee pot, replacing it on the heated stand and carefully picking up the small cup between figure and thumb in preparation for returning to her seat. At the last minute however, she flicked out the smallest glance across the room, as though to see if Polly would do it again. Caught in turn and rightly skewered on Polly’s raised eyebrow, she surrendered and gave up the beautiful small smile that was Polly’s and Polly’s alone.
On Mal's return to their little corner, Polly shifted to let the vampire back in, settling once again into her old position. Snaffling the coffee cup as it passed her nose she sniffed deeply of the brew within and, ignoring Mal’s protests, took a sip. She heard Mal laugh as she scrunched up her face in disgust, and sighed. Try as she might Polly couldn’t like the taste of coffee, except on Mal. She handed over the cup, receiving a tap on the nose for her thievery, and relaxed back into her companion.
Mal sipped her coffee. Polly picked a couple of pieces of lint off her sleeve, depositing them over the side of the couch. It was a moment's perfect harmony.
Polly thought about that little smile of Mal's. It made her want to do things. Things she hadn’t really considered before, like buy Mal flowers, or research rare gramophone records for her, or make her laugh when her face closed and her eyes shut out the world. She leant back against the arm of the couch, tilting her head so she could see the face above her. Mal was concentrating on her coffee, savouring the aroma in the steam drifting up around her face.
“So now I can get away with anything, right? Cos you love me?[1]”
Mal smirked around her coffee cup, denial in her eyes. But Polly continued regardless.
“Yeah, cos I reckon now I’m the love of your life I can get away with ‘most everything.”
She grinned, dropping her head into the hollow of Mal's shoulder and leaving it there. Letting her eyes droop closed she waited for that slow thump, the solidity under her ear that was Mal's rare heartbeat. Above her head, Mal sipped at the hot beverage but said nothing. Silence fell. A new thread of tension running through the quiet alerted Polly and she tilted her head back again. Mal, coffee now seemingly forgotten, was staring over out over her head into nothing.
“Mal?”
This was worrying, anything that could distract the vampire's attention from coffee had to be pretty serious. Polly wiggled round so that she could see better, nudging Mal encouragingly as she resettled herself against the couch. Mal didn't seem to notice her re-deployment. But she did swap hands, putting the coffee cup aside, the hand that was now holding it resting on the arm of the couch behind Polly's back. Her other arm, freed from cup holding duties, drifted aimlessly before settling on Polly’s waist. Then, still looking out over Polly's shoulder, Mal asked, in a light, inconsequential tone,
“What about me, what can I get away with?”
“You already get away with everything!”
Polly realised immediately what she had said, even as the words were half way out of her mouth and, cursing herself for a fool, sat up to better give Mal the full Perks Stare-of-Sincerity.
“You,” she poked Mal tenderly over the heart, “can get away with anything, my abominable spawn of evil-most-foul, because I love you. Okay?”
And Mal smiled.
Polly settled back into her embrace, sliding one arm around Mal's ribs in order to better enable her to snuggle in closer. There may have been something of close approximation to a hug. If vampires hugged that were. In public. Which they didn't. So it wasn't. But this thing they were doing, whatever it was or wasn't, continued without comment until Mal reached her 'time without imbibing coffee' limit and was forced to move Polly to one side so that she could access her coffee cup. Polly sighed.
“So much for the deep and meaningful moment.”
“Abomination,” Mal explained.
“True.”
Polly leant back against the arm of the couch so that she could more clearly see the loathsome object she was now apparently stuck with for the foreseeable future.
“Now, drink your coffee and let’s go find somewhere two abominations can dance the night away. I may not be a ballerina, but I can swing with the best of them. Bonk does have Jazz clubs doesn’t it?”
“Oh, I’m sure we can find something.”
And Mal produced her wickedest grin.
~X~
[1] As mentioned earlier, there had been talking. A lot of talking. The main outcome of which was that previously common behaviours and responses were more than welcome to make a re-appearance, up to -but not including- the throwing of things at Mal's head.
Disclaimer: Polly and Mal (and Borogravia) (and Uberwald) belong to Sir Terry Pratchett. Author makes no claims of ownership in any way. No profit is being made from this work.
Warnings: This chapter contains discussion of a relationship between two women. If that's not your thing please don't click below.
Previous Chapters:
Summer,
Autumn 1/3, Autumn 2/3, Autumn 3/3,
Winter 1/4, Winter 2/4, Winter 3/4, Winter 4/4
This chapter is, as titled, a sort of interval in the passing seasons. The last chapter finished at Hogswatch which unfortunately falls in mid-winter, so I had quite a few months to go before spring. I didn't want to skip them entirely. So here it is, your extra chapter of blathering.
~X~
Intermezzo: during which the consumption of ices is permitted
“There is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval.” - George Santayana
Bonk's main (and only) theatre was filled to capacity. Everyone desirous to see or be seen was here, with many Not-Quite-Important-Enough Persons still out in the lobby fighting over the last few tickets. Everywhere dowagers were nodding to young sprigs of fashion, young ladies fluttered fans in a babble of unspoken conversational temptations, and proper gentlemen of a certain age loosened over-tight trousers with sighs of discomfort. But though the draw of the performance had been legendary, not every seat was yet occupied. The most expensive box amongst the many that ran around the over decorated walls of the theatre was the last to fill as two slim figures slipped in through the heavy velvet curtain and dropped into their seats just as the orchestra began to tune up.
Trust them to be nearly late, bloody vampires and their finicky need for lengthy toilettes. Slumping in her seat Polly ran a finger around a suddenly tight collar. There was no reason to be uncomfortable, the furniture in the box had all been designed by Hepplewhite and after a day bumping along in a stuffy coach the cushions of her chair should have brought her feelings of sitting on clouds. But the satin decorated box felt to her oppressive, the extensive gold trimmings overdone. She hated that they were on display up here in this extravagant perch, and would have been much more at home in the stalls below where she could see the last of the audience filing in like gaudy ants on their way to harvest a most refined cornfield.
veryone seemed to have dressed up for the evening, men in the latest fashion of evening dress, women fluttering about wrapped in the best fabric money could buy. Straightening in her chair Polly pulled at the jacket of her dress uniform, in an attempt to make it lie more gracefully. The laundry at HQ had always over-starched, but as she’d never thought she’d wear it the dratted thing again after she was posted she’d not done anything about it, sticking it at the back of her wardrobe and letting it fade from memory. Until now. Sitting here, with the collar cutting into her neck, the faint scent of mothballs did nothing to help her poise.
It was Mal that had persuaded her that even though they were no longer Cheesemongers, there was no reason why she couldn’t wear the red jacket with the gold braid. Actually, Mal had taken one look at Polly when she'd pulled on the royal blue Border Guards jacket that she kept for best and had shaken her head vehemently. Reaching into the wardrobe the vampire had quickly found the red dress jacket and held it out to her instead saying,
“This one. The other is much too scruffy.”
She had been right of course. Polly had never bothered with the expense of ordering dress uniform for her new posting and after over half a year of wear both of her Border Guards jackets were showing signs of age. But that didn't mean she should have gone along with Mal's orders just like that.
Beside her Mal sprawled gracefully in the overstuffed chair, her evening dress a delectable concoction of understated sartorial magnificence against the rich velvet of the seat cushions. Polly frowned.
The blue of the Border Guards Dress Uniform wasn’t a bad colour and she’d thought she might even look good in it, but with no opportunity to wear it on the horizon she’d decided to save her money instead. Now she wished she’d blown sense to the wind and blown her pay packet on something smart. Then Mal wouldn't have been able to say that. Scruffy? Pfah.
Polly shifted uncomfortably in her chair again, the material of her new trousers stiff with lack of wear. She’d adamantly refused to wear the skirt they’d issued her with back at the keep and Mal, with amusement in her eyes, had merely dragged her into a tailors in the town, ordered someone to measure her for new breeches and then sent the details off on the Clacks to Bonk where a parcel containing a pair of beautifully cut cream dress trousers were waiting for them as they stepped down from the coach. It was only when she’d opened the parcel more thoroughly as they were hurriedly dressing that she’d noticed the thin red stripe down the outside of each leg.
Red, Mal?” She’d swallowed the angry epithet. “I thought you were getting Border Blue? I’m not made of money, I can’t afford to splash out clothes I’m only going to wear once.”
Mal hadn’t even glanced up from where she was leaning into the dressing table, attempting to produce a perfect Waterfall from her 3rd cravat. Wrapped up in the complicated interweaving of linen, she seeming hadn't been able to spare any attention for her companion.
“Look Pol, I realise we’re not Cheesemongers any more. But face facts, it’s not like we’re going to be invited to any posh dinners as Border Boys is it?” She had drawn the fabric taunt, examined the result in the mirror and smiled at what she saw. “Besides, it goes with the jacket. And red suits you.”
Straightening, she had reached for the waistcoat hanging nearby. The garment had obviously been measured with great precision to fit like a glove and it was only when she had finished smoothing the silk lapels that she had noticed that Polly still hadn’t moved.
“Come on Pol.” She had reached out and clapped her on the shoulder. “Stop messing about and get dressed. We’re going to be late enough as it is.”
While she had scrambled into the trousers Mal had decided she should wear Polly had thought things. Many things. Was she allowed to get angry that the trousers were not what she had wanted? In fact, was she allowed to get angry about any of this?
Sitting there in the most sumptuous room she had ever had the opportunity to meet, Polly faced the questions again. They had appeared fairly recently, there had been no questions at the beginning. Well, obviously there had been questions. Questions about practicalities and the physics of the thing. But those had been very quickly answered and things had been wonderful. Occasionally surprising, but never less than wonderful. And now there were these new questions.
Everything seemed to have happened so fast. Which was good, she hurriedly offered in mitigation. Never say it wasn't good. Especially after the long months when nothing had happened at all. But there had been a Polly Perks before Mal had ever appeared on the scene and another Polly Perks (Sergeant) who had stopped a war without any vestige of vampiric distraction and those two Pollies were both getting a little tired of all this creeping around. They were getting quite vocal as well. “Either,” they said, “Mal likes us, or she does not.” “And the Mature thing to do,” they added, “would be to ask.”
But the Polly currently in charge knew that such a question leaves one open to a wide range of answers. Of course, Mal was definitely interested in her and expressed this interest in a variety of educational ways. But she hadn't actually said... Mind you, when you came down to it, Polly hadn't actually said either... (somehow she hadn't quite felt it was the right moment during that first highly clarifying conversation and since then there hadn't been an opportunity to drop it into general conversation). In light of all this saying and not saying, discretion was currently trumpeting its status as the greater part of valour and large parts of Polly's brain (suffering horrendous embarrassment) were threatening to secede. “Did we not stand up to the diplomatic might of the Moldovians, they said?”
“But still.”... whispered the quiet voice in the night. And so she had done nothing.
The house lights faded as the last discordant notes from the orchestra petered out and beside her Polly felt Mal sit forward, humming with a familiar tension. This balance of awareness and anticipation had become well-known to her over the past couple of months teaching her to walk lightly in preparation for the attack that was coming whether an explosion of action in the practice yard or in regard to other, more pleasant, pursuits.
She realised that with all the rush (and her own swamping thoughts) she hadn’t had time to ask how Mal felt about this. Turning to whisper her question she was halted in mid sentence by a strong grip that leapt onto her arm as Mal shushed her vehemently. The orchestra struck up with the overture and as the curtain had not risen and seemingly she was banned from making any sort of comment Polly turned to her programme instead for entertainment.
Bonk Civic Theatre is Proud to Present: The great Tiramisu’s
Last Ever Performance!!!
~X~
The tickets had fallen out of the envelope into Mal’s hand, stiff pasteboard with shiny gilt edging. Cut short in the middle of her tirade against Sergeant Kettering and his obvious anti-vampire tendencies when it came to designing the duty rota she had stared in shock at the objects in her hand. Polly's attention had been caught by the sudden silence, and she had looked up from the intricacies of the Cabbage Import Documentation urgently demanded by Sto-Lat. Mal, staring at the tickets, had been caught by such surprise that she had let her mask slip for a moment, emotions chasing over her face in a flurry of half finished expressions. Unwilling to reveal that she had seen this, Polly had merely asked if the vampire had received bad news, knowing even as she did that that wasn’t it at all.
“It’s nothing.”
But Polly had caught a glimpse of something hidden in her eyes as Mal had turned away. She hadn’t pressed the matter, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that something had upset Mal. But something had upset the vampire and she was obviously not going to talk about it to her friend who happened to be currently in the room and available for conversation. If Mal couldn’t work out she was shutting Polly out, then Polly wasn’t going to be the one to enlighten her.
Then Mal had turned back, a determined look on her face as though she had made a major decision.
“They’re tickets.”
Well, yes. Polly could see that. She had nodded encouragingly.
“To the ballet.”
Really?
“In Bonk.”
Oh.
Mal had paused then and a strange look had fluttered over her face. Memories tinged with sadness, Polly had guessed, and something else that the sergeant couldn't quite read. She'd thought she was getting better at Mal, but recently she'd not been so sure. Vampire expressions were, after all, well known for being impossible to decipher.
“She sent me tickets to her last performance.”
“Who?”
At that Mal had handed over the tickets for her to peruse. They were just as fancy up close, with delicate wording traced over exquisitely printed card. Polly hadn’t recognised the name and had said so.
“She was the greatest ballerina of her generation.” Mal's eyes had lit up, enthusiasm driving her gestures. “They said her ‘Princess-Who-Is-Also-A-Swan-Until-The-Idiot-Prince-Shoots-Her’ had to be seen to be believed.”
Her voice had faded away into memories, and she had added absently,
“...Gods it was so long ago. I didn’t think she would remember.”
Polly had waited but apparently no more was forthcoming.
When they had been just friends, Mal had started to open the book of her past. Just the more amusing incidents usually, but there were times when she had let slip a little more and Polly had begun to get a picture of the shape of Mal's life before the league. Some things, of course, had never been mentioned and Polly hadn't pressed, thinking back then that there was time enough to hear about those times when Mal was ready . But now there was hardly any talking at all.
It would have been better to frame the question more politely but unfortunately there was no kind way to put it.
“Did you bite her?”
“No.” Mal’s face had broken into a reminiscent smile. “Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to, but when she danced… It was better than blood. And she was just a scrawny little mite back then.”
Her voice had trailed off again into the mists of recollection and Polly had wondered whether to nudge her on with the story. Truth be told, she hadn't actually been that interested in hearing any more details. But Mal had kept on talking.
“She used to send me tickets, she said it looked good to have a gentleman in the audience.”
Polly had thought they were wandering away from the point in question, that being the irrevocable fact of two tickets, now held securely in Mal's hand.
“How did she know where to find you?”
“Oh, we correspond from time to time.”
It had been a simple statement. Mal hadn’t even looked at Polly when she’d said it, one delicate finger following the gilt edging on the card. As though such a correspondence meant nothing.
Polly, fuming, had known she was being stupid, had known it would take a single simple question to clear up the misunderstanding. But as it was a question she hadn’t had the courage to ask for weeks now she said nothing. The not asking of it had eaten away inside her for the past weeks until she couldn’t even hear a simple “Hello” from her lover without wanting to bite her head off. And wasn’t that a apt irony, she had thought, cursing herself once again as Mal had left to go about her usual nefarious business.
From that moment on it had all been travelling. A three-day-pass from the captain, a sleigh down to the edge of the snow-line, a fast (and excessively bumpy) coach back to PrinceMarmadukePiotreAlbertHansJosephBernhardtWilhelmsberg followed by an exceedingly fast post coach (the best seats Mal’s money could buy) to Bonk. No time for sightseeing however, just a quick wash and brush up in a small but delightfully located hotel before squeezing into the cobbled together outfit that was now causing her so much trouble. Mal had scorned her corporal's stripes for a ensemble that oozed expense through every seam with satin knee-breeches, a cream linen shirt with ruffles, an embroidered waistcoat and to top it all off, an opera coat and exceedingly tall hat. Where she’d been hiding that Polly couldn’t imagine. They had taken a cab to the theatre (Mal’s money again), the vampire urging the driver on all the way and Polly had scrambled out untidily as they drew to a halt to stop in awe before the ornate entrance to the theatre.
“Uberwaldeans always did go in for show over substance.”
She had turned to see Mal descending from the cab in a fashion most regal. Reaching the cobbles without incident the vampire had stood looking up and down the street, cane under one arm before adjusting the brim of her hat “just-so”.
“So much decoration, so much noise.” Mal looked up at the opera house again. “It almost takes one back.”
Polly had been just about to say something about how she'd seen better in Ankh Morpork (though to be fair she'd never actually been inside the famed Ankh Morpork Opera House) when the vampire had laughed and reached over to absent-mindedly straighten the braid on Polly's jacket.
“Leave it Mal, It’ll do!”
(“Especially as I didn’t particularly want to come anyway!” She had added silently.)
A flash of their tickets and they had been inside. Scurrying down what seemed to be endless corridors behind the flying figure of Mal, Polly had known she was being childish, sulking like a teenager in this fashion. But she was so lost in the mess that she couldn’t seem to see a way out of it. Mal had strode on ahead, seeming to know perfectly where she was going. When Polly had voiced an enquiry, she had only vouchsafed that,
“She always sent the same seats”.
Did she indeed?
Thinking back now, Polly sighed. With all that travelling, there should have been a at least one moment free to talk about this Tiramisu and how Mal's past fit into the picture of the present day. But Polly had cravenly felt unable to broach the matter and Mal had been seemingly lost in her own thoughts. They’d sat in silence the whole way.
The curtain rose, distracting Polly from her thoughts and she settled into her seat, bracing herself for the next hour of probable boredom before the interval. The stage filled with the tripping forms of skinny girls, dressed most inclemently for the time of year. Beside her Mal seemed to know the dance well, her indrawn breath in unison with the rest of the audience heralding the arrival of the culprit of Polly’s current inner turmoil.
A woman walked simply out onto the stage pausing in the middle. Standing there, picked out by a spotlight she smiled as the applause rose and waited patiently for the swell of appreciation to fade again. She just as small and skinny as any of the others and Polly wondered what on the disc Mal had ever seen in her. This was her competition? This was what she had spent the last week fretting over?
Then the orchestra picked up the theme again, the woman started to dance, and Polly was lost.
It was magical. There were no words for such perfection, such lightness or grace. The control that this artist had over every inch of her body, such that even the smallest movement of a single extremity was capable of expressing whole poems of emotion.
Polly tried to remind herself that it was only dancing, a stupid, silly, inefficient way to tell a story. It was no use. This dancer, who had invaded the small dusty stage and made it her own, was nothing other than perfection itself and the sheer beauty of it brought a physical ache. And Polly could do nothing but sit there, pinned into her seat, painfully hot tears welling up in her eyes. Tiramisu landed lightly from yet another graceful leap and Polly felt the cumbersome weight of her boots pulling her back to reality. She sat up straighter. angrily wiping away the moisture from her cheeks.
Suddenly, as soon as it had begun the dance ended and as the collection of brats moved in to tell the next part of the story Polly withdrew her gaze from the stage to the silent absorbed figure beside her. Mal knew about this. Mal had had this once, all this and more. Perhaps, even now if she wanted, she could have this again.
Polly felt a different kind of tear prickle behind her eyes.
The act went on. The IdiotPrince wandered into the story and, after meandering about the stage with no particular purpose, he eventually led the SwanPrincess into the centre of the stage again and once more they let the magic free. Watching them dance together Polly was torn between loosing herself in the beauty of it all and retreating from the entire theatre into a miserable world of pain.
Both woman sat in silence through both intervals, Mal was seemingly unwilling to venture out into the bar between acts, lost in the story and the magic. Polly was glad of it, she didn't think she could move.
As the curtain fell for the last time, after what seemed like a million curtain calls and after a whole warehouse of flowers had been thrown onto the stage, there was a knock at the back of the box and an usher appeared with a note. Polly turned from where she had been adding her efforts to the long standing ovation that the audience had been more than pleased to bestow, and saw Mal flicking the paper with her finger, a smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. She raised an eyebrow in enquiry.
“She’s invited us backstage.” A grin broke out over Mal's face. “Should be fun, there’s usually free drinks and food that the corpse never eat”
“I should think not.”
Mal laughed. “The Corps de Ballet, Polly. The extras, the other ones, not the stars.”
Oh. The skinny bratlets had a name then. Obviously people who were intimately connected with people who could dance like that would know such things. It was a shame such people were now stuck with country bumpkins who didn't even know what a plié was.
Polly trailed after Mal down the various staircases, crossing from the ornate front of house to the more utilitarian backstage areas. She supposed that she shouldn't have been surprised that the business end of the theatre was just that, business. But she thought they could have afforded their artists at least a little gold filigree.
Mal knocked at a door with a star on it and, turning to see Polly brushing unsuccessfully at the dull shine on her boots, laughed and told her she should have taken up the vampire's offer of proper boots earlier. Polly scowled at her cuffs as she straightened them but managed to drag up a smile as the door opened. It was a wasted effort, the elderly woman who barred the entrance was not one who would be wooed by smiles, fake or otherwise. Luckily her firm countenance, impervious to vampiric flattery, was susceptible to the little note that the usher had given them and they were waved through into the inner sanctum. Here Polly found her ordeal was just beginning as a crowded room, full of the great and good of all the mountain states in all their finery, turned to stare at the new arrivals. She wished she hadn't worn the Cheesemonger Red. It had meaning down here. That this was more than partly due to the past activities of a certain Sergeant Perks didn't help her piece of mind one iota.
“Maličká!”
The cry came from within the densest cluster of people, the crowd opening out like flower petals to reveal the diminutive form of the ballerina.
“Little one?” Polly's astonished whisper was pitched perfectly to travel no further than the vampire in front of her.
“I was smaller than most of the rest of The Bright Young Things.” Mal shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “I was younger then, remember? And I'm not that tall for a male vampire anyway.”
“So she thinks you're...?”
But the object of their conversation was upon them and Polly had to swallow her questions for another time.
“Ma chérie.” Mal bowed over the offered hand and delicately kissed the slender fingers. “You were exquisite. As always.”
“And your flowers were incroyable, as always.” Tiramisu indicated the bunch of bold blooms sitting in a vase beside the cluttered dressing table. “The gentleman from the florist could only apologise and suggest that perhaps the clacks message had been wrongly transcribed.”
They smiled, sharing a private joke and Polly, not wanting to have to observe their connection, shifted her attention and her balance to examine some of the more frivolous decoration.
“So this is your little soldier girl?”
Mal half-nodded, putting out a hand to bring Polly back into the circle.
“I am so very pleased to finally meet you.”
Gracious to the last, Tiramisu was extending a slim arm in perfect artistry and Polly, copying Mal's previous response, bowed over the offered hand and touched cold lips to the knuckles there.
“Likewise,” she murmured, swallowing the other burning questions that rose to her lips.
As Polly rose, she caught a look of relief on Mal's face that was quickly masked. All three shared a polite smile, Polly feeling the knife inside turn one more agonising rotation and grateful that she’d had practice putting on a bland faintly interested face. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. However, before Polly was forced to produce a topic of polite conversation, someone entered behind them in a great show of pomp and circumstance and the crowd flowed around them to reform in fresh formation.
“We should leave you to your adoring fans.”
“Again?”
Mal and Tiramisu shared another private smile while Polly examined the plasterwork in the ceiling and wished she'd been permitted to bring her sword. Not that she was thinking of using it on anybody. Just as something to rest a hand on. In case it were ever to be needed. She sighed. Even a stint on the high patrol, blizzards and all, would be preferable to this.
Mal bowed once more over that slim hand and then with a small wave from Tiramisu to Polly they were released. Polly didn't wave back. As they pushed through the crowd by the door, Polly took perhaps more pleasure than was necessary in planting her solid boots on some more delicate hosiery. Then they were out in the corridor and the cooler air was chill on the back of her neck.
“She liked you.”
Polly looked round. Mal was hovering at her shoulder, seemingly considering whether the corridor was wide enough to link arms. Polly didn't think so. Conceding that perhaps it was not possible after all, Mal fell into step behind her instead, hands dropping into her pockets with accustomed ease.
“She seemed to know me.” Polly glanced back to see Mal's shrug.
“I dropped in to visit her last winter, she was doing a tour of Uberwald and I had some free time.”
“While I was away in Ankh Morpork.”
“While you were in Ankh Morpork,” Mal agreed.
Polly turned her face forward again and tried to recall the way back to the foyer.
There had been some flyers drifting around Ankh Morpork about a ballerina taking the company to do a whistle-stop tour of her homeland. “Catch the greatest show on The Dysc before it leaves for the mountains” the posters had said. She'd been struggling with getting anyone to take her seriously at that point and hadn't had time for frivolities. Obviously Mal had.
The night was clear and cold when they emerged at the top of those wide steps. A crowd was circling in the street, some waiting for the ballerina to emerge, some struggling through the crush to get to clearer streets and on their way home to warm beds. Polly drew in a shivering breath and, looking up, tried to pick out a single familiar constellation out of the night sky. Before all this, Mal had been teaching her the many fables and ancient tales of the stars that pricked out the darkness above the border. Just one familiar twinkle would be enough. But the glare from the torches that lined the steps prevented her from seeing anything except a dark expanse. She pulled the collar of the hated jacket up round her neck and felt even further from home.
Mal, coming up alongside her, looked out of the crowd before nudging Polly with her shoulder.
“Cold night, hmm?” Her gaze swept the square. “I wonder if they still have late-night coffee shops in Bonk?”
Mal stepped forward and began to forge a way down the steps, Polly having to hurry to keep up. Damn vampires and their coffee addictions. There was nothing she wanted less than to stumble through these foreign streets looking for caffeinated beverages. What she really wanted to do was go back to the hotel, pull the covers over her head and refuse to come out until the world went back to how it had been when a certain vampire had been her friend and nothing more and things had been much less complicated. But, like the proverbial sheep, she followed on without protest.
They reached a wide boulevard and began to walk briskly along it. Before long Polly realised she’d been a little too quiet since their departure from the opera house. Wary of Mal’s inconvenient perception she struggled to find something to say.
“She dances well.”
That was the truth at least. And she hadn’t added anything about her being a girlfriend stealer.
Mal agreed, perhaps too vehemently. “You should have seen her back then, she had everyone falling at her feet”
“Even you?”
Polly couldn’t help it, though she wished the words unsaid as soon as they left her.
Mal stopped short, not bothered that she was holding up the pavement traffic. The opera goers tutted amongst themselves but divided around them without incident and flowed on down the road.
“Oh, is this what this is about? Are we doing this now?”
“I don’t know, are we?”
Recognising she was causing an obstruction, Mal resumed walking and Polly was forced to fall into step beside her or be left behind in a city she didn’t know. But Mal didn't follow the tide for long, instead turning into the first side-street they came across. Walking a few paces away from the junction, she came to a halt in the middle of the empty street. Polly, lagging behind, remained on the pavement, leaning against the side of the tall buildings that lined each side of the grimy little lane. She waited. Mal removed her tall hat, ran a distracted hand through carefully smoothed locks and then took a deep breath and turned to face Polly.
“I came here to see a beautiful talented dancer perform her very last performance ever. A very talented dancer who was once a good friend of mine, someone who meant a lot to me back in the times before you were probably even born.”
“Because I'm so very young.”
Polly folded her arms, leaning even more nonchalantly against the building. Who cared if the city grime transferred to her trousers? It wasn't like she had wanted them anyway. She watched from behind angry walls as Mal took a single step forward.
“You are quite young, Polly. Compared to me. I've a full-length couple of life-times lived that you know barely anything about.”
“Because you don't ever talk about them! And you've never mentioned anything about the lifetime that includes her!”
Polly had pushed herself away from the building in her frustration. The distance between them had thus abruptly shortened and Mal, who had been just raising her foot to step up onto the pavement, retreated back a stride.
“I told you some things.”
“Not recently.”
“I didn't think you'd want to know!”
“I didn't think I did either! But these pasts made you who you are, Mal. Not the person you put out for the world to see. I thought I was being gifted the chance to know that person, but now I'm not so sure. I don't even know why you came here tonight.”
Mal might only have been lower than Polly by the height of the pavement but non-the-less the sergeant towered over her as she looked up to angrily defend herself.
“I came here out of respect!”
“Respect for what?! For the heady days of your youth? For the times when you could bed four débutantes and a ballerina every night and still have appetite for breakfast?”
Polly turned away, vaguely noticing that the last opera-goers were still drifting past the end of the street. Behind her she heard Mal kick something that rattled away into the darkness.
“I’ve lived a long time Polly, what did you expect me to do, live the life of a eunuch?” Mal blew out a sigh of frustration. “Why is this harder for you than the fact I killed people in a multitude of inventive little ways?”
“I don’t know!”
But it was harder non-the-less. She angrily wiped away a rebellious tear.
She heard the crunch of a heel as Mal turned away abruptly, swearing under her breath. No-one swears quite like a vampire, especially one that has been in the army. It was a good swear and it went on some time. Polly shifted so that she could watch the vampire out of the corner of her eye. If Mal was going to walk off into the darkness, she wanted to at least be able to shout something aptly insulting at her retreating back. However, if, as it seemed, Mal was just going to stand there airing her vocabulary, then Polly wasn't about to hang around for her to run out of air. She was just about to leave the vampire to it, when Mal came to a close, very carefully didn't hit the wall and turned back round.
“Right.”
It was a very definite statement of intentions but as Polly was non-the-less still refusing to face her, staring out into the road with her arms crossed it didn't quite fulfil its purpose. Mal, placing a hand on Polly's arm, mounted the pavement and manoeuvred their positions until they were both stood face to face. Polly, having allowed her to come this far, found something very interesting to observe over Mal's shoulder and declined to meet her eyes.
“Polly, listen to me.” Mal’s hands were resting lightly at Polly’s elbows holding her still. “When I went to see her, all we talked about was you. Yes, I loved her, past tense.” Her eyes dropped, bad memories surfacing. “I loved her, I screwed up and I left her. It was a stupid thing to do and I did it in the worst possible way.” She paused for a second before adding “I heard she danced it off.”
Glancing over, Polly caught a the hint of wry grimace pass over Mal’s face at the thought of Tiramisu getting on in life thanks to her idiocy. She looked away again, not really in the mood to interject any sort of sympathy. But her unfaithful vampire was still talking.
“Now I love you.” Her hands slid up to Polly’s shoulders and began to gently shake her back and forth. Polly was forced to meet her eyes.
“Present tense. You.”
Those traitorous hands were sliding up to cup her face as that persuasive voice kept on, speaking quietly now with loving seriousness.
“My daft little soldier girl, who occasionally snores like a horse, has the unfortunate tendency to sleep on my arm more often than is comfortable and kicks me out of bed any time she has any sort of energetic dream. You.”
A look of confusion crept over her face as she met Polly’s expression.
“Pol? What?”
“You love me?”
“Did you think I only wanted you for your body? Not that it isn't tempting...” Mal's eyes quickly ran up and down that trim form. “Of course I love you! What the hell did you think we were doing?”
Polly felt the tiny flickering of a spark of hope
“Even if I don't like these trousers?”
The parts of Polly's brain that had been embarrassed earlier, suddenly woke up and cheered riotously. Mal, however, was saying nothing.
“I mean it Mal, you can't buy me things just because I'm not up to some special “standard”. My clothes might be old but they're mine, like it or lump it. If a skint office clerk struggling on a sergeants pay isn't good enough for you then you can...” Polly had to pause to swallow the lump in her throat. “You can just go elsewhere!”
She turned to leave, wiping a quick palm across her cheek but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder.
“Are you back then?”
The soft words held a note of hopefully enquiry that snagged Polly out of her straight course to the end of the street and she allowed them to swing her back round. The light from the main street fell over her shoulder, full onto Mal's face. Polly blinked. For some odd reason there appeared to be a look of relief creeping into Mal's eyes. The vampire took a couple of quick steps and, placing a hand on Polly's sleeve, squinting in the low light at her shadowed face as she tried to make out her expression.
“Are you really back?”
Polly frowned, confused, and Mal quickly dropped the hand that had captured her, stepping back to scuff a toe in the dirt.
“I missed you.”
Polly replayed that simple throwaway remark. Mal's hands were back in her pockets again, the vampire adopting disinterested position number 14. But there was something not quite right. Polly's mind whirled, observation and assessment working overtime. Position 14 ought to be accompanied by a detailed examination of the middle distance and yet Mal's eyes were seemingly rooted to the ground at her feet.
“You seemed to get lost somewhere, in all the... things.” Mal's deathly pallor lightened for a moment, in what Polly had come to learn was the vampiric equivalent of a blush. “I tried but I couldn't work out how to make it right, couldn't figure out where I'd gone wrong. I'm sorry, Pol.”
The wait seemed to go on forever.
“I didn't know if that was how it worked...” It was Polly who now found the rough cobbles of the street intensely interesting. “I wasn't sure...”
She felt Mal's hands take hers, the cool grip comfortingly stable as the world teetered around them.
“I told you, I tried to tell you... That time up on the tower... I thought you knew. Why Pol, you're crying!” Mal wiped away the traitorous moisture. “Sweet Pol, don't cry, please don't cry.”
Oh gods. She couldn't cry in front of Mal. (Those parts of Polly's brain that had cheered just moments earlier, were now contemplating ritual suicide)
“It's just... I was so miserable...” Polly caught her breath on a sob. “I missed you and I thought such terrible things...”
She was crying openly now, that ugly crying that hobbled the speech and produced hideous mucus from all kinds of weird places (she told the cringing voices to shut up, that as she was crying from happiness it didn’t count, and that seeing as they hadn't been any help earlier they could just go talk a long walk off a very short precipice). Mal gave a short laugh, the tension easing from her body, and pulled Polly closer, wrapping strong arms around her.
“Oh Polly. My dear daft human tasty snack. Naturally, I've only ever been after you for your body!”
And Polly went willingly, arms sliding under that oh-so-posh opera coat to rest at the base of the silk waistcoat, separated from that slender back only by the thin material of Mal's shirt. She could feel that the vampire was still quietly laughing, the rivulets of amusement shaking them both as they stood together, Mal's soft breath gusting over Polly’s hair. Let her laugh. Polly held on tight, inhaling the mix of coffee and good linen that was the essence of Mal and let the fear wash out of her on cleansing tears. Alerted by that grip, Mal's laughter evaporated, the arm around Polly's shoulders tightening securely even as the other rubbed soothing circles in her mid-back. Amusement put aside for a more appropriate occasion, she held the woman in silence.
They stood there in the empty street, the last of the opera crowd now long gone, and Mal even managed to refrain from commenting on the probably deleterious effect of salty tears on black satin. She did, however, raise a hand to lift away a blonde curl, her lips brushing lightly over the curve of Polly's ear, as she whispered,
“I love you, you daft idiot.”
Polly produced a most unromantic noise.
Mal made no further comment but merely kissed the small fraction of temple available to her and went back to ignoring the ruination of her opera cloak.
Before long the outburst waned and, wiping away the last of her tears, Polly allowed herself to be manoeuvred ever so slightly until she was settled, nestling in the curve of Mal's arm. She sniffed, refusing as yet to raise her head and patted her pockets for the ever elusive handkerchief. Mal offered a square of beautifully embroidered linen and made no comment on the damage that shortly ensued to its delicate folds. There was a somewhat awkward silence.
“I can’t believe I did that.”
“Did what?”
Mal was still holding her. Still protecting her within that encircling arm, a warm, almost human barrier that shut out the real world and all its stupid misunderstandings.
“All those hours in the coach, all that week before. I knew, if I just asked...”
She felt the rumble of laughter deep in Mal's chest.
“Oh, Polly Perks. My Polly.”
There was a brief flutter of hair against her ear as Mal shook her head sadly.
“The valiant Sergeant Perks, negotiator extraordinaire: stops wars and puts generals in their place. But yet somehow, can’t give voice to a simple question with regard to defining her dalliance.”
Mal's teasing words were softened by the gentle hand that had taken possession of the handkerchief and was now wiping away the last vestiges of tears.
“It's a terrible thing to see.” Mal gently kissed the eyelids that hid reddened eyes. “Oh woe, and such sayings. How are the mighty fallen.”
“Hey!” Polly pinched the skin under her hand and was rewarded by a surprised yelp. “Have some respect for the senior NCO.”
Ignoring her protest Mal tucked the delicate square of linen away and kept going,
“You know, I think I like you in this guise. A romantic figure ripped from the pages of a novella. I can just imagine you fainting delicately onto a chaise longue... calling feebly for your smelling salts...”
Mal would have gone on, but Polly reached up and silenced that mocking mouth with her own.
~X~
Thanks to whichever gods were keeping an eye on them this week they had found a coffee shop still open despite the late hour. Apart from a mature woman sitting quietly at a table alone reading, and a couple of what looked like the local mad inventor's apprentices whispering together over some plans, the place had been deserted. Being so far away from home they had decided there was no need to bother with appearances and had made a beeline for the couches in secluded alcoves at the back of the room. They were now sat snuggled up in one of these, Mal in what might almost be considered the correct position and Polly half-lying on her lap, resting equally between the arm of their cocooning furniture and a skinny chest with her feet up at the other end of the couch. There had been talking and then not talking. From the clutter on the table it appeared they had been there for some time.
“My cup is empty”
Mal examined the coffee cup that she was holding in her spare hand. It had been empty for a while but she had been up till now unaware of this terrible state of affairs. This was in good part due to nefarious behaviour on the part of the occupant of her lap who had refused to pass it back to her after they had been forced to put it down during an extended session of exploration.
“Oh dear.”
Polly knew she hadn't quite managed to dredge up the requisite level of concern. She was comfortably warm, curled up catlike on her human plaything, and held securely against the possibility of falling by loving arms. In short: she was happy.
Mal looked up from her cup, amusement bubbling into her eyes.
“I require a refill.”
“The man should be around somewhere, give him a wave.”
He’d been assiduously avoiding their corner even since he’d come by recently to check if they needed anything more and interrupted them in one of the more intense interactions of the evening. When her dismissive wave hadn’t shifted him Mal had managed to drag her mouth away from Polly’s for the briefest moment to ensure him they were fine. His scuttling departure had sent Polly into a paroxysm of giggles. Mal had responded differently, growling with frustration into the throat bared under her teeth even as Polly threw back her head to more freely express her amusement. The interesting sensations that the vibrations born of that growl threw up along Polly's spine as they travelled down her neck had halted the giggles abruptly and they had quickly returned to return to the business in hand. Much to their host's discomfort.
“I don’t think he’ll look over this way ever again.” Mal felt a ripple of silent laughter run quickly through the delicious weight on her knees. “I’m going to have to go and get it myself.”
“And they call this service?” Polly waved a dismissive hand. “I thought Bonk was meant to the capital of this fair country, these Uberwaldeans are crazy.”
“You’re just grumpy because you’ve got to move. Lazybones.” Mal tapped the end of Polly's nose disapprovingly. “Besides, it’s your fault; you shouldn’t have laughed at him like that. In a fair world you should be the one that has to wander over there and get me a refill of this wonderful beverage.”
“But I’m comfy.” Polly plundered her arsenal and produced a perfect pair of puppy dog eyes but Mal remained unmoved and merely jolted her with an unexpected knee twitch.
“Wiggle over Pol - caffeine awaits!”
Grumbling under her breath, Polly allowed Mal to slide out, settling back into the space left behind. But it wasn’t as comfortable without a Mal-shaped cushion so she hauled herself upright to sit against the arm instead, hugging her knees. Glancing round the café from her new vantage point she noticed that there were still crumbs of Pryaniki left on the table. She reached out a finger to collect them and was drawing it back to her extended tongue when she looked up to catch Mal’s eyes burning into her from the counter. Caught in the act, her demeanour switched suddenly from naughty child to wicked temptress and holding the vampires gaze she sucked on the finger, investigating it thoroughly with her tongue before pulling it out with an audible pop.
It didn’t quite have the effect she was looking for. Mal merely sighed and shook her head as she turned back to the coffee pot, replacing it on the heated stand and carefully picking up the small cup between figure and thumb in preparation for returning to her seat. At the last minute however, she flicked out the smallest glance across the room, as though to see if Polly would do it again. Caught in turn and rightly skewered on Polly’s raised eyebrow, she surrendered and gave up the beautiful small smile that was Polly’s and Polly’s alone.
On Mal's return to their little corner, Polly shifted to let the vampire back in, settling once again into her old position. Snaffling the coffee cup as it passed her nose she sniffed deeply of the brew within and, ignoring Mal’s protests, took a sip. She heard Mal laugh as she scrunched up her face in disgust, and sighed. Try as she might Polly couldn’t like the taste of coffee, except on Mal. She handed over the cup, receiving a tap on the nose for her thievery, and relaxed back into her companion.
Mal sipped her coffee. Polly picked a couple of pieces of lint off her sleeve, depositing them over the side of the couch. It was a moment's perfect harmony.
Polly thought about that little smile of Mal's. It made her want to do things. Things she hadn’t really considered before, like buy Mal flowers, or research rare gramophone records for her, or make her laugh when her face closed and her eyes shut out the world. She leant back against the arm of the couch, tilting her head so she could see the face above her. Mal was concentrating on her coffee, savouring the aroma in the steam drifting up around her face.
“So now I can get away with anything, right? Cos you love me?[1]”
Mal smirked around her coffee cup, denial in her eyes. But Polly continued regardless.
“Yeah, cos I reckon now I’m the love of your life I can get away with ‘most everything.”
She grinned, dropping her head into the hollow of Mal's shoulder and leaving it there. Letting her eyes droop closed she waited for that slow thump, the solidity under her ear that was Mal's rare heartbeat. Above her head, Mal sipped at the hot beverage but said nothing. Silence fell. A new thread of tension running through the quiet alerted Polly and she tilted her head back again. Mal, coffee now seemingly forgotten, was staring over out over her head into nothing.
“Mal?”
This was worrying, anything that could distract the vampire's attention from coffee had to be pretty serious. Polly wiggled round so that she could see better, nudging Mal encouragingly as she resettled herself against the couch. Mal didn't seem to notice her re-deployment. But she did swap hands, putting the coffee cup aside, the hand that was now holding it resting on the arm of the couch behind Polly's back. Her other arm, freed from cup holding duties, drifted aimlessly before settling on Polly’s waist. Then, still looking out over Polly's shoulder, Mal asked, in a light, inconsequential tone,
“What about me, what can I get away with?”
“You already get away with everything!”
Polly realised immediately what she had said, even as the words were half way out of her mouth and, cursing herself for a fool, sat up to better give Mal the full Perks Stare-of-Sincerity.
“You,” she poked Mal tenderly over the heart, “can get away with anything, my abominable spawn of evil-most-foul, because I love you. Okay?”
And Mal smiled.
Polly settled back into her embrace, sliding one arm around Mal's ribs in order to better enable her to snuggle in closer. There may have been something of close approximation to a hug. If vampires hugged that were. In public. Which they didn't. So it wasn't. But this thing they were doing, whatever it was or wasn't, continued without comment until Mal reached her 'time without imbibing coffee' limit and was forced to move Polly to one side so that she could access her coffee cup. Polly sighed.
“So much for the deep and meaningful moment.”
“Abomination,” Mal explained.
“True.”
Polly leant back against the arm of the couch so that she could more clearly see the loathsome object she was now apparently stuck with for the foreseeable future.
“Now, drink your coffee and let’s go find somewhere two abominations can dance the night away. I may not be a ballerina, but I can swing with the best of them. Bonk does have Jazz clubs doesn’t it?”
“Oh, I’m sure we can find something.”
And Mal produced her wickedest grin.
~X~
[1] As mentioned earlier, there had been talking. A lot of talking. The main outcome of which was that previously common behaviours and responses were more than welcome to make a re-appearance, up to -but not including- the throwing of things at Mal's head.