Gideon Nav

One thing she'd never expected, not in a million years - the softness that's grown between them. She's come far enough to recognise that all of the pain and hate they enacted on each other had complicated roots but, still, love the other girl as she does, she'd never expected to be standing in a kitchen cooking dinner for the two of them because Harrow (Harrow Nonagesimus, the Reverend Daughter, Ninth Saint to serve the King Undying) had requested a date night.

Gideon leans her elbows on the counter, craning her neck so that she can see Harrow.

"Okay in there?"

They find a rhythm. Harrow has been in Darrow for a week and a half and, during that time, they've bought her clothes that fit her (though she continues to wear Gideon's hoodie, most of the time). Her hair is growing back slighter faster than seems plausible. Every time Gideon goes to work, Harrow comes with her and shuffles about in the background, sticking price labels and making tea.

They start to build a life.

Darrow might have made her softer, but Gideon still works out as much as she ever did. After an early evening run, she gets into the shower and emerges clean and slightly pink, dressing in her favourite sweats and a black bralette, towelling her red hair before shoving it back from her face.

"Have you thought about what you want for dinner?" She asks, padding out into the lounge.

Darrow is like nothing she'd ever imagined, not even if her wildest, most deviant dreams. The novels and magazines she'd survived on in Drearburh had described the front lines, romantic trysts snatched from the teeth of certain death, heaving bosoms and all. This...this was a whole different kind of life. Gideon has started to dress in softer things - sweaters that swamp her hips and wrists, skinny jeans and heavy soled boots, all of it in good, solid Ninth black. She buys books in truly obscene numbers. She drinks a metric fuckton of coffee.

And she spends time with Harrow. And, if that feels like a gift? She's never going to admit it.

They'd arranged to meet and five minutes late finds Gideon walking down the street towards the necropolis in long strides, sunglasses firmly in place, hair tumbled across her face. Tiny headphones blast loud music through her skull. And it's perfect.

Fuck, she loves this place.