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Marella glances about when she sees the glittering on the balcony. It’s the one attached to Fitz’s room, but neither she nor Fitz are up there right now. Still, something’s catching the moonlight.
“Marella?” Fitz asks, peering backwards at her. “Are you alright?”
“Hm…?” She tears her gaze away from the shine, back to Fitz—who glimmers just as bright. “Yeah. Sorry, I thought I saw something in your room.”
“What? Can you see it from here?” He smiles confusedly, walking back over to Marella and peering up.
Marella takes the chance while he’s distracted to look at him instead, all planes of endless brown skin and mussed up curls. “I mean, I figure you can see better what’s up there. You’re taller.”
“Uh-huh…” Fitz scrunches his nose. “I might be crazy, but why is Sophie all decked out and sitting on my balcony?”
Marella chokes a laugh. “Oh my stars, seriously? Oh, I have got to see this.”
Fitz’s eyes light up. “Last one there is a rotten egg!” He shouts (well, not shouts—he would never be that loud) as he takes off, Marella startling then chasing back after him once she gets her bearings.
“I still don’t know what that means! Stop flexing on me with human stuff!” Unlike Fitz, Marella has no qualms about yelling.
The two of them race up the staircase—and, in the end, Marella wins, but that’s only because Fitz shouldn’t and can’t really run anyways, and Marella probably should’ve told him not to, but the damage’s already done, so. Not her fault, even if she has to support him up the last set of stairs. He insists on leaning against the wall over to his door, and Marella only feels a bit miserable at the loss of warmth on her palms.
Marella cracks his door just an inch, enough for her to crouch and the two of them to peer inside. Thankfully, the balcony is right opposite of the door.
Sophie’s perched on the railing in a way Marella really, really doesn’t like. Whatever had caught her eye earlier must’ve been one of the many jewels she’s got piled on—a big necklace, earrings, and something pinned to the top of her head. The red dress is very obviously Biana’s, if the ridiculous amount of waist cinching is any indication, pooling out around her.
Fitz leans his head down to Marella’s ear, hot breath brushing against the shell of her ear. Bit ticklish, really. “Should I ask her what she’s doing?”
Marella’s about to respond when she hears Biana go, “I found it! Fitz is always taking my jewel—ry…” She trails off. “Oh. You, um—you figured out how to put them on…” Her voice goes weirdly high-pitched. Fitz’s brow furrows, and Marella feels horror start to creep on her. She knows that tone.
“I mean, yeah, it’s—they’re necklaces and earrings, it’s not really rocket science.” Sophie pushes off the railing, ducking back into the room.
“But the—the tikka…” Sophie disappears from Marella’s line of sight. Marella inches backwards from the door, but knocks into Fitz’s legs, making him fall back against the floor with a crash, followed by Marella on top of him.
“Oof.” Marella mumbles, rolling off of Fitz.
“Seriously? Were you two spying?” Biana hisses, standing over Marella. Sophie peeks over through the doorway, bursting into laughter and ducking back behind the door.
She points to Fitz and sits up. “His fault?”
“My fault?” Fitz rolls his eyes. “Here’s a better question, why’re you in my room?” Then, under his breath, “Be a girlkisser anywhere else, I beg.”
Marella doubles over in laughter.
“What did you just say? What’d he say?”
Sophie draws around the door again, sitting down on the ground. It’s a bit ridiculous, if you ask Marella—all of them in plainclothes, even Biana, and Sophie looks like a bride-to-be, albeit a bit off-put by the dress itself.
Now that she’s closer (and aware of Marella’s presence), Marella inches over to Sophie while Fitz and Biana argue about the ethics of borrowing each other’s jewelry/balconies. The dress has this really pretty embroidery along the neckline, a slit at the hips that open into the skirt piece, that has matching gold embroidery along the bottom. It’s large enough that it fans around her even on the floor, knees drawn up. Marella scoots back against the wall, shoulder against Sophie’s.
“You look really good in that, though.” She whispers to Sophie. “Red’s your color.”
“Thanks.” She whispers back, inclining her head towards Marella. Her eyes watch Biana intently—they’ve switched to a human language, curiously, as the two argue. Judging from Sophie’s reddening face, they’ve forgotten that Sophie is a polyglot.
Marella hums—then, in the most nonchalant voice she can muster before she bursts into laughter again, she asks, “So, does whatever they’re talking about have to do with you being in bridalwear?”
Sophie goes wide-eyed. “I’m in what?”
“Red is bridal, Sophie.”
“I just—I just look good in red, Marella, it has nothing to do with… that.”
“And the jewelry?”
“Biana and Fitz just like big jewelry.”
“I hate to tell you, but even Biana and Fitz do not wear that much gold and jewels on a daily basis. It’s bridal.”
Sophie looks a little more than just horrified, but her face is all pink, and after taking a deep breath or two, she turns to look at Biana, and—yep, there’s the longing. She called it. Ugh, what is it with gay people and being so evasive of each other? (She says, as if her plans to get with the self-proclaimed love of her life didn’t involve being evasive.)
Marella drops her head against Sophie’s shoulder (which is a bit uncomfortable, thanks to the embroidery and georgette and beading scratching against her bare shoulders), twiddling her thumbs.
“Hey, Marella?”
“Hm? Yeah?” She turns her head to peer up at Sophie.
Sophie pulls aside the tikka for the twentieth time this conversation—really, Marella knows they’re meant to be big, but this is ridiculous. “They’re talking about you.”
“What?” She pushes off of Sophie, frowning, while she giggles. “Hey, no talking about me in a language I don’t understand! Guys!”