Mother of Midnight

Chapter 85 – Textile Mischief

The walk back to the clanhall was quieter than usual, though not for lack of satisfaction. After Vivienne’s impressive display of appetite—polishing off her twenty-third cut of thornback meat and announcing, to the visible relief of the tavern workers, that she was finally done—the two of them carried a parcel of still-warm cuts back for Kivvy. Vivienne cradled the bundle with care, the faint scent of roasted meat trailing behind them and making the few passersby glance their way.

Rava, hands resting casually on her belt, glanced sidelong at Vivienne as they walked. “I think you’ve officially scarred the poor waitstaff,” she teased, though the amused curl of her lips betrayed her approval.

Vivienne smirked, her tail swishing lazily behind her. “If they’re still scared after watching me enjoy a nice meal, that’s their problem. I’m not apologizing for appreciating good food.”

The clanhall was quiet as they arrived, the evening light casting long shadows across the stone walls. Once they reached Vivienne’s room, however, the silence was broken by faint clattering noises and the occasional muffled muttering. As they stepped into the hall proper, they found the source of the commotion: Kivvy.

The young tinker had clearly been busy in their absence. A haphazard collection of items was spread across the main table—spare metal scraps, bits of wood, and pieces of leather that looked suspiciously familiar. Rava’s sharp gaze immediately picked out a belt buckle that belonged to one of the hall’s armor racks, along with a couple of what might have been chair legs. Kivvy, completely unbothered by the mess she had created, was tinkering with what appeared to be another of her infamous boomsticks, humming quietly to herself.

“Kivvy,” Rava said, her tone dry as she crossed her arms. “I see you’ve been... resourceful.”

Kivvy looked up, grinning unapologetically. “Borrowed a few things no one was using. Waste not, want not, right?”

Rava pinched the bridge of her nose but said nothing. Vivienne, meanwhile, stepped forward, the enticing aroma of the thornback meat instantly catching Kivvy’s attention. Her tinkering was forgotten in an instant as her sharp eyes locked onto the bundle in Vivienne’s arms.

“What’s that?” Kivvy asked, her voice bright with curiosity.

Vivienne chuckled, holding the parcel out toward her. “Dinner. All for you.”

Kivvy’s eyes widened, and her grin stretched so wide it was almost comical. She bounced on her heels, practically vibrating with excitement as she took the bundle. “For me? Really? You’re not messing with me?”

“Really,” Vivienne said, amused by the reaction. “Rava and I figured you’d appreciate it. Thornback meat, still warm.”

Kivvy clutched the bundle to her chest like it was a treasure, the scent making her practically swoon. “You have no idea how much I needed this! You’re the best!” she exclaimed, her enthusiasm genuine.

She darted off toward the corner she had claimed as her workspace, muttering to herself about how the meat would keep her going while she worked on her latest creation. Vivienne and Rava exchanged a glance, Rava’s expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

“She’s going to destroy something important one day,” Rava said, though there was no real bite in her voice.

“Probably,” Vivienne agreed, a smirk playing on her lips. “But at least she’ll do it with a full stomach.”

Halfway through devouring her first slab of lukewarm thornback meat, Kivvy paused mid-bite, her sharp eyes narrowing as she focused on Vivienne. Her chewing slowed, and then she stopped entirely, blinking a few times as if trying to process what she was seeing. She tilted her head, a piece of meat still clutched in her hands, grease slicking her fingers as she openly stared at the nightmare-woman.

"Hold up," Kivvy said, swallowing her mouthful with an audible gulp. She gestured at Vivienne with the chunk of meat. "What's with you? You’re… shiny. And—" Her eyes flicked to the dress, her expression teetering on disbelief. "—actually wearing something that isn't terrifyingly ragged. Did you finally let someone dress you, or did Rava bully you into it?"

Vivienne arched a brow, her mouth twitching in amusement. "I'll have you know, this was entirely my idea," she replied, one hand resting on her hip. Her tone was light, but the flicker of pride in her eyes betrayed how much she enjoyed the attention. "Though Rava seems to enjoy this dress as much as I do."

Rava, who had been leaning casually against the wall, suddenly straightened, ears twitching in mild indignation. "Don't drag me into this," she said, though the faintest hint of color dusted her cheeks.

Kivvy, oblivious to the tension, grinned around a mouthful of thornback meat before swallowing. “You look very pretty!” she said brightly, tearing into another bite with an enthusiastic chomp. She waved the half-eaten slab of meat toward Vivienne as if to emphasize her point. “Pretty in a scary way. Like, scary-pretty. Scaritty.”

Vivienne blinked, then let out a laugh that filled the room. “Scaritty? That’s a new one. I think I like it.” She struck a playful pose, one hand on her hip and the other brushing back an imaginary strand of hair. “Do you hear that, Rava? I’m officially scaritty.”

Rava groaned, rubbing her temples, though her lips twitched with suppressed laughter. “Don’t encourage her, Kivvy.”

Kivvy grinned wider, clearly pleased with herself. “Why not? It’s true! You’re all, like, fancy and elegant, but still look like you could eat someone whole.” She paused, tilting her head as if reconsidering her statement. “Actually, that’s probably not just the look…”

Vivienne smirked, her sharp teeth glinting. “Only when I’m really hungry.”

Kivvy cackled, clearly enjoying the banter, while Rava just shook her head, muttering under her breath about the company she was forced to keep.

“Tomorrow, I’ll get us a wagon,” Rava said, her tone firm and pragmatic. “I’ve already put a rush order on the harness, so I’ll pick that up as well. We’ll leave for the west the day after.”

“Sure, sure,” Kivvy replied absentmindedly, waving her hand dismissively as she refocused on her meal, eagerly tearing into another bite.

Vivienne glanced around the clanhall, her gaze wandering the dimly lit space. “Where is Renzia?” she asked casually, though a note of curiosity crept into her tone.

Rava let out a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Why do those three words always worry me?”

As if summoned by the mention of her name, Renzia dropped from the rafters without warning. The mannequin landed on a single foot with an unnatural, almost eerie poise, her movements fluid and precise in a way that only a construct could manage. For a fleeting moment, she looked like a dancer frozen in a perfect landing.

Then, just as quickly, the elegance shattered. She wobbled precariously, arms flailing in stiff, jerky motions before toppling forward. With a resounding thud, she hit the ground face-first, limbs sprawled in all directions.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Kivvy nearly choked on her food, coughing and sputtering as she tried to suppress a laugh. “Is… is she okay?” she managed to wheeze, her shoulders shaking with barely-contained amusement.

Vivienne pressed a hand to her mouth, her quintet of eyes glittering with amusement as she fought to maintain composure. “Graceful as ever,” she remarked dryly, though the corners of her lips twitched with the effort of holding back a laugh.

Rava, meanwhile, simply groaned, her palm slapping against her face. “Renzia, for the love of—what were you even doing up there?”

The mannequin pushed herself up with slow, deliberate movements, brushing dust from her dilapidated dress before shrugging, the motion almost apologetic in its stiffness. Her head tilted slightly, as if silently questioning the attention she had drawn.

Vivienne smacked her forehead with a groan. “I ordered a dress for you too! I can’t believe I completely forgot about it in all the excitement over my own.”

Renzia stood still for a moment, her featureless face giving nothing away. Then, with a faint scrape of metal on slate, she scribbled a message and held it up: Do not worry, mistress. I am not as important.

Vivienne’s face fell, the brightness in her eyes dimming as she read the words. She closed the short distance between them, wrapping her arms tightly around the mannequin’s cloth-wrapped frame. “Don’t say that,” she said softly, her voice carrying a surprising gentleness. “You’re important, Renzia. Maybe I don’t always show it, but you are.”

Renzia froze at first, her wooden limbs stiff and uncertain, but she slowly raised her arms, attempting to mimic the embrace. The motion was awkward, her movements too mechanical to feel natural, but it was clear she was trying.

Vivienne smiled against Renzia’s shoulder, patting her gently as if to reassure her. “See? You’re doing fine. Hugging’s easy—you just… squeeze a little.” She gave a light squeeze to demonstrate, careful not to overwhelm the mannequin.

Renzia tilted her head slightly in thought before mimicking the gesture, tightening her hold in an approximation of Vivienne’s hug. It wasn’t perfect—her arms bent at odd angles, and her stiff movements made the hug feel more like an enclosure—but it was earnest.

Rava, leaning against a nearby pillar, watched the scene unfold with a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re going to spoil her, you know,” she teased, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness.

Vivienne glanced over, her arms still around Renzia. “Everyone deserves a little spoiling now and then,” she replied firmly, before looking back at the mannequin. “Especially you.”

Renzia slowly released her grip and scribbled on her slate again, holding it up for Vivienne to read: Thank you, mistress. I will take care of the dress when it comes.

Vivienne laughed softly, ruffling the twin-drilled hair on Renzia’s head. “You’d better. I want to see you shine, just like I do.”

Rava cleared her throat, stepping closer. “If we’re done with the emotional bonding, we still have preparations to finish before tomorrow.”

Vivienne rolled her eyes but let Renzia go, giving her a fond smile before turning to Rava. “Yes, yes, commander,” she said mockingly, earning a chuckle from Kivvy in the corner.

As the group began settling back into their tasks, Renzia remained rooted in place for a moment longer, her head tilting slightly as she stared at the space Vivienne had vacated.

With little else to do, Rava excused herself to do more preparations, Kivvy continued to occasionally munch on her meal while she created more explosives, and Vivienne decided to return the sheet she had been graciously loaned by Narek.

The clanhall bustled with activity in the late afternoon, workers and clan members hurrying about their tasks with purpose. Vivienne navigated the familiar corridors with a sway in her step, her sharp heels tapping against the stone floor. As she approached Narek’s office, she slowed, her wicked grin spreading like wildfire across her face. The sheet she carried in her arms suddenly became an opportunity, and she draped it around herself like a toga, artfully concealing the elegant dress beneath. Satisfied with her impromptu disguise, she raised a hand and knocked firmly on the door.

There was a pause before a muffled voice from within responded, “Come in.”

Vivienne stepped inside with a theatrical flair, sweeping the door open and striking a pose.

“How can I—” Narek began, glancing up from the stack of papers on his desk. His expression immediately flattened, his lips pressing into a tight line. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Tis I!” Vivienne declared, throwing her arms out wide, the sheet fluttering dramatically around her.

Narek groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is there something you need? I’m busy.”

“What, can’t I call in for a social visit with my dearest friend Narek?” Vivienne asked, her tone syrupy sweet as she batted her long lashes with exaggerated innocence.

“Okay, you clearly want something,” Narek deadpanned, leaning back in his chair. “There is no way this is a casual visit. Just get to the point.”

Vivienne feigned a wounded expression, clutching the sheet to her chest. “You wound me, Narek! But fine, I’ll get to the point. I came to return your bedsheet to you. I have made an important decision: clothing is off the table for me. My perfect body should be admired by all at all times.”

Narek stared at her for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “Please, just keep the sheet. We might be more lenient about attire than most places, but even we have limits.”

Vivienne’s grin widened, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You’re absolutely right. It’s weird wearing your bedsheet all the time.”

Before he could process the statement, Vivienne yanked the sheet away in one fluid motion. Narek’s eyes went wide, and his head jerked to the side as he quickly averted his gaze, a deep flush spreading across his cheeks.

“Could you for once—oh,” he started, only to trail off when his peripheral vision caught the shimmer of fabric. He turned back hesitantly, noting the stunning dress Vivienne had on beneath the sheet. His exasperation turned into mild relief, though his tone remained flat. “You’re actually wearing something.”

“Of course I am! I had it made just for me,” Vivienne replied with a haughty tilt of her chin, twirling slightly so the fabric caught the light. “What do you think? Magnificent, isn’t it?”

Narek sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose again. “It’s… fine. Can I get back to work now?”

“Fine? Fine? Narek, you wound me again! Do you have any idea how much effort went into this ensemble?” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“Yes, I do,” he replied dryly, gesturing vaguely toward her with his pen. “Now, unless you’ve also decided to critique my work attire, I have actual work to finish.”

Vivienne smirked, draping the sheet over her arm like a cape. “You’re lucky I’m feeling merciful today, Narek. Enjoy your boring desk and your boring work.”

“And you enjoy being a walking disturbance,” he quipped, already refocusing on his papers.

With a dramatic wave, Vivienne exited the room, leaving Narek to mutter under his breath about how every interaction with her shaved years off his life.