The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

The Audience, pt. 1

"And they call me 'Dr. Deathwish'," Able huffed incredulously. It was a lovely purple dress, really, and it looked darling on Lark with his hair in a loose, ribboned cascade over his shoulder, but he had no idea how he was supposed to sneak him into the manor house in it.

"Okay, first of all," Lark started, "the whole plan hinges on Gent recognizing me. Second, I needed to be the same person as a few days ago for the guard to not be any more suspicious and let me in, and third? As long as I don't say anything, lots of people assume I'm a girl anyway." And he wasn't, for Able would say Lark was mostly male right now if he were asked to put a quantifier on it. Then again, perhaps he shouldn't be gendering the aggressive energy thrumming under Lark's fastidious composure, given that Able's own nerves were pushing him to run and hide.

"Are you trying to convince me that you are good at planning ahead or just that you're good at justifying your actions after the fact?"

"I am equally adept at both, so you'll never know," Lark grinned.

"That doesn't mean you're competent at either," Able groused.

"Is that any way to talk to someone who brought you apple turnovers?" Lark pouted and held up the parcel he'd carried in through the gate.

"...why did you bring me apple turnovers?" he accepted the bag.

"So captain nosy security protocols could sift through it while I fussed about how they aren't feeding you and just overall made him too uncomfortable to think about looking for the shears I hid under my skirt because you, my friend, are looking terribly shaggy and sad."

Able looked up from the pastry to Lark's bold smile and reassuring gaze. He was, he was surprised to realize, mollified.

"Do you have experience with hair?" he pushed his straggly waves back.

"Thought you'd never ask!" a fresh shine came into Lark's eyes.

"Well, I suppose at least I can try taking you in through the entrance to the women's quarters, huh?"

~*~

The clock read 1:50 when Able ventured to the waiting area with Lark right behind him. He had waited as long as he dared before leading them through the halls, and they had so far encountered no one.

"That's pretty good," Lark sat and smoothed his skirt. "I'm impressed." And then, when Able was looking around to see what he meant, he added, "With your time sense, silly."

"Oh," Able was too anxious to be bashful. "Well, being stodgy is good for something, then."

"Relax," Lark reached for his arm, then seemed to think better of it. "You can make it through ten minutes."

"Better to count on fifteen," Able replied and brushed his fingers over his freshly shortened hair. He wasn't sure what Lark had done to it, exactly, as there was no mirror in his room, but it no longer curled into his ears or fell into his eyes and he was glad for it.

"What, my cousin's a petty power player?" Lark chuckled and eased back against the wall. "Thought people were supposed to improve with age."

Able said nothing, preferring to listen to the empty halls and the tick tick tick of the clock. 1:52.

"You do need to relax," Lark repeated more quietly. "Your tension might draw attention if someone comes by."

"Deep breaths, happy thoughts," Able muttered back.

"No," Lark somehow managed to laugh silently. "That's not usual for you at all. You need to make like you're bored and waiting for something normal. Try doodling in your notes, there. Er, or writing something, I suppose."