sampippy | Outside Voorhees Hall, Columbia University, New York, Thursday

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Outside Voorhees Hall, Columbia University, New York, Thursday

What was a girl to do when her first year of college was about a week away from being over and she was desperate for one last boost in coolness in the eyes of her peers (namely, her three roommates)? Why, obviously the answer was to invite a guy over! Specifically, a guy she'd slept with like a year ago and who she - let's face it - barely knew aside from that. But he was impressive! Or at least impressively hot, and, also he was nice even if Xanthippe was loathe to admit that was a positive quality in anyone.

So she'd invited Hyacinthe over for a visit. And she'd gone and picked him up on the edge of campus and walked him through it and now they were here, right outside her dorm. It was one of those imposing brown brick buildings, old as rocks and heavy with history.

The sign outside said VOORHEES HALL.

"So, yeah," she said, looking up at the building. At her side, her fingers were fidgeting with the edge of her overly lengthy sleeve. "This is where I live now."

In a building with her last name on it.

[ooc: NFB due to distance, and for the boy mentioned!]

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Xanthippe paused, her lips parted and her brow furrowed as she parsed that. Because she hadn't even thought of it like that.

But now she did. So her eyes widened a little.

"Oh! Oh, that was supposed to be a play on 'riding'." Because that would be a part of why he should stay, clearly. Still, she her expression turned into a smirk. Kind of a vague one, like she wanted to hide the urge to. "But, that other thing -- I could, I think, see myself saying that? I mean, you're not small."

"I am fine not being 'gargantuan,' either." Haycinthe said, still highly amused. "So long as my partner is deriving pleasure, I am satisfied." Ba-dum tsh. "And so you wish to inform my mother that you're too busy riding me to let me attend my graduation? Why, Xanthippe, I'd no idea you were so bold."

Xanthippe blushed. Guess they'd discovered the limit in her joking boldness.

At least she didn't stanmer, though. "Well, only if she couldn't, like, actually read emoji."

"She cannot," Hyacinthe said with a small grin. "Nor can she read English, for that matter, nore speak more than a few words. But Phedre can, so she is the one you'd have to worry about."

"I don't know who that is."

She... didn't actually know a whole ton about him to begin with, did she?

"My best friend," Hyacinthe said simply. It was a true answer, if not the whole truth, but even Hya couldn't quite explain the relationship being himself and Phedre. "I have known her since we were small children, the first time she escaped House Cereus. Our friendship has flourished for over a decade: the Prince of Travellers and the Queen of Courtesans. Or, at least, that's how we imagined ourselves when we were small, hiding from merchants who saw us steal fruit from their carts or pies from their stalls."

Xanthippe's head tilted just slightly (against the arm it was pillowed on), one eyebrow quirking. "Wait, so, you were like... Aladdin?"

Look, she was a child of her time: brought up on Disney more than anything else. But, at least she exhibited some self-awareness just a beat after.

"Oh. You probably don't know what that is."

"Not even a little," Hyacinthe agreed with a warm chuckle. "Is he a dashingly handsome prince with a silver tongue and a flair for the dramatic?"

"Well, he wasn't a prince before he pretended to be one," Xanthippe mused. "But, he was like, hot. For a cartoon."

"Well, I assure you, I am a prince," Hyacinthe declared. "At least as my people figure as such."

Probably? At least, if what his mother said was true. Hyacinthe wasn't always sure.

"Really?"

This was news to her!

Her eyebrows bounced. "Oh my god, my mom can never find out about that." You know, as if there was any real, immident danger of her finding out he even existed.

"Oh aye." Probably. "My grandfather, Manoj, is the Tsingan kralis, the king of the Tsingano. His kumpania is the largest and most prosperous of even the four baro kumpai. By blood, I am a prince of the Tsingani."

Just...not by practice. For reasons.

Okay, that sounded impressive, even if she didn't understand like half of those words.

Also: "Wait, by blood?" she asked, the impressed look on her face giving way to confusion. "But not otherwise?"

Most of them didn't have easy translations into English, sadly.

"But not otherwise," Hyacinthe confirmed. "My mother is...no longer part of Manoj's kumpania." He spoke slowly, trying to choose his words with care. "And their road no longer leads to the City of Elua, in grief over losing their most beloved daughter there."

Yeah, Xanthippe was confused. "So, what, there was like a scandal?"

Because she knew all about those.

"...That's one way of putting it," Hyacinthe said quietly. "'Tis an unpleasant story. Due to the nature of my conception. I'd not force you to listen if 'twould upset you."

"You don't have to tell me." Even Xanthippe had enough awareness of things outside her frame of reference to figure out things were serious. Like, capital S Serious.

She brought her hand up and gingerly brushed her fingers over his chin. "But, like, you can."

Hyacinthe caught her hand and brought it up to his lips to kiss. It gave him something to do while he figured out the easiest way to explain it. "I do not know my father," he said at last. "Nor does my mother."

Which probably explained most of what happened, though hardly all. Still, it was enough, for now.

"Oh," Xanthippe said, her brow furrowing. That didn't seem so bad, lots of people in the New York social scene had dubious parentage --

Except then she put this information together with what he'd said just before, and her eyes widened some. "Oh." Yeah. "I'm sorry."

"But worst of all, the Tsingani had strict rules about what defines a woman's laxta--her purity. Her worth, as though such a thing could be counted and valued like coin." Hyacinthe's fist clenched in the sheets. This had been a truth of his entire life and yet it still infuriated him. "Sleeping with a gadje merchant--a foreigner--made her lose hers, though 'twas not her fault. So they mourned her as lost and moved on without her."

He lay there in angry silence another moment before sharply shaking his head and looking back at Xanthippe with apologetic brown eyes. "I'm sorry, cherie," he murmured. "Hearing such an unpleasant tale of woe was not why you asked to share my company."

"Hey, no," Xanthippe said, much softer than she would've expected herself to sound because soft was still a pretty new thing for her, just in general. She'd chewed on her lip a little, watching his anger, and now she slowly moved to run her hand through his hair. "No. You don't have to -- I don't care."

Wait, that came out wrong.

"I mean, I don't mind. It's... I wanna know things. About you." And it was true. Seemed to surprise even her, a little.

Hyacinthe rumbled a low laugh, but some of the tension in him eased a bit. "You have simply to ask," he told her. "I am an open book. Someone exaggerated and fanciful, but open nevertheless."

Xanthippe's hand settled against the side of his neck, but her fingers stayed tangled in his hair. "I like that," she admitted. "We don't really do honesty here."

In her circles, she meant. Or the ones she used to move in, anyway. She was still trying to find her place.

"Why not?" he asked. "I mean, I could tell ten million lies, but why bother? All that would do is leave you wanting someone who isn't really me. How is that good for either of us? You'd want a figment and I'd never know whether you could ever care for me or only the illusion I'd crafted to fool you."

He was speaking of himself but meaning her.

Xanthippe got that, kinda, and she was also kind of grateful for it? It meant there was a crucial bit of feigned distance between her and the thing that probably wasn't a very good trait to have.

She shrugged. It came out looking helpless. "Image is everything around here. Or at least around, like, Manhattan. Where I'm from."

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