The Drow Queen of Glaley [Very NSFW]

[Coquette Blacquin]

"Do you think I shouldn't? Having her good favor seems prudent."

[Zevran]

"No, it seems both prudent and..." He hesitates, then admits, "and I worry about how alone you are. Besides me and somewhat Claudia, who do you actually speak with? Second time with? You enjoy people, you thrive around others."

[Coquette Blacquin]

Her gaze darkens. "I used to. Not anymore."

[Zevran]

Zevran folds his arms, a chiding but patient expression firmly in place.

[Coquette Blacquin]

"I mean it, Zev. The more I care about others, the more hostages to be used against me. Best to keep myself separate."

[Zevran]

"The more you care about others, the more the shall care about you; and you could sorely use friends and allies."

[Coquette Blacquin]

"I had friends and allies. It went poorly." She shakes her head. "I'm not budging on this, Zev."

[Zevran]

"Then it won't cause any harm for me to remark on the matter from time to time," he replies smoothly.

[Coquette Blacquin]

"Do as you like." Yeah, she's displeased with him. "In any regard, let me begin composing this letter."

[Zevran]

"Of course, my beloved." Regardless of the word choice, Zevran's tone is the very model of a respectful and dutiful servant. 

[Coquette Blacquin]

Coquette dashes out a quick note agreeing and offering some times, then sets to work illustrating it with sketches of finches and sparrows, perched on branches or pecking at the ground. When she is finished, she rolls it up, tying it with a pretty green ribbon, and hands it to Zevran to deliver. 

[NPCs]

Ten minutes or so after Zevran heads off to deliver the letter, Coquette hears a new knock on her door. It's not Estelle's firm but undemanding knock, it's not a servant's somehow apologetic knock nor Claudia's perfunctory one. It's rapid, loud and rather excited, almost cheerful. The voice, despite the door muffling things, is more familiar; female, drow accent, polished and confident. "Coquette dear? Are you free?"

[Coquette Blacquin]

Cindy smoothes down her skirts and calls for Noire. "Come in," she calls, arranging herself to be sure nothing is showing that she didn't mean to be.

[Paerle Emerison]

"Terribly sorry for the no-notice visit, sister," Paerle says quickly, even before she's stepped entirely through the door. "I'm here to throw myself upon your good heart and soft mercies." As she's taken to doing with Coquette, the older drow is speaking in Common; she's got a firm grasp of the grammar, her native accent present but unhindering, and her vocab is solid. But, as with many who learn a tongue latter in life, she struggles with idiom and specific word choice, quirks that mark her as an outsider, and thus something she's looking tot work on.

[Coquette Blacquin]

"Tender," she says with a quirk of her lips. "Mercies are always tender. Come, sit. I'll call Obi and have him fetch us some tea and snacks." She moves to the servant's room, where Obi spends much of his downtime; a few sharp knocks on his door in rapid succession follow.