lola lim ⟢ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
clandestinity) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
veilbreak2026-01-24 10:52 pm
clandestinity) wrote in veilbreak2026-01-24 10:52 pm
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CHARACTERS: Casper Murphy & Lola Lim.
WHAT: Casper's upset. Lola wants to know why.
WHEN: Yesterday (1/23), after this.
WHERE: Lower level of the Battlest hangar.
WARNINGS: None.
WHAT: Casper's upset. Lola wants to know why.
WHEN: Yesterday (1/23), after this.
WHERE: Lower level of the Battlest hangar.
WARNINGS: None.
There are only so many places to hide on the Mnemo. A quick check of all the usual options — bedroom, the common room, the library, the mess hall — means Lola has to get creative in her search for Casper. Fortunately, three years of partnership means she knows the other woman well enough to zero in almost immediately on the most likely alternative.
On paper, the hangar doesn’t seem like an obvious choice. There is always someone milling about: pilots or engineers checking seals, running diagnostics, arguing over maintenance schedules or kill tallies or who knows what. But beyond the main level, past a slanted service stair that peels away from the noise, the lower deck is quieter. No longer thrumming with constant activity. It’s a good place to find a little peace and quiet.
Or, if you’re Casper, a good place to knit.
A narrow access ladder is propped against one of the Blackbird’s cockpits, its hatch open, and look at that. There is a familiar head of blonde hair visible just above the rim, unmoving except for the small shifts of someone absorbed in their work. Lola smiles despite herself and climbs up after Casper, the metal cool under her palms. She taps lightly against the hull, not wanting to startle her.
“Next time we play hide and seek,” she says by way of greeting, voice pitched warm and teasing, “I’d appreciate a little more notice.”
Casper doesn’t look up immediately, gaze still focused on the half-knit sweater laying across her lap, as she tries to think of what the right response is. The one that doesn’t lead to discussing her feelings. But she’s quiet for too long and that, above all else, likely fucks her chances of it.
“Wasn’t playing hide n’ seek, Lo,” she comments, meeting Lola’s gaze briefly. “Just didn’t feel like talking.”
“I noticed,” comes Lola’s quiet response, and there’s something a little more careful in her voice.
If it were anyone else, she might have let it go. She has no trouble giving people space when they want it. But this is Casper, one of the most important people she has on the ship, and she refuses to let it pass without a conversation.
“But a little talking could help, no?” she continues gently. “You tell me what I did wrong, and I won’t do it again. Or if it is something else, I can try to fix it.”
Casper wrinkles her nose. “Couple hours and it won’t be worth remembering anyway.” It feels silly to even be bothered in the first place. The idea of explaining why she’s bothered is deeply unappealing. “We could just wait it out.”
Lola hums, as if weighing the idea (she isn’t). There is a faint and exaggerated pout in her tone, and a faux sulky expression on her face to match. “We could, yes. But you know I hate waiting. Patience is not a virtue I subscribe to!”
Tilting her head, she glances up at Casper from under her lashes. “Tell me now and I’ll tell you something I’ve never told anyone here.”
“Lola,” Casper grumbles, in a not unfamiliar tone. “That’s cheating.”
A grin spreads across Lola’s face with the inevitability of unchecked wildfire. She oscillates between two modes when she wants something: a patient gillnet or a shark, keen to the scent of blood in the water.
“Oh, I know,” she says lightly, leaning her shoulder against the edge of the cockpit and peering in at Casper. “You can never resist a secret, so do yourself a favor and save us both the suspense.”
“It’s—” Casper’s focus drops back to the yarn, deciding that it’s easier to talk when she’s not looking at Lola. “—not as helpful as you think it is to flirt with someone ‘cause I can’t. That’s all it is. Which is why I had no intention of telling you, ‘cause it’s just me feeling sorry for myself over something that doesn’t matter one bit.”
“Oh.”
Lola’s smile vanishes without a trace, leaving no suggestion that it had ever existed. This is something she hadn’t considered, really, and the thought makes her stomach lurch. It’s as if she’s missed a step on the stairs. “It does matter, darling. I thought you wanted de Vries to fight, so I was trying to help. But I am—” She falters, exhales. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad.”
“I did want him to fight,” Casper agrees, somewhere in the realm of reassuringly, “and I knew you weren’t trying to. And—it’s no big deal, really. Be over it in no time. Shouldn’t bother me, anyway. S’one of your strengths and you were tryna use it to my advantage.” A beat. “Just never been great at dealing with being shown up.”
“I… can see how it came off that way, but I was not trying to show you up. I thought of it as…” She trails off, glancing at a point over Casper’s head as if that might help her find the right thing to say. “Did you ever play football? Soccer, whatever.” The American term is uttered with a disdainful look and a matching hand gesture. “Anyway, in football, when you pass the ball to a teammate and they score? That is an assist. You set the goal up, even if you’re not the one who puts it in.”
A beat. Lola looks at Casper, pointed and more than a little mischievous.
“I was only scoring because you set it up. And in this case,” she continues, resummoning a wicked smile, “the only person scoring with de Vries will be you.”
“Lola.” Casper carefully sets her work aside before pushing herself up to standing, steadfastly ignoring that even with Lola leaning against the doorway, she still has to look up at her. “I know this is hard for you to accept, but there’s no way that I’m scoring with de Vries when I can’t even manage to flirt with him.” A beat. “Hell, I’m barely managing talking.”
“This is because you’ve built this all up in your head. Philip de Vries is gorgeous, of course, but he’s just a man.” Lola says this somewhat unsympathetically, in the tone one might use for someone suffering from a tragic but manageable condition. “And it is not at all difficult to flirt with men. Talk to him about himself — his interests. Maintain eye contact, but not unnervingly so. Tease him a little, or a lot, if he’s into that.”
Her gaze turns assessing as she looks Casper over, eyes bright and summer-hot, really drinking in the details. “You are gorgeous, so there is no reason to put him on some pedestal. And remember to let your touches linger, just so.”
She leans forward, holding Casper’s gaze as she reaches for her hand, fingers grazing along the side of her wrist. “Enough for him to understand what you’re suggesting,” she says softly, “but not so much that you lose plausible deniability.”
Irritatingly, Casper’s cheeks warm from the intensity of Lola’s gaze long before her fingers make contact. “Can’t do that like you can,” she murmurs, throat drier than it has any right to be. “Wouldn’t be able to without feeling silly for it. I’m not…” A beat, before she settles on, “like you.”
Clearing her throat, she takes a step back to regain her senses. “Wasn’t ever much reason to figure out how to do all that. Spent most of my time ‘round the same people all my life until here.”
Lola doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she takes the space as an invitation and swings herself up into the cockpit, settling into the second seat with an ease that’s almost absurdly casual, especially in the face of Casper’s obvious discomfort.
“So did I,” she admits. “Until I was chipped.”
Her thumb brushes along the edge of the console — a brief, sharp twitch she instantly buries away.
“Anyway, it isn’t something I was born knowing how to do — it isn’t some innate gift.” She turns slightly toward Casper, gaze pitched with reassurance. “It just takes practice. And you’ve always been a quick study, ma chérie.”
“Feels like an innate gift,” Casper murmurs, dropping into the other seat and curling her legs up underneath her body. “Hard to imagine you ever didn’t know how to…” Trailing off, she tries to decide the best way to describe Lola’s skills. “Wrap anyone you look at ‘round your little finger,” she finishes, miming the wrapping with one twirling finger.
“Never minded studying much, though.”
“For what it is worth, I do not think you need to wrap anyone around your finger.” Lola reaches out without thinking, lightly drumming her fingers against Casper’s knee. “You have a way of making people want to sit exactly where they are, and that is far more valuable, I think. But—”
She isn’t above preening, though, and there’s a smirk on her face as she adds, “But if you want, I will teach you a thing or two about how to make people want to be wrapped around your finger.”
Too much awareness of Lola’s fingers clouds her thoughts as she turns her head towards her. “Wouldn’t mind knowing. Hard to imagine pulling it off like you do, but…” Catching Lola’s fingers in her own, the not-so-offending hand is pulled away from her knee to be held instead. It’s not not intimate, but it’s a form of affection that’s more familiar to her and it does help her thoughts to be less cloudy. “Could try. Might come in handy on mission some day.”
“It will almost certainly be useful, and you will have it down in no time,” Lola promises, punctuating the claim with a snap of her fingers.
She gives Casper a sidelong look — a thoughtful look — then lets her gaze drift down to their entwined hands. A moment later her eyes flicker toward the discarded knitting, giving it a nod. “But to make it fair, you will teach me how to knit. Deal?”
“Yeah,” Casper agrees, with a light squeeze. “Deal.”
On paper, the hangar doesn’t seem like an obvious choice. There is always someone milling about: pilots or engineers checking seals, running diagnostics, arguing over maintenance schedules or kill tallies or who knows what. But beyond the main level, past a slanted service stair that peels away from the noise, the lower deck is quieter. No longer thrumming with constant activity. It’s a good place to find a little peace and quiet.
Or, if you’re Casper, a good place to knit.
A narrow access ladder is propped against one of the Blackbird’s cockpits, its hatch open, and look at that. There is a familiar head of blonde hair visible just above the rim, unmoving except for the small shifts of someone absorbed in their work. Lola smiles despite herself and climbs up after Casper, the metal cool under her palms. She taps lightly against the hull, not wanting to startle her.
“Next time we play hide and seek,” she says by way of greeting, voice pitched warm and teasing, “I’d appreciate a little more notice.”
Casper doesn’t look up immediately, gaze still focused on the half-knit sweater laying across her lap, as she tries to think of what the right response is. The one that doesn’t lead to discussing her feelings. But she’s quiet for too long and that, above all else, likely fucks her chances of it.
“Wasn’t playing hide n’ seek, Lo,” she comments, meeting Lola’s gaze briefly. “Just didn’t feel like talking.”
“I noticed,” comes Lola’s quiet response, and there’s something a little more careful in her voice.
If it were anyone else, she might have let it go. She has no trouble giving people space when they want it. But this is Casper, one of the most important people she has on the ship, and she refuses to let it pass without a conversation.
“But a little talking could help, no?” she continues gently. “You tell me what I did wrong, and I won’t do it again. Or if it is something else, I can try to fix it.”
Casper wrinkles her nose. “Couple hours and it won’t be worth remembering anyway.” It feels silly to even be bothered in the first place. The idea of explaining why she’s bothered is deeply unappealing. “We could just wait it out.”
Lola hums, as if weighing the idea (she isn’t). There is a faint and exaggerated pout in her tone, and a faux sulky expression on her face to match. “We could, yes. But you know I hate waiting. Patience is not a virtue I subscribe to!”
Tilting her head, she glances up at Casper from under her lashes. “Tell me now and I’ll tell you something I’ve never told anyone here.”
“Lola,” Casper grumbles, in a not unfamiliar tone. “That’s cheating.”
A grin spreads across Lola’s face with the inevitability of unchecked wildfire. She oscillates between two modes when she wants something: a patient gillnet or a shark, keen to the scent of blood in the water.
“Oh, I know,” she says lightly, leaning her shoulder against the edge of the cockpit and peering in at Casper. “You can never resist a secret, so do yourself a favor and save us both the suspense.”
“It’s—” Casper’s focus drops back to the yarn, deciding that it’s easier to talk when she’s not looking at Lola. “—not as helpful as you think it is to flirt with someone ‘cause I can’t. That’s all it is. Which is why I had no intention of telling you, ‘cause it’s just me feeling sorry for myself over something that doesn’t matter one bit.”
“Oh.”
Lola’s smile vanishes without a trace, leaving no suggestion that it had ever existed. This is something she hadn’t considered, really, and the thought makes her stomach lurch. It’s as if she’s missed a step on the stairs. “It does matter, darling. I thought you wanted de Vries to fight, so I was trying to help. But I am—” She falters, exhales. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad.”
“I did want him to fight,” Casper agrees, somewhere in the realm of reassuringly, “and I knew you weren’t trying to. And—it’s no big deal, really. Be over it in no time. Shouldn’t bother me, anyway. S’one of your strengths and you were tryna use it to my advantage.” A beat. “Just never been great at dealing with being shown up.”
“I… can see how it came off that way, but I was not trying to show you up. I thought of it as…” She trails off, glancing at a point over Casper’s head as if that might help her find the right thing to say. “Did you ever play football? Soccer, whatever.” The American term is uttered with a disdainful look and a matching hand gesture. “Anyway, in football, when you pass the ball to a teammate and they score? That is an assist. You set the goal up, even if you’re not the one who puts it in.”
A beat. Lola looks at Casper, pointed and more than a little mischievous.
“I was only scoring because you set it up. And in this case,” she continues, resummoning a wicked smile, “the only person scoring with de Vries will be you.”
“Lola.” Casper carefully sets her work aside before pushing herself up to standing, steadfastly ignoring that even with Lola leaning against the doorway, she still has to look up at her. “I know this is hard for you to accept, but there’s no way that I’m scoring with de Vries when I can’t even manage to flirt with him.” A beat. “Hell, I’m barely managing talking.”
“This is because you’ve built this all up in your head. Philip de Vries is gorgeous, of course, but he’s just a man.” Lola says this somewhat unsympathetically, in the tone one might use for someone suffering from a tragic but manageable condition. “And it is not at all difficult to flirt with men. Talk to him about himself — his interests. Maintain eye contact, but not unnervingly so. Tease him a little, or a lot, if he’s into that.”
Her gaze turns assessing as she looks Casper over, eyes bright and summer-hot, really drinking in the details. “You are gorgeous, so there is no reason to put him on some pedestal. And remember to let your touches linger, just so.”
She leans forward, holding Casper’s gaze as she reaches for her hand, fingers grazing along the side of her wrist. “Enough for him to understand what you’re suggesting,” she says softly, “but not so much that you lose plausible deniability.”
Irritatingly, Casper’s cheeks warm from the intensity of Lola’s gaze long before her fingers make contact. “Can’t do that like you can,” she murmurs, throat drier than it has any right to be. “Wouldn’t be able to without feeling silly for it. I’m not…” A beat, before she settles on, “like you.”
Clearing her throat, she takes a step back to regain her senses. “Wasn’t ever much reason to figure out how to do all that. Spent most of my time ‘round the same people all my life until here.”
Lola doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she takes the space as an invitation and swings herself up into the cockpit, settling into the second seat with an ease that’s almost absurdly casual, especially in the face of Casper’s obvious discomfort.
“So did I,” she admits. “Until I was chipped.”
Her thumb brushes along the edge of the console — a brief, sharp twitch she instantly buries away.
“Anyway, it isn’t something I was born knowing how to do — it isn’t some innate gift.” She turns slightly toward Casper, gaze pitched with reassurance. “It just takes practice. And you’ve always been a quick study, ma chérie.”
“Feels like an innate gift,” Casper murmurs, dropping into the other seat and curling her legs up underneath her body. “Hard to imagine you ever didn’t know how to…” Trailing off, she tries to decide the best way to describe Lola’s skills. “Wrap anyone you look at ‘round your little finger,” she finishes, miming the wrapping with one twirling finger.
“Never minded studying much, though.”
“For what it is worth, I do not think you need to wrap anyone around your finger.” Lola reaches out without thinking, lightly drumming her fingers against Casper’s knee. “You have a way of making people want to sit exactly where they are, and that is far more valuable, I think. But—”
She isn’t above preening, though, and there’s a smirk on her face as she adds, “But if you want, I will teach you a thing or two about how to make people want to be wrapped around your finger.”
Too much awareness of Lola’s fingers clouds her thoughts as she turns her head towards her. “Wouldn’t mind knowing. Hard to imagine pulling it off like you do, but…” Catching Lola’s fingers in her own, the not-so-offending hand is pulled away from her knee to be held instead. It’s not not intimate, but it’s a form of affection that’s more familiar to her and it does help her thoughts to be less cloudy. “Could try. Might come in handy on mission some day.”
“It will almost certainly be useful, and you will have it down in no time,” Lola promises, punctuating the claim with a snap of her fingers.
She gives Casper a sidelong look — a thoughtful look — then lets her gaze drift down to their entwined hands. A moment later her eyes flicker toward the discarded knitting, giving it a nod. “But to make it fair, you will teach me how to knit. Deal?”
“Yeah,” Casper agrees, with a light squeeze. “Deal.”