19058/Two Rulers, Stronger Together

Two Rulers, Stronger Together
Date of Scene:	06 September 2024
Location:	Genoshan Embassy - 3rd / 4th Floor
Synopsis:	The morning after sharing a dance at a fundraiser for arts programs in Mutant Town, Amaya Amethyst and Lorna Dane sit down for breakfast and share the tragedies that have shaped their respective lives. At this point, it is probably a date.
Cast of Characters:	Amy Winston, Lorna Dane

---

Amy Winston has posed:
Amy is dressed in a flowing nightgown and a mist-silk robe that clings to her like a delicate veil, as she leans over the still sleeping Queen of Genoha. As much as she wants to remain in the warmth of Lorna's embrace lingers, but Amy knows duty calls. She sighs softly, placing a tender kiss on Lorna's cheek and a quiet, "Good morning." before gracefully slipping from the bedroom.

With practiced elegance, Amy pulls her robe tighter around her, its ethereal fabric swirling around her as she moves. She glances back at Lorna, who remains peacefully asleep, her lips curled in a faint smile. A hint of reluctance tugs at Amy's heart, but she straightens her posture and quietly leaves the room.

As she descends the grand staircase of the Genosha Embassy, her bare feet gliding soundlessly over the polished marble floors, Amy's mind shifts to her responsibilities. She makes her way to the dining area, where the staff has prepared breakfast. Surveying the elegant spread, she ensures that every detail is perfect, as it should be. Her eyes fall on a tray of freshly baked muffins, and with a small, amused smile, she picks one up.

Now seated at the table, Amy nibbles thoughtfully on the muffin, her gaze occasionally drifting toward the doorway, waiting for Lorna to join her. The early morning stillness wraps around her like a second robe, serene yet expectant. Though she's content in her solitude for the moment, a flicker of anticipation dances in her eyes-Lorna's presence will complete this quiet morning.

Lorna Dane has posed:
Every room has its own comfortable dining arrangements, but it's-- expected, more or less, that guests of the Embassy will spend at least one meal a day in the communal Hall on the 3rd floor.

Sprawling and lavish, it reflects Lorna's time spent at the Xavier Institute with its blend of quiet, classic elegance and modern function: dark wood trim and hand-crafted tables meet stocky, metal-reinforced chairs and screens lining the walls, framed in wood detailing and running through news broadcasts from around the city, the country, and the world. Steaming chafing dishes promise a bounty of fresh breakfast foods and chilled trays provide Genoshan pineapple, papaya, and a handful of other local fruits for anyone who wants to be fed. Baked goods overflow from dark, handwoven baskets; cereals wait in brass-appointed dispensers.

And while Amy earns a few doubletakes thanks to the certainty with which she issues orders, the staff is used to catering to the demands of VIPs, all in all; they see to it that every tweak implemented to her specifications. Most of the tables are long, communal affairs; there are smaller, more intimate tables dotted here and there, however, mostly in the corners-- mostly for those who desire a little privacy even as they dine publicly. Amy has her pick of options, as even the communal tables are sparsely populated-- mostly with hungover fundraiser guests.

Maybe a quarter, a half of the way through that muffin, the Queen strolls into the hall wearing a black ferrofabric kimono embroidered with a handful of purple and green flowers native to Genosha, fuzzy white slippers, and a veritable storm of messy, green curls tumbling all around her head. Propriety and the maintenance of appearances take a backseat to comfort on her own home soil; the dark, sleepy circles fading around her eyes are kind of like smoky eyeshadow, if you wanna get creative about it, though. The morning is a relief-- a release from the everpresent, encroaching dread that visits her in the black space between waking: not every day is spent in her home country with the busy life she leads, but every night she finds herself in Genosha, reliving its apocalypse.

"... morning," Lorna murmurs upon sinking into her chair, across from Amy's. She has opted for a croissant for now, and is mostly preoccupied with picking at it. Her nightly jaunts aren't a secret between them - might as well give the other woman a heads up, so she doesn't wonder why Lorna's thrashing and shaking in the night - but there's a difference between setting the truth out there and living in it.

Looking someone so poised, so elegant in the face of her own adversity in the eye, now that-- that is between them.

Peeling off a few flaky layers, she slowly leans across the table and offers them up to Amethyst on the end of her thumb. "I would've come down with you..." she murmurs, glancing up briefly.

Amy Winston has posed:
The sound of soft footsteps draws her attention, and soon, Lorna strolls into the hall. Her appearance is a beautiful contrast to the polished surroundings; her black ferrofabric kimono embroidered with native purple and green flowers, her storm of green curls falling wildly around her head, and the sleepy, shadowed circles beneath her eyes. The weight of her nightly battles is visible, though here, in her homeland, comfort takes precedence over the perfection expected elsewhere. Amy watches as Lorna moves across the room, her heart aching in silent understanding.

Amy's smile is soft, affectionate as she watches Lorna, taking in every detail. "Good morning, my Queen, you look exceptionally lovely with bedhead." she responds with warm amusement, her own blonde locks already brushed out, the glamour cast out of habit. Her voice blends her regal grace with the tender affection that marks their bond. She leans over to delicately to accept the flakey layers of the croissant that Lorna offers her, bringing it to her lips and gently bites Lorna's thumb in one smooth, elegant motion.

"You needn't have worried, darling," Amy says gently, her voice a soothing balm. "You needed your rest, and you well deserve it." Her fingers brush lightly over Lorna's hand in a gesture of quiet reassurance. "Your presence now makes the morning complete, though I would not object to having you join me earlier." Her lips curl into a teasing smile. "I do so miss you when I rise alone."

A brief pause settles between them, and Amy straightens ever so slightly, her demeanor shifting from the intimate to the regal, as if feeling the weight of tradition in the air. With a quiet breath, she rises gracefully to her feet, mist-silk flowing around her like a cloud. Her eyes meet Lorna's with renewed formality, though a warmth still lingers in her gaze.

"With your leave, my Queen," Amy begins, her voice melodic yet firm, "I would like to formally introduce myself, though you may know me well already. It is a matter of custom, after all."

She inclines her head slightly and descends into a luxurious curtsey, her tone now the embodiment of royal dignity. "I am Princess Amaya Amethyst, rightful ruler of House Amethyst and exiled sovereign of Nilaa. Though far from my throne, I stand resolute, ever seeking to honor the legacy of my people and uphold the strength of my House."

Her words hang in the air, solemn yet proud, before Amy lowers herself back into her seat, her poise unshaken. The wistful smile returns as her formality softens once more. "And yet, before you, I am simply Amy, who is most grateful for this shared morning."

Lorna Dane has posed:
"It was a long night, last night..."

Lorna's eyes carry the lionshare of her musing, sparking hot and bright as her lids fractionally lower and a fond smile touches her lips.

"... fundraisers are always so draining," she lowly adds. Her lightly bitten thumb swipes across Amy's mouth, sweeping up non-existent crumbs. "I just hope that the accommodations have been to your liking."

A falls over them as Lorna's thumb glides downwards, catching against the other woman's chin-- only for a tremor to ripple through the silence. Amy straightens ever so slightly and the mood shifts profoundly: when Lorna draws back, her own shoulders are square, her own spine is straighter; the smile's muted into something closer to formal warmth, as a wealth of still-cooling instincts fire in the presence of regal poise. Her eyes track Amy all the way up--

-- meticulously threaded, green brows rise while the rest of her begins to tense--

-- and in the end, she's still having breakfast with Amy-- the same Amy she's taken to like a spark in Summer woods.

Still looking into the eyes of Amaya Amethyst-- the same one she sees her own struggle for dignity and longevity reflected in.

As Lorna Dane, she leans across the table and plants fading green lips to her fellow ruler's forehead for a lingering moment.

"... and as Queen Polaris of the Sovereign Nation of Genosha, I humbly welcome the one, true ruler of Nilaa to enjoy the hospitality of Mutantkind's only independent state," leaves her lips once she's on her feet, each word deliberately articulated and radiant with will and warmth. The long, draping cuff of her kimono hangs like a subtly shimmering cloak from her left arm, which stays primly folded against her chest while the right extends towards Amethyst in allyship.

"Just ignore the fucked up hair and make like it's charming, or down to Earth, or whatever," she leans in to stage-whisper to Amy, complete with an exaggerated wink and cheeky grin.

"You look most fetching this morning, by the way," she then adds, still leaning in-- still grinning-- but having recovered her regal airs for the moment. "There's not an awful lot that doesn't suit you, I'll bet... but your mist-silk is always a treat." Once she unfurls her arm, she guides a couple fingers up Amethyst's jaw for a second before finally retaking her seat with a soft sigh.

"We... should probably talk about matters of State," she murmurs, looking between the Princess across the table and the croissant she's resumed picking at. After popping a piece of it into her mouth, she quietly adds, "-- at SOME point..."

Amy Winston has posed:
Amy's gaze remains steady as Lorna speaks, a soft, knowing smile resting on her lips. She listens with the patience of someone who understands the weight of long nights and the strain of endless obligations. Lorna's words, playful and serious all at once, bring a lightness to Amy's heart, even as they brush against the edges of deeper struggles.

When Lorna's thumb swipes gently across her lips, Amy holds still, her breath catching at the tenderness of the gesture. The absence of real crumbs doesn't matter-the gesture is intimate, grounding, a small reminder of the connection they share. As Lorna's hand lingers for a moment against her chin, Amy feels the unspoken shift in the air. The tension between duty and affection, between ruler and lover, trembles softly around them, like a string pulled taut.

As Lorna straightens, adopting her own regal stance, Amy meets her gaze with unwavering poise. The shift is subtle, a dance they know well-of dignity, respect, and the quiet vulnerability that lies beneath the surface of their titles. And then, Lorna's lips brush Amy's forehead, a touch of comfort, of warmth, of acknowledgment that they stand together, rulers of their own worlds, yet bound by something far deeper.

Amy's eyes flutter closed for the briefest of moments, savoring the feeling of Lorna's kiss. When she opens them again, her expression is soft, touched by the intimacy of the gesture, but still infused with the grace of a princess. As Lorna speaks, formally welcoming her as the ruler of Nilaa, Amy bows her head slightly in gratitude.

"Thank you, Queen Polaris," Amy replies, her voice smooth as silk, yet warm with sincerity. "Your hospitality is as generous as your heart, and I am honored to be here, in the presence of one so noble."

The flicker of playfulness in Lorna's whispered words brings a soft laugh to Amy's lips, her regal demeanor easing ever so slightly. "Oh, my Queen," she replies with a teasing smile, "I find your wild curls quite charming. A fitting crown for one as fierce as you."

As Lorna's fingers trail up her jaw, Amy closes her eyes for a brief moment, relishing the delicate touch before Lorna retakes her seat. When the Queen compliments her attire, Amy's smile grows, her fingers lightly brushing the fabric of her mist-silk robe. "You flatter me, my dearest Lorna," she says, her tone playful yet affectionate. "Though I must admit, it pleases me to know that you approve. I wear this not just for myself, but for the one whose eyes I long to catch."

At the mention of matters of state, Amy's expression softens with understanding. "Yes, the affairs of our nations cannot wait forever," she agrees, though her voice carries a lightness that suggests she is in no rush. "But there is time enough yet to enjoy this morning, and each other's company."

She studies Lorna across the table, her mind drifting to the weight of their responsibilities, the histories that have shaped them both. She feels the pull of a story, her story, bubbling to the surface, a tale long untold to many. Her gaze softens as she looks at Lorna, an invitation in her eyes.

"Lorna," she begins, her voice gentle yet full of purpose, "if it pleases you, I would share with you the history of Nilaa. The story of my homeland, my people, and the path that brought me to where I stand today." Her words are careful, laced with the gravity of her past, but also with the hope that Lorna might understand her even more deeply through this tale. "Would you like to hear it?"

Lorna Dane has posed:
"Exactly like that," Lorna whispered when Amy layered compliments upon her bed-mussed head.

That same, impetuous affection's lingering in the way she subtly sinks in her seat, shifts, and stretches through the space between them until her bare foot's teasing up the Princess' leg on its way to resting in her lap. She doesn't protest the assertion that there's plenty of time to get to the important stuff, but--

--... well.

That small, conflicted little smile speaks to her uncomfortable familiarity with how quickly time flies-- whether in fun times, brutal ones, or times she just can't remember. She knows that Amy understands something of urgency, given the scraps she's been given of the Princess' history; that alone's enough to swallow anything remotely like a reminder, like an anchor on the soft, yet sturdy soul peering into her with vibrant amethyst eyes.

But the stories are there, under the measured smile: years of fighting anyone who'd stand in the way of a visionary's lofty dream for a better, more inclusive future-- and years more sifting through the ashes of her dreams of tomorrow, of having the peace and patience wrung from her by tyrants and monsters. They're right there--

-- and they'll keep, while she soaks in the sound of her new ally's voice. Instinctive hesitation withers away and Lorna greets the prospect of seeing a little more Amy with a growing smile.

"I'd like nothing more than to hear your story, Princess," she offers, low and warm. Another chunk of bread's ripped off and tossed into her mouth while she fixes her eyes to Amy's, anticipating.

Amy Winston has posed:
Lorna's bare foot teases its way up her leg, settling in Amy's lap. A soft laugh escapes her lips, a blend of affection and amusement at the playful gesture. She rests her hand gently on Lorna's foot, absentmindedly tracing small circles as they sit together.

Lorna's conflicted smile doesn't escape Amy's notice. She knows the weight of fleeting time all too well, the feeling of moments slipping away while duty presses ever closer. But for now, they are here, and Amy is determined to make the most of it.

As Lorna speaks, offering warmth and encouragement to hear her story, Amy's heart swells. The vulnerability beneath Lorna's words, the unspoken scars of past battles, draws Amy in even further. She meets Lorna's gaze with a steady, soft smile, her fingers still lightly tracing the outline of her foot, a touch meant to soothe and ground them both.

"Then I shall share my tale with you," Amy replies, her voice gentle, yet filled with a quiet strength. "But I promise, my Queen, I will be brief. There is much to say, but I shall not burden you with a long history when there is still breakfast to be enjoyed."

She pauses for a moment, her eyes reflecting the weight of the story she's about to tell. "Nilaa, my homeland, was once a realm of great beauty and magic, inhabited by those that were Homo Magi - and fae and made their way to the realm of Nilaa when a supernova changed the magics of the universe. They were ruled by the ancient Houses, each tied to a precious gemstone. House Amethyst, my House, held the wisdom of ages, a power both brilliant and deadly when wielded with care. My people thrived under its light, and we knew peace for generations."

Her voice dips slightly, shadows creeping into her tone as she continues. "But that peace was shattered. Betrayal from within tore our kingdom apart, and I was cast into exile-forced to leave behind the land I loved, the people who looked to me for guidance. I wandered, searching for a way to reclaim my birthright, to restore what was lost. And in that journey, I found myself here."

Amy lets her words settle for a moment, her expression softening as she looks into Lorna's eyes. "Though my kingdom remains beyond my reach, I have not given up hope. I am determined to honor the legacy of my House and see Nilaa rise once more. But in the meantime... I have found allies, friends, and something I had not anticipated." she admits between her lashes as she gazes at Lorna.

Her fingers pause in their tracing, resting lightly on Lorna's leg. "And now, here we are. Two rulers, two exiles, perhaps, but stronger together."

Amy's smile returns, softer, more intimate. "I did promise to be brief, didn't I? And now, my dear Lorna, it is your turn to speak, if you wish. I know of Genosha's plight. I was here that terrible night. Too young to make a difference. But now... I want to know where I would fit in."

Lorna Dane has posed:
"Hey--"

RThat rich, low syllable comes with a flutter of her lashes, a twitch at the corners of her eyes when Amy promises brevity. Picking off another piece of croissant, she leans towards Amy until that buttery morsel and a narrow buffer of air are the only things between them.

"-- maybe we're still getting to know each other... but so far, I enjoy you regardless; your truth is part of you, and you are not a burden on me," she quietly assures her fellow ruler. Leaning back, she keeps her fingers outstretched until the offering is taken, at which point her fingers fall to rest against the Princess' arm.

While the story of Nilaa unfolds, Lorna lightly drags her thumbnail down the storyteller's arm. Shattered peace prompts firm, grounding circles against Amy's wrist with the poised pad of her thumb; wandering as refugees adrift sends a shiver rolling from Queen to Princess. When their eyes meet, Lorna's are wide, afflicted with familiarity--

Their stories aren't the same, because no two ever are.
But the way they rhyme keeps her heart stranded mid-beat.

... here we are. Two rulers...

Released with a shivering breath, Lorna draws her fingers over Amy's briefly before settling back into massaging her wrist-- feeling the steady pulse of iron-rich blood and varying pressure in time with its fluctuations. A soft, shaking, "God, I know..." stripped of all but the barest, most functional threads of lightening sarcasm is her best attempt at affecting chill after-- that.

The playful little smile she mustered is gone when Amy tells her where she was on G-Day, though.

"... nothing anyone could've done," she softly assures. "I was THERE, and--..." It's her turn, but how much does she wish to say?

Over breakfast?

Hours removed from tossing in casually familiar arms--

"... one thing about my powers, is: I feel magnetic fields; I could taste the metal in your jewelry on the back of my tongue, last night-- I can see electromagnetic emanations-- my senses are all fucked up," she tells Amy, softly and punctuated by a tiny chuckle. "In the best possible way-- for the most part. ... but."

The wan little smile she'd managed is a tightly restrained line as her eyes wander down the table.

"On G-Day, when all those Sentinels... ...

"... there's iron in blood, Amy," she softly remarks. "Just a little-- but multiply it a few million times over..."

It's here when Lorna realizes that she's gripping hard enough to squeeze the color from her breakfast companion's wrist, prompting her to let go and snake her hand away with a brief, apologetic glance up.

"If you and me are gonna be getting closer..." she whispers, not quite meeting the other woman's eyes, "... then you need to understand that-- that-- never wanting to feel that again-- informs every decision I make, now--"

Increasingly swift, erratic breaths catch in her throat for a split-second; she finally looks up again as she exhales.

"... even when they leave me drenched in the blood of anyone who'd try and MAKE me," burns from her lips, soft and unbreakable. "I want peace -- I want for my people, and everyone else's people to get along, to grow, evolve together... but I won't build another peaceful killing field for the cruelest among humanity."

The Queen of Genosha swallows, roughly. Her eyes trail downwards for a beat before lifting again while her lips roll into a tight line.

"... can you fit into that?" she wonders, softly.

Hoping.

Amy Winston has posed:
Amy listens with a quiet intensity as Lorna speaks, her own history echoing in the shadows of the Queen's words. When Lorna's fingers brush against her arm, Amy's gaze softens, a silent understanding passing between them.

The weight of Lorna's confession hangs in the air, a shared burden of loss and determination. Amy's eyes meet Lorna's, reflecting the depth of her own experience. She takes a moment before responding, her voice gentle but resolute.

-- Increasingly swift, erratic breaths catch in her throat for a split-second; she finally looks up again as she exhales.

Amy recognizes the panic attack for what it is, and her hands gently cup the Queen's face, violet eyes focusing on her emerald ones. "You're not there. You're here. With me. And I care deeply for you." She whispers, pressing a quick, light kiss to Lorna's lips. When she comes back, she nods, only able to imagine what Lorna's experience on G-Day must have been like.

"I was only three when my parents were taken from me and I was sent to Earth," Amy begins, her voice steady. "At thirteen, I found myself thrust into the struggle to liberate Nilaa. I fought through years of hardship and conflict, and by nineteen, I finally succeeded in reclaiming my homeland. Yet, by twenty-two, I was forced back to Earth, still bearing the weight of my people's hopes and the scars of my journey."

She reaches out, her fingers lightly touching Lorna's hand in a gesture of solidarity. "I understand the urgency in your words, Lorna. I, too, have felt the weight of battles fought and the resolve required to continue fighting for a better future. Your struggle, your determination to never face that kind of suffering again; it resonates deeply with me."

They travelled different roads. But they were similar, and they are at the edge of a merge - if Lorna allows Amy to do so.

Amy's gaze remains steady, her voice unwavering. "I can fit into that. I share your desire for peace, for a future where we and our people can grow and evolve together. No Dark Opal. No Sentinels. No human hatred. But I also know the necessity of standing firm against those who would bring more suffering. My own fight, my own path, has been marked by the same resolve to protect and to lead."

She pauses, allowing her words to settle before offering a small, encouraging smile. "If we are to forge a path forward together, I promise to stand by you, to support you in creating a future where we can all thrive, but not at the cost of our own principles and safety. We both want to build something enduring and just, and I believe we can find that balance."

Amy's fingers give Lorna's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Together, we can honor our pasts and shape a future that reflects the best of what we each aspire to achieve. I am here, not as a burden, but as a partner in this journey. An alliance that we share together. Magic and mutant. You asked if I would stand by you. Yes." And then a pause as she considers and she adds. "Would you like to see Nilaa? I can show it to you."

Lorna Dane has posed:
"My powers manifested when I was three," Lorna whispers through weighted space, steering into the merge with the commonality of their experiences:

"My mom and her husband were fighting, because-- I mean-- she was my mom... and he was her husband..." She lets implication take the burden of elaborating. "... and I guess it set me off SO badly, that I just..."

Her eyes linger, even though she'd rather look anywhere but directly at another person, relating this. It's a weird story: it's an awful one, obviously-- it left a mark, of course... but she was three: it's more of a series of terrible, primary color smears than a coherent memory.

"... superhero by seventeen, because it was my first time living with people who didn't look at me bending a spoon and see their dead brother, and their dead brother's cheating wife..."

Amy reaches for her hand. There's a moment of hesitation, but soon enough Lorna's rolling her wrist, adjusting her palm so that it's flush with the Princess'.

"... freshly crowned Queen of a dead nation at twenty-two..." she whispers, pressing gently against Amy, "... just... don't ever think you need to hide any of it, to spare me-- the scars of it, the bad memories--... I can handle it."

Their struggles don't sound exactly alike, but they do indeed resonate in harmony with one another.

"I've got steel in my veins, baby."

A small twist lets her thread her fingers between Amy's as she flashes a small, encouraging smile. A reassuring squeeze is answered in kind, and Lorna starts dragging her foot back to the ground via the scenic route, down the length of the Princess' leg--

"Of COURSE I wanna see your fantasy kingdom--" pops out. The Queen sits up a little in her seat.

"... but isn't it a little... besieged...?"

Amy Winston has posed:
"I didn't know I was a princess of another realm until Onyx assassins came for me shortly after I turned fifteen." Amy responds. With Lorna's hand in hers, she spreads her fingers to thread her fingers into the Queen's. To anchor her.

"But the time I was nineteen, I had fought a bloody, nearly three year war to take back my home. I though Lord Opal dead. That I would settle in as ruler. We would have peace. Maybe... finally have a home. And for two years, it was like that. But then? Dark Opal rose. He had managed to merge technology with magic, and we were still so fragile from the last war... he rolled us again. I... I fled, Lorna." Now it's her turn not to look at her partner. "...instead of fighting to the last, I fled to Earth like a coward in the hope I could find heroes that had helped me in the last war to beg them to come back. But they were gone. Instead... I am trying to make new alliances. But you need to know. I am no hero. I fled."

The play of her leg is what brings her back. "...and then I found you." she says softly. "More than a comrade or an ally. I do not know what to call it yet - but it is what I want to explore, thoroughly."

Then there's talk of the land and it being under siege. "I know a few places that are not patrolled or conquered by Opal and his forces. Or I can just open a portal and let you gaze within, if that works better? So far, Opal has not detected those." Which means she can't guarantee that they won't be found. "It was a bad idea. I should wait until I have a plan to invade. Or at least scout it." There's an apologetic look to Lorna at that.

Lorna Dane has posed:
It was--

There's neither room nor time for apologies of any kind, because Lorna's already entering the other woman's space-- launching an ambush and colonizing it with her presence, her stake marked by lips pressing softly to lips.

They've BOTH lived long, difficult young lives. They've both had their worlds drop out from under them again and again, making solid ground a luxury and caution a reflex. They've fought; they've lost; they've suffered for their hubris.

They have escaped circumstances that could - and perhaps SHOULD - have killed them, to fight another day.

Neither would call themselves heroes anymore.
Both would give anything to protect the weak and needful.

Whatever else they are - separately or together - they're halves of a coin tumbling through worlds.

"... I dunno what this is either..." she eventually whispers, breaking the kiss but not the closeness.

"... but I know that those lips are too pretty for self-reproach-- I trust you," Lorna softly promises.

"... us non-heroes have to stick together."