Round 1 Day 2 - Dinner

Dinner was awkward, and quiet. Sarah was making it very clear through body language alone that she didn’t want to talk, and quickly gave up on glancing at Poppy when she was met with a curious stare every time she did so. Poppy herself was as quiet as always, Emma didn’t want to risk disturbing anything, Chrissy choked down the bare minimum to count as a meal and then disappeared again without a word or a glance at anyone, Max wasn’t there to begin with, and nobody else felt brave enough to break the silence.

Eventually, everyone finished their meals and drifted away to whatever they chose to do with their evenings in the limited time before the curfew hit. Sarah was the last to leave, holding out to try and speak to Poppy again, then grimacing to herself as the couple left together. For a brief moment she considered going after them anyway, before realising on reflection that she was not (her recent bouts of protective rage aside) anywhere near brave enough to confront them both at the same time. She’d have to try another time, when she could catch Poppy on her own and Matt wasn’t simultaneously nibbling on the neck of the day’s date.

Meanwhile, Emma had been hoping to find a corner of the common room to spend some quiet time with Poppy, only to find the room already occupied. April was on one side of the room, a dreamy smile on her face as she buried herself in a story. Eleanor was on the other side of the room with the biggest book Emma had ever seen balanced on her lap. She stood in the doorway for a moment, holding Poppy’s hand, as she considered alternatives.

“Would you like a drink?” she asked, quietly so as not to disturb the readers.

Poppy cocked her head to one side, narrowing her eyes in confusion.

“Alcohol, Pops,” Emma chuckled to herself, “I’m asking if you’d like to check out the bar.”

“Oh,” the tiny woman nodded as she understood, “Sure.”

They retreated from the common room without either of the other women noticing, a short distance down the corridor to the venue that Scarlet had introduced as the tavern. It was dark and dingy, but in a cosy sort of way. Cigarette smoke drifted through the air without a source, but didn’t linger or stink. The dark wood had a veneer of grime, but grime that looked so worn in it was more of a patina by this point. Unfortunately, it was also occupied. Even more unfortunately, Emma’s attempt to quickly back out before they were noticed didn’t work.

“Chrissy! Hi!” she said with a forced smile and feigned friendliness as the ex-bully’s eyes snapped over to her. Then she took in the rest of the scene.

Chrissy was slumped on a stool and leaning almost horizontal against the bar, her bare breasts hanging below her, a large bottle of some clear spirit in hand - no glass. She looked tired, barely even sneering at them. It had been less than fifteen minutes since she made her early exit from the dinner, and the bottle was already half-empty.

“...are you okay?” Emma tried, when the scene failed to move on without her input.

Chrissy opened her mouth to say something with teeth, but then bit her own tongue instead. She shook her head, scowled at the bartop, then heaved herself upright and slipped off the stool, keeping hold of the bottle the entire time. She forged a line towards the doorway, stumbling only slightly, and slipped past the couple and off into the hotel without a sound.

“I don’t think she is okay,” Poppy said flatly, answering Emma’s question by proxy.

“No, probably not,” she sighed, “I wonder what that was about?”

“She’s just figuring some things out about herself.”

The unexpected answer, ringing true with the magic of Poppy’s transformation, caught Emma off guard. She looked down at her girlfriend, squinting at her utterly guileless face.

“Do you actually know what’s wrong?”

“I think so,” Poppy nodded quickly.

“What is it?” Emma knew her well enough to not wait for an elaboration that wouldn’t come without prompting.

The tiny woman’s expression screwed up with complex thoughts. She opened her mouth a few times, closed it again, then shook her head. “I can’t say.”

“What do you mean you can’t say?”

“I promised,” she admitted.

Emma drew in a sharp breath and quickly dropped to one knee, leaving her still about a foot above Poppy’s head height. “You promised something to Chrissy?” she hissed, making intense eye contact.

“Yes,” she nodded. She knew Emma well enough to know that she’d be expecting an elaboration, so she continued. “She didn’t want me to talk about it.”

“About what?”

Poppy frowned. “I can’t say.”

“Brilliant,” Emma grumbled, climbing back to her feet, “Well I’m glad I was already planning on having a drink this evening. What would you like?”

“Wine please,” she smiled, then glanced at the seating, “And help getting onto a stool.”

The request drew an unexpected laugh from Emma, and she led the way over to the bar - easily hauling Poppy onto the stool beside her with one hand. “Two white wines, please,” she asked the goblin bartender, “And make hers a...” two glasses of pale wine were placed down in front of them, one half the size of a normal wineglass, “...small. Thanks.”

The goblin smiled, uncomfortably wide, and went back to cleaning an already-clean glass with a dirty rag. Poppy leaned forward, stretching out to her fingertips to grasp the stem and slide her drink towards her. Emma watched with a little amusement, then took a sip from her own glass. It was mild, inoffensive, and easy to drink. Exactly to her tastes.

“So what can you tell me?” she said seriously.

Poppy took some time to think, staring at nothing, then very slowly said, “Anything that’s not about what I promised I wouldn’t say.”

“Well that narrows it down,” Emma’s lips quirked at the obviousness of the answer, and she tried a different approach, “Is it anything I should be worried about?”

Poppy shook her head.

“Anything I need to do something about?”

More thinking time, and another slow and careful answer. “I think you should talk to her.”

“Oh?” Emma’s eyebrows twitched upwards, “About what?”

Poppy opened her mouth to respond, but the only noise that came out was a brief strangled gasp. She frowned, and shrugged.

“Wonderful.” Emma pinched the bridge of her nose as if she could squeeze the developing headache out of her nostrils, grimaced as that failed to work, then took a big gulp of wine just in case alcohol was the solution. It wasn’t.

“Em? Are you mad at me?” Poppy asked, genuinely curious rather than upset.

“No, Pops, I’m not mad at you,” she sighed wearily, “I’m worried about you. You need to be careful with your promises now, especially to Chrissy. She’s not a nice person.”

“I know. I've spent some time with her.”

“Yeah, that would be enough to know, wouldn't it?” Emma chuckled quietly, then sipped at her drink while Poppy did the same.

They didn’t speak for a while, as usual. Poppy wasn’t the type for small talk, and Emma loved that about her. It took away the pressure, made it easy to spend time with her. No need to worry about keeping attention or how she was coming across to everyone. Keeping Poppy’s attention was an uphill battle anyway at the best of times, unless she decided she was interested.

“I took some pictures today,” Poppy said out of nowhere.

“Oh?” Emma perked up, glancing sideways at her girlfriend.

“I was checking my camera still works,” she lifted it up from where it had been hanging around her neck all day, “Since it shrunk I wasn’t sure if it would act the same, but it’s still good somehow. Take a look.”

Emma took the tiny device, the screen already set to gallery mode, and fumbled with the tiny buttons to flick through. They were incredible, as always, but with a variety she’d never seen in such close proximity. Long dark hallways and sunlit stained glass, snowy mountains and beaches shimmering with heat, ancient woodland, blooming flowers, a butterfly delicately perched and then taking flight.

“These are beautiful, Pops,” she smiled warmly, and then flicked over to an image that made her blood run cold. Sarah, with her head tipped back and her lips parted, clearly experiencing something intensely private even if it was out in the open. “Poppy... why do you have this one?” she asked carefully and quietly.

Poppy sat up in her seat, craning her neck over to see what Emma was looking at, then nodded to herself. “She just came up to me and did that. I don’t know why. I don't think she even noticed me take the picture. I was going to ask you if you thought it would be okay to try and talk to her about it.”

“No, Poppy, that wouldn’t be okay,” she answered, doing her very best to remain calm, “I’m going to delete this now, alright? And I need you to delete any other pictures you have like this, and not take any more.”

Poppy’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Even the ones...”

“You can keep the ones of me,” Emma interrupted, blushing slightly, “But you shouldn’t have any pictures where they didn’t directly tell you it was okay. Especially of Sarah.” She hit the delete button, then confirmed it, then quickly scrolled on to make sure there were no more nasty surprises lurking.

“Why especially Sarah?”

Emma tried to explain, she really did, but the truth was too large to fit past the lump in her throat. She couldn’t give Poppy the whole picture of what she’d done. She couldn’t reveal why this, specifically, was a problem that might burn any chance of Sarah and Poppy ever getting along. She couldn’t look into her girlfriend’s curious, innocent eyes and watch the unearned love turn to rightful distrust. She wasn’t strong enough.

“I can’t say,” she said eventually, in a weak whisper.

Poppy accepted the answer without question or comment, and they both finished the rest of their wine in silence.