The latter half of one afternoon in Tacell wasn't nearly enough for Octavia to completely get her bearings. In comparison to the hustle and bustle of Coda, the lack of action was so jarring that she’d woken up the next morning convinced she was still dreaming. Even Silver Ridge, for how rural and sleepy of a little town it was, paled in comparison to the peaceful nature of the settlement. She supposed that was a given, particularly relative to the tiny and incredibly specific population that called it home.
The perfectly-sized cottage they’d been lent for the foreseeable future was cozy enough that she’d hardly mustered the energy to leave her bed that morning. The creeping onset of gentle autumn weather did absolutely nothing to alleviate that problem. Octavia's ethereal impression of the settlement was still a fresh bubble that had yet to pop, although she feared that perspective would shatter once she got into the thick of her true task. She was still laughing over the fresh memory of how hard Madrigal had squealed over their newest abode. In her defense, it was borderline adorable on the inside. Octavia so vehemently looked forward to leaving the windows open.
Forty-seven, she’d finally been told--a concrete number she’d thought lost. There was much to do with forty-seven Maestros, and that was just those physically present amongst the lush meadows of her little safe haven. The thought was almost dizzying. The tolls between the seven Harmonial Instruments she’d already borne witness to in full were enough to follow Octavia for the rest of her life. She supposed it was, at least, a courtesy that she would go through Hell with Heaven to return to when she arose from the dark. It could’ve been worse.
It was the overwhelming soup of thoughts, both positive and negative, floating around in her brain that actually led her out into the open sunshine. Octavia wasn’t particularly sure where she was going. The early-evening tour of relatively nothing given to her previously had stuck to her overstimulated mind poorly. Half of the place, expansive as it was, consisted of fields, meadows, trees, or some combination of the three--as she’d initially expected.
There was a river, at least, and more wooded areas than had been visible at a precursory glance. The sheer quantity of grass that crawled along her boots was enough to make her double-check almost constantly for any questionable insects that might meet her underfoot. It had been some time since she’d been somewhere quite so rural, and she didn’t particularly want to figure out the hard way if Tacell had the same chronic scorpion problem as Silver Ridge. In that sense, there was something endearing about the myriad of ways Tacell was already reminding her of home.
Octavia wasn’t even sure if “lost” was the right term for the field she did end up in. She could just as easily have turned around and hiked her way back to the smidge of civilization she could cling to. The openness of the settlement was a tremendous aid in navigation versus the exceedingly-elaborate twists and curves of a sprawling capital. Still, she hoped she could at least remember which cottage was hers. She made a mental note to put some type of identifier out front later, short of a banner that outright read “Ambassador”.
She didn’t particularly mind the view. The area she’d come to wasn’t quite wooded, but the shady birches that speckled the plain contrasted with rippling grass in a manner that pleased her eyes. Octavia had risen late, a victim of a missed sunrise. It still left her with the comfort of morning sunshine, not quite as enveloping as that which had bit her at summer's peak.
She was hesitant to sit, particularly given her prior fear of whatever was lurking between blades of grass she couldn’t dissect with her eyes. It took conscious effort for her to throw caution to the wind. If she went back to the cottage covered in insect bites on one of her first full days in Tacell, Viola was going to kill her.
If nothing else, Stradivaria’s case could handle a few ants. She’d simply be careful to leave him safely tucked away, his proximity enough of a comfort for her. Octavia rested her head against the birch at her back, gazing onwards at what was effectively nothing but sky and grass in every direction. It really was Heaven.
What do you think so far?
Regarding?
This place.
Do you like it?
I do. I really like it, actually.
Even knowing what awaits you here?
She nodded, her braids delicately snagging against the bark. I think if I had to do all of this anywhere, I’d like it to be here. It’s…peaceful. It reminds me of home, kinda.
Do you miss your home, then?
Octavia shrugged, even with the awareness that Stradivaria might not be around to see. Sometimes. I wish I could take you there, but I know I can’t. I wanna show you what it’s like.
He hummed. She’d missed it. I have seen it many times over. Have you forgotten?
She chuckled. In truth, she had. Yeah. I forgot. It would’ve been fun for us to go together, though.
Perhaps it would. I will still savor those places to which we do voyage in tandem.
Octavia enjoyed the idea, and it made her smile. I mean, there’s only forty-seven of them here. That’s not enough to wrap up everything. We’re still gonna have to look around more, I suppose. We’ll get to go to more places together, for sure. You’re stuck with me.
I would have it no other way.
She stretched extensively, raising her arms high and closing her eyes. Is there anywhere in particular you’d want to visit? I can take you somewhere special, if you want.
Surely you know that I am more than satisfied just to be at your side.
When she went to press him further, inquiring as to his personal wants and desires, she instead found a sharp sting in her right palm. Octavia yelped in pain, quickly withdrawing her hand and cradling it in her lap as she drew her knees up to her chest.
Are you alright?
It took her a moment to summon the physical composure to uncurl her fingers, tightly closed around the injury out of reflex. When she finally managed, she initially expected to roll her eyes at the sting of an insect she'd foolishly ignored. Instead, it took her a moment to recognize a relatively-uniform gash, miniscule and surface-level upon the top layers of her skin.
Superficial or not, it bit deep enough to draw blood. The cut oozed, red shyly staining its intact surroundings. Flakes of birch had come down with it, frustratingly speckled along the length of the short laceration. In reality, it was only roughly an inch, and fairly shallow. It still burned to an aggravating degree, the open air irritating it ever further.
I’m fine, Octavia offered in mild annoyance. She’d spent so much time worried about insects, and instead succumbed to--of all things--the sharp, cracked bark of a tree. She hastily rubbed the cut against her dress. Not only did it sting more, but the swipe smeared blood along the fabric she’d just washed. She rolled her eyes with a groan.
Are you certain?
Yeah, I’m just an idiot. Should’ve paid attention to what I was doing. I’m sorry, I don’t even remember what we were talking about.
As to the…other Muses you’ve met since your arrival, might I ask your first impressions?
Octavia's eyes flickered to his case. You want my impressions? Usually, I’d ask for yours. You know them a whole lot better than I do. I don’t even remember all of their names.
It is sometimes beneficial to hear an outside perspective. Your opinion is important to me, oh Ambassador.
She smirked. Whether he was being genuine or sassy remained to be seen. I seriously don’t remember all of their names. They seemed nice, I guess. Mint’s is kind of…odd, but I don’t think she’s necessarily bad. Is there a particular reason you ask?
Somewhat.
Octavia raised an eyebrow. Is it…something to do with the other Heartful one? I forgot her name, too, I’m sorry.
It has been some time since I have seen her.
Do you two get along?
He didn’t answer.
Stradivaria?
“Octavia?”
The sound of a voice that wasn’t Stradivaria’s own was startling enough that she jumped, nearly hitting her head against the tree. It would’ve marked the second strike of the same birch in the span of less than five minutes. The thought was just as annoying as the actual injury she had sustained. It wasn’t a voice she’d fully grown used to yet, nor one that she could immediately match to a name despite her best efforts. He met her view before she could turn her head in full, spared from the dangers that came with trying to escape the wrath of a tree at her back. The striking eyes, at least, were unmistakable. Octavia resented that they were more memorable than anything else, a disservice to his notable presence.
The seafoam that eyed her casually was unhurried. The boy’s entire being was wrapped up in the breeze with such delicacy that Octavia wondered if he might blow away. She supposed it was his fault for wearing such free-flowing clothing, comfortable as it looked. She was terrified to get his name wrong, given that he’d remembered hers without effort. Octavia at least did him the effort of trying, racking her brain for what she vaguely remembered to be something beautiful.
“River?”
He tilted his head. When he didn’t smile, her stomach sank. She hoped she hadn’t offended him.
“What are you doing out here?”
Octavia shrugged. “Sunshine. Being lost. Well, on purpose, sort of.”
The boy blinked, his name still apparently eluding her even now. “I’m…sorry to disturb you, then. Would you like me to leave you alone?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s okay. You’re not disturbing me at all.”
When he only continued to gaze at her quietly, she shifted against the grass. Octavia tried her luck. “You’re, uh…I’m so sorry, what did you say your name was again?”
Only now did the most subtle of smiles cross his lips. “No, you were right the first time. I’m River.”
Octavia breathed a sigh of relief, if not a bit too visibly for her own liking. For what compliments she’d given to his name, losing it felt awful--as did admitting she'd forgotten it in the first place. “Oh, thank goodness. I was worried I called you the wrong name. I’m really sorry.”
He shook his head. “It would’ve been alright if you did.”
“Well, no, you got mine right immediately, and we only just met.”
River’s smile strengthened into something warmer and brighter. “I’d be remiss to forget the name of the Ambassador.”
The mention of her title, for whatever reason, was enough to make Octavia blush somewhat. The way he’d spoken it with such respect felt simultaneously flattering and idolizing in a way that filled her stomach with butterflies. The title of “Ambassador” had mostly become a running joke amongst her non-Muse companions, offered mostly in the context of teasing as to her hefty role in the Maestro world. To hear it uttered with such care and sincerity from human lips was, frankly, incredibly disorienting.
Octavia tensed. “Y-You can come sit if you want. You don’t have to. I-I mean, if you want to, you can, but--”
He took her offer in the midst of her stammering, settling down in the shade beside her with little hesitation. She was embarrassed at the way she was flustered around him already, although his position as the effective leader of Tacell itself left much to be flustered around. Ambassador or not, there was a standard she felt obligated to meet. Octavia feared that she was making a poor second impression already.
River didn’t show any indication that he thought as much, and his smile was still hers to keep. It reminded her of Harper’s, almost, if not even softer and more muted. She didn’t hate it. The black case on his back was relatively thick and bulky. While Octavia knew what rested within, it still felt almost imposing to witness from so close.
His shoulders shifted to lay his presumed partner to rest beside the home of her own. It was somewhat endearing, in a way, a movement that seemed to come almost naturally to him. Octavia didn’t mind. She wondered if Stradivaria enjoyed the company. More importantly, she wondered if River’s partner was one of the Muses Stradivaria could at least get along with.
“Do you like it here so far?” River asked softly.
It was a question she’d posed to Stradivaria not so long before. “I love it here, actually. It’s so quiet and peaceful, and it’s really pretty. Everything’s been so hectic for the past few months. This is...nice. It reminds me of home.”
His smile was slowly growing on her. “Where are you from?”
Frankly, she wasn’t sure exactly how far Selbright was from Silver Ridge. Bouncing between cities for the past several weeks had been disorienting enough that she wasn’t sure exactly where on the continent she resided. “There’s a small town called Silver Ridge. I…want to say it’s in the south of Mezzoria, but I’m not completely sure what direction we’re in right now. What about you?”
River, too, was content to let his head rest gently against their shared birch. “Cirrin.”
Octavia tilted her head. “Where’s that?”
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“It’s not in Mezzoria. It’s off the continent. It’s a nice little place, very temperate. I used to live pretty close to the ocean.”
“You’re…not from Mezzoria?”
River shook his head. She blinked. That was, admittedly, a first.
“What made you come here?” Octavia asked.
He shrugged, the silky fabrics of his shirt snagging slightly along the same bark that had blighted her. Octavia hoped they didn’t tear. “My family wanted a change of pace. They were more so city people than anything. Nature didn’t cut it for them, I suppose. We differed, in that sense.”
“Where do they live now?”
“Some of them went to Ardenfall, and the rest went to Whitebrook. They didn’t have much problem with me going my own way.”
“They were fine with you just…leaving?”
His smile was soft once more. “I think they knew I wasn’t really cut out for being tied down like that. I think they knew that I missed Cirrin a bit, too.”
Octavia tried her questionable luck again. “Your legacy. Are you…Spirited?”
River nodded, his expression brightening in a way that made her heart somewhat satisfied. “Correct. What gave it away?”
“Muse color” was an embarrassing answer. She stole from Mina. “You, uh, just struck me as…someone who was.”
He seemed satisfied with that, at least. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Octavia offered River a smile of her own. If his words of wanderlust were to be believed, then they fit his legacy well. She’d never met another Maestro blessed with a spirit of wind aside from her exceedingly bubbly and heroic companion. The picture of “spirit” he was painting in her head little by little was still just as viable. It was an interesting dichotomy.
“I didn’t become a Maestro until I got to Mezzoria,” River continued. “I was…leaving an inn while I was passing through some little town, I don’t even remember where, and apparently an instrument had been abandoned there a few nights before. That’s what the innkeeper said, at least. Knowing what I know now, I don’t particularly believe her. I felt some kind of…spark that night, and I ended up taking it with me. You can probably figure out the rest.”
“Are there Maestros in Cirrin?” Octavia asked.
Ever so slowly, River tilted his head at her again. “There’s…no Maestros outside of Mezzoria. You weren’t told that?”
She blinked. “What?”
He only stared. “I…see. For whatever reason, this is where they all ended up, according to the Muses. Otherwise, I don’t think Tacell would suffice in terms of…well, what it’s meant to do.”
It was simultaneously a tremendous relief, a solution to a problem Octavia hadn’t thought of, and a semi-confusing puzzle piece she’d have to bother Stradivaria about later. The density of Maestros in Coda alone had been relatively high, particularly considering both the size of Mezzoria and the finite number of Muses existing in the first place. It made enough sense to her that, at least hypothetically, Maestros could be limited to Mezzoria based on the sheer number she’d found thus far. If she had to leave the continent to track down the remaining Maestros, her task would likely never end. She could hardly wrap her head around leaving Silver Ridge. Even now, Tacell was an entirely different world in and of itself.
“Are there…other people here who aren’t from Mezzoria?”
River nodded again. “Some of them. Mint is from a tiny place called Destrend in Forvilas.”
“Forv…where?”
He laughed. His laugh was nice, a clear and crystalline sound that was far more muted than she’d expected. For all of his composure, it was almost off-putting to hear. It felt like water.
“Another continent. Have you never read an atlas before? I’m asking genuinely.”
Octavia blushed. Admittedly, no. She supposed that was her fault, at this point. “I-I…I’m not very well-traveled. The whole world is kind of new to me. Everywhere I go is a place I’ve never been to, usually.”
She was relieved when he smiled rather than judged. “That’s not a bad philosophy for life, in my opinion. It honestly sounds appealing.”
Octavia crossed her arms defensively, even in the face of his reassurance. “It’d be nice to know what I’m doing for once.”
“Did you hurt your hand?”
At the mention of her injury, Octavia's gaze flickered down to the palm that had so viciously been attacked by a birch minutes before his arrival. She rolled her eyes inwardly, the mere motion of raising her hand aloft for inspection enough to remind her of a dull pain once forgotten. It still oozed slightly, albeit a far more muted red. She would, at least, keep exactly how she got hurt close to her heart. Her smile was strained.
“Yeah. Just…wasn’t paying attention and cut it on something. It’s no big deal.”
The concern in River’s eyes for such a small wound was surprising, if nothing else. “Does it hurt?”
Octavia paused. “I-I mean, a little, but it’s seriously nothing.”
For a moment, he was silent. He didn’t necessarily have to get up to reach his partner’s case, fumbling with extended fingers just to grasp its handle. Still, it did take him at least some effort to drag the bulky black box in his direction. He was gentle with the way he avoided Stradivaria’s case in the process, hauling his own concealed instrument through the rustling grass with one surprisingly-strong hand. River did need to claim some space to actually unlatch the case, perched comfortably on his knees as he flipped silver locks without hesitation. Octavia’s confusion took a backseat to her curiosity. She’d been wondering since she’d gotten to Tacell.
The Harmonial Instrument he drew into his arms with such love and care was absolutely stunning, pristine and vibrant shades of warm blacks and whites capturing the sun with each subtle movement. It had been quite some time since she’d actually seen poplar. Octavia had grown so accustomed to mahogany, rosewood, cherry oak, and yet more different woods she’d tethered to the Maestro world. Now, it was beautiful, elegantly contoured and accentuated spectacularly by keys that glistened beneath the autumn rays above.
It was more than large enough to take up the length of his lap, let alone the width of his arms. Still, by the way he held it close, and for how River’s fingers settled snugly atop the shimmering keys in question, she doubted he minded in any capacity. The exceedingly simple words that left Octavia’s mouth spat in the face of the striking first impression River’s partner had left on her.
“It’s…an accordion,” she observed aloud. Immediately, she felt like an idiot.
If he thought her to be one, she knew he’d never say it--to the Ambassador in particular, more than likely. River nodded quietly instead.
“This is Renegadria,” he offered. “My partner.”
Octavia smiled, more so at the accordion than River himself. His Muse was in there, surely. Acquainted as they were, the sight of its vessel still warranted a fresh greeting all the same. “It’s nice to meet you, then.”
“Can I see your hand?”
With her words mostly discarded, all that remained was--primarily--confusion. She did as she was told, uncurling her fingers and resting her still-stinging palm in the soft grass below.
“Did you get hurt anywhere else, or just there?” he asked.
Octavia raised an eyebrow. “I…just there. Why?”
River didn’t give her the clarity she'd hoped for. “Stay still, okay?”
She, too, didn’t get to answer him back. All Octavia got instead was one of the most beautiful songs she’d ever heard.
Perhaps it was the way she’d grown so accustomed to the melodies of Harmonial Instruments that sang to her every day, her own included. That wasn't to say that she’d even slightly tired of Stradivaria’s lovely ballads--nor Silver Brevada’s, nor Royal Orleans’, nor any other that she’d come to love. The song River wove for her was refreshing, dusting her soul with a soft breeze much like those which rested beyond his touch.
What clarity she’d sought from his words was unnecessary relative to the purity of his melody. The sound of the accordion that graced Octavia’s ears further confirmed her belief that she was, in fact, in Heaven. River's song sufficed to make her heart happy, evidenced by a smile she couldn’t suppress. She would’ve offered it to him, had she been somewhat less perplexed about the wind.
Octavia was well aware that it was possible to play without touching upon a legacy, for how many times she’d turned to Stradivaria’s dim song on starry nights. It sufficed to explain the lack of breezes or gusts brushing her face, initially. Rather, she found a tempered wind, aimed squarely down into the patch of grass that tickled her fingers. It wasn’t helping, and the rustling blades irritated her skin somewhat as they swayed beneath a Spirited song. The only thing more concerning than the discomfort it caused was the fact that she could see it.
She hadn’t seen it in quite awhile. In truth, Octavia had only seen it once ever.
It was green, a striking viridian that reminded her of Lyra’s luminescent beauty. The winds he wove--quite literally wove, if the streaming strands of rope-like gusts settling onto her skin were any indicator--were painless, if not pleasantly warm. She didn’t particularly dislike the sensation, resisting the urge to yank her trembling hand away. Wisps of green layered themselves daintily and politely atop her tiny wound in turn. They crisscrossed, bending and folding like mesh. There was nothing to feel all the way through, save for the same light sensation of heat. Her prior stinging and aching gradually lessened by the second.
When his song tapered to a close, Octavia lamented its end just as much as she contemplated its intent. She peeled her fingers off of the grass, turning them over tentatively as she inspected what once had been a wound. It didn’t throb, nor sting, nor pulse. Instead, it was content to settle beneath an enduring viridian bandage, born of a force she couldn’t pinpoint. No amount of bringing it closer to her eyes was offering any explanation.
She raised her eyes to River in search of clarification--or, at the very least, to give her thanks for the lovely performance. One of his fingers was bleeding, the cracked skin of his fingertip seeping red quietly onto a sparkling key.
“You’re bleeding,” Octavia murmured with worry, every question she’d formed fleeing from her lips.
River shook his head with a faint smile. “It’ll stop soon enough. It doesn’t really hurt.”
“What…was that?” she finally asked, flexing her fingers over her palm experimentally.
“My gift,” he said. “You’ve…been told of that at least, right?”
It clicked. When it clicked, it crashed, and she could've shattered like glass. Octavia’s stomach twisted into a knot.
“You…did you just…”
River nodded. “Does it feel better?”
Octavia’s eyes had pooled with tears before she’d even noticed. It took conscious effort to keep her voice from wavering, and just as much conscious effort to keep from grabbing River’s hands. “Why would you do that?”
“I wanted to.”
“You know what that does to you, right?” she asked, her voice nearly cracking.
He nodded. “I know.”
“Then why? Over something so little?” Octavia cried, well aware of her volume. “It would’ve healed in a few days!”
“That’s what we’re meant to do,” River said, resting his arms comfortably atop his partner. “It’s the duty of the Spirited.”
“Your life is worth so much more than just…just…this!” Octavia exclaimed, holding her trembling palm before him for emphasis.
“It didn’t take that much.”
“How much?”
“Three days.”
She winced, struggling to stifle her tears. “River, that’s still three days you’ll never get back!”
His calm was agonizing. Octavia couldn't stand it. “I don’t mind. This is what I’m meant to do, and this is what I want to do. Otherwise, this wouldn’t be my legacy. I ration it. I know my limits. I’ve…never had to heal a truly serious wound before. If a day comes where I do need to, I’ll be ready.”
Octavia couldn’t stop at least one tear from escaping, despite her best efforts. “It adds up. That isn’t fair to you. You’re worth more than that. Please, please don’t waste your life on things like this.”
River’s face fell, his eyes softening. “Please don’t cry. I’m sorry if I made you upset. I…didn’t like knowing the Ambassador was injured, no matter how slightly.”
“Don’t hurt yourself on my behalf just because I’m the Ambassador,” Octavia murmured sadly.
“We all would,” he explained. “In a heartbeat, we all would do the same.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“All of the Spirited here. We take turns. We’re cautious about it, and we know our gifts are…finite. Even so, we know the power they possess, and we won’t let them go to waste. If it means protecting the Ambassador, then nothing is a waste, no matter how small.”
Octavia struggled to swipe the tears out of her eyes. “It…goes both ways, you know. I don’t want people putting me up on a pedestal just because I’m the Ambassador. I want to be able to protect other people, too. I don’t want you to feel like you need to protect me--any of you.”
River wasn’t ignoring her as he resheathed his partner, delicately settling the lovely accordion back into its bulky home. “We know you don’t need protection, but we still want to fight by your side. We’ll do whatever needs to be done,” he said, clicking each silver lock firmly into place.
Octavia sighed. “How many times have you used your gift? Does your partner have any way of, like…keeping track of how much you’ve used up, if you know what I mean?”
“As in, cumulatively?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
River paused for a moment. “A little over four years.”
Octavia didn’t cry again. Still, his words were enough to sting her heart. “River,” she scolded plainly.
“That’s in total since I became a Maestro,” he specified.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Does this…really bother you that much?” River asked.
Octavia nodded quietly. River’s best attempts at handing her a reassuring smile were respectable.
“If I told you that this is what I want, that this is the way I’m happiest to spend my life, would that help anything?”
She went for honesty. Octavia shook her head. River chuckled.
“I can understand that, I suppose. I respect that we have different ways of thinking. I’m somewhat flattered that my life matters to the Ambassador this much.”
“I’m not just the Ambassador,” she blurted out. “I’m Octavia, too.”
Her sudden exclamation startled him, somehow, and he tensed. Still, the warmth of his smile thawed her chilled words moments later. “I’m…happy that my life matters to Octavia, then.”
Hearing her name on his lips again--her true name, devoid of her title--was highly comforting. Octavia wished he’d make it his default. She liked the way it sounded when he said it, far less formal and far more friendly. Part of her wondered if she could get him to say it again, if not solely to test the feeling in her ears once more.
She didn’t get the opportunity. She heard the grass rustling before she could see whatever had made it sway. She initially believed her obscured vision to be the fault of a passing cloud, sudden and somehow heavy enough to block out much more sunshine than was reasonable. Clouds didn’t have bows. Octavia blinked.
“Hey.”
For someone who was such an advocate of shade, Octavia could at least respect the way Viola went out of her way to provide a bit more than she already had. She raised her head slowly. “Hey.”
Apparently, whatever conversation she’d been engrossed in--heart-to-heart or otherwise--didn’t take priority. “Do you have a second?”
Octavia raised an eyebrow. “I’m…kind of in the middle of something.”
Her eyes drifted to River for emphasis. He didn’t particularly emote, content to gaze up at Viola with patience.
Viola smirked. “I need you to be in the middle of something else.”
Only now did Octavia frown. “Is this really that important?”
“This…wasn’t my idea. I’m kind of a messenger right now,” Viola admitted.
This was getting more confusing with every word. “What are you even talking about?”
Viola didn’t grace her with a straightforward answer. The most she got was one hand, extended downwards in an offer of assisted levitation. “Madrigal’s idea. You’ll see.”
Against her better judgment, particularly with another hesitant glance at River, Octavia accepted her physical aid. “You can’t just tell me?”
Viola rolled her eyes, pulling the Ambassador to her feet. “Even I don’t particularly know where she’s going with this one. Just…indulge her, alright?”
“You’re so cryptic,” Octavia scolded.
“Have fun,” River offered with a delicate smile, still comfortably perched in the grass.
Octavia winced. She hadn’t exactly wanted to surrender that conversation yet. “Do you wanna come with us?”
It was Viola’s turn to eye her warily. It was also Viola’s fault for not clarifying where they were going in the first place. She at least did her due diligence in asking after the fact.
“Can he come?” Octavia whispered to her.
To her mild surprise, Viola shrugged with a smile. “I don’t see why not. He just…might not get a lot out of wherever this is headed.”
His eyes widened somewhat at the invitation. Regardless, he met Viola’s smile with the one he’d already donned for Octavia. “I mean, if you don’t mind having me along, I don’t have anywhere else to be for now. I can’t say I’m not curious.”
Octavia groaned. “Yeah, she’s really good at not being straightforward when she wants to be.”
Viola elbowed her gently in the ribs. “Like I said, I’m a messenger. Let’s just go. You’ll see what I mean. I’m a little afraid of whatever she’s got in mind.”
Octavia couldn’t fight the tiny smirk that came packaged with an exasperated sigh. Still, she was at least satisfied to see River trailing close behind, keeping up with Viola’s pitiful half-jog as she surrendered to the slowest tugging imaginable. For all of the weight their discussion had held, Octavia was surprised to see him smiling at all. Viola's fingers, loosely intertwined with her own, brushed against her palm again and again. The lack of stinging pain, each and every time, was a stark reminder of just how different the boy’s ideologies truly were.