Chapter 59 – Fallen Angel

Wherein Valentina steps far outside her comfort zone.

Valentina clung to Bosra for the entirety of Rose’s initial performance. It was like nothing Rose had played before, and the young bard played daily. She tapped along just like everyone else. She loved the cheer that went up when Rose finished with a squeal and a bow. She loved it even more when Rose repeated her song and everyone there joined in for the chorus.

Many more people came out to listen and join in. 

When the crowd broke up at the end of her second play-through, Valentina wanted to scramble. She was tempted to crawl under the closest table and stay there until the morrow.

But she wouldn't; there was more to lose by leaving than by staying and misbehaving. 

Inaction switched to action when she spotted Brittany slinking off, with only a fraction of her crew trailing behind her, listening to her complaints. Instantly, she knew what to do. 

Valentina moved to intercept. 

"Brittany!" she called out, waving excitedly, whilst acting surprised to see her cousin here. Cousin by her mother's line, not her father's; something Brittany had definitely hoped was different. 

Brittany halted in her exit, turned, blanched, then sneered: "If it isn't Valentina the ascended."

Valentina laughed. "I will take that moniker over princess plush." 

"Who is she?" one of the hangers on stage-whispered.

"My cousin, the high and mighty princess."

"Yeah? But who is she?"

Valentina waited calmly for Brittany to answer that question. 

"Valentina of Effyne," Brittany grumbled. Effyne was in the top three of well-known names, probably sharing second place with Queen Raevyn, first place belonging to King Adevald himself. 

"Effyne? Like Arch-Duke Effyne?" there was obvious awe in the girl's voice. "You're an Effyne?"

"Well... I am his oldest daughter, not his wife," Valentina replied with a shrug, like she ambitioned her mother's position. 

Half the listeners flocked to her. 

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Brittany asked, not liking this desertion of her most loyal followers. 

"According to my mother, you are having such a wonderful time here, that I came to check it out myself."

Brittany narrowed her eyes. What she told her parents and what was reality were two different things. Valentina knew that. She smiled sweetly. 

The young men and women around her, though, squealed with delight, which Valentina associated with Rose's Pig song. It made her chuckle. "What should I really try?" she asked coyly, expecting this would get her into trouble fastest. 

She was pulled along, into the building, into the dining room, where she was given some snacks and drinks. Wine was quickly replaced with far stronger stuff. Soon, Valentina forgot her inhibitions and moved with the crowd. When someone suggested naked painting, she went along, as if this was the best idea of the night. 

In a large room, looking like an old classroom or gymnasium of sorts, frames were set up with clean white bed sheets tied to them. They made for strange screens. Some had odd imprints on them, like someone had rolled around on them, but vertically. 

When her companions started to strip, Valentina let her dress slip to the floor, where her stockings and heels joined the piles that looked mostly like painted mole hills on grey linoleum.

 "Partner up!" someone called. 

 A kind of handsome, but lanky kid attached himself to Valentina by grabbing her arm. Tina was happy he came to stand next to her, so she didn't have to look at his private parts. She was trying really hard not to look at anyone's appendages, be it tits or dangly bits. 

 It was different, she found, looking at statues of naked warriors and half-dressed fae, or looking at the real thing. Worst of all, the exposed meat market was ugly. Twenty-five years of looking at refined art had not prepared her for this inopportune moment. 

 Because Tina was busy avoiding to look at various body-parts, she missed the arrival of a youngish woman dressed in nothing but a wraparound dress carrying several buckets of paint. 

 "What colour do you like?" the lanky kid asked, looking her up and down with eager eyes. 

 "Light blue," she answered without thinking, the question coming out of nowhere. 

 The kid moved to grab a jar and fill it in a bucket. "There's purple, too. How about orange?"

 "Too garish," she replied, thinking of Venlica's lessons on colour schemes and theories. "How about a soft green?"

 "Sure." The kid grabbed that. Then grabbed something else for himself. "Do you want me to soap you up?" Again, his eyes scanned her slender form from top to bottom. She knew because a certain part of his anatomy raised itself up. 

"I think I can do this myself." She knew that it would be better for her to fall from grace if she let him do it, but she couldn't get herself there. So she accepted a pot, the light blue one, and following the kid's example, started lathering it on thickly. It was cold, it drooped, it tickled and itched. She choked down a gag.  

"Let me do your back," the kid said, holding the soft green paint. 

"Just... pour it on." Valentina really didn't want his hands on her body. Like basting a brisket, sometimes you just had to pour the sauce on. She shivered as the cold gloop dripped down her back and got into her crack. Now she did gag. It made the kid chuckle. 

"Come one, now we find an empty canvas."

She let him grab her hand, let him lead her through the dance that was apparently performed on opposite sides of the suspended sheet, if the other pairs were any example. Ridiculously, they were humping each other with a thin veil between them. There was a lot of grunting and giggling, a lot of excited chattering; birds in spring. 

The woman in the wraparound dress offered Valentina a shot of something strong. She downed it in one swig. She was desperate for some liquid courage. It tasted herbal and sweet, and it burned on the way down. Licking her lips, Valentina tasted something she couldn’t place. Seconds later, she felt like a jellyfish.

Rolling around on the vertical sheet was suddenly not as unwanted as it had been. The sheet felt nice against her slick skin. Rubbing on it made her feel all tingly and bubbly.

As the paint was drying, it started itching terribly. Someone suggested going for a swim in the fountain, and that sounded like a wonderful idea to Valentina. The fountain would be cold where her body was hot. The burning from inside made the paint dry faster. 

Valentina stumbled down the hall to the stairs with a group of painters. She tripped and bumped into something hard. She also fell and rolled down the last set of stairs. It was only six steps, not that far, but it hurt. In the roll, she twisted her elbow.

Someone helped her up. She was crying, they were laughing. 

She felt lost – a kid in a hedge maze – while those around her proudly paraded down the Avenue des Arts to the fountain in the plaza. They arrived there before she could find another place to be. She was lifted and dunked.

Her screams were muffled by the water that suddenly filled her mouth. She flailed, trying to find the surface, but the jellyfish-like feeling made coordination impossible.

A big, strong grey arm plucked her from the water. She was set on her feet, water and paint washing down her naked body. Her knees buckled and hit the pavement.  

Right at that moment, whilst she was surrounded by likewise naked people, in front of the commemorative fountain, a bright light flashed, followed by the telltale rattle of a thaumic instant-sketcher. Valentina blinked. A white circle burned into her retina.

There was another flash, another rattle. Valentina’s vision whited out. She puked.

"You’re done," a deep, husky, familiar voice said. Valentina drifted sideways, cradling her painful arm, and let her head hit the cool tiles of the public passage.