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janet

; [interlude/closed post]

After a few dances -- with several attendees, but mostly with Lancelot -- Susan liberates two bottles of wine and a plate of food from the ballroom and slips off to go find Janet. Luckily, after struggling to track Lancelot down earlier in the week, she's made a point of mapping the location of everyone's rooms, and so she doesn't have to search to find Janet's.

She raps on the door with the back her hand, careful not to let the food or the wine jostle overmuch. "Diplomatic envoy for Queen Janet of Fillory," she calls.

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"All magic is insanely complicated." Janet pauses around a mouthful of wine. "Where I'm from, anyway. I know we talked about that. Like, it's blood, sweat, and tears just to pull off your first basic spell."

"Yes, hence the future welters handicap," Susan nods.

"Shen Yuan is going to regret the day he was born." Janet hesitates, but just for a second, and then shifts her weight to lean her head on Susan's shoulder and shut her eyes.

Susan gives into instinct and presses a kiss to the crown of Janet's head.

For a split second, Janet freezes. It's not disgust or anything. It's surprise. Then she feels herself smiling, and she gives Susan's thigh a fond little squeeze about it. She already said thanks, so she won't say it again, but that's the basic sentiment.

Susan doesn't need any thanks; she's perfectly happy to be skipping the party and hanging out with Janet instead. After a few minutes, she ventures, "Did you have attendants in Fillory? Ladies of the bedchamber or the like?"

"Ladies of the bedchamber," Janet repeats with amusement. "Not really. I mean, there were some servants at Castle Whitespire before it got obliterated, but not really like that." She fights back another smile and looks up at Susan, but without moving her head from where it's resting. "Why do you ask?"

"We didn't in Narnia, either, which is quite queer if you think about it," says Susan. "I mean, I suppose most of our small pool of servants hadn't any opposable thumbs, but on Earth and in all the stories, queens are closely attended. Usually by someone in the peerage, if memory serves." She pauses - she hopes that most of these queens are being fully serviced by their ladies. How deliciously forbidden that would be!

For all that she's given to fussing over the people she cares about, she's never really been one to seek out tending to a lover in any particular way. Still, it does seem rather romantic, in the classical sense, and it's clear that Janet is having more of a moment than Susan tonight. She shifts a little so that she can stroke her hand over the hair falling down Janet's back. "This might be heretical to say in Europe, but I imagine a queen could be considered a peer."

Janet's quiet again for a second. Her hand is still on Susan's thigh, which is comfortingly solid under the gown, and she rubs her thumb against it. "We're not in Europe," she points out. "We're not anywhere that we know of. I think we can do whatever. Also," she adds with another glance up at Susan, "I'm the other queen here, and I say you're right."

Susan presses another kiss to Janet's head; this one lands on her temple. "In that case," she says, aiming for a flirty, teasing tone. "Would Your Majesty like me to attend to her tonight?"

That makes Janet laugh, or at least gets a small huff of amusement out of her. "I'm not about to deny Her Other Majesty whatever she wants," she says, keeping her tone mostly pretty light.

"Diplomacy is a jolly wonderful thing," Susan says, matching Janet's tone. "A good way to affirm our newly-signed war treaty."

"Politics isn't so bad after all." There's another exhale of a laugh, and Janet drains her second mug of wine. She's feeling better, and she thinks it might not even be the booze. "This lady and her bedchamber are getting a serious upgrade."

"What sort of needs might Queen Janet have tonight?" Susan asks. "I could... brush your hair. Varnish your nails. Give you a massage." She runs her hand over Janet's shoulder, thumb brushing deliberately against her bra strap. "Or..."

She trails off. She'll let Janet set the tone.

Janet makes a considering kind of noise. She's genuinely trying to feel herself out, to figure out what she wants out of this. It's not easy at the best of times, when usually looking into herself doesn't yield much more than a core of seething anger. Tonight, it's especially difficult.

Well, she can start somewhere in the middle. "Let's say yes to the massage, no to a shirt during the massage."

"I can work with that," Susan says, running her hand more deliberately down Janet's back. "...My lady."

"Oh, is that how it's going to be?" Janet says, but she doesn't sound upset about it. She flashes another little smile up at Susan, then sits up, but only so she can start peeling her sweater off.

Susan pauses. "Do you mind if I change into something a little more... maneuverable?" The gown is gorgeous, but she can't exactly give a good massage in it.

Once she's out of her sweater and the camisole underneath it, Janet stops to look at Susan. There's a lingering half-smile on her face. "Don't let me stop you. Maneuverable is a good word."

"Just a moment, then," says Susan, and goes to rummage through Janet's wardrobe, which churns out, of all things, what seems to be a futuristic pajama set consisting of a tiny pair of shorts and a thin little sleeveless top that looks more like lingerie than anything, with its narrow lacy straps. She shrugs, though, and changes quickly into it with her back to Janet, leaving her gown draped over a chair. Once she's covered again, she unhooks her brassiere, pulling it free from her top, and drapes it over her gown, too - the one her own closet supplied to go with the gown was more decorative than functional, anyway.

Then she turns back to Janet. "Hello there," she says, taking her in.

Considering the way Susan usually dresses, it's surreal seeing her in a sexy little pajama set -- but not the bad kind of surreal. Obviously. Janet raises her eyebrows and gives Susan an exaggerated once-over. "Welcome to the sleepover."

Susan tracks Janet's gaze. "You know, despite the sorts of clothes this place tends to spit out for me by default, I've never really thought of pink as my color," she says; she prefers richer tones. "But it rather does know how to pick a flattering cut."

"You're definitely pulling it off," Janet agrees. Especially with the bra off, the overall effect is... striking, to say the least. She reaches behind herself to unclasp her own bra and then lets it slide off her shoulders.

Susan doesn't bother pretending to look away. "Have you got any lotion or oil you'd like me to use?" she asks, and then tacks on a flirty little, "Your Majesty?"

"What I wouldn't give for a Bath and Body Works," Janet says wistfully, but she'll take the excuse to stand and stretch and cross over to her desk again. This is a two-pronged attack: first, she pours some more wine into her mug. Then she grabs a bottle of lotion that's been hiding behind a stack of magic textbooks and offers it to Susan. There's no label -- maybe the mansion can't afford sponsorships? But it smells okay, a sort of generic musky floral scent.

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