Odorless, colorless, almost tasteless - but the tiny fragments of taste still left could be blamed on the quality. She hadn't expected Rabbit to get the purest form available, the cost alone was prohibitive, and this would do. Temperance swirled her coffee around and around and around, watching it lap at the edges of her silly, Portal-themed mug. 'I think we can put our differences behind us. For science. You monster.' Somehow, it was horribly fitting, although she'd forgotten she even owned it. The liquid was dark, deep, and not marred by sugar or cream. This was her second and last cup. She sighed, stretched, felt tension radiate up from her neck and into her cranium. Waiting was, surprisingly, the hardest part.

She let her eyes ghost over her own apartment, picking out the changes one by one. There was new clothing - things more girly, more feminine than what Temperance tended to wear. There was makeup on her bedside table: a worn-down eyeliner pencil in a glittering black, lipsticks in colors like Chatterbox and Speak Louder and Shanghai Spice. An odd flower crown, her video game figures shoved aside, the posters on her walls all rearranged. Despite this, everything was neater than she'd left it and it made Temperance feel... guilty, somehow. Like she'd never done enough before, lived enough in her own space. Maybe she'd move after this was done, start new. Her leg bounced impatiently. Typically, this was the time she'd arrive home. The pot of coffee sat in front of her on the small, folding table, but Temperance only nursed the nearly-full cup she had. Then, the click of a key in the lock had her stiffening, but only momentarily before she forced herself to relax. This was her space.

Hart sighed as she opened the flimsy door, wondering if she should change her outfit and go out. The small apartment often felt stifling and Hart thrived most around other people. It even gave her a small thrill to think of herself as a part of 'other people'. But this was all for a purpose, she reminded herself, dragging her fingers through blonde hair. Soon enough she would be free, have her own life, make her own choices, be herself in an entirely new way. Still, there were odd moments when she kind of missed her life at the court. Silk had always been kind, in a sort of stern way (even if Hart suspected Silk hated her). If a fetch hadn't liked dusting, they weren't assigned it - little things like that. It was as much as job as it was a lifestyle, but Silk had a good head on her shoulders. She remembered Noah and Noel, too, although Hart hadn't known them well, the hulking beasts. Cook, Beel (silly Beel, it had been nice to see him again), and, above them all, nobles and fetches alike, was the Spinel Lady. She was gorgeous in a way nothing else was, like glass that wounded and still sparkled even as it cut deep. It made her withered heart hurt to think of the Lady.

She shut the door behind her, blues eyes gleaming oddly as she clicked the lock into place. "Hello Temperance, have you come to try and take this back?" She'd known this was coming. Hart had debated going to find Temperance, to cement her place in this world sooner, but it seemed like such effort. This world was exhausting, but fun, and it was nice to look in the mirror and see plump skin instead of wizened flesh, even if Temperance wasn't exactly pretty. Hart could work with it. But for now, she toed off her teal-colored sneakers and shrugged out of her jacket. Then she bustled around, pouring herself a cup of coffee. Unlike Temperance, Hart added both cream and sugar.

"I came back just to talk. You know that conference that took place recently, right?" Hart sat in the remaining chair, pushing it far back enough that she could cross one slim leg over the other. Temperance shifted to face her fully. It was strange, with their shared faces, unnerving when she needed nerves most.

"I'm aware. What of it? Fetches not currently in the employ of either the Lady or of an active Noble were not invited." She shrugged, a pretty, practiced roll of her shoulders, designed especially to highlight her bust - not that Temperance's body had much of one, not that Temperance needed to stare at her own boobs. Wait, hers weren't so large... Startled, she looked up at the fetch. Hart took a sip of her coffee, made a face, and added more sugar. Temperance followed suit, minus the sugar. She paused, eyeing Hart again for a moment. She supposed, side by side in the mirror, there would be minor differences by now: like looking into a fun-house style mirror that just tricked the patron into seeing a more attractive version of herself. Who wouldn't want to be more attractive than Temperance? Swallowing a sigh, Temperance reminded herself not to be bitter; that was the coffee's job.

Shifting, she pulled out her notebook and flipped to a blank page. Her wrist still hurt horribly; it would scar - so the handwriting that scrawled across the blank page would be atrocious, although thankfully still legible. "Well, I spoke to Beel there, and I wanted to gather information." Temperance looked up again. Hart arched an eyebrow. "About the court - like, what you would like to see changed, maybe? They are trying to re-write the charter. Well... to destroy it and re-create it entirely." Temperance's gaze was expectant, blue eyes wide and dark circles smudged under each one. She really did want to know what Hart thought, even if the fetch was hellbent on stealing her life. Even if she was asking with ulterior motives in mind. Even if she'd drugged the rest of the coffee after pouring herself a second cup. The coffee that Hart had thoroughly doctored with cream and sugar. As though she could hear Temperance's thoughts, Hart took another drink.

It was complicated.

The fetch tucked a strand of wavy blonde hair behind one ear and laughed a little. "You know I don't intend to return to the, the court, right?" It felt weird, somehow, to speak of the court here. Her smile didn't reach her eyes one iota. No, Temperance wasn't about to forget Hart's original goals. She remained silent, waiting for the fetch to speak again. "But, suppose I humor you. Hmmm... I would like fetches to have more chances at a 'normal' life." Her hands lowered from the air quotes to wrap around her coffee cup again, pulling it up to her face. Hearts crawled across the side of it. Not a mug she'd bought, Temperance noticed dispassionately. "Not necessarily unbound entirely from the court - but who wants to... to live as a servant simply because, at one point, you wanted a little too much, tried a little too hard? It's not fair." Her fingernails - painted a perfect sky blue - tapped the mug as she blinked a bit sleepily, the syllables of her words drawing out oddly here and there. After a moment, Hart lifted and drained the cup. "Right? You know... you know..." She breathed out slowly, looking vaguely befuddled. "Why do you deserve a life more than, than... me?"

Temperance tapped her own worn fingernails against her cup. "It's not about deserving a life more than you, Hart. It's that this... this is my chance." Drawing in a sharp breath, she locked eyes with the fetch, her stare hard, almost stormy. "You already had yours." Hart rolled her eyes, although the motion made her dizzy. Could this girl... this nobody be any more dramatic? She took a deep breath, even expanding her lungs felt like too much effort right now. Maybe she was just tired; her bones felt loose.

-----

A sharp crack echoed in the small apartment. Temperance drew her hand back, watching as a red mark blossomed on Hart's cheek. The fetch moved sluggishly, returning to consciousness.

Temperance couldn't stand the thought of looking into her own eyes, especially dulled by the drug and blurry with accusations. But a thick strip of cloth had prevented that. Hart's mouth, though, she left untouched. They needed to have a nice, long talk. "Stay with me, Hart," she said, her mouth almost touching Hart's ear, breath whispering across glamoured skin. The fetch jerked sluggishly against her bonds. "Listen to me." She knew the rope would hold; Hart was at her mercy, even if she was pulling feebly away from Temperance, her breath labored. The chair she was in creaked and Temperance was glad that gamma hydroxybutyrate impaired motor functions as well as muddled the brain. Unconsciousness, labored breathing, sweating, confusion - she had picked this particular street drug for very, very specific reasons. Of course, it was also prescribed for narcolepsy or rather, used in medications to treat that, but it was more often used at raves or for other, more nefarious purposes.

"You know, you were right the first time; I came to take back what was always mine." She smiled although Hart could not see it. It helped.

The fetch swallowed, feeling dizzy. "What was y-yours? You can't take what it is mine, now. I've... done things... to your life that you can't, can't recover from, T-" She stumbled. "Temperance." Hart slurred her words, the menace in them tempered by a bit of fear. She felt so heavy, so strange; her thoughts ran in confusing circles and she swore she could see Temperance despite the blindfold. "I was better than you at your o-own life!" This was the part that Hart had prepared for - all the instances in which she was better, how she was more thorough, more conscientious, deserved more. But the words had flown. The fetch had expected to physically fight Temperance, as well to pin her down underneath her until she knew what Hart was capable of, to take and take and take until Temperance was nothing under her hands but a sobbing mess of a person. She needed acknowledgement; she needed... She licked her lips. Temperance wanted her to yield, but that was the end of everything. She opened her mouth and was cut off.

"You don't have to force yourself to say my name, Hart. It's okay. I know you haven't done anything, not really. You're incapable." If Temperance had bluffed her way through the void, she could do it now, and she knew some of what Hart had done. Not all of it, but some. The incident with Sonny would be something best left for later, or perhaps never. They hadn't seemed especially pleased after the new sigil had been created, and she imagined their mood could only have worsened. But if she could get through this, she could get through anything. Another smile pulled at her lips. She leaned over and drew a finger down Hart's cheek and the fetch flinched away. "That was a clever bit with Chief Mercer, though. But, Hart, what will it be? I'll need an answer soon and you can feel it, can't you - sliding through your bloodstream, making your limbs heavy, your head muddled? You feel what I've done to you." She settled her hand around Hart's throat, feeling the knocking of her pulse. There was something exhilarating about this, in a horrible way. Temperance didn't want to examine the thought too closely.

Hart was silent for a long while, and Temperance could almost see the cogs attempting to turn in her brain. She leaned closer, her blonde hair falling forward to brush against the fetch's cheek. "Poison, my Hart," she breathed. "You thought the coffee tasted strange, didn't you? You've underestimated me, and now you'll pay for it. You want to know which kind, I know, but that's not fair. None of this is ever fair. I did want your opinion about the court, Hart. I want to know what you wanted within it. I don't want you as a servant, but a companion, a source. It's your choice. I have an antidote, of course - I'm not stupid." She moved to sit back down in her vacated chair and methodically began to pile the pieces of broken coffee mug together. Hart had dropped it rather suddenly. Of course it wasn't fair to treat a fetch as a personal servant, she thought. It seemed like Beel and Shiloh were happy with each other. While Temperance enjoyed feeling as through she were in control, as though people listened to her... this was different.

When she spoke again, Hart was nearly yelling and Temperance was glad she had no neighbors. For the most part, she tuned out the fetch. Nothing Hart could say would be important in this moment. Besides, she was fairly certain most of it was rather creative expletives. She did catch bits of it - about Hart's past, about her time here. The zing of knowing Hart had walked across the graduation stage instead of her hurt, but it wouldn't matter in the end. Temperance had been accepted into her master's program before she'd left to become a part of the court. Nothing Hart could say now matter, even when it hurt, even when Temperance thought wistfully of the pros and cons of ball gags versus cloth gags, even when Hart's voice grew scratchier. Her tongue tripped over itself, her words mixed themselves up. She was just barely understandable, if Temperance had been listening. She wasn't, lest her resolution waver. She took the time to braid her hair back, to sweep the broken mug into the trash, pour out the drugged coffee. Throughout this, she never said a word, not when Hart asked for it, then demanded it. She said nothing at all. Let the fetch rage, let her talk her tired, let her express everything she'd ever wanted to while constrained in the rope and cloth: an extension of Temperance's hands holding her fast. Then Hart's voice was flagging, her breathing become slower and slower as she slipped away.

Temperance slammed her hand down on the table, the sound loud enough to cut through Hart's haze. The fetch jerked. "Time's almost up, Hart. You won't last much longer. The next time you lose consciousness will be the last. Just yield and I will fix this." Buy the lie, Temperance repeated in her head like a chant. "I'd like to avoid death, if possible, but... you know, you're already dead, so..." As if Temperance could let anyone die so cavalierly. She was banking everything on the fact that there was no way Hart could know her as well as she knew herself. She would give the fetch another five minutes. Temperance settled back down into her chair and admired the way Hart slumped against the ropes.

Three minutes and fifty-seven seconds. "F-fine. I yield. You win, you b***h." Hart's voice shuddered out slowly, tongue thick with the desire to slip into unconsciousness, head spinning though she knew she was still. "Fix me, already!" A flush rode high on Hart's pale cheeks. Temperance's eyes flew wide and she barely had a chance to contain her gasp. She'd... she'd done it. This would be a horrible mess to figure out later, Hart would be hers and they'd begun on a betrayal of trust... but that was a problem for future Temperance. This Temperance smiled and put a shaking hand to her lips.

"Good girl. I knew you'd come around, Hart. I have been waiting long enough." But Hart was already changing before her eyes. Once the words were spoken, it was over. Her skin darkened, became sunken in, her hair curled up. Even Hart's body shrank. And with her change, came a sudden clarity as the drugs disappeared from her system. Fetches, after all, are immune to such things. Hart gasped, her whole body shuddering - the knowledge of what had happened raced through her and she felt sick, betrayed, horrified that her chance was gone. She was, once again, bound by the court. Hart slipped her thinner hands through the now-loose-enough bonds, then pulled off her blindfold. Pale eyes stared balefully at Temperance as she rubbed her wrists. The fetch might have been beautiful once, Temperance thought. Her hair was a dark cloud around her head, her mouth slanted in a hard line. It felt so unreal to see, but she resisted the urge to pinch herself. It made her want to-

Temperance took a breath, stepped forward. "So this is-" "May I have your permission to leave?" Her voice was small and precise and it almost made Temperance wince. Frankly, she was surprised that the girl hadn't launched herself at Temperance once she'd wriggled out of the ropes. Hart stood, then bowed deeply, the movement stiff and unnatural. "Lady Temperance, may I return to the court?" Inflection-less, cold. To return upon failure would be horrible, but there was no other choice and she would rather not stay another second longer with this woman.

"Of-of course, Hart. I will come to you later?" Hart flinched. "If it please you." Then she turned and was abruptly gone. After a long moment, Temperance collapsed onto her bed. Rolling over, she buried her burning face into the pillows, remembering the feel of Hart's glamoured pulse against her fingers. Taking a deep breath, she screamed into the pillow, feeling like she should cry or laugh or anything or everything. This is how things ended; this is how they began. May twenty-first was the rest of forever.