Dara

Dara on the Loose

An interim log from A Grand Affair
includes Dara

That did not go well.

Yeah, that was the best I could do.

Dara stops as the door shuts behind her, one hand against the grain of the wood. She doesn't really want to leave, but does not want to stay either. And finally... finally... bolting becomes the answer. She walks quickly to the end of the hall, not quite running, but keeping a slower pace only by pure strength of will. Finding a door open, she slips into a side room, pushing the door shut behind her.

Alone.

This isn't what you want, either.

I suppose you're right.

She sinks down in a high backed chair, letting it surround her, letting her body go limp and boneless for a moment. Just a moment, really. There is no true relaxation in her right now. She catches herself drumming with her fingers on the arm of the chair and caught by the noise she cocks her head to listen to what her subconscious has given her. A faint smile as she recognizes the cadence of the song Random had drawn her into with the blades. It amuses her for a moment.

Maybe Benedict had a point.

It doesn't involve needing a partner in any way. So it's an idea.

Dara leans up, dragging herself back into form. She leans over her legs, elbows balanced on her knees, looking down and surveying her feet.

Are you going to sit around all day? There isn't any point in stewing.

She reaches down and tugs off one boot, then the accompanying sock, and then the other set. She shoves the socks deep into the boots and then tucks them all under the chair. She stretches out her legs and wiggles her toes in the soft carpet, enjoying the feel over her skin. Leaning down, she stretches her hands out and touches her toes. Fingers glide up over her shins, taking the cuffs of her slacks and rolling them up so that the loose cuffs now fall just below her knees, comfortably out of the way.

As she stands, her toes curl into the soft rug, and she sighs. Tickling slightly, the sensation whispers through her like the touch of fingers trailing just above her arm. Pleasing. She pulls her hands up through her hair, twisting the copper strands, separating them with her fingers and willing some of the strands stiff in order to tie it up into a single intricate braid held in place by willpower.

She stretches, reaching up towards the ceiling.

Ready?

Go.

Spinning, she turns to the door and pulls it open. Her bare feet slap hard against the stone floor as she moves into the hallway, and she turns to slam the door behind her. "Sorry." A soft apology murmured to the maid who stands there in the hallway, blinking a moment at the sudden appearance. Dara flashes a smile at her. "Can you point me towards the kitchens."

The maid is too well trained to show surprise for more than a moment. She points down the hallway. "That way, Lady."

"Perfect, thank you." And Dara turns and begins to run.

She was cute.

You so sure I do? I'm not. I'll take running for the moment.

Each step ricochets up her leg, stone impacting the bottoms of her feet. Faint scrapes from as her feet move along the stone until the bottoms burn. She could shift but she does not. Instead she focuses on the pain, focuses on every thud, every slap of flesh on stone. She veers around the runners and carpets, avoiding soft terrain. Her nostrils flared, inside of her nose shifting to scent the kitchen. Rich scents rolled over her, and she followed them.

You sure?

I'm sure. Let's go.

Dara turns, and begins mounting the stairs. One step at a time, pulling herself up.

Faster.

She pushes herself, turning up the speed. She skips steps, mounting two at a time, lenghtening her stride. She stumbles, striking her knee against the stone and bites her tongue, refusing to cry out. She pushes herself up and goes again, sprinting to the roof. She turns immediately, heading back down. Three steps, then leap out, catching another step further down and leap again. Long jumps.

Faster. FASTER.

Past the kitchen. All the way down, to the cellars. No stopping, skidding off the bottom step and down onto her ass. Scrapes up her legs but she doesn't care, doesn't shift them away. Burning skin, burning... she just turns and starts up again.

Faster. Harder.

Kitchen again, passing near it three steps at a time. Half-leaping, half-running, sometimes stumbling. It isn't a pretty sight. Every second of her attention is on the run.

She turns abruptly on a landing, not really caring where she is and begins to run through the castle. She ignores the servants as she races past, suspecting that she's generating gossip and not really caring. Through the castle, into the family wing.

You don't know who's here.

Doesn't matter. They'll talk anyway. I'm Dara.

Thudding through the wing, up stairs and down, half lost. Up stairs, down the stairs again... finally finding her own floor by scent and recognition. She stops abruptly.

A young man stands watching her. Dara vaguely remembers passing him once before, although she can't remember which floor it was on. She can't remember a name, or remember if she's seen him before. She leans against the wall, running one hand through her hair, pulling the braid out and combing it with her fingers.

"Can I help you, Lady?"

Yes.

"Something to drink, please. And to eat." Dara gestures down the hall. "That's my room, right there."

"I know, Lady." He nods, bowing faintly. "It will be up shortly."

"Thank you."

There were other options.

Why?

Dara watches as he walks away. "Wait."

He turns to look back. "Yes?"

Yes?

"I've changed my mind. I'll be going down to the baths. Can something be delivered there?"

He nods. "Of course. I will have something prepared and brought."

"Thank you." Finally, she goes to her room. Some of the energy is gone, expended throughout the castle. She can feel her feet throbbing now and smiles slightly.

It isn't much, but it's home.

She sighs as she looks around her room. She strips as she walks through the room, tossing the shirt casually onto the bed, following by the slacks kicked off next to the bed. She'll have to go get the boots eventually. Later. There's still time before dinner. Right now, it's relaxation time.

There is a robe in her wardrobe, and she pulls it on, tying it tight around her waist. She glances in the mirror. Decent enough. With any luck she can find the baths on her own, without getting lost. She shifts the pain away from her feet, healing small cuts and bruises with little effort. She has something different to look forward to now.

The walk is done at a sedate pace, making her way to the baths without interruption. There is no sign of the young man she sent off, nor her drink and food. A wistful sigh, and the robe is left in a puddle on the floor.

You're hungry.

No. Not really.

She slips into the tub, and leans back, closing her eyes. She breathes in deeply, filling her lungs with air and then letting it out slowly.

Breathe. Relax.

I am.

She sighs softly, enjoying the feel of warmth surrounding her, letting her float gently, not quite asleep, but not quite awake either.