Sleeping next to Emilia was the right thing to do; Olivier felt that deep in his soul, the part of him that had strained and near-shattered as he pulled her from the nightmare that had left her panting and sweaty and thrashing in bed slowly melding back together as she pressed harder and harder into him. That didn’t mean sleeping next to her also wasn’t torture—not that he was currently sleeping. Neither was Emilia, given the way she continued shifting, pressing closer, their hands still linked together like it was the only lifeline keeping either of them from floating away.
Emilia… perhaps she would float away into another nightmare. Of what, Olivier wasn’t certain. Dreaming of killing Zachariah Lumos was the first thing that had entered his mind, before he was even at her side, his hand laced through hers, his fingers unable to stop themselves from carding through her hair as he called to her. If he killed someone, he had no doubt it would cause his mind to spiral. Would he ever get over it? Would it matter if it were done to protect someone he loved? Probably not. Even if he were saving the lives of all his beloved cousins, Olivier knew his mind would never let him forget the life he had taken—not that he would ever regret saving the people he loved.
What a strange position to be in: to be tormented by dreams of a murder you could never regret. That would be him, but something told him that Emilia’s nightmare hadn’t been one of killing her friend’s stalker—if anything, he thought her the sort to not be plagued with remorse for a murder she had effectively been forced into.
Something else then. Something worse than killing Zachariah Lumos? There had been enough mentions of Emilia having potentially killed someone else that perhaps that was it? Although… no. Olivier didn’t think it was that, either, and as he lay in bed, one of the most beautiful women he had ever met pressed so nicely into him and reminding him of where he was liable to float if their hands unclasped—his hands would inevitably float back towards Emilia, seeking to comfort her in whatever way she wanted, his mind refusing to acknowledge all the reasons they couldn’t just find joy in one another’s bodies—Olivier contemplated the things that could have filled the silverstrain’s nightmare.
What things were worse than snuffing out a life, deserved or not? None of the answers his mind came to were good. Perhaps she had just been having a wild nightmare, brought into being by the cruelty of her mind as it rested and revolted. Perhaps it was something real—some terrible thing that had been done to her, inflicted upon her, Emilia’s hissed
no, please, don’t
echoing through his mind as the girl continued shifting, unable to get comfortable.
“Do you want to talk about it? Or something else?” he whispered into the dark, activating a function to reduce the discomfort in the arm Emilia had pulled between them. It was half-pinned to his side, half-pulled up so she could tuck their joined hands under her chin. Olivier wouldn’t take it away from her for anything short of an emergency, but it really was rather uncomfortable.
Her shifting and manoeuvring freezing, her breath catching in her throat, Olivier waited for Emilia to respond. It was a long wait, only the girl’s fingers, dancing over his hand in strange patterns that seemed familiar and yet not, telling him she hadn’t fallen asleep.
“It’s not a nice story,” she finally whispered back, voice barely more than a breath across his bare shoulder.
“If you want to share it, I will listen. It’s not as though I haven’t spent the last twenty years hearing horrific cases. I also will not push,” he said, wondering if his words had come off as dismissive to her. That certainly wasn’t the way he’d meant his remark about the cases; he hadn’t meant to imply that whatever she had to say could never be worse than the things he’d heard in cases—although, if it were worse, Olivier actually would be surprised and horrified—but his words could perhaps have been taken that way. Should he apologize and clarify?
“What’s the worst case you ever heard? Ah… if you can tell me. I know some stuff is probably confidential.”
“Some,” he agreed, contemplating the worst cases he had studied in school or read in random case files, the worst he had heard of through gossip and shared information at gatherings of lawyers.
Emilia was correct: a lot of what was discussed between lawyers was confidential, her own case included. It was only through the implicit understanding that information wouldn’t be shared that anything
was
shared. Still, Olivier trusted Emilia not to spread around what he told her, and the worst case he had heard… Well, it not only wasn’t exactly a case—although there was a legal aspect to it. Rather, it was more myth or horror story, unless one were inclined to belief the terror of it. He had never been sure whether to believe it or not, although he was quite sure that even so removed from the present that all parties were long dead—hopefully; always hopefully—the substance of it was likely based in fact. Even if it were true, having occurred so long ago, he saw no reason not to tell her of it… as long as she understood that she couldn’t repeat it.
“Given our association, if you spread it, I don't doubt that—were it to reach certain people’s ears—they would at least question whether the story came from me or not,” he told her, trying not to tense when she snuggled a bit closer. Really, he wanted to free his arm from her awkward grip and slip it under the girl, pull her so close she would be using him as an overly willing pillow. Olivier didn’t know how to cross that line, from person offering her a place to sleep and comfort after a nightmare into being a snuggle buddy.
“I understand. I can put up {A Private Moment} if you want. Or you can do that, or something else? There must be some nice lawyer skills?”
“There are a few. Most people use {A Private Moment}, due to how people are
suppose
d to know about it,” Olivier said with all the exasperation of someone who had experienced time and time again how little people actually retained from their early Censor and skill lessons. Everyone in Baalphoria was supposed to know how {A Private Moment} and a dozen other skills commonly used by law enforcement worked. In his experience, most people forgot law enforcement could even use skills unless they personally witnessed it; forget them actually remembering what sorts of skills they could use.
Emilia laughed, muttering something about how aware she was of people outside The Penns forgetting what organizations like The Black Knot could do. “It’s so weird that they’re afraid of the clones, despite seeming to forget what they can actually do? The clones who work with civilians the most have bets and drinking games based around how many times someone won’t know what they can do. It’s kinda ended in the most public facing clones needing
a lot
of patience for explaining elementary things over and over and over again.”
Humming in sympathy and letting an iteration of {A Private Moment} expand around them, Olivier told her that they had an entire class in law school dedicated to learning how to explain the various skills their clients were likely to experience when being questioned by the Hyrat clones and other law enforcement to them. “We also went over how to explain the legality of various skills to clients. The number of times I’ve had people come in, trying to claim a skill was used on them illegally, is far too high.”
“Especially considering how long you’ve actually been practicing.”
“Indeed. I look forward to having an associate who can field such requests.”
“No associate yet, for the great Olivier de la Rue?”
Hesitating a beat, Olivier admitted that he could have one if he wanted. “As I am teaching, there isn’t much use for one.”
Ideally, he would wait for Henri to graduate, then taken him on as an associate. His cousin, however, was only a few years into his gap decade, and he doubted his mother would allow him to wait that long to take an associate. These weren’t things Emilia needed to know—he had a question to answer. If she were still awake once he told her his horror story, then he might mumble about more boring things, like his family drama, to her. The girl needed to sleep because as much as she seemed convinced that sleeping badly didn’t affect her personality much, Olivier could always tell when she showed up to class sleep-deprived.
If she didn’t sleep at least a little more, having to spend the entirety of the next day managing her would be terrible—not only would it greatly increase the chances that she would wander off, distracted, or simply ditch the class, Emilia was always far more forward in, well, everything when she was sleep-deprived. Considering how forward she already was, sleep-deprived Emilia was a terrifying thing, liable to snap and tell anyone who irritated her how stupid they were—Olivier had noticed both Lan’za and Halen distracting her from telling off a few students for their ignorance throughout the day—as well as proposition anyone who caught her interest, himself included. Therefore, telling her stories to help her sleep it was. Although… would telling her this story give her entirely different nightmares?
“It’ll be fine. I like horror stories,” she insisted, wiggling until she could hook a leg around his calf. The way things were going, she was liable to be half on top of him by the time he finished the story. Olivier’s only complaint would be that his arm was growing increasingly pinned.
“There was a case along the previous border between the Grey Sands and Baalphoria long ago. Most likely, it was close to a thousand years ago, although the timeline is a bit blurry, as most Grey Sands documents were purged by the Baalphorian government around the time they took it over.”
“How did you hear about it, then?”
“We have documents from the Grey Sands.”
“You can read Grey Sander?”
“No,” Olivier admitted. “I do not think my father can either. His family came here during the height of Baalphoria’s attempts to take over the Grey Sands. So, a little over four hundred years ago. Since then, they have worked quite hard to erase their heritage from their lives and records. Some of the things they did were rather… horrific. Only certain people were ever aware of where they came from.”
“Like the de la Rues, I’m guessing? Or did your mother accidentally marry your father, not knowing where his family came from?”
“No, the de la Rues knew. They were part of the group that helped my father’s family falsify documents several decades into their life in Baalphoria.”
“Seriously? Wouldn’t that all be against the law? It definitely is now—not that I think many Free Coloniers would be able to pass themselves off as Baalphorian? How did your family? Cause, like, your family doesn’t look
super
Grey Sander, but I think if you guys weren’t so influential, more people would wonder?”
Humming in agreement, Olivier shifted slightly, contemplating how, with how distractible Emilia was, this story was liable to take a while—she was just the sort to ask questions about everything, and he didn’t have it in him to keep her completely on track at the moment. The story was already long to begin with, and Emilia didn’t sound tired in the slightest. Maybe she was the sort to suddenly fall asleep, but…
Shifting and rolling—Emilia easily letting him manhandle her about as she giggled softly and somehow managed to only make one lewd comment—Olivier repositioned them, so his arm wouldn’t torture him come morning. Said arm now slipped under Emilia’s waist and pulling her close, Olivier settled in to tell her about how the less boring, rarely spoken of part of his family’s history and the laws that had broken their heritage and the history of the Grey Sands.
.
!
Arc 9 | Chapter 338: I’ll Tell You A Horror Story (but it might take a while)
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