#yolanda is probably lowkey on the aromantic spectrum

[thenickelportrust]

Scene Practice 1

Hello everyone! I thought it'd be fun to try out some practice scenes I'm planning to eventually put into Model Citizens. These are just scenes that have been floating around in my head that I have planned, but want to get a better handle/idea of how they play out. 

(None of them will have any major spoilers, any minor spoilers are going to be ones already talked about publicly here)

I have a few of these planned to put up, and might do one a month for a bit as some exercise.

This Month's Short: Confessing to Yolanda with an Asexual MC

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You had grown used to standing in this room. This wide room with the wood trim, and the wide, flat plane of glass that made up the back wall. You had grown used to a sight you thought, the first time you were here, you could never get used to. The night sky itself was always dark and starless over Nickelport, the nebula over your heads drowned out by the flood of city life. But the stars weren’t gone entirely, no, instead they’d been moved beneath you. Beneath your feet onto this polished black marble that reflected the scattering of neon that dotted the jagged Nickelport horizon. You could see, up here, in Yolanda Waltz’s private study, why this really was called the district of neon stars.

And standing over these artificial stars, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she stepped towards a pitcher full to the brim with fresh lemon water, is Yolanda Waltz herself.

You wonder, now, how long it took her to grow used to the stars being beneath you. Was she as quick as you to accept the fact that you were walking over the faux-Milky Way up here? Or maybe she never had to grow used to it. It wouldn’t have been as sudden for her, after all, since she was the one who built the monument to respite that the Chat Blanc has become. She would have had to feel it all rise beneath her feet, watched this somehow still-standing building shrug off the limits of the sky and pool the stars together on its flooring.

Or maybe you’re putting too much poetic thought into simple construction.

Yolanda Waltz’s cup of water catches a fair few fake stars itself, and you see red and blue bend and twist around the curved body of glass. The click of her heels the only break in the silence as she hands one cup towards you. You accept it silently, the glass cold against your palms. A bead of water drips down the side of it, leaving a small streak in its wake. Your thumb comes up to wipe it away before it reaches the bottom of the glass, still silent as thoughts of galaxies drain from your brain, replaced instead by a singular, shining starlet who sits in front of you now.

You had grown used to being by her side. This woman in front of you, with one leg hooked gracefully over the other. A white dress pouring down one arm and collecting in a pool by her ankle. Sleek, pristine, pressed. Pressed lips that quirk up and you realize quickly that your staring has not gone unnoticed.

“Should I start charging a museum fee?” Yolanda’s smooth voice rises to your ears through the clean silence of this wide and polished room. “Looking, but never speaking, or touching.”

The flirtatious edge is also something you’ve grown used to. Yet still you find your face flushing as you look down to take a deep sip from the glass, an excuse not to speak as you gather back your straying thoughts.

One leg jitters of its own accord, bouncing up and down while the heel of your own shoe clicks nervously. Your free hand squeezes into the fabric of your skirt before smoothing it back down again. “I…”

“Too much?” Yolanda leaves a dark red print from where her lips touched the glass. “You seem more on edge today. I thought perhaps it might help you loosen up.”

You had grown used to being by her side. You had even grown used to some of the more… double edged remarks passed between the two of you. Sentiments teetering between joking and… something a bit more dangerous. You had grown as used to them as you had walking across comets painted in neon.

So why, suddenly, does it all feel like the first time once again?

Why, suddenly, have you become nervous and skittish all over again? Why does it feel like every step on this dark floor is one that might send you plunging into the abyss, why does it feel like every time Yolanda Waltz speaks with that tilted tone you find your heart fluttering like you are once again the nervous reporter sitting in her room interviewing her about a lead that might lead you to the identity of a red-clad superhero…

“Why do you do that?” The words slip from your lips.

Yolanda Waltz doesn’t flinch, but one brow does find itself pushing up, her head tilting. “Oh? What?”

“That… this… I mean… you tease me too much.” You lean back into the silk cushion of the chair, it bobs and fluffs up around you, catching you like arms.

The glass lifts again, and now there’s another red mark next to the first. Two lip prints placed so gently next to each other. “Does it make you uncomfortable? If so then I will stop.”

“N-no!” Too fast. Too loud. “No it doesn’t- um… I don’t think it makes me uncomfortable?”

Two lips prints that are placed on the table next to her seat. Her legs uncross, and Yolanda Waltz smooths down her dress. “You sound unsure. If it is alright with you then I will stop until you know whether or not it makes you uncomfortable.”

She sounds so… professional when she says that. Granted, Yolanda Waltz always sounds professional. Always calm. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her break that façade. Or at least, when she does seem to… it’s always that. Seems to. Somehow it feels very distant. There’s the woman in front of you, Yolanda Waltz, but then there’s Yolanda, and she’s… somewhere else. Somewhere much further away.

“What if it isn’t alright with me?” Your hands squeeze, one into soft fabric and the other around hard and cold glass. “What if I said I didn’t want you to stop?”

But there are flickers, little cracks between the pressed smiles and pressed clothes and… Flickers like now, when there’s a little flicker of surprise. It flashes so quickly over her face-- a shooting star of emotion. “You enjoy our banter, then?”

You swallow down another gulp of ice cold water, and try to pretend it’s something stronger. Strong enough to give you a burst of confidence. “I enjoy you.”

Flicker. “Excuse me?”

“I enjoy you-- I like you.” You place the glass to the side and force yourself to stand, listening to your own heels click against the floor as you walk towards Yolanda Waltz. “I like you, Yolanda. I like flirting with you. I like being with you. I want to get to know you.”

Flicker. Her eyes never leave yours, “Those are dangerous requests, darling.”

“No.” Your hands find the armrests of her chair, and you try to pretend that you’re doing that to be… seductive? Flirtatious? It’s always worked that way in the movies.

In reality, you’re just trying not to fall over. Your feet are too shaky to keep you upright right now. “I think you’re saying that. And if- if--” Fuck, dammit, and you were doing so well without stuttering, “If you don’t want to.. Get to know each other,” Recover, recover, recover, you were doing so well don’t lose it now, “In that way then… uh… we… can just… not…”

This is not recovering. This is a downward spiral. This was going so well. And now your arms feel stiff and your legs feel awkward and your limbs all feel a bit too long for your body and is this even a seductive pose? God it’s not is it? Oh god you have to look so stupid right now what the hell are you doing this is Yolanda Goddamn Waltz and you just tried to what? Strut up to her and confess? Who the hells ‘struts’ anyway? Fuck what the fuck are you doing why did you--

A hand finds the side of your cheek. A warm palm with long, slender fingers and a gentle thumb that moves over the side of your face. A soft laugh leaves Yolanda’s red lips, leaving a print on the side of your brain, where that laugh and those lips dance in circles. “Perhaps it is a bit cruel of me to say so but there is something rather cute about watching you lose yourself in your own mind. You’re far more expressive than you might realize, darling, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going on in that active imagination of yours.”

Your skin must be boiling under her hand, and your brain has gone from downward spiral to stagnant static as a dull, “Uh…” falls free from your lips.

Yolanda’s hand pulls away and you start to realize that your arms have begun to ache from holding you up, but you’re no longer sure how to gracefully dismount from this position you’ve put yourself in. Lucky for you, Yolanda spares you the embarrassment and slowly stands, allowing you to pull back. She takes your hands instead, and brings one up to her lips to kiss the back of your knuckles, leaving a mark of red in their place. “You make it very tempting , darling, and I like you quite a bit too.”

“It may just be the fact that I think my mind has gone numb,” Your mouth, too, by the way you start speaking your thoughts aloud without a filter, “But… was that… I’m not sure if that was a rejection or not?”

She considers this for a moment, her lips pursed gently, then another laugh, this one lower, more throaty as Yolanda Waltz turns her head to the side. There’s a flicker again, but it’s not out of surprise. It’s… uncertainty. “I am not sure either.”

Oh.

“Can… can I ask why not?”

Yolanda lowers your hand, and this time she keeps her eyes on the red mark on the back of your palm. “All my life, I have only ever sought physical relationships. That is not to say I’ve been adverse to the idea of a more emotional one, but it has also never been a priority of mine. I’ve found people with whom we can seek a bit of respite and pleasure together, and perhaps even share a pleasant cup of coffee together after. But never anything more than that. I have been content with that, and felt no need to seek anything more with them after, save for an occasional repeat if they desired the same. I would be willing to spend such time with you…”

“But that’s not something I’m interested in.” You supply.

“No, I know this. And of course, that is perfectly alright.” Yolanda’s thumb brushes over your hand, “But a… romantic relationship is something of new territory to me. Not to mention, a purely romantic relationship, at least of the emotional kind, that is even more unknown territory.”

You nod slowly, “That’s okay. If you don’t want--”

“I did not say I did not want it.” Yolanda frowns, and it’s more than a flicker this time. It’s… a genuine look of being lost. Uncertain. “To speak frankly, I want to be with you. And the idea of such a relationship is not an unpleasant one. It is just… a new one. An unfamiliar one.”

“Oh, well that’s okay.” You try to smile, hesitantly attempting to reach up and brush a hand over her chin, coax her back to looking at you. “Is there any way I can help you… I dunno, get more familiar with it?”

She looks up easily, but it does not seem to make her any more certain. “I think it is more a matter of time and trial. If you are willing to be patient, darling, then… I would like to be with you, although I may not… know what to do at first… if that is understandable?”

“Of course.” You try to smile, to show more reassurance. “We can take it slow. And, at least for now, keep everything the same until you get more comfortable with the idea of being together? Then when you know how you feel a bit more, we’ll take whatever step we want to take, and just sorta… see where it goes from there?”

You watch as Yolanda Waltz-- a woman you’ve never seen break, a woman you’ve seen remain dead calm in the midst of some of the most stressful storms of Nickelport-- relaxes. “Yes. That sounds agreeable.”

You also watch as Yolanda Waltz, for once, hesitates, then asks, just as hesitantly, “Is it alright if I kiss you then?”

You can’t help your own laugh from bubbling out of your throat, “Yes.” You say, “Always.”