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There has never been a more beautiful creature than Imogen Temult. One could scour every song, folktale, or even the epic legends of old, and Laudna would bet every last thing she's managed to pebble together in her many years of living that even the brightest of historians would come up short on finding anyone more utterly, perfectly wonderful.
But perhaps the—well, not issue, but challenge, most certainly, with loving such an exquisite being, is the unfortunate fact that other people have a tendency to take notice when she walks into a room.
Not in the same way as when Laudna walks into a room, with hackles raised and gazes diverted and a collective turning of their backs until they might just manage to forget the sight they've seen—even as they clutch tighter to their purse strings and drift towards the handles of their weapons. No, were anyone to look at Imogen in such a way, Laudna would surely spend her last moments of breath tactfully plucking their gawking eyes from their skulls and their blasphemous tongues from their mouths.
Only, Imogen wouldn't like that much at all—the not breathing, or less than usual, that is. And Laudna hates upsetting Imogen, so she might settle for seething glares and a small nightmarish haunting outside their windows to give them something truly horrifying to be frightened of instead.
Luckily for the dear patrons of the newest tavern the Hells have tucked into for the evening, when they stare at Imogen Temult, it is not with fear.
"Hey there, pretty lady," a boyish voice cuts through the sound of Chetney and Ashton arguing over whatever card game they've brought out tonight. Laudna glances around Imogen's head to find a stocky human man leaning against their table with an overconfident pucker to his lips. He looks remarkably like the fish a shoebill-shaped Fearne had plucked from the river for dinner the night before.
As if catching the thread of Laudna's thought, Imogen stifles a laugh behind the rim of her ale, sparkling eyes dancing over in her direction with a mirthfully scolding look. A flash of offense crosses the fish-man's face, but it's quickly shoved away to double down on the now properly arrogant set of his shoulders as he tries to pull Imogen's attention back towards him.
The din of the Hells' conversations slowly falls away as he opens his mouth again.
"What's a cute little thing like you doing in a place like this?" He motions with his head to the tavern around them, eyes bouncing briefly off the Hells, sticking ever slightly on her off-putting figure. Laudna doesn't need Imogen's psychic capabilities to read the 'and with people like these' from the surface of his mind. He might have benefited from them though, instead of failing to recognize the immediate souring of Imogen's demeanor.
Imogen pointedly raises her half-full tankard. "Drinkin'." She motions towards the rest of the group, eyes narrowing in a way that has Laudna's sluggish heart picking up just so. "With my friends."
He blinks before barrelling onwards, determined to somehow sweep Imogen off her feet and—Laudna's stomach twists into something viscious and a little possesive as the thought crosses her mind—likely into bed. "What do you have there? Mind if I buy you a refill?"
Imogen sighs, already shaking her head as she opens her mouth to politely turn him down, when Ashton butts in with the delighted look of a menace fit to cause a problem. "Courage. Make that two, would you?" Chetney and Fearne elbow him simultaneously. "Four. Make that four."
The man scoffs, but sensing the ruse, Imogen blinks up at him prettily, batting her eyelashes with the slightest little pout. His argument dies quickly as a flush floods his face, muttering a "be right back," beneath his breath as he turns on his heel back towards the bar.
Fearne's face splits in a proud smile as she leans over the table. "Beautiful form, Imogen! Oh, oh, when he comes back we should get him to order us those little pepper popper thingies—"
Imogen laughs as Fearne chatters on, some of the tension bleeding from her shoulders as she leans back into Laudna's side. Imogen's eyes drift up to meet hers, scanning her face intently as a touch, gentler than a brush of wind, grazes the forefront of her mind. Laudna lets her in like it's easier than breathing.
Y'ok, sugar?
Laudna hums, long fingers coming to wrap around Imogen's free hand beneath the table. Yes, I'm fine, darling.
Imogen's eyes narrow and Laudna feels that brush of wind bite in just a little deeper. A slight shiver rolls down her spine.
Bullshit. What's up, Laud?
A clammy sort of warmth climbs into her cheeks as her eyes drop to the table. She isn't—Imogen was just playing, of course, as were the rest of the Hells. And that fish man simply has working eyes if it means seeing Imogen for the magnificent vision she is, but—that doesn't mean—well, maybe, but, no—
Honey, are you jealous?
No!
Yes?
Maybe just a little.
Imogen's face sets into something serious, even as heat floods her freckled cheeks. I'll tell him right off when he gets back, okay, Laud? Really, I was just goin' along with Ashton's lil' rouse is all. You know I ain't got eyes for nobody but you, right?
Of course! I know that, darling. Laudna is quick to soothe the anxious furrow to her love's brow. She was never worried, per se. It is simply a little hard to let myself believe you would choose someone like me when you could have your pick of anyone you'd like.
Imogen barks out a laugh loud enough to draw several eyes towards them. They skirt quickly past Laudna, lingering slightly on Imogen. Lingering. Always lingering. In lust or awe or even fear. Who is she to blame them? Laudna has not stopped looking at Imogen since the moment she appeared like a daring knight on the porch of a decrepit shack moments from being set ablaze. Imogen is a brilliant beacon of light to her endless darkness. How could she dare turn her face away?
With cheeks redder than the ruddy moon, Imogen ducks her head, sipping shyly at her ale. I think you think a little too highly of me, honey.
Nonsense. Do you truly not see it? Everywhere we go, people are drawn to you, darling. You are a magnificent sight and they are right to try and catch a lasting look. I only wonder sometimes if one of them might make you happier than—
Don't you dare finish that thought.
Laudna freezes at the intensity of Imogen's mentally projected voice.
Course I know they look, honey. Gotten better at blockin' em out, sure, but people think pretty damn loud when they don't realize somebody's listenin' in. And y'know what? It's always the same gross shit, and it fizzles out bout as fast as it comes when they notice my scars, or the second they learn what I am or what I can do. Bad luck, a witch, a curse. Hell, just a plain ol' bitch, even.
A righteous sort of fury on Imogen's behalf settles in Laudna's chest, brewing with the ichor beneath her fingertips as she adds ripping minds from skulls to the tearing out of eyes and tongues. Imogen doesn't let it get much farther than that, lightning scarred hands coming to wrap soothingly around the talons that have begun to stretch out from black-tipped fingers, scooting closer than she needs too to simply pull Laudna's attention back towards her.
All that to say, I've heard so many thoughts and minds and felt so many stares, honey. But nothin' has ever come close to how at peace you make me feel, ok? Your mind is—it's like those pretty little windchimes Zhudanna had, or the softest weight on my chest.
Imogen's reaches a hand up to brush Laudna's cheek, pulling their foreheads together until purple eyes and constellations spattered across rosy cheeks take up the whole of Laudna's vision.
All those people can look as much as they want—but baby, you're the only one whose ever made me feel seen.
Laudna smiles down at her heart, her love, her life. All of her goodness. She wants to kiss her, damn all of those lingering eyes.
Imogen beams back up at her and leans in.
"Alright—four tankards of Courage," the fish-man huffs as the pints thunk against the tabletop before being quickly swiped up, except for one. The man holds one out straight for Imogen, entirely oblivious of the moment he's interrupted, of the blushing beauty she's become as she nearly sits in Laudna's lap. "Now, might I get your name, beautiful?"
Imogen doesn't take the drink, doesn't even really look at him as she speaks, just settles further in Laudna's arms. "Actually, I'm alright. Had too much tonight, I think. Why don't you go ahead and take that one for yourself?"
"What?" He sputters, dropping the remaining drink against the table. Ashton is quick to snatch it up and pass it over to Orym, who rolls his eyes and passes it to Fearne at her—literal, it seems—puppy dog eyes. "Are you fucking serious?"
Imogen does glance up at him now, jaw tensing the way it does when a nasty thought has slivered past her mental defenses. Laudna wraps her arms tighter around Imogen, pulling her well into her lap now. This, it seems, is finally enough for the man to look up at her properly, blinking owlishly at the sight he's just now registering.
Laudna glowers at him, holding his widening eyes fiercely until he shrinks back from the table.
"Whatever." He turns to head back to his own group, but not before unsubtlety muttering several unsavory comments about Imogen under his breath.
Laudna takes great delight in sending him crashing into the bar with an eldritch blast between his shoulder blades.
The Hells flee before a proper bar brawl can break out, Imogen tugging Laudna along by the hand with a laugh and a smile. Laudna watches, unable to look away, even as she trips over her own feet and nearly brings them both down.
Imogen catches her, pulling her up and up and up, until Laudna chances a look away from her and realizes they've floated dozens of feet above the tavern and their friends, who are calling up at them with shaking fists from below as they continue running away.
Up here, they are blissfully alone. Laudna loves their friends, but at times, she guiltily misses the days when it was just her and Imogen and the road.
Imogen wraps her arms tighter around Laudna's waist, spinning them around slowly. "I love you. Y'know that, right?"
Gently, Laudna presses a kiss to the little dimple on Imogen's cheek. "I love you, too, darling."
"You're much better than a fish-man," Imogen teases, before sobering slightly. "Better than anybody at all."
Laudna hums, taking Imogen's face in her hands. She brings their foreheads together much like Imogen had in the tavern, brushing the sharp angle of her nose against the soft bridge of Imogen's, the warmth of Imogen's breath brushing over her ice-cold lips. "Imogen?"
"Yeah, honey?"
Laudna flounders to untangle the mess of thoughts and things she wants to tell her, the depth of all of Laudna's love and devotion to this magnificent woman, to push it out over the lump in her throat and the glaring, ghostly eyes in the back of her mind.
Instead, she presses their lips together in a deep kiss, and lets the whole of it, the rough and the soft and the heavy of it all, flood over the thread connecting their minds together, until it boils down to a single, simple thought.
I see you—and you see me, too.