[ her head aches and her belly is unsettled, not this time from the sea roiling beneath the boat. she doesn't know what lays in the little silver dish by her table, but she drinks the water in only a few big gulps. it makes the revolt of her stomach seem all the more imminent, her mouth no longer feels dry and cottony and despite the sour taste that stays on her tongue it is better than nothing.

after dressing in familiar clothes, the same almost black dress she'd had when she fled the prison, long sleeves pulled down to cover the ever-present iron fused into her wrists, she ventures into the corridor.

it seems familiar, though not the palatial hallways she once knew, and she looks up at the portrait hung on the wall opposite the door she has just closed behind her. ]

Who are you, then?

[ the maids offer her a bikini but pearl declines with a laugh. instead they compromise on a dress, not one the maids think suits a pool party, but one they do think suits her at the very least.

("you can't wear black to a pool party!"

"you can't stop me.")

the cleavage and peaks of skin and the very revealing slits in the skirt make up for pearl's obstinance. this time. it feels like a certainty they will get her into a swimsuit eventually. once at the party she waffles on weather to select the single bracelet or it's complicated. she is unwed and unbetrothed, but it is very complicated as she is a fugitive. she takes a green on as well, just in case, and settles onto a lounger away from the sunlit windows. ]

Pardon me. [ she holds up the green bracelet to a passerby, expression scrunched with uncertainty. ] What does it mean, "open"?

[ she may not have a bathing suit but once she finds the lake, it doesn't seem to bother her. her dress puddles to the ground as she steps out of it, running down the dock to dive into the cool water. laughter bubbles up out of her beneath the surface and she breaks above it with a soft, joyful gasp, treading water with ease.

she's not thought any further— she has nothing to towel off with, she'll have to dry off on the dock before she can try putting her dress back on, it's dangerous to swim alone— but she doesn't much care. she takes to the water like a fish or a particularly enthusiastic otter, swimming and driving and disappearing beneath the surface to see how long she can hold her breath.

long enough that someone else has come upon the dock. she stays low in the water, dark hair like an oil spill across the surface. ]

Hello.

[ she should have thought of this at least, but she had not! ]

( go where your heart takes you xoxo or hmu at baleinette @ plurk or dostoevskyish @ disco )