This Ascent to Divinity is Lewder Than Expected

3.23 The Date I

“Stop fidgeting,” Delta said. “It’s cute, but stop. You look fine. You’re making me nervous.”

Zoey stood in Delta’s bathroom, inspecting herself in the mirror, having finished preparing herself for her and Rosalie’s upcoming date. Rosalie was probably ready too. In a few minutes, it’d be time to set off from Delta’s room, walk one door over, and knock.

She’d dressed, as she’d told Rosalie to, casually. She’d gone with a tried-and-true classic: jeans and a black tank top. She hoped it wasn’t too casual. The intent wasn’t to seem like she wasn’t trying—just that she wasn’t pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Zoey wasn’t really a ‘get dressed up for a fancy date’ kind of girl. She would, of course, when the situation called for it … but Zoey was trying to show her true self.

Was Rosalie the ‘preferred to get dressed up’ kind of person? For all her poise and obvious pedigree, she also had a sort of razor focus that Zoey suspected meant frivolities annoyed her. That something lowkey—though a bit contradictory to Rosalie—would be her preference, too, over an event where she had to put on airs, like a fancy dinner.

That was, Zoey supposed, the ultimate point to this date: to get to know Rosalie better. And the reverse.

She’d gone light on the make-up. Maddy had helped her with that, too—the shopping part. Ephy’s blessing meant it was almost redundant. Zoey was still disoriented by how perfect her features were, now, with the changes to her body. She styled her hair, but it had looked fine messy; she applied make-up, but it only made her look different, not better. Still, she put on a mild pink lip gloss, and light touches of mascara and eyeliner, just to make it clear she was trying, that she hadn’t shrugged on the first clothes she found and strolled over to Rosalie’s door.

Would Rosalie wear make-up? Obviously, she hadn’t bothered while delving, or even in their short stay at Treyhull between shards. Her career was cutting through monsters and trekking through wilderness; cosmetics weren’t high on Rosalie’s priority list. But for a date? Zoey thought she might. She wouldn’t care if she didn’t—her stalwart practicalness was one of the things Zoey admired—but she’d also appreciate if she did. She’d appreciate Rosalie in any form, obviously.

Overall, though, Zoey hadn’t gone excessive on preparations. Today was a big deal, but the events Zoey had planned weren’t accommodating to dresses and heels. No fine dining and an opera house … or whatever was the norm for this world. Rosalie had seen too much of that, Zoey had to assume. Though, probably not in date form. Maybe?

Was this her first date? It wasn’t the first time Zoey had wondered over the question. Certainly, Rosalie couldn’t have had a shortage of admirers, but she didn’t seem the type to have entertained any of them. Arranged dates, then? Of a political sort? Or had she always been razor-focused on wayfaring? From the sounds of it, she wasn’t entirely free from politics, despite her ultimate purpose of advancement.

But Zoey had a feeling it was Rosalie’s first date. As in, ever. That was intimidating, to say the least. And a bit freeing? It meant she wouldn’t be comparing Zoey to anyone. But also, first dates were a big deal, and this event was already nerve-wracking enough without knowing it was Rosalie’s first ever.

Or, not nerve-wracking. That wasn’t right. Or … yes it was. Zoey didn’t know. She was both paralyzed and giddy, totally at ease and confidently nervous. Things would go well, obviously. But also, she was going to crash and burn and ruin everything.

Delta sat on the sink, watching her with amusement. Zoey had appropriated her room so she could get ready separate from Rosalie. Delta had helped reassure her … though maybe not in a direct manner. Mostly, she’d been teasing Zoey.

“The flowers aren’t too much?” Zoey asked.

“It’s grossly sweet,” Delta said. “So yes, it is. She’s going to have a melt down. Are you sure I can’t come watch?”

“I think that might kill the vibe, Delta.”

“I can be discreet. As long as you don’t see me?”

“I’d prefer if we didn’t have a little voyeur peeking at us from the bushes.”

“Voyeur?” Delta quirked her eyebrow. “It’s going to be that kind of date?”

“No. I’m just—“ Zoey huffed. “No following us around, okay?”

“Mm.” Delta made a show of considering the request. “I probably won’t.”

Zoey shook her head. She knew Delta wouldn’t. She was, as Zoey knew she couldn’t help herself from, just teasing.

And Zoey did plan to keep the date chaste … at least the date itself. There’d be nothing to spy on. Though after, when they found their way back to their room at the night’s end, who knew what would happen? She’d play it by feel. But the events themselves, Zoey wanted to be a real date, not an excuse to have their hands all over each other. She and Rosalie had already started to explore that aspect of their relationship. Much, much faster than the ‘more appropriate’ half. So, she wanted this to be taken slower. For it to be genuine.

Not that a less-than-appropriate date couldn’t be genuine, but Zoey was hoping to get to know Rosalie better. As a person, and for them to open up to each other. For sex not to be the focus. They would have plenty of time for those kinds of activities over the following months, assuming they stuck together as a team.

“Well,” Zoey said, finally tearing her eyes from the mirror. “It’s time, then. Thanks for your help.”

“I sat here and mocked you for twenty minutes. But, yeah, sure.” She snorted. “It’s what I do.”

“It was calming. So really. Thanks.” Delta had done a great deal for Zoey’s nerves, which Zoey knew had been intentional. Delta’s form of encouragement wasn’t like, say, Maddy’s, not bright-eyed and optimistic, but Delta had been supportive nonetheless.

Taking a steadying breath, Zoey grabbed the bouquet of flowers from the entry table. Hand resting on the door handle, she glanced over at Delta one last time.

Delta raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Just don’t break the bedframe when you get back. The guild’s prickly about their property.”

Zoey huffed and left.

One door over, she knocked and waited. She wiped a sweaty palm on her pants and tried to relax her tense posture, so she wasn’t looking stiff when Rosalie opened. She really shouldn’t be this nervous. Should she? Yeah, she definitely should. It was Rosalie.

The door opened, revealing her date for the night.

Zoey hadn’t known what to expect from Rosalie’s outfit—maybe jeans and a t-shirt, like she’d seen her in before—but the reality was better than any guess she could’ve made: she wore a long, flowing sundress that dipped a few inches beneath her knees. It was pale blue, a color Rosalie seemed fond of, probably because of how it matched her piercing eyes. Her long platinum blonde hair was up in a ponytail, the first time Zoey had seen her wear it like that. She wore bright red lipstick, a striking color, contrasted with her pale complexion and dress: Zoey couldn’t look away from her lips.

“Mm,” Rosalie said. “Roses, for Rosalie. Cute.” She seemed dryly amused.

Zoey started, realizing she’d frozen. She thrust the bouquet out. “I couldn’t help myself. Too cheesy?”

Rosalie took the offered gift. “It’s very traditional,” she said, shooting Zoey another amused glance. She leaned forward and breathed in the floral scent.

And, hey—why was she the one acting unruffled? Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around?

“You probably drowned in flowers, growing up,” Zoey said. “But I thought it was appropriate.”

Rosalie snorted. “No,” she said. “Not at all. Perhaps if everyone wasn’t scared of my father, I might have. These are my first.”

“Wait. First?” Zoey couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. She knew Rosalie’s parents were probably hard-asses—and important politically—but enough to scare away every suitor of Rosalie’s? These were the first flowers she’d ever gotten?

Rosalie turned and walked into their room. A vase was laid on the dresser. Zoey saw it and huffed. She’d never gotten flowers before, yet she had a vase prepared?

“I’m that predictable?” Zoey asked.

“I gave it fifty-fifty odds,” Rosalie said. She smelled the flowers one more time, then placed them in the vase. She turned back to Zoey and smiled. “It’s a sweet gesture. Thank you.”

Unfortunately, Zoey actually blushed. She had intended to come off suave and totally confident, today—that seemed to be what Rosalie liked—but she was failing totally. Not that Rosalie seemed to mind. That smile had been so heart-achingly genuine. God, Zoey was still blushing.

“Yeah, no problem,” Zoey said, shrugging, trying to feign an easiness she definitely didn’t feel. She held a hand out. “Let’s head out?”

Rosalie took it, and not for the first time, Zoey was surprised at how delicate her hand was. She’d seen this woman rip a trapdoor from the ground, tearing hinges from wood in a scream of metal. Yet, dainty, thin fingers, with only a few light calluses.

“You’re wearing heels,” Zoey said, nodding at her feet.

“Mm. You said to dress casually, I know.”

“So … ?”

“I needed to close the gap somehow, didn’t I?” She eyed Zoey, annoyed. “You’re too tall.”

“It might be a headache to walk in, though. In the grass.”

Rosalie paused at the announcement—at the reveal of her plan. She hadn’t known they’d be heading for somewhere with grass. She shrugged. “That’s fine.” An amused look. “I can assure you I have the balance for it, if you’re concerned over that.”

Which … yeah. Rosalie could dance through snarling monsters without taking a scratch. Heels at the park would be—well, a walk in the park.

“Won’t it hurt, though?” Heels had always been a major pain in the ass for Zoey, leaving her feet aching for hours. She wore them when she wanted to dress up, but only when she was trying to impress. “Or, I guess it wouldn’t, for you.” The same deal as her balance—Rosalie’s empowered strength probably meant she wouldn’t feel them at all. “Your choice, obviously. Just want you to be comfortable.”

“I’ll be fine.” The two of them walked out into the hallway, making their way through the guild, headed for the city. “Grass?”

“I thought we’d start the day off at the park.”

“The park?” Rosalie sounded surprised.

“My mission tonight is to get you to cut loose. So, yeah. Ever feed the ducks?”

“Feed … the ducks?” The response was even more perplexed. “Why?”

“Because it’s fun.” It was more of a background activity. Something they could do while talking and learning about each other. But, it was also fun, assuming you could collect a swarm. Watching them jostle and shove each other for the crumbs was pretty funny.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

To her side, Rosalie hesitated. Zoey prompted her, “What?”

“I’ve fed … other animals, though,” she said, almost reluctantly—as if she hadn’t been sure if she wanted to share.

“Like?”

“Well.” She dragged the word out, working up the nerve. “My father keeps a menagerie. He’s fond of large predators. One of his many … eccentricities.”

“Large predators?” That had come out of left field. “Like, what, tigers?”

“And such.”

“And such,” Zoey said, eyebrows raising. “You’ve fed tigers, but not ducks, at the park.” It was a hilarious discovery, but somehow not unfitting. She and Rosalie really couldn’t be more different people if they tried—not that it was a revelation, or discouraging. Just, funny. Her dad kept a menagerie. Not usually something Zoey would discover on a first date. “So, what? You tossed them slabs of meat?” She shook her head. “I’m afraid ducks won’t be half as interesting. That’s a hard act to follow.”

“Hopefully not as stressful, either,” Rosalie said wryly. “The big cats weren’t so bad. But the bears … or sharks …” she wrinkled her nose.

No joke. A full menagerie. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Does he keep a menagerie?”

Rosalie shrugged. “Like I said, he’s fond of them.” She almost seemed like she’d say more on the subject, but didn’t. “Compared to some people I knew back at the Highreach Court, it’s not that odd of a hobby. Relatively speaking.”

Well, by Zoey’s standards, ‘owning a menagerie’ was up there in strangeness. But, that was rich, fantasy-world people for you, she guessed. If Zoey had money pouring out of her ears, maybe she’d have similarly odd hobbies.

“Highreach Court,” Zoey repeated. “That’s home?”

Rosalie paused. Zoey had grown to recognize the reaction, though it was becoming rapidly less common, and less pronounced, with each instance. It was Rosalie adjusting, again, to the fact that Zoey didn’t know common-knowledge material.

“Highreach is the capital of Cypremor. So, home, yes.”

“That’s where we’ll be headed?”

“Cypremor is in Haven,” Rosalie said. “Not the Fractures. So no. We’ll be headed for Mantle, the de-facto capital of Deepshunter territory, after all this is over.”

Right. Zoey should’ve been able to put that together. Rosalie’s home would be in the safer realm that sat ‘above’ the Fractures, not the Fractures itself. She’d arrived recently—on turning eighteen, the standard practice for her society. Just, Zoey hadn’t gotten around to her new environment being second-nature knowledge, so she made simple slip-ups like that.

In a different setting, Zoey might have continued this conversation down the practical path, asking what Mantle was, and what it was like, but Zoey was more interested in learning about Rosalie, not geography and politics.

“That’s where the rest of your family is, then?”

“Indeed. Or, where they meet. My sisters are often on their own expeditions, and my father on … political missions, or whatever else. Sometimes up in Haven, as well. They’re busy people.”

“I bet. You said you had two sisters?”

They walked through the streets. Rosalie stayed silent long enough for Zoey to prompt her, “Rosie?”

“I’m deciding on whether I want to discuss family,” she eventually said.

“Oh.” It was Zoey’s turn to stay quiet. “Obviously, you don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.” Though, Zoey had been hoping this would be their chance to move beyond secrecy, at least a step or two. Not full disclosure, but her family, upbringing, and so on, Zoey had hoped to talk about, in at least broad strokes. Zoey would too, in whatever manner she could, considering how a good portion of her personal experiences had been scooped from her brain.

“I suppose I should,” Rosalie finally sighed. “It’s not that they’re a sensitive subject. Rather, it reminds me of responsibilities I’m … distinctly pushing away, at the moment.”

“Like I said—“

Rosalie waved her concern away. “It’s fine. Let’s see. My sisters.” She was silent a moment longer, then sighed. “Charlotte and Elodie. I’ll start with them.”

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