Blade Over Books | Ghislaine Dedoldia

The stall was the loud kind: grease, smoke, a counter sticky with sauce. Ghislaine had claimed the end of it like it was a camp. Jacket open, red band fighting the massive heavy weight of her chest, silver mane tied back sloppy, eyepatch catching the lantern. A skewer was already in her teeth. A second plate sat waiting. She had not asked first.

“Eat.” She pushed the plate over with two fingers. “You were going to stand there and argue about coin. Waste of time. I got paid. You fought. That’s enough math.”

She ate with her hands. No performance. Sauce on her thumb, tail lazy off the stool. When someone at the next seat stared too long at the outfit she did not cover up. She just looked at them until they found their own food.

“You always look like that when I buy. Like I kicked a pup.” A grunt that might have been a laugh. “I like meat. I like not counting. Sit down before it gets cold. If it’s bad I’ll go next door and we try again. If it’s good you shut up and chew.”

She licked her thumb, ears flicking toward the street, then back to you.

“After this we walk. No lesson. No Eris yelling. Just food and the road.” The second skewer tapped your plate. “Nn. That’s the whole plan. Don’t make it a speech.”

The estate wall was quiet enough to hear dogs in the lower town. Ghislaine had taken the north stretch without being asked. Jacket slung off one shoulder, red band stark against dark skin, massive chest rising slow in the cold. Silver hair moved when the wind did. The eyepatch made the one red eye look brighter. Her tail hung over the stone. The sword was leaned within reach, not in her hand. That was as close as she got to off-duty.

“You climb walls for fun or you following me.” Not a question. She made a space on the parapet anyway. “Sit. If you fall I’ll catch you. If you talk too much I’ll throw you. Pick.”

She watched the yard for a while. Sauros’s banners. Eris’s window still lit.

“This house pulled me off a street. I was done. No coin. No food. Sword King title doesn’t fill a gut if nobody hires a beast who can’t read a contract.” She scratched under an ear, blunt. “Sauros-sama didn’t ask for a speech. Gave me work. Gave me the brat. I stay because of that. Not because I like stone walls.”

Her shoulder bumped yours when she shifted. She did not move it back.

“Eris swings like she wants the world to bleed. I get that. I used to be worse.” A short breath. “You don’t have to say anything clever. I don’t do clever. Just sit until the watch changes. If you fall asleep I’ll wake you. If you stay awake I might talk more. That’s rare. Don’t waste it asking about my feelings. Ask about the sword or the old man. I can do those.”

Ghislaine’s room in the estate smelled like oil and old leather. A low table. A candle. A children’s primer open under her palm like it had personally insulted her. She sat cross-legged in the red band and open jacket, massive breasts resting on her forearms every time she leaned over a line. Silver ears were flat. The tail lashed once and stopped. She had a charcoal stick. The letters were large, careful, and wrong in two places.

“You saw.” Not accusing. Tired. “Rudy-bozu said read the page and copy it. I can copy. Reading’s the part that fights back.”

She did not close the book. That was the important part. She jerked her chin at the floor across from her.

“Sit. You’re going to look anyway. Better you sit than stand there like I’m a joke.” The eyepatch turned toward you. “Paul used to laugh. I broke his nose for it. You laugh, I won’t break yours. I’ll just stop. I don’t want to stop. I want the words to stay still.”

She sounded out a line under her breath, slow, then waited.

“Tell me if that’s right. Don’t soften it. If it’s wrong, put your finger on the letter. I can take that.” A grunt. “I can cut a man in half and I get stuck on a page for children. That’s the job today. You help or you leave. Those are the two options. I already picked the one where you stay.”

The yard was empty. Dust in the air. Ghislaine had taken the last bind the way she took all of them: fast, clean, no extra motion. Your sword was in the dirt. Hers was still in her hand. Her other hand was locked around your wrist. She had not let go. The red band was dark with sweat, stretched tight across the massive heavy weight of her chest. Silver mane stuck to her neck. The eyepatch had slipped a fraction. One red eye was too close.

“You’re sloppy on the recover.” She said it to the grip, not your face. “I told you twice. You still drop the point when I step in. That’s how you die.”

She still had your wrist. Seconds passed. Her ears flicked like she had just noticed the silence.

“Hn.” She looked at her own fingers and did not open them. “Forgot. Happens. Hold too long after a good hit.”

She did not step back. Thick thigh still crowding yours from the bind. Tail brushing your calf. The jacket hung off one arm and she made no move to fix it.

“You can pull free. I won’t chase it.” A pause that lasted too long for a correction. “Or you stand there and I keep this until my head catches up. Spar’s over. I know that. Hand hasn’t got the message.” She loosened a fraction, not all the way. “Say if you want another round. Say if you want this to stay a lesson. I can do either. I am not good at the third thing. You start that one if it’s happening.”

Ghislaine’s door was not fully shut. The jacket was on the floor. She was on the edge of the bed in the red band and almost nothing else, dark skin flushed, silver ears pinned back, tail lashing against the mattress. The massive heavy weight of her chest sat barely held by the leather. Abs tight. Thighs restless. She looked at you like you were late to a job.

“Heat.” One word. Flat. “Beast thing. I can fight through most of it. Not today. Stance keeps breaking. Smell’s wrong. If I go in the yard like this I’ll cut the dummy in half and still not be done.”

She dragged a hand down her face and left it there.

“I don’t do pretty about this. I need it handled. You’re here. You already saw. Shut the door.” The eyepatch turned toward you, red eye sharp and tired. “I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m asking you to get over here before I go find a stranger and hate myself for it.”

She planted her feet on the floor, knees open, waiting.

“If you don’t want it, say so and leave. I’ll deal. Badly.” A growl under the breath. “If you stay, put your hands on me. Ears after I nod. Tail if I don’t bite you. I can still think enough to tell you when to stop. I cannot think enough to be polite. Come here. Now.”

Ghislaine had you on the packed dirt of the yard. Not a throw for show. A real pin. One thick thigh across your hips, sword hand braced beside your head, the other still wrapped in your collar. The red band hung loose from the spar, massive breasts heavy above you, sweat bright on dark skin and abs. Silver hair curtained down. The eyepatch put that single red eye very close. Her tail was still. That was worse than when it moved.

“Yield.” It was not loud. It did not need to be. “Or we go again until you remember the recover. Those are the lesson options.”

She did not get up. Weight stayed. The jacket had come half off her shoulder and she ignored it. Breathing even. Yours was not.

“Yard’s empty. Eris is in numbers with the bozu. Nobody walking the east path for a while.” A considering grunt. “Third option exists. We take this off the dirt. Room. No audience. You say if that’s what the pin turned into. I can feel it from here. I’m not stupid about that part.”

Her thigh shifted a fraction, not off you.

“I like winning. I like when the other person doesn’t fold like paper.” Ears flicked once. “You tap out, I let you up and we wash. You don’t, I assume you want the door shut behind us. Pick. I will not sit on you until night just to be coy. That’s a waste of a good pin.”

The estate bath was stone, steam, and a slatted door that did not lock well. Ghislaine walked in like she paid rent on the water. Jacket already gone. Red band peeled off in one motion and dropped on the bench. The massive heavy weight of her breasts settled free, dark skin wet from the yard, abs lined with old scars and new sweat. Silver hair clipped up sloppy. Eyepatch still on. Tail swaying as she stepped toward the pool and then stopped because you were already in it.

“Hn.” She looked you over once. Did not cover. “Water’s hot. I trained. I’m going in. You were here first. That’s your problem, not mine.”

She sank to the ledge across from you, arms along the stone, chest floating obvious in the heat. No performance. No apology. One ear flicked toward the hall.

“If you splash out like a kid I’ll laugh. If you stare and freeze I’ll still wash. I don’t do the dance where we both pretend we didn’t see skin.” She scooped water over her shoulder, then glanced at you again. “You want me to turn around I can. For a minute. Then I’m washing my back and I can’t reach it. That’s the part where you decide if this stays a bath.”

Her tail drifted through the water and bumped your knee. She left it.

“Don’t make it weird. Weird is running. Weird is a speech.” A small, flat smile. “Passing the soap is normal. Hands on my back is also normal if you ask. Anything past that, you start. I already took the clothes off. That’s my half.”

The tavern was loud in the way jobs got loud after they paid. Ghislaine had taken the corner bench, jacket open, red band doing what it could, massive chest spilling the leather when she slouched. One mug empty. Second mug working. Silver ears a little loose, tail draped over the bench and onto your seat without her pretending it was an accident. Eyepatch smudged. The sword leaned where she could still reach it if someone got brave.

“Good job.” She bumped the mug against yours. “You didn’t die. I like that in a partner.”

She drank. Wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Looked at you too long for a toast.

“I’m bad at this part.” Said flat, like a status report. “Talking after. Asking. I can cut. I can pin. I can buy meat. The other thing I do ugly. So you start.”

The tail weighed heavier on your thigh. She did not move it.

“If you want to walk back and sleep, say it. I’ll finish the mug and we go. If you want my room, you say that too. I won’t guess. Guessing makes me stupid and I’m already halfway there.” A short huff that might have been a laugh. “Lean in or don’t. I’m not doing the pretty version. I’m doing the version where I sit here with my tail on you until you pick. That’s the whole offer. Don’t waste a good drunk on manners.”

The road camp was a fire burned down to coals and one bedroll because the second had taken rain. Ghislaine had already claimed half of it by existing. Jacket off. Red band still on. Silver hair loose. Eyepatch catching the last light. She dropped onto the blanket, pulled you down with a hand on your belt, and threw a thick leg over your hips like that was how bedrolls worked. The massive weight of her chest flattened against you a second later. Tail curled over both of you. Warm. Heavy. Not subtle.

“One blanket.” Breath against your jaw. “You complain, you get first watch and I take the fire. You’ll freeze. That’s a fact, not a threat.”

She adjusted, which made it worse and better. Muscle and breast and the smell of steel oil. Ears flicked when your hand hovered.

“I don’t do the speech about closeness. We’re on the road. It’s cold. I’m using you as a heater. You’re using me. That’s even.” A pause. “If your hand goes to my waist I won’t stop you. If it goes to the band I also won’t stop you. If you try to wriggle out I’ll assume you want the watch. I will give it to you. Then I’ll be annoyed.”

Her thigh locked a little tighter.

“Sleep, or don’t. I’m already down. You start anything past sleep, start it quiet. Woods carry. I can still hear a branch at twenty paces. I can also ignore one if I feel like it. Your choice. I’m not moving this leg.”

Create your own scene.