Spotlight [prp Lyra]

[Malakai]

Malakai has never been taken off guard. Not since she'd traded her soul for pettiness and ego - not since Lyra had tilted her head and kissed her tenfold on the lips. That'd been what? A year and a quarter ago? And before that what? A little more than a century?

It'd been a complex. Deeply rooted in feelings of inferiority and fear. Malakai might have much rather died then be subject to someone elses judgement, buried in another strength's. Under their thumb, a puppet on their string. Maybe that's what Elizabeth had seen in her when she'd chosen to give her half of the public relations head. Maybe that's why Lyra had fallen for her. That since of security, that deeply rooted understanding and strength that had her gasping out and clutching at shoulder blades.

That dog instinct that didnt exactly know fear, but still expressed caution. That had a cut throat temper had someone come at them swerving with serious intent. But until then babies were smothered up around them pulling on ears and blowing bubbles at her lips.

But here and in this press room with photo's snapping and Malakai's face fish eyed and wide mouthed. Something cold seeps to her bones. Something that freezes her in place and makes her fingers steely on the podium.

"What of the enquirers video footage of you and your business partner, Lyra Everhart, fondling one another on a private spa get away?"

Who covers PR for the PR?

"That's," Malakai tries to begin, fails, and has to clear her throat and straighten her back. "That's none of your fucking business." And that's not why they're gathered here. No, they're here to talk about the recent winning political party and the business official congratulation - they're here to answer petty smalltalk questions about Malakai's new malibu, or maybe the recent vacation home she'd kept a not - so - private eye on. They arent here for this --

they arent here for -- they arent here to take this away from her -- they arent here to judge her, they arent here to -- to -

"We arent here to talk about who I choose to canoodle. We are here to talk about -"

But whatever she'd had to say is drowned out in flashing lights and screeching questions. One over another, scrambling to get her attention like cat's in heat. Malakai blinks stupidly and that's the only warning before her temper strikes hot and visceral. She tries to raise her voice among the crowd, but they forget her and she's flashing back to that nobody with a government's collar.

Unconsciously, she reaches for Lyra's hand but instead meets the cold wood of her stand.

"Stop. I dont, no that does not mean, I DIDNT SAY THAT! I DONT KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT. STOP IT. STOP. STOP! LISTEN TO ME!"

[Lyra Everhart]

They’re discussing politics and bureaucracy and budgeting matters and instead it erupts. It explodes into a mess of love interests and sordid affairs and – and why does it have to be private? Lyra of all people stands for equality and she hasn’t been quiet about it, why does it come to anyone’s surprise that the two of them are together? And even as she rises, even as she reaches into the microphone to state calmly that yes, she and Malakai are a couple, and no, it’s nobody’s business that they are – Malakai is stating the same, or roughly thereabout, and not quite as elegantly as Lyra would have wished. But her lips twitch, nevertheless, and she looks distantly amused.

At least, until that word falls.

Canoodle?

She stares at Malakai and yanks her hand away when the shuck reaches for it, obviously offended, and the press picks up on that and shouts more questions. She glares at them all, glares and she feels her rage rising – how dare they, how dare they poke into their private lives like this, arouse Malakai’s anger and – and denial?

She whips around, reaches out to snag Malakai’s arm, the other hand reaches for the microphone. And her deadly calm voice, the rage laced through it, pierces through the shouted questions more than Malakai’s screeching, panicked shouts ever could.

“This press conference is over.”

And with that, if able, she’d drag her lover – whether the woman would publicly admit it or not – out of the auditorium and into the hall, to find a room – a room somewhere, something empty, and pull the door open. Perhaps it’s reminiscent of a funeral not-too-long ago, that she closes the door and slams her woman up against it, pinned at the wrists.

“You would deny it? Are you ashamed, then, Malakai? Ashamed of what we are?”

And her breath heaves, her chest expands and contracts with the force of her anger. She is furious and she will not be pacified.

[Malakai]

Regardless of the steely intent behind Lyra's choice venom. Her fingers digging much to sharply into the cloth of Malakai's arm -- there is still some ragged feelings of relief when the acid green eyes pin the paparazzi in their place. Dismiss them in a way that gains back the control she'd lost.

“This press conference is over.”

Malakai has not felt so shaken up since Ikus, she has not felt something grappling - gripping - at her stomach and insides like embarrassment since he'd bent her to her knee's in the graveyard, made her kiss his boot. This was the same in a way wasnt it? Except Ikus had the mercy of just that. No, the press had a way of spitting up dirt in your face and shoe heel on your cheek. She could taste the sole of their designer shoes if she smacked her lips hard enough.

She's still got that aftertaste at her teeth when Lyra drags her away. Malakai tries to snatch back her arm but it's ill allowed. Not until their in private and Lyra throws her. Until she narrows her eyes and bares her teeth in a trait Malakai had always known to her be her's.

“You would deny it? Are you ashamed, then, Malakai? Ashamed of what we are?”

Malakai does not know to answer. And there is a hesitant silence where she stares at Lyra disbelievingly. Under normal circumstance she may have lashed out herself, she may have reeled away and spit shards of glass in hurtful words. But incongruousness fades into defeat. Slumped shoulders and reassuring words that try to reason. But do not deny.

"I love you," The immortal says, moving her head forward to lay at the fairy's shoulder. Trying to move her wrist a moment later to embrace Lyra in a intimacty. "I love you and you love me and that's all that should matter."

But she knows before anything else can be said Lyra cant see how scared she is.