Time Is A Thief

What's Mine

Following the owner into the small office, the newcomer knocked her knee on her own case which had been stowed to the side of the door frame. Hissing at the attack of her own luggage for the umpteenth time that day, she closed the door behind her. "Fahh-!" sucking air into her mouth through her grit teeth to prevent a curse from escaping, the younger woman mumbled to herself as she moved around the object. "I really need to find a place soon; I can't keep this crap here." Looking up from glowering at the neon purple case, she waited for the gesture to sit down. Getting a welcoming wave, the taller woman joined her long-time acquaintance on the other side of the desk.

Marisa took two glasses from the compartment under her desk, and then a gold label bottle of hard liquor quickly followed. "I'm sorry I couldn't greet you at the airport this morning."

Wafting her hand, the newcomer sat up straight against the back of the leather chair. Verdant eyes scanned the numerous frames of the business owner's feats. Her son's, and the others she had taken in. She was about to yawn from her seven-hour travel when she caught sight of a certain cluster to the older woman's left. "That's mine..."

Following the younger woman's line of sight, Marisa noticed what her guest was talking about. "Ah, yes. That was your second Ballroom win."

"I wasn't here then."

"I knew you had something before we met by ourselves back in 2007."

"And there was me just thinking you wanted to use me against my mother."

"I would be both upset and angry if I thought that you held the same contempt for me as you did your mother."

"You don't have to address her so formally just because we're blood."

"Regardless of my either of our relationships with her, I still respect what she has accomplished."

Citrine eyes slid from the amber alcohol and back to the splay of awards covering more of the walls than the pale emulsion. "I don't."

"I have my own reasons for not getting along with her, but as a mother, I wish you wouldn't dislike her so intently." Pretty feature tightened under the pressure of silence. She watched the younger woman scowl off like she was having a teen tantrum, but she wasn't a teen, not anymore. She still held that disdain clear in her eyes against the woman which had birthed her and if that wasn't enough, then the crease between her brows and the downwards pointed corners of full lips made it clear.

Hyōdō Marisa had known Valentina Belova for just over twelve years now. Marisa had seen the youner woman dance swing and urban unofficial competitions in the UK when the girl was sixteen. At the time, she had no idea that she was the daughter of a wicked woman she had the misfortune of knowing for so much longer.

Leaning back, the guest twiddled an unlit cigarette between her thumb and middle finger. "On that front, you know that I'm yours no matter what." Eyes down, Valentina nodded more to herself than her company. "My loyalty lies here. I am here, with you, thanks to you. Not her."

"As your mentor, I'm insurmountably grateful to hear you say that. As a mother myself, I feel my heart break a little every time you tell me so."

"Perhaps she should have been a little more motherly, and then she would reap the benefits of one."

Marisa pulled back as she sucked in a deep breath. "Ah, you're so cold, Valenshka."

"I hardly see it that way. I actually wanted to ask you a favour." The woman's fair features crinkled. "I would appreciate it if you could tell your son to stop fretting about me."