CHIONOPHILE - Coriolanus Snow

DERN

Dern (adj.) Secret, hidden, dark. (also of feelings.)

"Paranoid? Why do want to know?" - Simon R. Green

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"Oh, he undoubtedly harbours lascivious intentions towards you, and I'm well aware of your reciprocal desires," the wine-soaked echoes of Brit's voice reverberated in the expansive penthouse.

The glow of intoxication painted Calida's cheeks an even warmer hue, further heightened by Brit's insinuations.

"No, Brit. I've made it abundantly clear that I won't let things escalate to that extent. I neither like him nor trust him," She asserted, her words weaving a delicate tapestry of conviction and denial, though her flushed countenance hinted at a vulnerability she wished to conceal.

"Don't subject me to that tired refrain about his icy gaze; it's preposterous, Calida. He's a university virtuoso, an apprentice to Dr Gaul, a luminary in the capital council at a mere twenty, and, let's not omit, devilishly handsome," Brit expounded, playfully wiggling her expressive eyebrows.

Calida, pouring more wine into her glass as if seeking solace in its crimson depths, countered vehemently, "He can be all those things and still harbour darkness. I swear, he exudes the essence of a serpent. I could taste the poison on him."

A mischievous smirk adorned her lips. "Didn't you say Mr Snow tasted like roses?" she quipped.

"Oh, fuck off, Brit," Calida retorted, silencing further banter with a substantial gulp of wine.

"But on a serious matter, he kissed you, and you kissed him, so at least there is some attraction between you," Brit observed, her tone suggesting a lighthearted acknowledgement of the undeniable tension.

"Yeah, he is hot; I'm not blind. But I don't understand why he kissed me because I know he is not fond of me; he barely tolerates me," Calida sighed, her words laced with a perplexity that transcended the realm of physical allure.

"So you think he just wants to get in your panties?" Brit probed.

Grappling with the ambiguity of her emotions, Calida shrugged, uncertain whether Coriolanus's motivations were as superficial as Brit suggested.

Calida, now comfortably ensconced in the embrace of inebriation, spoke with a bluntness that mirrored the effects of the potent libations she had consumed.

"I find the notion of two people who can barely stand each other sleeping together rather enticing, you know? It's like navigating treacherous waters without risking drowning in emotions," she remarked, the alcohol-infused boldness evident in her words.

"Safer from what?" questioned a perplexed Brit. "I doubt barely tolerating each other works as a contraceptive pill, Cal," she added, indulging in a giggle prompted by her own jest.

"Of course not. I mean safer in the sense that emotions won't muddy the waters. It's a protective measure against catching feelings or succumbing to some sappy, sentimental nonsense," Calida elucidated. She placed her glass on the table with a forceful clink, causing the red wine to splash audibly.

"I'm a creature of sensitivity, an entity already drenched in the raw emotions of existence. I cannot afford to grant anyone the leverage to manipulate those tender emotions, weaving love and affection into weapons against me." Calida added with a sigh.

Brit responded with a casual affirmation, "It's not a crime to catch feelings."

"Feelings breed trust, and trust can be deadlier than bullets. The council already views Coriolanus as a strategic asset for the future, envisioning him as a potential president. I can't shake the feeling that our partnership is merely a pawn in Coriolanus's grand game," Calida confessed, laying bare her concerns.