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Chapter Text

Gentildonna lazily flipped through the pages of her notebook, her eyes flicking over her scrawled notes.

“Gentildonna.” Orfevre stated, her purple eyes flicking over Gentildonna.
Her low voice commanded Gentil’s attention, demanding her to acknowledge the orange-haired umamusume’s presence.

Orfevre had stationed herself directly in front of Gentildonna’s desk, her lithe form leaning over the other, white bangs falling into purple eyes, planting one hand next to the book Gentil was reading.

The tyrant had quite literally cast a shadow over Gentildonna, and her unexpected appearance had already attracted the full attention of everyone in the room.

Everyone, except for one.

“mhm?” Gentil replied, raising her head towards the source of the sound, lingering her eyes on her book for just a moment too long before finally meeting the purple-eyed tyrant’s gaze.

Orfevre’s delicate lashes framed her eyes, her sharp jawline and high cheekbones contributing to her kingly aura.

 

“Gentil.” Orfevre stated again, with a slightly quieter tone.

However, her face did not soften as her eyebrows scrunched inwards, jaw softly clenching creating a tense, uncertain expression, uncharacteristic of the Tyrant.

“Yes, that’s my name”, Gentildonna stated flatly in response, narrowing her eyes. She crossed her arms, unsure of what Orfevre had visited for.

Still meeting Orfevre’s gaze, Gentil uncrossed her legs and leaned back in her chair, softly shaking her head to toss hair out of her eyes.

Orfevre stared at her blankly. Okay.

Still silent, Gentil raised her eyebrows, tilting her head slightly in amusement, goading Orfevre into continuing her statement.

“Gentil.” Orfevre repeated.
“Yes.” Gentildonna said flatly.

“ I… ” Orfevre stuttered, biting her own bottom lip.

Her fiery orange tail swished with uncertainty, causing her onlookers to murmur in confusion.
“I.. uh..” she attempted again.

Gentildonna raised her eyebrows incredulously. The tyrant? Orfevre, legendary umamusume, winner of the Triple crown, tripping over her own words?

“Has the Tyrant finally come to admit defeat?” Gentildonna delivered smoothly, her face adorning a soft smirk, breaking their shared gaze in favour of observing her own nails.

Still no response. How odd.

After a moment, she looked up at the frozen Tyrant, still standing there. Her purple eyes stared blankly at Gentildonna, her body still stiff and unmoving.

Ok… Gentil tried a different approach.
“Did your vassals finally form a union?” She joked, but the orange-haired king remained silent .

Orfevre chewed her lower lip, still standing over Gentil’s desk. Her presence was now less imposing, and more annoying, as her shadow cast over Gentil’s books, obstructing her view of the room.

She was still standing there silently. “Uh..” Orfevre started intelligently, before cutting herself short.

Gentil twitched with annoyance. “What do you need, Orfevre?” she said tiredly.

Orfevre blinked. She opened her mouth, her jaw hanging open for a moment, then closed it again.

Breaking eye contact, her eyes flicked around the room nervously. She wetted her dry lips, inhaling, opening her mouth and-

Still nothing. No words left the Tyrant’s mouth.

Gentil’s gaze darkened with impatience. “Are you a fish?” She delivered cooly.
“What could possibly be so important for you to visit me in person? Class has almost started, Orfevre.”

Orfevre furrowed her brows, clearly frustrated.
“I-”

Gentil rolled her eyes. “Get out, Orfevre. Tell me later.” she exclaimed.

 

Irritation twitched across Orfevre’s face, her ear flicking with annoyance. She pursed her lips. Locking eyes with Gentildonna, she finally inhaled, then spoke.

“Come with me.” She demanded flatly. To the Ligne Droite. Tomorrow.”

The room fell silent, as Gentil paused, observing the Tyrant in front of her. Orfevre’s nervous expression was gone, and she was now watching Gentil expectantly. Demanding a response.

Gentil raised her eyebrows, her scrutinising gaze sweeping up and down the purple eyed girl. The corners of her lips raised into a cold, unreadable smile.

Orfevre broke eye contact, eyes flicking sideways, cheeks reddening.

Gentildonna softly laughed, amusement filling her face.

She stopped herself politely, and fell silent, perfectly poised, now sitting up straight and directly meeting Orfevre’s purple eyed gaze.

“No.” She stated coldly, pure certainty in her eyes. Her dark gaze bored into Orfevre, eyes shining like pools of ink.

Orfevre opened her mouth, and closed them again. She really did resemble a fish. She paused, taking a moment to process the words of rejection, freezing in place.

Orfevre cringed, pursing her lips together, suddenly overly aware of the full classroom around them.

After a moment, Orfevre straightened, shifting back into Tracen academy’s Tyrant, her face distant, but twisted with clear annoyance, lips twisting with disgust.
However, her flushed cheeks betrayed her, colouring her cheeks a deep shade of red.

“So be it”, Orfevre muttered. The words had intended to come out as a booming command, however her voice had betrayed her, the words had come out uncharacteristically thin.

Gentidonna watched incredulously as the tyrant’s ears flicked with.. embarrassment? Annoyance?

Lingering for a moment, Orfevre turned on her heels, her orange hair trailed behind her, leaving nothing but her elegant scent lingering at Gentildonna’s desk, and the murmurs of nosy classmates.

~~

Instead of returning to her classroom, Orfevre directed herself towards one of Tracen academy's currently unoccupied racing tracks, to… recoup her losses.

Analyse the situation, if you will, and maybe get some movement in.

Normally, the tracks were occupied by countless umamusume and their trainers, however as it was off season, most students were using the time to catch up academically.

How unbecoming. What a humiliating loss.

A few months back at the Japan cup, Gentil had grasped the win by just a nose, stealing the win with her unparalleled power.

However, it was an exhilarating battle, an electrifying back and forth between Orfevre and her rival.

Yet, this loss had Orfevre lagging miles behind Gentildonna, and there was nothing she could do to fight back. She was untouchable, and Orfevre was deluded to assume she even had a chance.

“How stupid.” Orfevre grumbled to herself, eyebrows furrowed and eyes downcast.

Orfevre let out a long sigh…. earlier that morning…

~~

“I’m wondering what kind of dates everyone’s going to bring to the Droite tomorrow!"
One excited Umamusume had exclaimed, her blue eyes sparkling.

Orfevre, walking into Tracen Academy early in the morning, had just left her dorm.
Out of curiosity, she had decided to withhold turning the corner, and briefly eavesdrop.

Her friend had leaned in, eyes sparkling, excitedly whispering, “This year, I heard the president herself was actually bringing a date!”

“Who?! Who was it?” Another girl piped in, clearly invested at the mention of the president.

“Sirius.. Sirius symboli!” The other girl whispered excitedly.

“Really?! I wonder if any other prolific Umamusume are having dates this year too..”, the blue eyed girl mused.

“Actually…” One girl whispered, leaning in. “I heard… I heard that Orfevre wasn’t even attending.” she snorted, giggling at the idea.

Orfevre froze, her interest piqued at the mention of her own name. Even though Journey encouraged her to attend, it was true- she actually wasn’t planning on going.

The other girls giggled too, all clearly amused. “Makes sense…” one girl chuckled
“Who would even want to go with her?”

“I bet her sister would have to find her a date”, someone added. Orfevre’s face burned, tail flicking angrily.

“I mean, she does have a pretty face though.” Another voice interjected. “But yeah, who would agree to be the Tyrant’s date?”

The group of girls hummed in agreement.

Orfevre paused, staring at her own feet. Since coming to Tracen academy, she was generally well liked.

The Tyrant had a magnetic aura, attracting groups of people to follow her, some, even willing to serve her.

People admired her, followed her, loved her.
Although, not everyone. Orfevre wasn’t delusional, she knew some people were repulsed by her presence. However, typically she did not concern herself with the opinions of others.

This time, the exchange had stung. It had definitely struck a chord.

It was true. Orfevre couldn’t think of anyone who she could ask to the Droite. She had no equals- The respect she commanded resulted in a palpable distance between her and other students.

However- There was…

“Gentildonna,” Orfevre muttered to herself. Her rival.

They were equals, right? Orfevre admired her power, and considered her to be a worthy rival, especially after recently accepting defeat to her at the Japan Cup.

And of course, she was gorgeous.

Orfevre thought of Gentildonna's large, round eyes framed by long, thick lashes.
Her silky, shiny hair which smelt faintly of cinnamon. Her perfectly glossy, red lips. Her curvy, muscular build.
And her unforgiving, unwavering personality- She was incredible.

Elegant, refined, beautiful and strong. Orfevre realised- Gentil was more than perfect to stand beside her.

Orfevre blinked. Gentil had to come with her. She was her only choice.
~~

Orfevre’s cheeks still burned with embarrassment, recalling Gentil’s cold dismissal, her face scrunching from humiliation.

“Complete and utter rejection….” Orfevre muttered, her words sounding far too choked for her liking.

Well, Orfevre supposes she actually won’t attend. Following her previous plan, Gentil’s rejection doesn’t change things, because she wasn’t going to attend anyways.

Such events were far beneath her anyways, and her time is much too precious to be stuffed into a hall with hundreds of sweaty students.

~~~

Chapter Text

~~

It was lunchtime, and Gentildonna was making her way over to a training course.

As usual, she had already had consumed her nutrients at an inhuman pace, and was on her way for extra training.
Her strong pysiche was partially genetic, but her power was also upkept by consistent training.

Gentil pushed into the change rooms, slinging her bag from her shoulder onto the nearest bench.
“The droite,” She internally mused, recalling the mornings events. “This morning just what did Orfevre want from me?”.

She scooped hair up into her hands, her impressive shoulder and arm muscles flexing as she raised her arms, preparing to secure her hair into a low bun.

As Gentil raised her arms, she caught a glimpse of another Umamusume in the opposite corner of the change room.

Firey, orange hair. An ornate decoration on the right ear. Streaks of white. And a nearly bare back. “Ah.” She exclaimed.

“Orfevre?” she called.

“Gentildonna.” Orfevre deadpanned, her deep voice resonating in the room.
Orfevre partially turned her head towards the source of the sound, eyes flicking over Gentildonna’s presence.

Her cheeks reddened as she remembered her state of partial undress, her lack of shirt leaving her bra entirely exposed.

The Orange haired Umamusume turned to face Gentildonna, leaning against the wall, crossing her arms across her exposed, toned midsection.

Orfevre met Gentildonna’s gaze, eyeing her expectantly. While most Umamusume would waver under the Tyrant’s scruntinising gaze, Gentildonna didn’t flinch.

Instead, she matched her intensity, roaming her eyes across Orfevre’s form.
Gentildonna noted the sight, taking in the view of Orfevre adorned with a simple, lacy bra paired with her training pants still on.

Her thoughts were broken by the sound of Orfevre’s voice, “..ello? Gentil, are you even listening?”

Gentildonna blinked, cheeks flushed red. “Sorry, could you repeat that?”

“Gentildonna.” Orfevre stated, stepping closer to the woman.
“What is it that you want from me.” She demanded, ears flicking, purple eyes boring into Gentildonna.

The recollection of Orfevre’s rejection burned brightly in her own memories, the fresh rejection causing her cheeks to burn.

“I’m here to train.” Gentildonna replied smoothly, her cool words chilling the room.

“Nothing else.” Gentil continued cooly. “The fact you’ve been missing all day doesn’t concern me.” She paused briefly, sweeping her eyes over Orfevre’s agitated form.

“Although, I am curious about that little stunt you pulled this morning.”, she continued, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. “The Droite? Really?”

Orfevre edged back, uncharacteristically silent.
Gentildonna narrowed her eyes.

She advanced further, closing in on Orfevre. “I dont know who you think I am, but I refuse to be your armpeice for the night.”

Orfevre opened her mouth in protest, her tail swishing with agitation as she stepped forward towards Gentildonna in protest.

Gentildonna surged forward in response, closing the few lengths previously separating them.

She raised a built arm, toned muscles rippling up her arm and shoulder, before resting her hand beneath Orfevre’s chin, gently pushing upwards to shut her slightly parted mouth.

Orfevre’s eyes widened in surprise, caught off guard by the close proximity.

The softness of the movement was a surprising contrast to her powerful build, Orfevre mused, basking in the feel of Gentildonna’s warm fingerstips against her jawline.

The air in the changeroom shifted, thick with the tension of two clashing rivals.

Orfevre bit her lower lip, violet eyes fluttering up to read Gentildonna’s expression.

Gentildonna settled a single finger upon Orfevres lips, causing the Tyrant to stiffen in shock.

“I will not submit to you, Orfevre.” Gentildonna muttered in a low voice. “I don’t need to prove that I’m your equal, I am your equal.”

She leaned into Orfevre’s ear, her body brushing against the Tyrants.

Orfevre shuddered at the feel of Gentil’s rough uniform fabric pressed against her bare shoulder, suddenly all too aware of her exposed bra.

Burning with embarrassment, Orfevre raised her hand, pushing Gentildonna’s shoulder, jerking her away. She grabbed her wrist, removing the finger obstructing her lips.

Gentil’s other arm, previously holding the Tyrant’s chin, fell loosely resting on Orfevre’s shoulder.

The ginger girl looked like a mess with tousled, orange, post-training hair, her cheeks flushed, and eyes darting around the room.

They both paused, taking in the situation, until Gentildonna’s ice cold, calm demeanour finally broke, her lips twisting into a slight frown.

While her expression itself displayed cold annoyance, the light blush dusting her cheeks said otherwise.

Orfevre inhaled, sweeping Gentildonna’s arm off her shoulder.

“I didn’t ask you because I needed someone to hang off my arm.”, Orfevre delivered, her resonant, deep voice wavering slightly.

Gentildonna raised her eyebrows.

“I..” Orfevre paused. “I asked you precisely because you are capable of standing by my side.”

“You are… You are my equal”, Orfevre admitted hurriedly.

She straighted, pushing Gentil’s arm off her shoulder. “But if you are so foolish as to immediately assume yourself to be below me, I suppose you are”, she stated curtly.

“Well,” Gentildonna cooed, one again stepping in closer, “this is very pleasing”, she continued, taking in Orfevre’s reddened face.

“I’ll take this ‘date’ as an opportunity prove my strength off the track, then.” She murmured, pressing herself against Orfevre’s exposed form, forcing them against the wall.

“See you tommorow night, Orfevre.” She mused, leaning in so Orfevre could nearly count her eyelashes.

“However,” Gentil continued.

“Don’t give in, Orfevre.”, she whispered into Orfevre’s unadorned ear, immediately pulling her face away to meet Orfevre’s eyes.

Orfevre blinked, she could feel Gentil’s breath lingering on her face. Wow, she observed intelligently.

Gentildonna took the smallest step forward, hooking her arms around the back of Orfevre’s neck.

Momentarily, her eyes flicked down to Orfevre’s lips, immediately breaking away to meet her eyes.

Gentildonna paused, taking in the moment, before giving Orfevre a small, beautiful, and truely genuine smile, eyes shining.

Orfevre responded by grabbing the back of Gentildonna’s head, pulling her in to gently press their lips together.

Gentildonna responded by pulling Orfevre in, deepening the kiss and pressing their bodies together. Releasing a soft moan, the strained sound rang into the empty change room.

Moving one arm behind Orfevre’s back, the other arm resting behind her neck, she let her thumb brush against Orfevre’s exposed bra strap.

Orfevre arched into the touch, opening her mouth, deepening the kiss and pushing her thigh between Gentil’s legs, while tightening her grip on the back of Gentil’s hair.

The tyrant softly broke the kiss, using the opportunity to flip their positions and press Gentildonna into the wall.

She drew another moan out of Gentildonna, increasing the pressure of her thigh between Gentil’s strong legs, causing the brown haired girl’s head to toss back, and her eyes to flutter shut.

Taking the chance, Orfevre kissed and marked Gentil’s neck, teeth lightly scraping up the pale column.

“Y-You don’t get to mark me.” Gentildonna mumbled in a low tone, her strong voice interrupted by a scattered moan.

Orfevre hummed in response against Genti’s skin, pulling away. “Hm?” She questioned.

Gentil took the chance to lean into Orfevre’s lower neck, resting her lips just above Orfevre’s skin, her breath tickling the Tyrant’s skin.

Orfevre shuddered, just as Gentildonna’s lips met her skin, sucking a devastating mark into the curve of Orfevre’s neck, much too high to be casually covered.

“Gentil!” Orfevre reprimanded, her voice squeaking.

Gentildonna responded by moving up Orfevre’s neck, sinking her teeth into the unmarked expanse of skin.

Orfevre let out a chocked, high-pitched squeak, moaning in pleasure, her body arching into Gentildonna’s touch.

 

“Gentil”, Orfevre whined, lightly scratching at the Lady’s back. Gentil took no notice, continuing to pepper kisses up Orfevre’s neck, towards her sharp jawline.

“Gentil!” Orfevre demanded again, her voice regaining its typical thundering cadence, whilst suddenly stiffening under Gentildonna’s touch.

Gentil immediately withdrew herself, stepping back, clearly concerned at the sudden command.

“Gentil, there are people coming.” Orfevre muttered, face flushed red, using her hand to wipe the saliva off her neck.

Just as Orfevre quickly ushered Gentildonna away, Silence Suzuka and Special Week turned the corner into the change rooms.

Gentildonna was stood in one corner, standing over her bag, gazing down at it with an unnatural level of focus.

Orfevre, opposite the room was facing the wall, face entirely blank. Her arm was ar a stiff angle, her arm perpetually rubbing? Covering? Her neck.

“Uhh” Suzuka nervously vocalised, eyes sweeping across the room, lingering on Gentildonna’s kiss-swollen lips, flushed face and soft marks already forming on her neck.

Her green eyes caught Orfevre in the far corner, noting her nervous, swishing tail, and tangled, sweaty hair. And of course, her shirt lay on the floor approximately two metres away, crumpled and forgotten.

Whilst the two were residing on opposite sides of the room, it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

Orfevre, still in her training clothes, broke the silence. “I’m going to have lunch.” She declared, her voice not quite harbouring the same royal command it typically did.

 

“Eh!?” Special week declared, clearly having not processed the situation.

“It’s 4:00pm…” Suzuka deadpanned, eyes again flicking over Gentildonna and Orfevre’s sweaty, flushed, forms.

Orfevre gave no acknowledgment towards her comment, instead opting to push past the two still lingering at the entrance. “Shit.” She thought.

~~~

Chapter Text

~~

Dream Journey was in her shared dorm with Orfevre’s smoothing the wrinkles in the sheets of Orfevre’s grand bed.

Having recently retired from racing, the blue eyed woman had just meticulously cleaned the whole room, vanquishing all unwanted dust and grime.

She was focusing on Academics, learning preliminary higher-level knowledge in a range of scientific fields to “test the waters” of each study area.

Her ears turned towards the sound of the door unlocking and swinging open as Orfevre gently slipped into the room.

“No greeting for me today, Or?” Journey commented, still focused on her task.

“Hmmf.” Orfevre replied eloquently, dumping her belongings into a spotless corner.

Journey sensed her younger sisters sulky mood, opening her mouth to offer comfort and advice.

However, as her pale blue eyes witnessed her beloved younger sister’s unkempt hair, pink cheeks and reddened, slightly swollen lips, she froze, eyes narrowing slightly.

And, of course, she was still in her training uniform for some reason, her shirt usually rumpled.

Most incriminating of all, there was her marked neck. Hickeys and… was that a bite mark? Journey was going to pass out.

However, something was clearly upsetting the younger sister, and her neck was covered in a clearly impromptu band-aid job, so Journey decided to turn a blind eye. For now.

 

“Aneue?” Orfevre questioned, lightly crossing her arms whilst her older sister appeared to disassociate after surgically dissecting her current appearance from across the room.

Dream Journey gave her a soft, closed eyed smile. Orfevre blinked.

A moment paused, the dorm entirely quiet.

“Or, how was your day?” She delivered warmly.

Orfevre stiffened, forcing a small smile.
“It was good, Aneue.” Orfevre responded, walking towards her own pristine bed. Journey’s eyes still followed her every movement.
“Thanks for cleaning.” She added, sitting down.

“Orfevre.” Dream Journey murmured, her calm eyes still tracking her younger sister. Her voice was strong.

Orfevre stiffed at the usage of her full name.
Whilst gentle, her soft voice was only just above a whisper, however there was a hidden, deadly undertone.

“Ah, Aneue, how was your day?” Orfevre redirected.

Journey, not missing a beat, entirely ignored her younger sister’s response, continuing with a soft smile.

“I heard you weren’t in class today.” She stated with a cold smile.”

Orfevre looked up.
“Ah, yes. I was doing some extra training considering I’m ahead on all my studies.”

“Funny.” Dream Journey narrowed her eyes. “Thats not what I heard.”

Orfevre pursed her lips. “I-“ she started.

“uh.” The tyrant continued very elegantly.

“Well-“ “Orfevre.” Dream Journey interrupted. Orfevre snapped her head up at her sister’s uncharacteristically commanding tone.

Orfevre looked at Journey, who was still adorning a serene smile. No trace of anything else.

Journey continued. “Sorry, Or. Go on.” she said in her usually calming manner, an immediate 180 from her previous tone.

There was a palpable pause as Orfevre gathered herself.

“Sorry, Aneue,” Orfevre stated. Journey narrowed her eyes. “Could you tell me what you’ve heard?” Orfevre requested politely.

“Well.” Journey panned. She walked to her own area of the room, sitting on the edge of her bed, facing Orfevre directly.

She leaned back lazing, shifting her weight.
“I heard you paid Gentildonna’s classroom a visit.”

Ah. She totally knows. Orfevre thought.
“Sorry, Aneue.” Orfevre whispered, her gaze cast downwards.

The room fell silent.

The tyrant was slumped, her orange hair cascading down her shoulder, covering her like a blanket.

“Sorry?” Journey tilted her head, raising her eyebrows in confusion. Her tone was laced with confusion, clearly not understanding the respond.

Her glanced at her little sister’s downtrodden form, continuing gently.

“Oh, Or, what are you sorry for?,” she cooed, this time, her words bearing true authenticity.

“I embarrassed our family name.” Orfevre stated, fidgeting. Her words were uncharacteristically soft.

Journey’s eyes widened in concern, her mouth slightly cracking open in shock.

“I brought shame to us.” Orfevre muttered.
“I am no king.” Her voice cracked. “I was brash.” She finished, eyebrows furrowing.

Orfevre grimaced, not intending to sound so downtrodden. I didn’t think I was that upset. She mused internally.

“Oh Or, what happened?” Journey cooed, appearing next her sister, seating herself next to Orfevre. She rested her hand on Orfevre’s upper back, patting it softly.

“Sorry.” Orfevre straightened back to her regal posture, slightly recomposing herself. Her face, however, told a different story.

“How do you not know?” Orfevre mumbled, turning her head slightly, allowing purple eyes to meet soft blue.

“I heard you invited Gentildonna to the droite tomorrow?” Journey question, her hand rubbing circles into her younger sisters back. Orfevre, of course, didn’t need it, but it was still nice.

“I did.” Orfevre confirmed. Journey looked at her expectantly.

Orfevre paused. “but I suffered a great defeat.” She admitted. Journey blinked.

“She rejected me.” The Tyrant clarified weakly.

“Oh?”

“…I thought everyone knew…” Orfevre admitted factually, covering her flushed cheeks with her hand.

She recomposed herself, brushing white and orange hair out of her face, tossing it over her shoulder.

“Apparently not!” Journey smiled lightly.

“…” Orfevre fell silent. She furrowed her brows, clearly perplexed.

 

“May i ask…” Dream Journey probed, her tentative words breaking the silence. “Why Gentildonna?”

Orfevre sighed, shifting her weight and leaning back on her hands.

“I…” She started, “I wanted a worthy date. Someone who can match me.” She admitted, her tail swishing with embarrassment.

Dream Journey blinked.

“I don’t want someone I can conquer.” Orfevre stated. “I need someone who can contest me.”

Dream Journey’s eyebrows raised at her final statement.
“Right….” She said cooly. “So what happened in the afternoon…?” She probed.

Orfevre chewed her lower lip, breaking eye contact with her sister, immediately flushing a bright red.

“…ithinkgentildonnaiscomingtothdroitewithme” she mumbled quickly, her hand coming up to rest over her sloppily bandaged neck.

“What?” Dream Journey said incredulously.

“gentildonnaiscomingtothedroitewithmenow”

“Excuse me?” Journey exclaimed, raising an eyebrow.

Orfevre took a breath, her hand still over the incriminating area on her neck. Oh, Journey was going to lose it.
“Uh,” Orfevre started.

Journey silently raised both eyebrows, indicating for Orfevre to continue speaking.

“Gentil-“ Orfevre stated uncertainly.“Gentildonna…”

Journey frowned, clearly getting impatient.

Orfevre’s hand left her neck, leaving a small corner of that goddamned bite mark on display again.

“We’re going to the Droite together.” Orfevre finally explained, pursing her lips, looking away to avoiding her older sister’s gaze.

A moment passed.

And another moment passed.

After approximately 30 seconds of awkward silence- Orfevre looked over.

Dream Journey was out cold.

~~~

Chapter Text

Whilst morning classes were still on, Tracen academy was buzzing with excitement over the Droite that evening. Gentildonna, however, sat perfectly poised, stone faced at her desk.

“Gentil!” a friendly classmate exclaimed, causing the elegant umamusume to turn her head towards the sound.

She gazed at the other girl for a moment, analysing her presence. “Friendly smile, not the type to gossip.” Gentil mused. “I bet she’s just curious about the Droite.”

Matching expectations, her classmate continued, “What are you wearing to the Droite tonight?” she inquired.

“Ah.” Gentildonna vocalised. She hadn’t intended to say that out loud. Recovering, she purred, “That’ll be a surprise.”

“I’m so excited!” She exclaimed. “Wait, are you going with Orfevre…?” She asked tentatively.

The room fell silent, her classmates clearly remembering yesterday’s ordeal.

~~

The previous morning, the Tyrant had confessed in a rather… explosive… manner, and was coldly rejected.
Immediately after Orfevre had stormed out, the room exploded into conversation, Gentil’s classmates clearly having a lot to say about the two rivals.

Gentil’s dark eyes flicked across the room, ears twitching as she picked up on the already unflattering rumors being spread about the Tyrant. Many of her classmates were giggling, or silent watching Gentildonna to see how she would react.

Their stares were very poorly disguised. Her eyebrows furrowed.

She cleared her throat. “Ahem.”

Over half the class froze, heads snapping towards the noise. The other half continued talking, voices awkwardly trailing off as they recognised the shift in atmosphere.

“Rest assured, Orfevre will be attending the Droite with me tomorrow.” She spoke, inciting soft murmurs of confusion amongst her classmates. “

“However, I will invite her properly. I refuse to accept such juvenile declarations.” She continued, an amused smile growing on her face.

“And we will do it my way. Classy.” She added. “Not so brash.”
“And,” she delivered with a low voice, “She must accept my invitation, not vice versa.” And privately. Privately would be great. She added mentally.

The class paused, processing her declaration. Before anyone could react, the teacher walked in, clearly confused as to why the room was so silent.

~~

Now, Gentildonna recalled her words. “Classy” she mused to herself, cheeks slightly flushing.
She unconsciously rubbed her neck, where she had spent nearly half an hour this morning layering colour corrector, concealer, then powder, topping off the concoction with a load of setting spray, all of which she had done well before Buena Vista had awoken, not wanting to startle the cheery girl with the incriminating marks scattered up her neck.

Gentil looked up, realising her classmate was still looking at her expectantly, waiting for a response. Right. Are you going with Orfevre.

“Yes, I a-” Gentil was cut off by a high pitched squeal of excitement. She parted her mouth in confusion? Concern? And whipped her head towards a classmate’s excited movements, clearly not having predicted the level of emotional investment.

She narrowed her eyes, tracing the origin of the sound towards a petite blue-eyed girl, with pink hair adorned by a large bow, partially tied into pigtails.

“Digitan!” The girl next to her, probably her friend, yelped. She grabbed her arm, pulling her in to face her.
“Calm down!” She hissed, pulling her in closer, face mere centimetres from Digitan’s.

“Digitan? Where have I…” Gentildonna mumbled.

She watched as Digitan’s eyes widened and she stuttered, “T-too…” she blushed.

“TOO CLOSE!” She yelped, eyes rolling back in her head, nose shooting blood. Watching other Umamusume scramble to catch her limp form, Gentildonna shook her head, incredulously witnessing the incident.

“Right, it's Agnes Digital.” Gentildonna recalled internally, finally turning away from the chaos across the room. She brushed the strange events off, refocusing on the girl in front of her.

Her classmate, also clearly perplexed at the unconscious Umamusume, also turned back to face Gentildonna.

“Anyways, hope to see you two tonight!” Her classmate exclaimed, turning away and heading to her own desk.

“How odd”, Gentil mused.

~~~

 

The student council had graciously given classes off for the afternoon, to ensure there was ample getting-ready time.

Orfevre, however, had decided to grant herself the morning off. After waking up, she had immediately trudged to the bathroom, deciding to remove patchwork of already peeling bandages across her neck.

She mildly flinched as the bandaids came off, her skin still tender.

Orfevre leaned into the mirror, observing the damage.

The marks had gone from red to deep purple, with the darkened bruising creating very prominent, high-contrast evidence.

The small crescent shapes, marked by Gentildonna’s teeth, were also much too prominent for Orfevre’s liking.

She frowned, her face warming. “How embarrassing”, she thought, splashing water across her face.

Digging through drawers, Orfevre attempted to locate a bottle of foundation. Or any useful makeup, really.

Unlike Gentildonna, on the daily, Orfevre didn’t concern herself with using any cosmetics.

She deemed it a waste of time, as her eyelashes were already long and dark, with her skin and lips being perfectly pigmented and even.

For important events, she let her team attend to her, using god-knows-whatever products to professionally enhance her strong features.

The last time she attempted to apply makeup to herself was around middle school, a terribly humbling experience.

She had stepped downstairs, uncharacteristically tentative, and Journey had taken one look at her and started laughing for 5 minutes straight, losing her soft, supportive demeanor.

Eventually, once Journey had (partically) calmed herself, she beckoned Orfevre over to gently touch up her makeup (read: wash it off and entirely redo it), before letting herstep outside.

Back then, Orfevre was annoyed at Journey’s audacity, however now she was eternally grateful that her older sister didn’t let her leave the house.

Finally, Orfevre located an old bottle of foundation hiding behind the mirror. Brushing a fine layer of dust off, she decided to forego checking the use-by date.

How do you even apply this? She wondered, inspecting the pump. You aren’t meant to use your fingers, right?

She experimentally grabbed a paper towel, pressing it into a rought ball.

“Its like the egg-thing Gentil uses for her makeup.” A part of her brain chimed.

She pumped foundation onto it, a bit more than expected was extruding, soaking the ball, making it soggy and just a tad limp.

“Whoops”, the Tyrant muttered, eyebrows furrowing in concentration, attempting to squish the paper towel ball back into a shape resembling a sphere.
Foundation squelched out of the misshapen chunk, coating the Tyrant’s fingers.

Hesitating, Orgevre decided to move the soaked paper towel over her neck, tentatively dabbing it at her skin, causing her to wince at the sudden touch.

The application was patchy and uneven, and as she attempted to swipe her makeshift ‘egg thing’ across her neck to remedy the irregular application, pieces of the paper towel broke off, causing sediment to cling to her skin, pilling up in a surprisingly grotesque manner.

Frowning, Orfevre put the soppy paper towel down, smudging foundation onto the basin. She ran the tap, scowling as the accidentally smudged more foundation across the faucet.

She dried her hands, and lightly brushed the paper towel bits off her neck.

Picking up the foundation bottle, she pumped foundation onto the tips of her fingers.

She softly pressed her fingers to her neck, the foundation blotching onto the area, dripping down unhelpfully.

Orfevre used her fingers to spread the foundation across her neck, frowning.

“It’s orange.” She grumbled. The foundation, now applied, was clearly not her match, and the Tyrant had orange streaks wrapping up, down and around her neck, with smudges of tinted orange dotting her jawline.

She blinked, pausing, wracking her brain for possible fixes.

More importantly, it was not covering her marked neck whatsoever. The orange foundation, whilst obvious against her pale skin, hardly even tinted the dark bruises.

Maybe she needed more? She could fix the colour later.

Orfevre stared at the bottle uncertainly. She picked up the bottle, squirting another pump of foundation onto her fingers, this time not hesitating before applying the product.

The orange liquid dripped against her neck again, and much to her dismay, the sheer foundation failed to conceal the marks entirely. Instead, the orange product opted to spread further, dripping downwards toward her collarbones.

Orfevre grimaced, extremely displeased.
She wiped her orange-coated fingertips against the porcelain basin (she’ll clean it all at the end), and grabbed a paper towel to blot off the excess liquid product off her neck.

“It’s not concealing anything,” the Tyrant groaned internally.

“Wait… conceal…” she muttered, wiping more foundation off her hands. “Concealer!” She thought proudly.

From her knowledge, concealers were made for covering things. Now she just needed to find some.

Orfevre reached towards the mirror again, cringing as she smudged orange onto the pristine glass. Hoping to rediscover more old makeup, she dug through various cleaning products, medication, and bug spray?

Finally, she spotted a little flesh-coloured tube. Reaching her hand towards it, her graceful wrist knocked multiple bottles off the shelves, plummeting downwards to loudly clatter into the sink.

She cringed. Journey is still supposed to be asleep. Orfevre waited, awkwardly standing in the bathroom, listening for any signs of movement.

Nothing.

Concealer in hand, she observed the tube. It wasn’t quite as orange as the foundation, leaning towards a yellow tone. “Perhaps they’ll cancel each other out..?” She wondered.

She untwisted the cap, revealing a fuzzy applicator.

Slowly leaning forward over the sink, Orfevre squinted, carefully observing the state of her neck, dabbing the concealer onto the darkest spots of her neck.

She paused, frowning, eventually opting to just swipe it all over.

Putting the applicator down, she raised a finger to blend the streaks out.

As she leaned over, her elbow knocked the applicator, causing it to tumble into the sink, leaving heavy streaks of product on the inside of the basin.

Orfevre stepped back, pausing, and taking a moment to glare at the incriminating applicator, her eyes burning with a royal fury.

Taking a breath, Orfevre sighed and decided to direct her attention back to her neck. She tapped out the concealer and- wow, it definitely offered more coverage.

However, the marks were still visible, now an ugly, muted grey tone underneath the yellow concealer.

More problematically, the concealer certainly did not ‘cancel out’ the orange foundation. Her neck was a mess of orange blotched with warm yellow, marks still visible.

She curled her lips, making a face of kingly disgust and stepped back, looking at herself in the mirror when-

“Or, are you in there?” Journey’s soft voice inquired, knocking at the bathroom door.

Suddenly, Orfevre was terribly aware of her surroundings. The bathroom was a disaster. The cupboards hung open, clearly rummaged through.

The sink had numerous smudged orange stains and fingerprints.

The disintegrating paper towel ball was still resting on the side of the basin, and the concealer wand was in the sink, sitting at the end of an incriminating yellow trail sliding into the basin.

Multiple used paper towels, covered in orange smudges, sat scattered across the sink, most half-wet and already degrading.

And of course, multiple bottles and products lay in the sink, having fallen from the shelves behind the mirror. Including Journey’s beloved skincare, which also had flesh-toned fingerprints adorning it.

“Are you alright?” Journey probed, clearly concerned at the lack of response.

“Aneue!” Orfevre stiffened, royal voice slightly cracking. “I’m alright, but you should go to class.” She forced her voice into her typical commanding cadence.

“It’s still pretty early…” Journey murmured. Orfevre cringed. Classes didn’t start for another hour.

“But..” Journey paused. “if you say so, Or”, she finished, light suspicion lacing her voice. Orfevre waited until she heard the click of Journey exiting their dorm, before releasing a relieved sigh.

Orfevre grimaced. She was going to have to do something about this, and inviting Gentildonna may just be the key to her solution.