(OOG: Grrr, it took me so long to write this. ^^ I'm sorry I've been so slow, but inspiration has been VERY hard to come by these days. Hopefully this post isn't as bad as I think it is, but I don't hold out much hope for that.)

"Are you sure he hasn't returned yet? This is quite unlike him."

"I agree, my Queen..." Councillor Veren - one of Synclair's few trusted allies - paused in thought. "This is in direct violation of our current orders. I hope his reasons are strong enough to sway you, and the Bureau Master."

Cyrene's eyebrows quirked, and she wished for a moment to see his expression somehow through the audio unit. She hadn't been aware that Veren possessed any sort of humor at all. But at least he hadn't made a crack about her increasing correspondence with Synclair. "Perhaps. Thank you for your help, Councillor - please inform me when he arrives."

"My pleasure, Majesty."

//Of course it is.// She switched off the comm unit and leaned back in her chair, turning her eyes down to the reports strewn about her desk. But she couldn't quite focus on them, despite the fact that they were related to her new 'cause'... What good would they do her without Synclair? She wasn't completely ignorant when it came to intelligence reports, but there was a good deal of technical jargin that she just wasn't well-versed in.

He could have warned her that he was going to disappear like this; she didn't want to keep him on a leash certainly, but... even he should have had a little more respect for his position than this... or at least for...

//Oh god, what am I doing?// Cyrene shook her head, lips pressing together to keep from uttering her thoughts aloud. She had become a weakling, depending so much upon him, when she should be able to do this for herself.

She wanted to say... 'this is what would come of trusting people'. But in truth, it was simply her tendency to push her responsibility away... Just as she'd done five hundred years ago. Would she never grow up? Would she always be the little girl that betrayed Sophia, because she relied too much on the advice of her ministers?

The chair slid back silently, and she stood, hands flat on the desk as she leaned over the edge and stared at the reports. They seemed pure gibberish to her eyes right now, as if written in some foreign language that had been forgotten... Forgotten to her, at least. Nothing made sense anymore, and she couldn't help but wonder if she /was/ going insane after all...

With a sigh, Cyrene turned away from her desk and moved around it, her feet dragging across the ivory rug in near-exhaustion. How much sleep had she gotten, last night? The night before...? //I'm too old for this. I should be, by all rights and laws of the earth... dead...//

Well, she certainly felt as if she should be dead. The stim drink had helped, although she'd spent most of the extra energy arguing with Alda over the consequences of relying on such things... And regardless of the fact that it worked... it certainly didn't add to her motivation. Oh, she was accustomed to the drudgery of everyday paperwork, but things had gotten much worse, of late.

And worse, she'd had no one to talk to... not really.

She stopped at the threshold of the study, staring through the glass doors to the peaceful, sunlit garden just outside. Were there any appointments left today...?

Shrugging with a rustle of heavy velvet, Cyrene turned the handle and pushed the doors open, taking only a moment to secure a handful of skirts and robe before stepping outside and pulling them closed again. A faint breeze brushed against her skin after a moment of silence, touched with the scents of the garden - pleasant beyond belief after the still, musty air of her study - and the normally humid heat of Aquavy was dulled into something almost... nice. The feeling was... almost unearthly.

Of course, that could very well have been because she hadn't set foot outside of her chambers in over two weeks... as she imagined Synclair would drily comment upon, if he were here with her.

With a faintly amused smile, she began to walk.

Despite Shevat's advancement, Cyrene - and the queen before her - had insisted that the garden be allowed to roam wild, and grow according to its own natural pattern. The paths she followed, therefore, were gravelly and haphazard, surrounded and overhung by greenery and fragrant blossoms... it was all intertwined in a chaotic tangle that should have been painful to look at.

But somehow, nature seemed to have prevailed - rather than a mass of clashing colors, this part of the garden was a perfect litany of sight and smell, and even sound... The gardeners had tied crystal bells to the branches of the cherry treees in honor of the summer solstice, and they chimed in delicate harmony with the wind.

Quite different, she reflected as she avoided a dead end and turned onto another path, than her study. Everything in her rooms was carven, or sanded, or polished, or all of the above... While tasteful, she supposed, it all had an air of contrivance sometimes that she had never encountered outside.

She lived in a cage, for all intents and purposes... And sometimes, it didn't feel like just a mere analogy...

Something small smacked into the toe of her slippered foot, and she glanced down, startled.

A thin, dusty gray kitten scurried out of the bushes, leaping to pounce the small object - an acorn - and skittered into her foot, instead, with a tiny mew of protest. The acorn spun to a stop a few feet away, rattling as if trying to grab the kitten's attention; it lunged for the nut, nearly catching it before it was yanked to a stop in teh dust of the path - and Cyrene's skirt pulled taut with it.

She blinked at it for a moment, noting within her faint surprise that the kitten's claws - caught in the hem of her skirt - were rapidly unravelling sections of the the silken thread in its attempts to get free. A kitten... here...? It didn't look to be anyone's pet, scrawny as it was... How a stray had gotten into her private gardens was beyond her.

After a moment, however, Cyrene stepped forward and knelt down to pick the kitten up. It mewed again in protest, or perhaps fear... but it quieted after a moment, wrapping its paws around her arm. It was an easy task to free its claws from her skirt once it was still, but when the time came to put it down again... she hesitated, reaching to scratch its ears.

It was such an adorable little creature, and so small... it looked as if it hadn't eaten in quite some time. How it had reached her, she didn't know, but... she didn't want to just leave it, when it so obviously lacked a home and proper care. It was too... sweet...

A strand of hair escaped her circlet and slid over her shoulder to hang before her eyes - the kitten swiped at it, missing by a wide margin. That didn't, however, daunt it -- it tried again, and again, grasping madly for it with its round paws and looking for all the world like it was trying to be a serious predator.

Cyrene laughed - it was all she could do, watching it play with her hair and try to hang onto her hand at the same time. It was so cute, she couldn't help herself. She tilted her head forward to put the strand within the kitten's reach, more falling to amuse it as the wind loosened the thick twist she had rolled her hair into that morning. //How accomodating...//

Hard plastic snapped to the ground from behind; Cyrene jumped, wincing as the kitten raked a trail of thin, red scratches over the back of her hand as it tried to scurry away. She rose to her feet and spun around in a swirl of skirts, robes, and a mass of loose hair, still holding the kitten and trying to calm it within the folds of her velvet cloak.

"I apologize, Cyrene." Synclair - /how/ long had he been standing there? - bowed deeply, kneeling to retrieve his folder and tuck it back into the stack under his arm. "I did not mean to startle you."

She stared for a moment through her windblown hair, at a loss for words as she took in his presence. The scratches stung, and she knew they must be bleeding on something... the kitten calmed and settled into the crook of her arm as if it had always been there, probably to sleep...

Her silence, however, didn't last long.

"Where have you been?" she asked, straining to smooth the edge from her voice - rather unsuccessfully. "We've been worried about you. How could you disappear like that without notification? You have an operation to run..."

She trailed off into silence again, eyes flickering away from his face for a split second. She sounded more like a shrewish housewife than a queen...

But thankfully, Synclair filled the pause, expression almost contrite. "Again, I apologize... One of my contacts on the surface declared an emergency, and I had to meet with him at the given time." He bowed again, this time a bit lower. "I have important news to deliver, if that is any condolence..."

After a moment Cyrene shook her head, expression masked in part by her shining tresses - a fact she was profoundly grateful for. Her cheeks felt warm... "Of course," she replied after a moment, trying to quell her embarassment. "And you have my apologies for latching onto you like that... I was simply worried... all of us were. With Solaris so active lately..."

A faint smile crossed his face. "I understand, Cyrene..."

There was another pause; his gaze seemed to catch hers and hold it, refusing to let go. And rather than quelling the redness in her cheeks, they grew yet warmer. He didn't seem to notice, however; after another few seconds, he broke eye contact, looking down at her hand.

"That's quite a scratch..." He bent to deposit his stack of folders onto the path and drew a hankerchief from his pocket, folding it into some semblence of a bandage. "You should have it taken care of as soon as possible."

Cyrene extended her hand hesitantly, careful to keep the slumbering kitten safe in the crook of her other arm, and her eyes fixed upon the wounds. Blood welled from the scratches, though not terribly fast; it soaked through to color the thin white cloth almost immediately as he wrapped it around her hand.

Relief swirled just below the surface of her control, stronger than she had expected, and it didn't fade as she'd hoped. He was back; his gentle touch as he bandaged her hand was tangible enough proof of that. What more was there?

Synclair finished his self-imposed task and inclined his head. "That's the best I can do, at the moment - it won't work for long, I'm afraid..." He covered the blood-streaked cloth gingerly, clasping her hand in both of his. "As I said..."

She nodded, gesturing for him to gather his folders and accompany her down the path, the kitten still cuddled in the folds of her robe. "Of course... Thank you..."

(Summary: Cyrene worries over Synclair's absence and goes for a walk; along the way, she happens across something of a new friend. Shortly after, Synclair makes his presence known, apologizes for his absence, and delivers a report.)