The Sheepdog Warns With Confidence

Samantha's voice took on that particular tone that ambitious people use when they think they're being subtle. Condescension wrapped in… nothing. Just like the black dress that wanted to be sophisticated but only managed to reveal its wearer's aspirations.

"Some people just aren't cut out for the kind of focused career path you're on. Creative types especially."

The word 'creative' carried enough weight to make its target clear. Renée might have smiled at the amateur attempt at provocation, except she was too busy watching Ayla's sudden complete stillness. It wasn't the frozen state from their earlier conversation - this was different.

More deliberate. Like someone carefully holding their breath so that they didn't slap someone. Though… she had not ever seen that sort of violence from her ex, so it was mostly a guess based on her own catty hopes.

"I mean, how seriously can you take a relationship with someone who's constantly..."

Samantha paused for effect while shifting a half inch closer, clearly pleased with her own performance and the way it was having an effect on the other woman. Renée couldn't believe someone would actually take such a *dramatically* long break in their sentence.

[Did she forget her line?]

"...reimagining reality? Writers are always living in their own worlds, aren't they."

The irony of that particular accusation might have been funny, if Renée hadn't spent years learning to trust her grip on reality. If she hadn't worked so hard to understand which of her memories were real and which only belonged to the end moments of that other life.

"They don't even see what's really around them most of the time."

Ayla's hand hadn't moved from her wine glass. Not a twitch. Not a ripple in the liquid. But Renée caught something in her eyes - not the raw vulnerability from before, but something fiercer.

Saying those words to Ayla…

If she hadn't once paid hospital bills in secret when her girlfriend collapsed. All while already thinking Renée had been with someone else and was stressing about it. The college student version of herself had been the one not seeing what was real - and created her own 'parallel world', back when her ex had actually been struggling.

The dark haired woman lowered her head.

[Maybe not seeing reality most of the time is fine, as long as you don't miss the important parts. As long as you don't-]

During that familiar sign of displeasure - and *not* yielding like a lowered head might be seen by most - Renée stepped forward. Even before she'd fully decided to move. When she spoke, her steady voice used just enough volume to match that which Samantha had been using.

"I find it fascinating how people who don't *do* often misunderstand what something is. What writing actually is."

The red-head turned, significant surprise flickering across her features before she could suppress it. She clearly hadn't expected direct engagement during her push - not from someone she'd arrogantly dismissed. The young woman had been so focused on her goal she hadn't realized the tool she was using had become a wrench aiming for the cogs.

Ayla's still state took on a different quality in the wake of that voice. Like someone patiently waiting for an impact. Her ex was not prone to violence, but her words could be just as much. She often really wished they had remained together during graduate courses, where she could have argued cases against the confident speaker.

Or just talked to her at all without feeling guilty.

"Writing isn't specifically about reimagining reality or staying away from it. It's about approaching it more deeply than most people are willing to look. It's about revealing truths, not escaping them."

 Renée spoke with years of therapy giving her words a steadiness she didn't entirely feel. Her glance at Ayla was brief but loaded with meaning. The irony of her last statement wasn't lost on her. After all, she'd just spent an hour - and six years - wanting to reveal truths she couldn't quite voice. 

The shift in the vicinity as this all went on was almost palpable. Other conversations nearby didn't quite stop, but they softened. The kind of polite eavesdropping that happened at events like this when something interesting was occurring. When the smell of drama entered the noses and opened the ears.

[Leana is either going to hate me or be ecstatic. If I were a betting woman…]

Samantha's face flickered through several expressions before settling on something neutral. Though the glare and disgust versions leveled made the calm hard to take seriously.

"I only meant to discuss that different personality types-"

"Have different approaches to understanding the world?"

Renée suggested in a conversational lilt. The kind of voice she might use to discuss character motivation in a writing workshop. The type she *had* used in a narrative writing tutor program she was a part of one year after college.

"You're absolutely right, Samantha. For instance, some people see social situations as opportunities for advancement of their personal desires rather than a chance for mutual connection."

The comment landed without the obvious sting of an attack. It was spoken as just an observation - the sort of thing a writer might note about human behavior. That she was being casual was believed only by the eavesdroppers, who weren't a part of it.

As for Ayla, she hadn't really moved her body but her thoughts had traveled the earth countless times. Renée had always been able to read people and their motivation, even back when they first met. Even when she'd been struggling with her own mental problems, she'd never lost that particular skill.

The young woman's poise wavered and made the black dress look further unfitting.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't mean-"

Samantha started to defend herself, but Renée was already stepping closer. Her approach was not aggressive. A slow and exacting fall of feet that pulled focus onto herself. Her eventual voice dropped to minimize the amount of listeners, but still happened to include Ayla.

"No, of course not. But you happen to be making her uncomfortable instead of me."

A pause, just long enough to let that sink in. A few beats instead of a cliffhanger. Enough to see a set of eyes look worried and dart over and back.

[As I thought, that's the real story.]

"I have a hunch that this is not going the way you wanted. You should pay more attention to the person you talk to instead of considering them the person you target."

The words weren't loud, but in the small space between them, they might as well have been a thunderclap. The predatory stance crumbled slightly, revealing what it had been masking - genuine admiration wrapped in borrowed confidence. A crush dressed up in wolf's clothing because she didn't know how else to approach someone so composed.

Samantha's response came a beat too late, a mumbled "I don't know what you mean" that sounded more like a question than a statement. The younger woman's retreat was graceless but swift, leaving behind a pocket of charged silence.

Renée could feel Ayla's attention sharpen… could almost taste the shift in the air between them. After all, paying attention to the person you're talking to - really seeing them - had been something they'd both failed at, once upon a time.

There was a lot that could be said without words. But there were a lot of times that words were simply necessary.

Even understanding this, they just existed in that silence together, neither quite looking at the other. The reception continued around them, but it felt distant, like background noise in a scene that didn't quite matter.

"...And what if you make me uncomfortable also?"

Ayla's voice was so quiet Renée almost missed it. Almost.