Cohost writing prompt: @Making-up-Mech-Pilots — Mech Pilot who will succeed and will be invited back to the function
Hatfield is glaring at her operational tracking system when Hedleigh walks into the room behind her and nearly drops her teacup.
"Hat," she says hesitantly, looking at a wall of red string and sticky notes and angry scrawl, "is everything perfectly all right?"
"Everything is simply wonderful, thank you," Hatfield says through her teeth, putting a vicious slash of marker through the fourth name on a list of five.
"I don't mean to question you," Hedleigh says, "it's only that your insanity wall seems to imply that you spoke to Ralphie Buckets, and you swore you'd never speak to Ralphie Buckets again unless it was to yell 'This is for New Antigua!' over the shortwave while you confetti'd his mech with HEAP."
"Well, maybe I did that, Hed," Hatfield says, folding her arms.
"Not without me, you didn't." Hedleigh prods her arm. "What's all this about, Hat?"
Hatfield has the very cross feeling that a flush is rising up her treacherously telltale throat. "Your cousin's wedding," she bites out.
"Cousin Ermine?" Hedleigh cocks an eye at all the red string, brow furrowed. "She's frightful, but only because I'm related to her, Hat. You can't possibly want to carpet-bomb her, you've never even had to go on a camping holiday with her."
"I'm not planning to carpet-bomb your cousin!" Hatfield says heatedly.
"Well, I should hope not, the caterers were terribly expensive, it's a Bank Holiday." Hedleigh perches on the edge of the desk, prim and birdlike, with the afternoon sun touching her hair through the dusty window. Hatfield tugs at her collar and scowls and looks away. "Enlighten me, Hat, I'm terribly confused."
Hatfield scowls harder. "If the share price of Royal Jacquemart were to suddenly drop, then your father might be persuaded he owes me a favour," she says ungraciously, and watches Hedleigh painstakingly unravel the train of thought coiled over the office wall, pivoting around the implicit fixed point of Hedleigh Senior's business rivalries. It takes a minute or two for Hedleigh's lips to stop moving, and the small crease of consternation between her brows remains.
"Ambitious as your sudden personal vendetta against the Royal Jack's shareholders is," she says, "I don't find myself altogether illuminated. If you need something from Daddy, I could simply ask him for you?"
Hatfield tugs at her collar again. "Well, you didn't see fit to of your own accord," she says stiffly, and Hedleigh stares at her.
"I have no idea what's got your nose out of joint," she says. "Truly, Hat. I'll put it right in an instant, if you only tell me."
Hatfield looks away. "I thought," she says. "That I might, after — long and cordial acquaintance. Rate an invitation."
"An invitation," Hedleigh says blankly. "To — you mean to Ermine's wedding?"
Hatfield silently clenches her jaw.
"Hat," Hedleigh says, in a funny, careful sort of way. "You do realise that our — long and cordial acquaintance — my family's always assumed that I ran away to pilot mechs because we. That is to say. It's implicit in their minds that Cordelia plus guest refers to the two of us?"
"Oh." Hatfield's face is definitely red now. "Really? I mean. What do you mean, they've always assumed? Assumed what?"
Hedleigh sips her tea, and her shoulders lift in the subtle way they do when she's steeling herself. "Why, that we fled together to live in sin, of course, Hat," she says in a careless tone.
Hatfield blinks at her stupidly. "But," she protests eventually, strangled. "Your father's always been perfectly nice to me."
"Well, how else were they ever to get rid of me," Hedleigh says, kicking her feet a little.
"And—!" Hatfield says, reddening even more. "And how dare they, I'd never—"
"Of course not," Hedleigh says, shoulders rising a whisker more.
"No," Hatfield says angrily, "That's simply intolerable. As if I'd drag you through the mud, Hed. I'd make an honest woman of you, if you were to—" and she stops herself, fists clenched, throttling any further word that might exit her throat. She turns, and begins ruthlessly yanking pins out of the wall.
"Oh, Hat," Hedleigh sighs. "You stupid, chivalrous— what do you mean, if I?"
The back of Hatfield's neck feels positively sunburnt. "Hedleigh," she says, mulish and stiff, "I believe I've comported myself with perfect propriety with regard to our friendship, Hed, regardless what liberties the heart may secretly commit—"
Hedleigh puts her teacup down on the desk rather excessively firmly.
"What," she says.
"Nothing," Hatfield says. "Nothing you need be concerned with. I misspoke. We need never refer to the matter again—" and nearly bites her tongue when Hedleigh takes her by the hips, spins her around, and shoves her into the wall.
Hedleigh's eyes are very blue, intense and direct.
"I think we shall be referring to the matter in painstakingly thorough and repeated detail," she informs her.