“Exactly. Now, give me one second,” she said, cracking her knuckles expertly.
Soon there was a large portal yawning open against what had once been an innocuous wall. Pari looked at it suspiciously, then back to Saskia. “One hour, that’s it.”
“Take as long as you need.”
“Again. One hour.”

Rhea's eyebrows bobbed upwards, a faint feeling of dread seeping down her chest.

"You were all over Bren." he snorted, pointing at Leriph. "I remember seeing you with your face in her tits last weekend, she was ready to do anything. You got tired of her already? And now this one? You've gotta tell me where you're importing these sluts from. The Docks?"

She reached up to curl a finger around his hair. "You wouldn't mind? Is kissing me that shitty?"

"Not really." she grumbled. Sparrow elbowed her with a frown. "Give him a chance..."

“Fine,” Pari groused. “Enlighten me with your thoughts, guy with two failed relationships under his belt.”
“Pari.”
“And an incoming third.”

"I told him I liked him!" Pari finally burst out. "Like a year and a half ago! After the shipwreck, when we all thought he was dead and then it turned out he wasn't, and I guess I had a come-to-Jesus moment but it was a total fucking mistake."
"Why?" Sparrow asked. Pari looked about ready to boil over. "Because he didn't like me back, obviously. So I moved on, and then he started with the “oh no, I liked you the whole time”, it was a whole stupid thing. And then we ended up in Altair together -- look, it doesn't matter. None of this is going anywhere."

“I just think you’re being fatalistic, Pari.” Sparrow began, but Pari was grouchy and ready to lash out. “Fancy word, Sparrow, are those secondary school catch-up classes finally working out for you?”
Her friend’s expression shuttered immediately, cheeks flooding pink with embarrassment. Pari felt the heat seep out of her body, but it was too late for that, wasn’t it?

He seemed so sincere in his bewilderment, all wide-eyed and mouth agape. It made her terror stall for just a moment -- was it possible that he'd been so drunk that he simply didn't remember? But who else could have revealed what had happened that final night before they'd left? She and Kyros had been the only ones awake; she was absolutely certain of that. The others had been knocked out cold.
Sparrow had never, ever spoken of what had transpired between them. She'd been too ashamed. But Kyros? The only explanation that remained was that... it hadn't been as momentous for him as it had been for her. Kyros was the only one left to spill their secret, and now he couldn't even remember what he'd said to everyone else - how he'd ruined her life. Disbelief rose from the pit of her stomach, tailed by cold fury. "You don't remember?"

He searched her eyes with a small flicker of recognition, grasping at the only topic he assumed she could be talking about, though he still lacked so much context. "I didn't tell anyone anything." He emphasized. "What's going on?"

It was time for Mirza to step in, mostly because Sparrow now looked like she was going to be sick again. He gingerly entered the arena, sidling closer to his uncle, voice dropping low. "There's a rumor circulating the party that Sparrow got... uh, kicked out of the castle last year. Because..." his gaze drifted to her, then back to Kyros, both speculating and guarded. "Well, maybe we should talk outside."
"Mirza--" Sparrow cut in, face draining of color. She didn't want to rehash it. She didn't want to know that they were discussing this horrible, horrifying thing just behind the door -- she wanted the earth to swallow her whole, to vanish from this place. Tears crept into her voice. "Please. Don't."

"Kicked out? Who said that?" Kyros challenged Mirza, ignoring Sparrow's pleas.

"I heard it from Sloane, she heard it from someone else, but that's not--" he faltered. "The problem is--"
"Mirza!" she shrieked.
He clamped his mouth shut, looking between them with a brow creased in frustration. "Then you tell him."
"No," she rubbed her arms, panic making her words trip over themselves, as frantic as she was. "No, I'm leaving. I can't-- this was a mistake, I should never have come back here. I shouldn’t have trusted you.”

"Someone tell me this damn rumor already," Kyros butt in, not keen on being left in the dark. "What is going on?"

His frustration prompted her own and she whirled on him, eyes blazing with tears. "Those people out there," she began, and her voice was strong, albeit shaky. She could do this, she could -- she'd confront him with his own deceit, and he'd have to face her fury. But as the confession slipped out of her mouth, her strong voice petered out, and it was all she could do to keep it from breaking entirely. "They're saying that I... that you were drunk-- and I took advan... advantage of you."
It brought back memories from long ago, to a garden party and a monster of a boy. She hadn't thought of Kaynor in years, not unless she was having a very bad dream. She hadn't seen him ever again, after the gala, had hoped never to have the misfortune of bumping into him somewhere... but here he was, haunting her, turning her into a poisonous thing. She'd been scared, after it had happened. Afraid of retaliation, of finding him or his friends waiting for her in a dark corner of the palace. She'd spent too long in a shower under boiling water, scrubbing and scrubbing until her brown skin was raw and red and pink, trying desperately to shed the feeling of his probing fingers between her legs. Was what she'd done to Kyros so different from what had been done to her?
Hadn't he asked her to kiss him? No, he'd just looked at her... meaningfully. Or so she had thought. But it had been dark, and they'd been drunk, and he had been fresh out of a relationship. He'd kissed her again, after they'd stopped... or had she been the one to lean in?
All Sparrow knew for sure was that Kyros was the one who had put a stop to it. To the kiss, and then in the bedroom, to something more. She'd tried so hard to drown those memories, and they resisted her attempts to dredge them up, to attempt to recall his face, his voice, his tone during that night. It was shame, humiliation, and pain that had led her to locking them behind a door. But did her shame stem from rejection? Or something worse?
The frantic spiral of her thoughts was dizzying until she felt like she might be sick again on the floor, and the chill that had erupted from her chest wasn't helping. Mirza gazed at her with a mix of bewilderment and concern. He moved closer - maybe to help her pick herself back up again, but she reared back and wept, pleading, "Don't touch me, don't-- don't touch me."

I'd say she owes you that much. Especially after you confronted her ex without cause lollll

no idea what you're talking about