LSS: Before the Wave Breaks

James didn't move from the chair after Dr. Ashlund left.

He didn't need to.

There was only so much he could do, out here in Ruddlan. Within the past 24 hours, and the past three months, he felt he'd already exhausted every stream of thought he considered for the heist. Getting Caspar involved was the last step, and now that they'd talked things through, there was nothing else to tell.

It was just a maddening waiting game until they returned back to King's Peak, where he could finally put his plan into action.

But gods, the waiting was agony. And things would only go downhill, from here. Relationally, he'd burnt almost every bridge left to burn, except for the ones he needed. Sticking around long enough to watch everything go up in flames was painful, and he didn't know if he could handle staying present for it.

Still, he had to. He couldn't leave until he accomplished his mission.

Then he would go and never return. Until then, it was a slow, painful death.

He thought about getting up again, going for another walk despite how much his head was throbbing -- but merely sitting in the light was making things worse, and he really didn't want to subject himself to more pain at the moment if he didn't have to.

So, instead, he got up and pulled a throw blanket off the bed, climbing up to the bed's headboard and standing on the mattress to see if he could make this damn room any darker. He tucked the blanket over the curtain rod and the closed curtains, trying to pull it over every gap where light tried to peek through.

It took some fiddling, but finally, the blanket stayed.

With a small sigh of relief, he slowly fell back onto the bed, feeling the ache in his back radiate once again with the slightest pressure.

And then his door opened without so much as a knock.

Biting back a curse, James tried to sit up as quickly as possible, only to have his head spin and throb at the effort. He shot out his arm at his side to steady himself, trying not to wince as he turned around and saw Carter standing in his doorway.

Carter looked at the blanket, hanging over the curtains.

"Resourceful," he murmured.

James scanned Carter, trying to pick apart his reasons for entering unannounced. A folder, under his arm. Shoes, still on. He looked put together - as he usually did - but more formal. He must've just come from a meeting.

"Sprawling in bed today, are we?" Carter asked, closing the door behind him.

To which, James really just wanted to throw a pillow at him in childish spite. But he didn't.

"What do you want, Carter?" James asked tiredly.

"Wow. Alright. You're testy, I get it," Carter said as he strolled across the room to sit in the chair James had just abandoned. He sat down heavily and leaned back, setting his folder beside him on the desk.

He adjusted the chair so he was directly facing the bed. He wanted to talk a while.

James didn't want to talk at all.

"Listen, I'm sorry about Ingrid," Carter started.

Already, James was done with the conversation. He sat on the bed stiffly, wondering how much of this he should entertain to avoid any more allegations of him being over-dramatic. Not that he was trying to preserve his reputation with his friends, at the moment.

This was more just about the stupid rumors the maids liked to murmur between the walls.

Carter looked like he was waiting for James to say something, but there was nothing left to say. James shrugged, tossing his hands out into the air loosely. To which, Carter inclined his head with a more pointed stare.

"She's a mess, you know," Carter said.

And that was his responsibility?

"Oh," James said flatly. "Well. Gods forbid she process her feelings."

"What exactly was it you said to her?" Carter asked.

James pressed his lips into a frown, narrowing his eyes at Carter. Ever since the war ended and they got back to the Moonlight Kingdom, Carter had stopped caring about him personally, unless it interfered with work. So of course he'd ask about this.

"It doesn't matter," James said. "No one was surprised. I did all of us a favor."

"Somehow I'm always amazed at your inability to answer a simple question," Carter said with a huff, looking down for a moment as he set his hands together in his lap, positioning himself patiently to wait. "This isn't a work meeting--"

"The only reason it isn't," James said. "Is because it's not formal. But it might as well be."

Carter blinked slowly, and James could tell that he was testing Carter's patience.

"You're the one being childish right now," Carter said. "Now. We can have this conversation as adults, or you can keep dodging questions like I'm a journalist and not your friend."

"My friend," James said. "That's also my boss--"

"I'm not your fucking boss, Tiberius--" Carter said tiredly.

"The only reason you care about what's going on with Ingrid and I is because it makes us look bad," James said, sharper. "Where were you months ago? When I needed you? You're all acting like I'm the one who ruined everything and if I changed, everything would just go back to normal. But it can't. And it never will."

Carter let out a sigh, folding his arms.

"You're still so focused on yourself," Carter said. "It's always about you, isn't it? Poor you. No one cares about you. No one helped you. You, you, you. As if I haven't sat through dozens of your pity parties in the past. You want me to make this about work? Fine, we'll make this about work. You're being unprofessional, and I'm tired of having to clean up your messes. And you're only getting sloppier. Ever since you've been out of commission with a 'concussion,' I've been having to explain to people how you ended up in a barfight in the upper city. You: representing the king himself, getting in a public fight. Drunk no less."

"You know I didn't start that," James hissed quietly.

"It doesn't matter what the truth is, anymore, Tiberius," Carter said. "People talk, and it looks bad no matter what you say. Now, if we could've been able to confirm that your attacker was a mage sympathizer, maybe we would actually have--"

"This again?" James scoffed. "Really? You're still not going to let that go?"

"You might not care about how your actions are perceived, Tiberius," Carter said. "But take it from someone who never had a choice, growing up in the public eye. Your actions have consequences. And if you don't clean it up nicely, it'll come back to bite you later."

Gods, the last thing James needed was a lecture.

His head hurt.

He leaned forward onto the bed, burying his face in the covers.

"Well now you're just being difficult," Carter said.

"I want to be alone," James emphasized into the bedsheets.

"That has been abundantly clear since your awful display this morning," Carter said. "Walking out like that before any of us could have a moment to say a word."

"I. Don't. Care," James said, this time with more effort as he fell over on the bed, now prone on his side.

"So that's it. You want to be left alone to wallow," Carter said. "No accountability. No responsibility--"

"I don't know what you want me to say!" James cut in. "I broke up with her. It's over."

"Your side of the story would be nice," Carter said.

James felt his frustration knot up in his chest.

"No," he said firmly.

Carter was silent for a moment.

"No," Carter repeated in disappointment. "And that's your final answer?"

"Get out," James said lowly, a threat on his breath.

"You're being unreasonable," Carter replied.

"Get. Out," James repeated, sitting up.

Carter got out of his chair, raising his hands in surrender before grabbing his folder and heading for the door. Without another word, Carter walked out the door, closing it firmly behind him. James got up and hastily locked it the moment he was gone, not wanting any more unwelcome surprise visitors.

And, finally left alone, in a room at least bearably dark, he crawled into his bed and hid under the covers, hoping his head would stop throbbing with its own heartbeat.

Shane took the honey syrup off the flame to set aside on a cooler part of the stove before glancing at Kirk with a smile. Kirk was at work on the hazelnuts, walnuts and pistachios, chopping them finely as directed, and was nearly done with them. With what he lacked in speed, he made up for in eagerness, and he was very precise with the knife. In just a few minutes, they'd be able to add the cloves, sugar and cinnamon to those, and then the next step would begin.

"How's it going over there?" he asked, still smiling.

"I feel like a scientist in a kitchen," Kirk said, looking up to Shane with a smirk before quickly returning his attention back to chopping.

"I hope that's a good thing," Shane said with a laugh.

Kirk snorted. "I am learning," he said. "Which is always a good thing."

"It is," Shane agreed. "You're taking to it very well. Which is good, because the next step is where it gets challenging."

He reached over the counter, pulling forward a bowl full of pre-made dough.

"This is phyllo," Shane said, grinning as he held up a pair of rolling pins. "But we need it to look more like a sheet of paper."

Finishing up with the nuts, Kirk quickly cleaned off the knife and tucked the last of the nuts into a bowl, quickly sidling up beside Shane to look over his shoulder and watch.

"That one's for me?" he asked, reaching for one of the rolling pins.

"That's right," Shane said, passing it to him. "Phyllo dough is the only reason we have two of these in our household. It's not exactly a solo undertaking."

"So what I'm hearing is," Kirk said. "I could never make this by myself. I'd always need a partner."

"Or more time than you know what to do with. But between you and me," Shane said, with a smile his way, "having a partner is the infinitely more fun way to do it."

"Ah," he said, smiling wide. "So if I want it to be fun, a partner is required. Noted."

Shane grinned a little with a nod. "And when it's fun, it's actually pretty fun. Just be sure to roll confidently. The dough can sense fear."

Nodding, Kirk lifted the rolling pin with a focused gaze.

"You're talking to a former soldier," Kirk said, lowering his voice as he wielded the rolling pin like a baton and saluted with it. "Show no fear. The dough won't even sense me coming."

Shane laughed with true amusement. "Oh, you'll be great at this."

They each took to rolling their own sheet of dough. Shane had more experience and technique with the rolling pin, but Kirk was stronger and could apply more pressure than he could. Shane demonstrated for Kirk on a section of his dough how thin the whole sheet should look-- very thin indeed-- and the two of them went on rolling for a couple minutes, until the phyllo dough started to surrender to them, sufficiently intimidated.

"How's Tiberius?" he asked Kirk, with a curious glance his way. "Is he faring any better?"

He was fairly sure he'd seen everyone step out of the manor at least once except for Tiberius. He knew it hadn't been all that long since the injury, but still, it worried him. He wasn't sure why it worried him, but the more he thought about it, the more it bothered him.

Kirk's steady rolling skipped a beat in its rhythm. That was not a good sign.

"Ah," Kirk said, his face falling with sadness and worry, though he kept his eyes on the dough. "Tiberius. He's..."

There was a long pause as Kirk seemed to be searching for words.

"The doctor said he's healing fine," Kirk offered, but it didn't sound hopeful.

Shane nodded quietly.

"What about his... spirits?" he asked eventually, with a bit more sorrow. "He seems like he has a heavy heart."

Kirk let out a heavy sigh. "Unfortunately, his heart is what worries me."

"Me too," Shane said softly. "I've been thinking about stopping over and seeing how he's doing. Though I don't know how it would be..."

He couldn't really wave a hand while rolling the dough, so he settled for a shrug.

"Received," he finished.

Kirk glanced over at Shane with a sadness in his eyes.

"I think," Kirk said, softer, looking back down at the dough. "At this point, it might be easier for someone that doesn't know him as well to reach him. I think... there's just too much. Between all of us."

And Shane could hear the heartbreak in Kirk's voice, saying so.

"If you have any inclination to try," Kirk said. "I think... well. I don't know. You might have a better chance than any of us."

Shane hesitated, trying to read Kirk's face for the answers to the questions that were plaguing him now. Had the rest of the King's Hand tried and failed? Had they given up, even? If they had, it had to have been out of hopelessness, not apathy. At least for Kirk. These were not the words of someone who did not care.

But how was Shane the better candidate for connection that any of the people Tiberius had history with?

"It's hard," Kirk said quietly, after briefly looking up to catch Shane's searching stare. "Of all of us... Tiberius and I were never that close. He's never been open with me. I wish I knew what else to do."

Shane felt another wave of sadness wash over him.

"I would try," he said softly. "I just... I don't know what I'd do. I'm no one to him, after all, and I don't see why I would be able to push through a door he's keeping closed to you all."

Kirk was quiet for a long moment. Rolling, and rolling.

"He still has the box you gave him, at least," Kirk said softly.

"Has he touched it at all?" Shane asked uncertainly.

Kirk looked over to him, managing a small, sad smile.

"...I did take a peek," he admitted. "Almost all the food is gone."

Shane mirrored his sad smile. "That's something, at least."

"You also have something going for you that none of us do," Kirk added, a tad brighter.

"What's that?" Shane asked, now a little distracted from his rolling as he glanced at Kirk with a bit of hopefulness.

"Unless I'm mistaken," Kirk said, beginning to speak in Terran.

Shane's eyes widened, and he found himself smiling in soft surprise that Kirk knew Terran.

"You have a soft heart," Kirk continued, a small smile forming on his face in turn. "And that's something you and Tiberius have in common."

Shane kept on smiling for a few moments, still watching Kirk. He was still reeling a little from the surprise, since Kirk had said nothing at all about knowing other languages yet, but if he'd been picking his moment to reveal it, he'd chosen a good one.

"I don't believe you're wrong," he answered in kind. "I try to stay soft-hearted, at least."

Pausing in his dough-rolling, Kirk freed a hand to reach over and affectionately pat Shane's arm.

"Well, you're doing a good job at it,"[i] he said with a gentle smile. [i]"It's a gift to keep it. And it takes real work, too."

For a moment, Shane wondered if that meant Kirk thought Tiberius hadn't quite managed to keep it. But from what he said earlier, he seemed to believe he still had it.

"Thank you," he said softly with true sincerity, managing to brighten his smile a touch. "If that'll work with him, I can try it."

Kirk gave Shane's arm a little squeeze before pulling away and resuming the rolling of dough. He let out a little laugh through his nose.

"If you have the heart to, I encourage it," he said.

Shane went back to rolling the dough, although his thoughts were elsewhere. He was mostly relying on muscle memory to do it.

"I trust your instincts," he said gently, with a lingering smile. "But I feel like I have to push back on where you said none of you have that. I don't know you half as well as I'd like yet, Kirk, but I can see your kindness and gentleness. You have a good heart too."

Kirk huffed lightly, shooting Shane a small grin.

"I try," he said, looking back at the dough.

"Well, you're doing a good job too," Shane said with a soft laugh as he looked over his sheet of dough, decided it was thin enough, and then grabbed another clump of dough to roll out. He glanced at Kirk with amusement as he did.

"You neglected to mention you spoke Terran," he teased.

"Oh, did I?" Kirk said with a coy smile. "Well while we're at it, I might as well mention I also speak Pelspeak. My Gallan is rusty, but functional. It helps when you have multilingual parents."

Shane grinned. "That is impressive," he said. "Where are your parents from, then?"

"So, my mother is from the Isles," he said. "The Wellworth Islands, in the cup of Sugar Bay. Maybe you've heard of Pavv. They're known for their grapes and wine."

Shane nodded eagerly with recognition. "I have. I went to high school across the bay from there."

Kirk raised his brows. "Really?" he said with a smile. "Was that in Port Brakken?"

"It was," Shane confirmed, letting his smile warm a touch with nostalgia.

"So you've really been around the globe a bit, then!" Kirk said. "Did you pick up Pelspeak as well during your stay?"

Shane furrowed his brow in concentration. "Your Gallan is probably better than my Pelspeak," he said with a chuckle in Pelspeak. "My accent is bad. But I learned it to some extent while I was there."

Kirk let out a laugh. "Alright, your accent is atrocious," he said. "But hey, we can work on that! If you want to freshen up on it, that is. Besides, I'd wager not so many people speak Pelspeak out here. So, if you ever want to whisper without whispering. There's a way to do so."

Shane grinned. "That's a great idea, as long as you can bear my accent."

"Then again," Kirk went on. "There are probably less people who speak Terran out here, actually. That might be the better go for something 'private' in public."

A beat. Kirk nudged Shane's arm lightly with his elbow.

"And don't worry about your accent," he said. "It's cute."

Shane smiled shyly at that. "Is it?"

Kirk smiled a little warmer. "Yeah. You sound very terran," he said. "Though I can't hear is as much in your nyean. I can tell you've practiced that more."

"That would be the diplomat parental influence," Shane said amusedly. "My mom speaks Terran, Nyean, Gallan and Pelspeak just about equally well. I didn't get as good as her, but she still instilled the importance of biliteracy in me."

"Not a bad thing to instill," Kirk said. "My father is that way too. He was from Lettera, actually. He grew up there and moved to the Isles when he was young, met my mother. They moved to King's Peak for a job opportunity, had me, and the rest is history."

"It sounds like they've had a wealth of experiences," Shane said with a smile. "I'm glad they passed that down to you."

"Me too," Kirk said, but paused as he looked down at the batter he'd been rolling for quite some time now.

"Is this... good, you think?" he asked, tilting his head to look at it.

Shane examined it, then looked up at Kirk with an approving nod and smile. "I've never seen phyllo dough who knows who's the boss quite like this before," he said. "You've sufficiently intimidated it into behaving."

Kirk smiled, and pointed his roller at the dough. "That'll show you who's boss," he said to the dough.

"You've now endured a baker's rite of passage," Shane said with a laugh. "And come out victorious, no less."

"I feel successful," Kirk said. "What's next?"

Shane directed him through the assembly-- layering the dough sheets in the pan, brushing them with melted butter, adding the sweet chopped nut mixture, and cutting the pastry into neat diamond shapes. When they placed it in the oven, Shane moved the honey syrup away from the stove so it would cool faster.

"And now we wait," he said with a smile to Kirk. "The hard part is beyond us."

Kirk wiped his hands off on the apron Shane had lent him and then pulled it off over his head, draping it over the back of the nearest kitchen chair before he leaned back onto the table, holding onto the edge loosely. For a second, he just watched Shane with a small, affectionate grin, saying nothing. Shane felt his own smile widen as he took his own apron off, hanging it besides Kirk's and rolling down his flannel sleeves again before joining him at the table.

"How are you feeling about your baking debut?" he asked.

"Pretty good, actually," he said. "You know, if this comes out good, I'll have to let the others try it. Just so they can compliment me and I can feel good about myself, you know."

Shane laughed. "You should feel good about yourself either way. Just imagine if I'd had to roll all that dough by myself." He gave Kirk a playful nudge of the shoulder. "You saved me from madness."

"Madness?" Kirk asked, raising a brow with a playful grin. "Oh, you're quite far from that. You're quite the stable fellow if I do say so myself."

"Alright, perhaps I wouldn't have lost my mind," Shane admitted with a smile. "That said, your presence and partnership made the task enjoyable rather than frustrating."

Kirk touched his hand to his chest. "The feeling's mutual," he said with a little laugh. "Thanks for inviting me over."

"Of course," Shane said, smiling warmly. "Thanks for going with the idea."

"Anytime," Kirk said warmly.

As if the cat had just realized there were people in the house, Shane heard a meow from Shrimp behind them. The cat made a graceful, rather impressive leap from the bannister to the table, coming up with a purr between them.

"And yet again you're the highlight of Shrimp's day," Shane said with a soft laugh, petting the cat's back affectionately.

Kirk, too, reached over and started to massage the cat's neck and around Shrimp's ears. The cat arched his back happily.

"Speaking of days," Shane said, turning his smile to Kirk again. "What have you been up to lately, outside of this?"

Kirk hummed, and as if in agreement, Shrimp hummed too in a purr.

"I went to the south end, yesterday," he said. "Had an... interesting experience."

Shane tilted his head curiously. "Well, now I've got to ask more. How so?"

"Have you ever been to the lumshade farm? The one run by the guild?" he asked.

Shane shook his head as a no, listening closer.

"Per my developing job description, one of the things I'm responsible for is checking in on labs run by the guild," Kirk continued. "Usually it's pretty routine, and there's nothing unusual. But this one..."

Kirk pursed his lips, looking off to the side. "How much do you know about the Blue Suns?" he asked.

Suddenly more alert, Shane sat up a little, watching Kirk more intently. He didn't like hearing about those two things together.

"As much as the next person in Ruddlan," he said. "They cause a lot of trouble here. Any time I hear about some problem in the news, it always seems to lead back to them. I've been lucky to not worry much about them."

"Well. That's good," Kirk said. "Unfortunately, I think the farm may be under their thumb. It's..."

He squinted more. "I have a feeling I'm about to have to get more involved," he said. "Not something I planned on, coming here."

Shane frowned softly.

"They run a rather large, covert drug trade here," he said. "If it's that, that's not something I'd like to get involved in either."

"Which is why I'll spare you the details," Kirk said. "But, I'm afraid I don't have much choice in the matter, now. Responsibility compels me."

"I'm sorry," Shane said softly. "You're going to stay safe, right?"

"Hopefully so," Kirk said with a shrug. "Not much I can do to assure it, but I intend to be as careful as possible. I'll try not to poke the bear. Just poke around it."

Shane nodded, trying to take comfort in this. "Do you know what you'll have to do about it yet?"

"Still figuring that out," Kirk said. "Right now I'm just trying to feel things out. It takes time to gain trust, even with a title." A pause. "Well. Especially with a title."

"And you're new to them," Shane guessed, "so you have an uphill battle going on."

"And you should see the head chemist," Kirk said with a huff. "Not a people person, I'll tell you."

Shane cracked a smile. "Well, not every alchemist can be as friendly and sociable as you."

"Whaaaat?" Kirk said with a teasing sarcasm. "Every time I've gone into a lab it's the life of the party. No social recluses in there. People definitely don't prefer a microscope to a person. Not at all."

Shane laughed. "My deepest apologies. I meant no offense to you and all other alchemists-- I'm sorry, party people."

"Honestly, I wish more scientists were party people," Kirk said. "I have met some, but. I don't know. Every lab is different. Some people go into this line of work to avoid people. They'd rather deal with a petri dish. Others are more like me, and take joy in the shared aspect of discovery. Teamwork, all that."

"There's surely more out there," Shane offered. "Even if they're not the ones acting suspiciously in a south end lumshade farm."

"Hey, have you ever thought of getting into alchemy?" Kirk posed, joking turning to Shane with a playful smile.

"Oh gods," Shane said, with a faint laugh. "Well, I might stick to the humanities in general, but the theoretical sciences interest me. I could've been a quantum physicist in another life. But I'm more lacking in the chemistry area. You should've seen my high school lab errors. So, it's not exactly the path for me."

Kirk huffed. "Well, it's good you're going the humanities route, then. You should play to your strengths, for sure."

"I like that it still offers some discovery," Shane said, scratching under a demanding Shrimp's chin. "I guess I share that interest with you."

"Ah yes," Kirk hummed, switching to pet Shrimp's back while Shane took Shrimp's head. "The joy of discovery."

"It is a joy," Shane agreed with a smile his way.

Kirk turned his head towards the oven, as a sweet smell started to fill the kitchen. Eyes lighting up with excitement, he looked over to Shane with a small smile.

"Is it almost done?" he asked.

"Getting there," Shane said with a soft laugh, grinning at his eagerness. "The problem with baking desserts is they always smell heavenly before they're ready."

Kirk let out a sigh, leaning his head back. "I must grow in patience," he said.

"I've been helping to make this since I was five, and I've never learned myself," Shane admitted.

"I guess we'll just have to come up with something else to talk about to fill the time," Kirk said.

"What a shame," Shane jokingly sighed.

"Anything interesting happening with you, lately?" Kirk asked. "Hopefully nothing high-risk low-reward?"

"Well." Shane chuckled faintly. "Someone caused me to fall down a flight of stairs this morning when all I wanted was a cup of coffee, so that and the ensuing fallout was interesting. Although really, I'm just glad not to be concussed."

"Eesh," Kirk said with a small hiss through his teeth. "Sounds painful, though. Are you okay?"

"Besides wounded pride and a bruise on my shoulder, I'm alright," Shane assured him. "The other person broke their instrument in the fall, though, so I had to go over to the repair shop that's run by one of my dad's friends and pretend this stranger who knocked me down a staircase totally knew my dad, so he should totally help them out. It was somewhat comical, in the end."

"Oh, wow," Kirk said. "Well. That was good of you to help them out. Instruments are expensive."

"Well, now I've got to tell my dad about the whole thing, because he's sure to hear about it from the shop owner." Shane waved a hand with a chickle. "He'll think it's funny. I won't be in any trouble."

"I can believe that. It's hard to imagine you getting in trouble," Kirk said.

Shane huffed with amusement.

"I guess so. I once dug up a bunch of holes in our backyard in Eagle Bell-- I thought I was some kind of archeologist looking for treasure, probably-- and when my parents saw it, they would've had every right to be a little frustrated. But instead the two of them joined in and gladly helped me 'look'," he said. "They're not the scolding types."

"Seems you still turned out alright," Kirk said with a small smile.

Shane smiled as well, letting Shrimp play with the cuff of his sleeve as he rested his hand on the table.

"What are your parents like?" he asked curiously.

"They're both very loving," Kirk said with a fond smile, looking out into the kitchen in thought. "Both of them are more the reserved types, but they've always been very supportive of my interests and very kind. It's kind of funny, because neither of them really have a bend towards science. My mother is a florist, and my father is a banker. I don't really know where I get it from, but they've always encouraged it. Joining the military ended up being the best career choice for me in the long run, because there were the most job opportunities as a chemist there. At first, they were resistant to the idea, but, turns out, there was a draft a few years later. So I guess it wouldn't have made a difference."

He shrugged. "I guess it worked out regardless. They've been a blessing though. Especially when I came home. I guess I felt really lucky, to have a good family to come home to."

Shane smiled gently. "It's good they're so supportive and kind. You'll get to see them when you're back from all this, right?"

"Yes," Kirk said. "It will be good to catch up with them, but that's a good five months out. It will take two months just to get back after we leave here."

"Oh, wow," Shane said sympathetically. "That's a long time. Do you get to write to each other, at least? I only see my parents about one month out of the year now, so I'm used to long letter exchanges."

"I've been writing them throughout my travels," Kirk said. "I try to send out at least one letter for each city or town I pass through. But I might end up writing them more while I'm here."

"You're here for quite a while," Shane agreed. "Which is great for me, at least."

Kirk quirked his head to the side, suppressing a smile.

"Well, you get me for almost three months," he said.

"When you say it like that, it almost feels short," Shane said with a laugh.

"I guess we'll just have to make the most of it, then," Kirk said, smiling.

The windup timer on the counter suddenly trilled pleasantly, indicating it was time for the baklava to be taken out of the oven and to have the syrup poured over it. Shrimp hopped into Shane's shoulder as Shane moved off the table, looking back at Kirk with a bright smile.

"Ready to see what we've made?" he asked.

Alan didn't normally throw pebbles at his best friend's window at the middle of the night, but considering how Lyall had invited himself into his girlfriend's apartment at a similar hour the other day, he felt that this was justified.

It had been a while since they talked. As in, not just in passing, going about their day. And since Alan was passing by the clinic anyways, he seized the moment.

"Lyall!" he harshly whispered with his hands cupped around his lips, knowing Lyall's canine hearing would pick up his voice. "Open up!"

Sure enough, it was only a couple seconds until Lyall's head poked into view on the other side of the glass, and he set a candle on the sill. His brows furrowed in bewilderment.

"What the bloody--" Lyall hissed back once he eased the window open. "Are you fucking twelve?"

Alan grinned, amused that this old method still worked. He hadn't done this in years.

"Down," he said instead, broadly gesturing downwards with his arm. "Come down here."

Lyall looked affronted at that. "I will not!"

Typical. Alan pursed his lips, glancing towards the front of the clinic, alit by the flame of the nearby street lamp. "Fine," he said with faint shrug, peering back up with a playful smile. "Your mother is inside, correct? It'd be lovely to chat with her instead, then."

As expected, Lyall huffed indignantly. "Don't you--!"

And, blowing out his candle, he determinedly began the climb down the vine-covered side of the house.

Alan watched his friend descend, smiling to himself as he took a mental note about how silly it was that a grown man had to climb down from the second story of his own house because he did not want to explain the leave of absence to his own mother. But stranger things have happened.

"Up for a walk?" Alan asked when Lyall was one step away from reaching the bottom, asking the question before he would inevitably huff and puff about the situation.

Regardless, Alan began leading the way anyways, beckoning for him to follow.

Once his feet hit the ground, Lyall sprang into step behind him. "Why this ungodly hour, Alvaro?"

"It's not that late," Alan said defensively, casting him an unimpressed look over his shoulder. "Especially for you."

Lyall's put-upon frown only deepened. "Why," he demanded again.

Alan smiled broadly, and with a swirling wave of his hand, answered, "I'm feeling nostalgic."

Now beside him, Lyall matched his pace and swatted at his hand. Offended, Alan lightly slapped his hand away.

"You--" Lyall batted at him with his other hand. "You're always nostalgic. So why pester me about that now?"

Alan scoffed in increased offense, turning a corner to head north. "I am not," he insisted stubbornly. "Hence why it's important to seize the moment now." He shook his head, dismissing the thought with another wave of his hand. "Whatever. The why isn't important, anyways. What does matter is that you're here, with me, and we're going to the amphitheater."

After a few paces, Lyall scoffed. "You really are feeling nostalgic," he uttered.

"That's because we're on the cusp of something great here, Lyall," Alan said with a wistful grin, whirling around to walk backwards in front of him. Broadly gesturing around with his hands, he thought back to his early sentiments to muse out loud. "Don't you feel it? Our lives are changing. We used to stand on the stage with only each other as an audience. And now, with all the work we've put into our life, there are people who want to listen to us. Us. The same kids who used to only dream."

Tucking his hands into his pockets, Lyall quietly watched with a faint, fond grin. Smile widening in turn, Alan whirled back around, stepping into a calmer pace beside his friend.

"That's why I'm nostalgic," he finished.

"Because of impending change?" Lyall prodded, calmer now himself.

"What? No. Did you even hear me?" Alan huffed, affronted. "Not because of change, but because of dreams."

Lyall actually rolled his eyes at that, but without any real heat behind it. "I did hear you," he shot back. Then poked his elbow into Alan's side.

"So, what dream's coming true for you then, hm?" His eyes sparked with some excitement for him now. "What grand news have I missed from the distinguishable life of Alan Alvaro since we last spoke?"

Alan turned another corner, ushering for Lyall to follow. The young doctor ducked after him without missing a beat. Now, they only had to follow the same path north to reach the park.

"Well," Alan hummed, pondering the question for a moment. "Violin performances are going well. I fear that Ruddlan has nothing more to teach me for music, but I am eased in knowing that I have ample opportunity to connect with others. More notably, with people from the estate." He nudged his head to the side, and with another wave of his hand, explained, "Which is the only way to truly play for the royal court, as you know."

As his pace turned more to an amble now, Lyall cast him an unamused grin. "Well, look at that," he said dryly. "Alvaro's outgrown the literal capital of the world."

"Don't worry," Alan said with a smirk, elbowing his side. "I'll always remember you as a friend."

Lyall sputtered and gawked. "What--" He hopped forward to walk backwards in front of Alan. "Where the fuck do you think you're even going? It doesn't get any bigger than Ruddlan."

"Relax," Alan laughed, pressing his palm against Lyall's face to push him away. He strutted past Lyall, paying him no mind and continuing on. "I'm not going anywhere." Alan hummed, shrugging with his palms faced up. "At least, not yet."

"My question remains..."

Out of nowhere, Lyall leapt up and clung onto Alan's back. "Where the fuck would you go!" he repeated, wrapping an arm around his neck as he aggressively tousled his hair with his other hand.

"Hey-- Lyall!" Alan sputtered scoldingly, having almost lost his footing from the tackle. Scowling, he leaned back jabbed his hand away from his hair, while also clawing at his elbow. "I don't know!" he scoffed, absolutely miffed. "The Moonlight Kingdom?"

"Oh, you meant actual royalty?" Lyall huffed back in his ear, his grip on Alan unrelenting. "It really is late for you. You've damn near lost your mind!"

Alan squirmed under his grasp, completely done with this conversation. "Gods, let go of me, you--"

But instead of finishing his threat, he fiercely jabbed his elbow behind him, striking Lyall's chest. Wheezing, Lyall slid off his back-- but refused to let go, thus dragging him down to the ground with him as he fell. Still in position, they both collapsed on the road, rolling against the bricks that were dusted with the soils of footsteps and horses.

"Lyall, you idiot!" Alan groaned through grit teeth, winded from the fall. Annoyed, he tried to pry away his friend's irritating grasp on him, but he kept stubbornly hanging on.

"Oh, I'm the idiot?" Lyall laughed incredulously, rolling so that Alan was pinned face-down on the ground. "You're the one prancing about with delusions of grandeur!"

Alan knew he should have de-escalated the situation, calming him down so they didn't start a petty scene that could attract unwanted glances. But his irritation got the best of him as he instead turned his head against the fucking pavement, gritting his teeth to yell, "And is that so bad? Why are you so upset? You should be happy for me!"

Lyall sighed overhead. "You're right, I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I am glad, Alan, truly..."

His weight on Alan started to ease off. Then he suddenly shoved off of him and sprang ahead. Alan immediately hopped to his feet, watching Lyall saunter away from behind as he dusted off his clothes.

Ugh. Now he had to get a proper cleaning.

"Especially now that I'll beat you to the amphitheater," Lyall chirped over his shoulder, before banking a hard left around a corner.

Alan suppressed a groan, quick to run after him. Though he didn't need to try very hard, since Lyall's running stamina and endurance was-- still-- less than impressive.

"No, you're not doing this again!" he called sternly, chasing after him.

Around the corner, he caught sight of Lyall's heels as he disappeared around another bend. Annoyed, Alan picked up the pace.

"Haven't the slightest of what you mean by that," Lyall innocently called back to him. "I'm not doing anything!"

"I'm not going to move any time soon, you know!" Alan barked back, now committed to the chase. He was gaining speed on him now. Just a little further. "Maybe I never will!"

"Hey!" a gruff voice called from above. A disgruntled neighbor, somewhere. Alan didn't stop to stare. "Stop that racket, we're trying to sleep!"

"Shut up, we're having a moment!" Alan yelled back, speeding past the alley.

Other open windows along their path slammed shut. Curtains drew closed. A few others muttered and shook their fists at the two.

Still dashing ahead as fast as his shorter legs could carry him, Lyall had the decency to throw out half-hearted apologies up to the sky. Which distracted him enough to slow his movements, which was the perfect time to strike.

They were passing the last building. The park was just up ahead now...

Alan sprinted ahead to close in on him, reaching out. "Lyall," he huffed as his only warning. "Stop running!"

"Make me!" Lyall stubbornly yelled back.

Now close enough to grab him, Alan took his shirt by the fistful, yanking him back. In a moment of impulsivity, however, Alan failed to consider his momentum, and he instead collided against him. Lyall grunted from the force of it and yelped out a curse. Winded once more, Alan lost his footing and fell again, this time bringing his friend down to fall with him.

They rolled a couple paces more, carried by their collective momentum, until they tumbled to a stop in a pile of limbs and dazed stars. It took Alan a whole second to realize that the ground was soft.

Because... ah. Grass. The park. They literally rolled into the park. Lovely.

"And I'm the idiot," Lyall groaned.

Wincing in pain, Alan defeatedly sprawled like a starfish where he laid. Which was, of course, on top of Lyall. Because this was apparently his life now. To fall on people, repeatedly, for no good reason.

"You are," he deadpanned in return, rubbing his aching head.

"You're the bigger idiot," Lyall wheezed from under him, reaching around to weakly thump his fist to Alan's chest. "Get off of me."

"No," Alan moaned stubbornly, deciding now was the best time to rest his full weight on him. "You're comfortable."

Going limp beneath him, Lyall accepted his defeat with another, drawn out groan. "Oh my gods, I hate you..."

Alan softly hummed in thought, staring up at the night sky, spotted with a vast array of stars. "A suggestion," he began as he rolled off him, voice laced with lingering irritation. Now off of Lyall, he remained on the grass, elbow perching him up as he stared at him, frowning.

"Unsolicited," Lyall butted in flatly, still lying prone, "denied."

Alan went on anyways, unbothered. "You could just say you don't want me to go. You know. Instead of throwing a tantrum about it," he said with a scowl, bumping his fist against his thick skull.

Frowning too, Lyall pushed himself upright just enough to shove at Alan's shoulder. "Oh, come off it," he muttered, hauling himself up to his feet.

"But I forgive you anyways," Alan went on, frown turning around as he also hopped back on his feet. "Because I get it. I do." He shrugged a shoulder with a slight smirk. "I'd also throw a tantrum if you wanted to leave."

Lyall cast him a half-hearted glare over his shoulder as he dusted himself off. "It's fine," he sighed, dropping his irritation.

"No, it's not fine," Alan cut in stubbornly, attempting to talk over Lyall.

"Really," Lyall insisted, tone turning serious, "I am happy for you. Go chase your dreams, wherever they might lead you." Turning around, he met Alan's eyes with his usual intensity whenever subjects like career and education were dug up. "People don't just get opportunities like that every day."

Alan studied his dusty, disheveled friend. He knew that, when with others, Lyall was charming and delightful, looking and feeling his best.

So why was it that whenever he was alone with him, he was seeing him at his worst? Here, now, with his untidied sleeves rolled back, his vest unbuttoned, his hair akin to a wild lion's mane.

And not only that, but Lyall had fully deflated, more level-headed than he was just minutes ago. At least around Alan, it was not uncommon for him to release an explosive emotional response before resuming to his calmer self. It was something that made Lyall, Lyall. The requirement to burn off the excess energy before thinking straight again.

Which was unlike Alan, who could only go up, and up, and up, never fully relieved from the emotional response.

Alan was quiet, deciding that the conversation had died, and he had nothing left to say. With a sigh, he gestured with a spiral of his hand towards the amphitheater direction, located at the other side of the park.

"To the amphitheater, then?" he said tiredly.

Nodding, Lyall stood straighter and grandly swept an arm that way, prompting Alan to take the lead once more.

Picking the dirt and grass from his clothes, Lyall bounded after his friend as he lead the way into the heart of the outdoor theatre. An open space everywhere but over the stage, with ample seating, mostly unlit from the cursed hour.

Alan's shoes softly tapped on the steps as he made his way down to the stage at the center. Lyall slowed his own pace, watching him intently through the dark. Wondering how he kept... doing that.

Okay, well. He knew how, logically. They'd known each other since Lyall was eight; Alan, seven. This man knew far more about Lyall than anyone had any right to. Oftentimes, it felt like Alan knew him better than Lyall knew himself.

He knew how Alan did it. Yet it still amazed him, caught him off-guard.

Lyall came to a stop at the bottom of the steps. Alan took the darkened stage, taking in his surroundings with the same wonder and awe from when they performed the same act as children.

"It hasn't changed much," Alan hummed out loud. "It's still the same beautiful stage."

That look of child-like wonder, the small spin as he drifted to center stage, drinking it all in...

Lyall mustered a softer grin, because this was the Alan he remembered from years ago. The irony was not lost on him when he agreed, "It really hasn't."

Alan spun back around, casting a bright grin his way. "Feeling nostalgic yet?" he teased.

"No," Lyall breezily lied, "just tired."

With a half-roll of his eyes, Alan huffed a laugh, uttering, "Sure," as he took to the front of the stage. He fell quiet, admiring the empty seats in the open darkness.

Strolling up the stage, Lyall leaned both elbows on the edge to look up at him. "So," he said expectantly. "What are--"

But instead of an explanation, Alan had the audacity to shush him, immediately drawing out, "Shhhhhh," with a finger pointed in the air, aimed towards Lyall.

Quite offended, Lyall frowned deeply. "Rude," he said, louder so that his voice carried up the endless rows of ascending chairs.

"I'm thinking," Alan said simply, dropping his hand back to his side.

"Impossible," Lyall scoffed.

At that, Alan aimed an unamused, flat look his direction, but largely ignored him, settling back into silence.

Scanning the empty seats, Lyall slowly paced along the edge of the stage to find the steps. He held his hand out, fingers running over same pattern of dips and imperfections of the platform as he'd done countless times before. "What are you thinking?"

Still lost in thought, Alan continued to stare into the empty abyss of the night, pondering. A few quiet moments passed until he finally answered. "It was here, on this spot of the stage, that I realized I wanted to be a violinist."

"Oh?" Lyall lingered at the stage steps, studying the way Alan looked like a giant from this vantage point. Then he took the space at his friend's side onstage. "I don't think I was there for that epiphany."

"No. No, you were not," Alan confirmed plainly. "You were too busy running around the rows of seats with your hind legs."

Pushing at his face, knocking his glasses askew in the process, Lyall harshly shushed him as he scanned the theater for any other persons. Alan sputtered in offense, forced a step back as he swatted at his hand.

"I repeat," he emphasized, "I was not there."

"Fine," Alan relented stubbornly, sliding his glasses out of his face so he could rub the lens with the hem of his shirt. "You weren't there. Which is a shame, since it was a pivotal moment of my life."

"Akin to the heavens above opening up to shine down on you in approval," Lyall added, a bit dryly. "A great moment indeed, especially considering your track record for your entire youth until then."

Alan cast him a doubtful look before patting down his shirt and sliding his glasses back on. His increased vision only flattened his unapproving stare. "Like you're one to talk," he scoffed.

Lyall frowned. "Well, what's that supposed to mean?" he asked defensively, knowing full well the answer.

Alan sighed, turning away to walk down the perimeter of the stage, close to the edge. "Nothing. Never mind," he said, continuing on before Lyall could protest further. "You've already graduated, and I only have a year til graduation." Despite his back turned towards him, his voice carried through the air, bouncing across the amphitheater. "That's what really matters. We've come a long way."

Had they?

Well, certainly, they had both made their ways out of South End well enough. Though, Alan had real potential to leave the city entirely. Lyall had no way to go other than back to the clinic, at the end of the day.

"Suppose," Lyall asked, turning away to the back of the stage to grab a couple of chairs, "you could move for your craft. The Moonlight Kingdom, you said?"

Alan stood still at the edge of the stage again, this time further out so only the dim moonlight accented his figure. From the back of the stage, he was only a shadow of a silhouette. "Yes?" he replied patiently.

Lyall brought the chairs to the edge of the platform. He lightly bumped one seat against the backs of Alan's legs.

"Would you stay with your father, in that case?" Lyall asked curiously, taking the other chair.

Alan glanced over his shoulder, scooting the chair backwards with his foot so it was angled to be better conversationally suited towards Lyall. With a soft hum, he sat down, crossing his leg so his ankle sat on top of his knee.

"I don't see why not," he said with a shrug, placing an elbow over the back of the chair. "He's family, and it would be a good opportunity."

Though Lyall could think of a couple of reasons as to why not, he only quietly nodded once. He leaned back, crossing his own angles, in a show of having no such concerns.

"Speaking of," he pushed on, clapping his hands onto his knees, "you made no mention of a specific opportunity that would move you out of this city." He turned his palms skyward in a shrug. "So. Anything?"

"Why the sudden curiosity?" Alan asked with a raised brow. "I thought you didn't want me to move."

Lyall tilted his head, brow furrowed in a show of deeper thought. "Did I expressly say that? I don't think I ever did."

"You're deflecting," Alan called out with a teasing smile.

"I will not stand for this defamation," Lyall dug in his heels, arms crossed stubbornly. "I said no such thing."

With an amused smile, Alan huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "No," he calmly answered with a flourish of his hand. "I don't have specific plans, because I don't need any." He shrugged a shoulder. "A clear path will be forged for me eventually."

Lyall hummed. "Alright. It just seemed from the sounds of it, something grand had just fallen in your path."

"That's because something grand will fall in my path," Alan stubbornly insisted.

Lyall nodded again, cracking a small, genuinely fond smile. "It will."

Alan studied him for a moment before asking, "Wouldn't you say the same for yourself?"

"Ah, well." Lyall tilted his head back and forth. "The clinic is still steadfast as ever, reliable as the hospital. Successful."

"That's so great to hear," Alan said sincerely with a growing smile, excitement growing. "Are you considering an expansion of the clinic? Or perhaps broadening staff? Pursuing knowledge in additional disciplines, like medicine?"

"We." Lyall waved his right hand in a small circle, his next smile feeling more forced. "Yeah, we've actually expanded recently. A new partnership with a young pharmacist-- a Ms. Clarity Sable-- has officially eased us off from relying on the hospital for remedies and tinctures. A successful venture thus far, for both of us."

"Oh, that's great news. That's very exciting," Alan said with a fond grin, awe in his eyes. "You and your family have come so far. This is a legacy that will stay with you, one small expansion at a time. And then, before you know it, the hospitals will have your name." He nodded eagerly. "I guarantee it, Lyall. It's only a matter of time, now."

"It is," Lyall agreed, turning his eyes down to Alan's shoes, "and we have."

"And you'll continue to," Alan reminded him anyways, like the idealist that he was. "Again and again."

"I thank you for your vote of confidence," Lyall answered sincerely, glancing back up. "You and my mother certainly share this optimistic outlook, and it does bolster me."

Alan huffed a laugh, playfully kicking at Lyall's shoe. "Can't say that was my intention, but: good." He uncrossed his leg, curious smile lingering. "I take it that you are less than optimistic, then?"

"Certainly not!" Lyall rebutted in a bout of confidence, nudging him back. "It's merely that... there's truly a lot to anticipate in both our futures, yes."

He idly scratched behind his ear, not really wanting to get into it right now, but feeling the pressure to anyway. Because Alan had that look sparkling in his eyes, and he didn't want that to go away just yet. "I think my mother intends to put me at the helm. Imminently."

"Really?" Beaming, Alan sat straight, absolutely glowing from the news. "That's fantastic news, Lyall! You've been waiting for this day for a long time! Finally, the day has come." Still grinning, Alan leaned forward a tad, toning down the excitement to say more sincerely, "I'm so happy for you, my dear friend. This is exciting news."

And, just like that, his own future didn't feel so daunting. If only for the moment, anyway.

"Thank you, Alan," Lyall said warmly. Then leaned forward himself to bump his hand to Alan's shoulder, then rest his elbows on his knees. "Look at us. Well on our ways."

"So you feel it too," Alan teased, victorious. "Our lives are changing."

"Oh, my gods," Lyall playfully whined, slumping back in his chair, "now you've got me all stupid and nostalgic." He bumped his toe to Alan's. "Desist, immediately!"

But the order only riled Alan up some more, a playful glint shining in his eyes, grin spreading across his face. Skidding his chair back and hopping to his feet, he snatched up Lyall's hands. "Up! Come on!" he ushered, tugging him along as he scampered back towards center stage.

"Oh, nooooo," Lyall lamented.

But he was resigned to let his deranged friend drag him along. There was no stopping Alan when he felt inspired.

"In Lettera," Alan sang loudly with a deeper boyish voice, small chest puffed, "where magic was free." He spun to center stage, arms spinning with him despite it supposed to be a gesture towards Lyall and himself. "Lived Alaric and Lyric by the sea!"

Nearly slipping on the array of blue papers they had lazily strewn over the stools just minutes ago, Alan paused in his song as he hefted himself up on the tall stool. Lyall adjusted his giant sorcerer's hat that kept covering his eyes, bouncing on his heels as he waited his turn.

"In a tower..." Alan melodiously grunted, first making it on his knees. "High and grand!"

Now victoriously standing tall with his feet on top of the stool, Alan grinned again, arms in the air as he resumed his song. "Dragons scales, they found on the sand!"

Like a show magician, Alan pulled a wad of colorful cut papers from his sleeve, showing them off. A few fell from his grasp, floating down like feathers.

Snatching up the papers from the floor, Lyall held them aloft, continuing in a much higher pitch than was necessary, with exaggerated vibrato: "Lyric said, 'These scales aren't ours! Using them may dim'--" He tossed them up into the air, and kept his hands lifted to the sky as they rained down around him. "--'their powerrrrrs!'"

A few of the papers floated up to smack Alan, to which he batted them away like a stubborn cat dabbing at specks of light. But still, he grinned towards their invisible audience, slapping a hand on his chest.

Lyall nearly missed his next cue. Hastily, he fetched their "wings"-- green paper bits pasted onto too-small triangles of cardstock-- and stood on his toes to put them in his co-star's grasp. Alan nearly fumbled to snatch them up, proudly holding up the wings.

"But Alaric, eager--" He spread his arms outwards, voice rich and ecstatic. "-- took to the sky!"

Carefully, Alan took a singular hop off the stool. Bustling energy returning, he zoomed around the stage, hunched forward with his arms spread out while holding the wings. "Wiiiiith wiiiiings of," he drew out sharply, bee-lining back towards the stool, "maaaaaagic..."

Much more gracefully, he lifted himself back on the stool, arms and grin spread wide. "With wings of magic..." Alan said again breathlessly, mistakenly repeating the phrase. He then paused to collect himself, arms spread in a stiff T-pose while holding each wing like a raggedy bird. Then, proudly with gusto, finished, "He soared high!"

With daring little hops, Alan bounced on the stool, giddy and excited. "Up, up he went! So full of glee!" He stood with one foot on the stool, lowering himself to imitate a bird soaring through the sky. "But soon the wings failed, and down!"

Alan hopped off the stool, landing on his feet with a light thud against the array of blue sheets. A few papers slid away from the breeze, and only skidded even further as Alan flopped to his back, spreading his arms, legs, and wings like a starfish. "Down! Down to the sea!" he bellowed omninously, each syllable sung as a minor note.

For extra theatrical effects, Alan wiggled in place and bubbled out a few sputtered breaths, convincingly imitating a drowning boy. To finish off, he rolled to his stomach, face-down against the floor.

Standing back, Lyall helpfully gasped in horror on behalf of their audience. Then rushed back to the side of the stool to somberly finish, "Alaric learned, as he floated dowwwwwwn." He grandly swooshed his sorcerer's cloak back and pointed his arm at dear, deceased Alaric. "'Respect the magic! 'N heed the sound!"

Well, now that Alan was dead. Lyall took his turn standing atop their tower-stool. "Listen to wisdom, near and far; respect what's not yourssss! Be it magic--" He dropped two octaves lower. "--or starrrrr! Alaric and Lyric, friends so--" Another two octaves higher again "--truuuuue!"

On cue, Alan jumped back to his feet with a spread grin, imitating the same waving motions of Lyall's arm as they both sung in harmony, "Sing this lesson for me and you!"

Hopping down from the theatre chair, Lyall found his spot beside Alan on the stage to take his hand. Both faced toward the empty seats, they bowed deeply at the waist, the quiet of the night as silent as their audience from when they were children.

Before Alan could straighten, Lyall then ripped his hand away and shoved his shoulder. "And you say I'm the fucking idiot," he said with a huffed laugh.

"Yeah, because you are one," Alan insisted without hesitation, holding back a laugh as he shoved him back with slightly more force.

Lyall had to fight the urge to push again in turn. Shaking his head in deep amusement, he tucked his hands away in his pockets instead and ambled back to the edge of the stage.

"Oh, don't act like you didn't enjoy that," Alan teased, scampering back by Lyall's side. With a playful smile, he leaned forward to peer closer. "After all these years, you still remember the lines."

Lyall scoffed, bumping shoulders with him. "How could I possibly forget? Even then, I couldn't escape your scheming ways."

"And you never will," he replied proudly, hand over his heart. "We'll always be up to something, wherever we are, whatever we're doing."

"And I wouldn't have it any other way," Lyall said, in another unexpected bout of sincerity.

Alan's grin grew, the hint of playfulness returning. Silent, he clasped his hands behind his back and leaned in again, narrowing his eyes. Grin turning wry, head tilted in questioning, Lyall leaned back to maintain the distance.

"No. I think you're the nostalgic one," Alan teased.

Rolling his eyes, Lyall huffed. "You started it," he retorted.

"And you finished it."

"You little shit," Lyall murmured instead.

Victoriously grinning in triumph, Alan turned his heels, pointing towards the exit stage. "Play time's over. Let's get you back to bed, dear. It's past your bed time."

Lyall pressed a hand over his heart. "How very gentlemanly of you," he said in a playfully touched manner. "However, I'd personally like to walk you back tonight. I should know where your new dorm is by now."

"Oh, very chivilarous of you, indeed," Alan hummed, looking over his shoulder to cast him a contemplative look. "You're right; I ought to show you the new dorm. That way, you'll know exactly which window to climb into, should you be so inclined to pay me a midnight visit, when the moon is high and the missus is out."

Lyall let out a little scandalized gasp, then slipped his arm around Alan's to press into his side. "How very bold of you, my good fellow, to suggest an affair as our engagements have only begun."

"Well, you know what they say," Alan said with a mock sultry voice, leaning the side of his head against Lyall's. "If we're the actors, then the world is our stage." Then loudly whispered in Lyall's ear, "Everyone else is merely an observer."

Unable to contain his amusement anymore, Lyall barked a laugh. "That's it!" Extricating his arm, he roughly pushed him away and hopped ahead. "I'm drawing the line, and finally ridding myself of you."

"Impossible," Alan scoffed with feigned offense, grinning. He quickly followed after him, playfully leaning in again to more calmly assure: "I'm not going anywhere."

Broad smile fading by just a little, Lyall felt his shoulders relax a bit again. "I'm resigned to my fate, then," he said, going for lightness but finding earnestness slipping through. He turned his attention back to the path ahead of them. "Guess I'm stuck with you."

But that felt wrong to say. Because lately, Lyall couldn't help but feel the reverse.

He could feel Alan's smile directed towards him, his gaze persistent. A short lull of silence passed before Alan also turned away, but not without a weak bump of their shoulders. "I'm not actually taking you to my dorm, though," he said plainly. "You're sleeping on your own damn bed tonight."

Lyall gawked. "But you promised!"

"Oh, did I expressly say that?" Alan teased, mocking him. "That's too bad. I don't think I ever did."

Oh, of course Alistair was late again. Mireya snorted into her glass. She'd even told him the time five times over, warning him of the mockery he was opening himself up to if he couldn't make it by then. And yet the clock was ten minutes past the time he'd sworn up and down (with many sighs and eyerolls) that he'd be at the tavern by.

This was going to be glorious. Mireya wasn't the most punctual person, but damn, she would be right on time if it meant poking fun at Alistair.

She'd ordered a shot when she'd sat down, so that she wouldn't get too bored while waiting, and now that was gone, leaving her with a glass that still smelled faintly of whiskey. Idly, Mireya twirled the glass on the table, let it spin freely for a few moments, and then pounced her hand on it when it spun too close to the edge. Oops. She didn't want to pay for that. The last bar she'd been to-- The Three Seasons-- had given her a week ban because she'd gotten excited during a barfight that broke out and may have intentionally thrown a glass. It was kind of a shame the fight ended so early when it was just starting to pick up. Oh well. She'd be able to go back in a couple days, no hard feelings from the bartender. Probably.

Someone slid in the seat across from her. Snapping her attention, Mireya was pleased to see Alistair finally arrive, predictably dressed in all black, frowning.

"Shut up," he greeted lowly, elbows on the table, leaning in.

"I haven't even said anything!" Mireya protested. "Okay, well now I'm going to."

"Oh gods, here we go," Alistair moaned, drooping his forehead over his hands.

"You ever heard of a clock, sir?" Mireya said sweetly, pointing at the one behind the bar. "It's about time you learn. Being able to tell the time is a very important life skill, you know."

Wordlessly, he lifted his head, casting a flat, uninterested look. With mussed hair and half-lidded eyes, he pressed his lips together, grumbling, "Wow, thanks, I'm cured."

"Happy to help," Mireya said with a grin. "Maybe one of these days it'll actually get you where you're supposed to be, when you're supposed to be there."

"Uh huh," Alistair moaned, setting his hand against his cheek without a fleck of enthusiasm in his expression. "Can't wait."

"What do you even do with all the time you spend not being at things, anyway?" Mireya went on. "Sleeping? Eating? Standing outside and getting heatstroke because your clothes absorb every ounce of visible light the sun has to offer?"

"I stare at the ceiling and ponder the mysteries of the universe," he deadpanned.

"Where's that gotten you?" Mireya teased.

"Here, apparently." He pointedly gestured to the glass set precariously close to the edge of the table. "You've already been drinking?"

"No, I told them to bring me an empty glass," Mireya said. "It's on the secret menu."

"Oh, nice." Still with a grumpy frown, Alistair pointed back at the bar without looking back. "Can you order that for me?"

Hmm. Well, if they let her, that would be really funny.

"Yeah, be right back," Mireya said, getting up from the table normally.

She could feel Alistair's confused stare on the back of her head, but she kept her smile turned away from him as she went to the bar, leaning her elbows on the counter and smiling until she caught the bartender's eye.

"I'd like a glass, please," she said.

The bartender, a man in his thirties who was bald-- likely by choice, judging from his thick dark beard and bushy eyebrows-- gave her a blank stare.

"I think your order is missing something," he said.

"No, I said 'please'," Mireya said. "I'm not dumb, I know that's the magic word."

The bartender snorted. "No, a glass of what?"

"Air," Mireya said. "Seriously, I just want the glass. My friend's being smart with me and asked me to get him an empty glass. Please, you'll even get to see the look on his face."

After a moment, the bartender huffed with faint laughter, walking towards the glasses.

"Shot glass or beer glass?" he asked.

"Shot glass," Mireya said eagerly. "Thank you kindly."

The bartender passed her a shot glass, and with a smile, she went back to her table, snatching a cocktail napkin on the way. Ceremoniously, she lowered the empty glass onto the table in front of Alistair, tucking the napkin under it.

"I got an order for a smart-ass," she said brightly as if she were a waiter, sitting back down.

Alistair stared blankly at the glass, his expression slowly turning flat with disbelief. Wordlessly, tilted his head back at her, silently saying, "Really?"

"Oh, did I get your order wrong?" Mireya said innocently.

He sighed, staring at her. Then frowned, grumbling, "I'm not drinking that."

"I mean, I would like to see you try," Mireya said. "Not a ton of liquid in there."

"So you want me to drink air?" Alistair asked, voice as flat as his look.

"That's called breathing," Mireya said. "Dumbass."

"Oh, fuck you, you fucking weirdo," Alistair groaned, flicking the glass so it fell on its side.

Mireya grinned victoriously. "Careful, I think you just spilled your drink."

"Whatever." He tiredly sighed, perching his hand against his cheek again, rolling the shot glass back and forth with his forefinger. "I wasn't going to drink anyways," he paused to cast her a pointed look, "because some people have real jobs and can't get shitfaced during the day."

Mireya snorted. "One drink won't make you shitfaced. It will make you less boring."

Alistair sighed again, a faint groan escaping his throat. "Thank you for your unsolicited great wisdom," he said lowly in a monotonous tone, voice dripping with snark. "Very life changing. I am so enlightened."

"Cool. Now let's go up and order," Mireya said brightly.



It took some more light pestering, but Alistair did relent to having some fun and ordering a couple drinks eventually. After bussing their own table (and handing back the clean glass to the bartender along with a tip), the two of them went outside, walking on ever-so-slightly wobbly legs down the street.

"See, I told you that would be fun," Mireya said cheerfully.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Alistair muttered dismissively as he walked alongside her. Idly, he grimaced and squinted at the path ahead, one hand stuck on his head to push back his shaggy hair clinging to his face. "I fucking hate this street. It's so... fucking..." He scowled, turning away from the flowers that lined the residential balconies. "Bright."

"Wow, blaming the sun for doing its thing," Mireya drawled.

"I can't wait til the end of the universe where it blows up and dies," he said blandly.

"Yeah, that's five billion years out if we trust the scientists," Mireya said. "There's stuff to do in the meantime. Like make money and get drunk."

"Mmm... hm." Alistair huffed out air through his nose, finally letting go of his head, pushed hair staying in place. "And be in a gang. Apparently."

"Well, yes," Mireya agreed. "It pays the bills. That's the making money part. After that, the getting drunk step can happen."

"Or," he predictably went on, chopping through the air with an arm, "you don't do that." He shrugged, glancing at her. "So you, you know, don't fucking die."

"Ughhhhhhhh," Mireya groaned. "Not today, Mr. Doom and Gloom, I might get promoted!"

"Promo--" Alistair half-sputtered, then stopped in his tracks, aghast. "What?!"

"No, try again," Mireya corrected. "Maybe clap your hands? Cheer a little? Say something like 'yay, Mireya, I'm so glad your hard work is paying off'?"

"What the fuck do you mean, promoted?" Alistair said instead, hands flying in the air with anxious exasperation. "What the fuck are you going to be, the king pin?!"

Mireya snorted. "Dude, no. I'm just moving from a Two to a Three. That's one kind of underling to a better kind of underling."

"So you'd be... what?" Alistair sharply flung his hand out again, as if the answer was in the air. "Still a grunt, then?"

"Excuse you," Mireya said, offended. "I'll be a grunt with a fatter wallet and better jobs."

"Oh my gods," he mumbled, facepalming. He resumed the walk, strolling past her. "I cannot with you right now. You're unbelievable."

"What?" Mireya caught up to him, poking at his shoulder. Like an annoyed bear, he groaned and ignored her. "You may not have noticed, but this is good news, dumbass."

"Uh huh. And this is my happy face," Alistair said with zero enthusiasm and emotion whatsoever, face blank.

"No, that's not. That's your I'm-so-tired-of-Mireya face."

"No," he insisted stubbornly, pacing faster, expression and tone unchanging. "That's my I'm-tired-of-imagining-you-dead face."

"Then... don't imagine that?" Mireya said confusedly. "Seems easy to me."

Alistair was quiet for a moment, finally sparing a brief glance her way. "Yep," he said plainly, popping the 'p.' "Easy."

Mireya sighed. "Look, I've got one vaguely challenging heist to do. That's later. And once that goes well, I don't have to think about climbing the ladder for a while. Does that help?"

Alistair stared at her, frowning. "No," he said simply.

Mireya threw up her hands. "Okay, you've gotta help me out a little here. What would help?"

"Just..." Exasperated, he let out a heavy sigh, tiredly rubbing his face. "I don't know. Don't die, I guess."

"Easy," Mireya said.

Alistair only groaned in response, not commenting further. Mireya was about to double down on just how stubborn she was about not dying when a person suddenly ran out of an alley, arms stretched overhead manically, and she stopped short.

"The end times are nigh! The dragons will rise again! They will kill us all!"

He was a senile old man in rags, voice shrill and loud. A small audience of passerbys stopped to listen. Watching the commotion, Mireya and Alistair slowed in their steps as they passed the crowd.

"They will bring cursed magic to the lands! The will turn the air to poison! Water to blood! Earth to sand! They will bring about endless storms! Endless wildfires! They will ravish our lands!" The man wildly waved his arms in the air, yelling even more fiercely, "We must kill all mages, else they kill us all! The end times are nigh!"

Mireya huffed, skirting around the crowd to avoid the delay.

"I'm no chemist, but I don't think air, water, and earth can just turn to those things," she muttered to Alistair.

"Yeah... maybe not," Alistair murmured, glancing over his shoulder towards the commotion again. "But I guess magic doesn't make much sense."

"Your mom doesn't make much sense," Mireya said without thinking.

He cast her an annoyed, flat look at that. "Wow," he said, unimpressed.

"Too cheap of a shot?" Mireya ventured.

"I don't want to hear you say the word shot ever again," he grumbled. "Now let's get out of here before that dude gets crazier."

"Oh, alright, you lightweight," Mireya muttered. But sure enough, she did speed up her pace away from the raving, desperate-to-be-heard man.

"Okay, so, when this gate opens, you need to get the f*** away from it," Mireya warned, tugging at the rope knot securing it shut. "Ugh. Loosen up a little, would you?"

"Mira, look. You're not not pulling it right!" Andy playfully scolded with a tsk. Like sorcery, she dug her finger into the knot, miraculously undoing a loop nearly effortlessly. Grinning, she tilted her head towards her and goaded, "You're welcome."

Mireya pouted, folding her arms over her chest. "Well, clearly, it just had something against me."

"Mmmhm!" Andy tossed her curly hair over her shoulder, working to undo the next knot. "My brother did the fighting of bulls," she mused. "I got this, mira."

Mireya snorted. "Bullfighting isn't a genetic condition, Andy."

Andy paused, casting her a defensive frown. "Uh, yah. It is," she said stubbornly. "My cousin did it too."

"Uh huh," Mireya said teasingly. "And what common ancestor did your brother and cousin get it from?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up, minka," Andy snarled playfully, scrunching her nose. "Knot's almost undone. You ready?"

"Ready," Mireya said, glancing over her shoulder at the storehouse.

The Ruddlan militia kept a warehouse out in the South End, near the farms and ranches, away from the buzz of the city. It was sweltering hot, and the air reeked of literal bullshit, but so what? She'd been in less glorious places for her work before. In comparison, this might as well as have been the Barlowe Estates.

Knot finally undone, Andy threw down the two ends of the rope that kept the gate closed. With a fearless grin, she kicked the gate open, boldly rushing into the field.

To immediately yell.

"Ay! You punk ass piece of shit!" she screamed, marching towards a lone bull that was grazing grass in the near distance. Like a madwoman, she waved her arms around, yelling more profanities in Pelspeak, sometimes mixing it with Nyean. Catching her breath, she cupped her hands around her mouth to yell more loudly. "Ey, minka! Come at me, you ugly cow fucker! Bring your dumbass over here!"

The bull let out a huff as it lazily turned around to face Andy, stomping a hoof against the ground.

Grin growing wider, Andy's voice carried further as she continued to taunt the bull, broadly waving her arms towards the fence. "Uh huh! C'mere, stupid dopo! Come to mama!"

For a moment, the bull stood there, unfazed. Then, with another huff, it lowered its head, pointing its horns at them, looking ready to...

"Andy, you fucking idiot!" Mireya yelped, rushing out after Andy to grab her by the arm and yank her back towards the gate. Now awash with adrenaline, Andy picked up the speed to run alongside her, laughing.

She heard an angry grunt from the bull behind him as she ran away with Andy, sprinting as fast as they could to the fence. Honestly, Mireya didn't want to think about how fast a bull could run? Couldn't it outrace them? Well, they were nearly to the fence--

Mireya burst through the gate and immediately pulled Andy to the side, out of the way. Without slowing or changing direction, the bull charged right past them, now barreling angrily towards the storeroom. The two of them breathlessly watched as a guard walked around to see what the commotion was all about before shrieking in terror and running away. More shouts followed as the bull, presumably seen by other guards, ran rampant around the building.

"Come on, come on, come on!" Mireya urged Andy, pushing her in the direction of the storehouse. "This is our chance!"

Following her urgency, Andy led the way, running with light feet. "Hurry up, you slow bitch!" she huffed.

"Excuse you!" Mireya retorted, sprinting after her to catch up. "I just saved you from a bull!"

"SHHHHH!" Andy shushed noisily from behind, defeating the purpose of her shushing. "Quiet!"

You're one to speak, Mireya thought, but for once she did as told and kept quiet as they made it to the door of storehouse, left unguarded after the bull pandemonium. With a quick glance inside to make sure no one was right there, she waved Andy in after her.

The corridor they entered into was rather silent and barren, with nothing on the walls except full gray curtains to block out the glare of the summer sun. Mireya went over to the nearest one, pulling it aside. Yep, the two of them could hide in there until a guard passed by. She slipped in, waving for Andy to join her between the blackout curtain and the window.

Andy trotted along, squishing beside her before pulling back the curtain so they hid from plain sight. It was dark, but Mireya could feel Andy next to her since her quiet giggling and hot breath touched her face.

"Miramé," Andy snickered quietly. "Did you see the balls of that thing? Oh my gods. It was huge!"

"No I didn't, you weirdo!" Mireya snorted. "Why the fuck were you looking?"

"Because it had a big dick, you dummy," Andy said plainly. Even in the dark, Mireya could hear her roll her eyes.

"Yeah, well, I prefer those on men," Mireya said. "Not random-ass bulls in the field we're trying to entice into creating a diversion."

"Ahhhhh?" Andy teased with a higher inflection of her voice, elbowing her side. She lowered her voice, continuing to jab her with her elbow. "Eh? Whose dick you've been riding, mira?"

Mireya rolled her eyes. "Who said it was a dick?"

"Ehhhh?" was the only high-pitched noise Andy giggled out before the clack of distant footsteps resounded through the building. Instinctively, Mireya slapped a hand over Andy's mouth, angling her hand to peer through the tiny gap in the curtains.

The guard who walked into sight looked like he was in his forties and thoroughly bored. That was good, because the more alert and engaged he was with his job, the harder it would be to do this. With each step, she heard the jingle of a key, and she spotted a metal ring on his side, looped around his belt. There it was. She held her breath once he got closer, not wanting even a whistle of air through her nose to give them away. Her fingers itched at her side.

Mireya waited until he was right by them, passing the curtains obviously. When he did, she lunged out with her arm, snatching the key off the ring's loop and going into hiding again in one smooth, silent move. The guard didn't even react. He kept trudging along, looking bored as ever. The two of them waited for him to turn the corner and for his footsteps to fade again before Mireya drew the curtains aside and held up the key victoriously.

"Nice work, mira," Andy said with a grin, one hand on her hip. "Now let's find the motherfucker."

Mireya took a small bow before beckoning Andy to their left. "Okay, okay. Should be this way."

In reality, Mireya had no idea where the room they were looking for was. She was just going to try the key out on any door she crossed until something worked out.

"This one. Mira, try this one," Andy beckoned, poking at a door. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall as Mireya tried the lock, heavily sighing. "Reminds me of the time Emile locked himself out. That stupid dopo."

"What happened again?" Mireya asked, giving up on this door and moving on to the next.

"He's stupid, that's what happened," Andy huffed with a roll of her eyes, trailing along. "Ugh. Men these days need to man up. Not be so soft and gross." She let out an innocent hum, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "So I dumped his ass."

"Well, good for you, girl," Mireya said cheerfully, giving the current door the middle finger when it also didn't open for her.

"You know who doesn't deserve me?" Andy continued on, an innocent edge to her voice that quickly shattered with a growl and scowl combo. "Al-i-stair," she mocked, enunciating each syllable. Then, with another innocuous blink of her eyes, she smiled and sweetly asked, "You still seeing him, mira?"

"Oh, sure," Mireya said easily, deciding to brush this off as much as she could as she moved to the next door. "He's still a grump, by the way."

"Ugh, of course he is," Andy groaned, stomping beside her. The subject was clearly riling her up. "My cousin's boyfriend's friend said he saw him with an ugly, prissy bitch. You know anything about that?"

Mireya frowned thoughtfully. ...Aisling? She was quite pretty, actually. Still, Andy might call anyone around Alistair ugly. "Nope. It's obviously not me, though. I'm neither of those things."

"Damn, the man really had it so good," Andy went on, shrugging. "But no, he had to walk away. Oh well." She sighed dramatically as Mireya jiggled the key into the lock. "He's too weak and can't handle all of me, anyways. So obviously he's got to date ugly bitches instead. They're sooooo great for each other. Really!"

With a daring smile, Andy leaned closer to Mireya, sweetly asking, "Don't you think so too, mira?"

Would you please open, Mireya thought vehemently at the lock.

Something must've answered her prayer, because she heard it click, and the door swung inwards. She turned to grin at Andy.

"Come on, you know no one's better than you," she said, pushing Andy in by the shoulders. "Let's go, let's go!"

With a grin, Andy giggled and zipped inside, head bobbing around to find the crate.

They had entered into a dusty, large room with a high, sloped ceiling and a concrete floor. Dozens of boxes, crates, barrels, and other containers filled the space, all in various states of untouched abandonment.

"How the fuck are we going to find this box?" Andy muttered, standing in place. "We going to open every damn one?"

"Well, we can rule out anything that's not a crate," Mireya said, turning in a circle. "I hear it's stamped. No Blue Suns insignia, but it should have a date on it. The 12th of Vern. If we find multiple of those, you can pick the--"

"Found it!" Andy interrupted with excitement, rushing towards the corner of the room. "Here, mira! On the cart!"

A little stunned at how fast she'd spoken-- and a little stunned that upon approaching, she could see that the crate actually did have the right stamp-- Mireya beelined with her. She tugged on the chain lock sealing the crate shut.

"Okay, now we just gotta check," she said excitedly. "Can you pick this?"

"Can I pick this," Andy mocked with offense as she slinked the tools out of her pocket, rolling her eyes. "Can you fucking breathe?"

"Damn, okay, okay," Mireya teased, taking a step back with her hands raised in fake surrender.

"Gimmie a minute," Andy said with another throw of hair behind her.

Now silent, she leaned closer to the lock, focusing with her tools as she listened for the click of the lock. The room went silent as Andy worked away, picking at the lock for nearly a full minute. And then--

Clink.

"Ha! Got it," she chirped, tugging the lock open and pulling the chains away. "Open it, open it!"

Mireya pried the wooden lid off, holding it high enough for both of them to peer in. Inside, a neatly-organized pile of pristine guns stacked on top of each other reflected the dim torchlight back at her. There were boxes inside, as well, presumably filled with bullets.

"Bad ass!" Andy cooed, picking up a gun to immediately whirl around and point it across the room. Pleased, she beamed, lowering the gun with a playful look as she glanced back at Mireya. "Think Sparrow will know if we grab one?"

"Definitely," Mireya sighed sadly, looking regretfully into the crate. "He's sure to be informed on every detail of this crate."

"So true..." Andy pouted, setting the gun back in place with a sigh. The disappointment only lasted but a moment since she clapped her hand together, grinning again. "Kay! Let's do this, mira. Ready to pick this bad boy up?"

"Ready," Mireya said, placing the lid back on and moving around to the other side. "Lift on one, two, three..."

Yeah, no. The two of them strained for an embrassingly long time, grunting and puffing and still not visibly lifting the surprisingly heavy crate.

"Come on, almost there! Put your back in this, minka!" Andy grunted, barely able to growl through her teeth.

"Talk to me when you've lifted your side by an inch!" Mireya huffed breathlessly.

They should've given up way sooner, but eventually they both wore themselves out, reluctantly letting go and backing off.

"...Why don't we just wheel it out on this cumbersome thing," Mireya finally suggested, giving the cart a kick.

Andy fell on the floor, huffing out exhausted breaths. She stared at the cart silently rolling a few inches away. "Now you use your brain?" she cried, casting her an annoyed look.

"Hey, it was your genius idea to try lifting it," Mireya retorted.

"Fa! You should have said something!" Andy huffed back, scuttering back to her feet.

"I don't know! I thought you had some kind of aesthetic problem with the cart!" Mireya exclaimed.

She froze when she heard the creak of hinges, and that's when she realized something. She had no way to lock the storeroom from the inside. Anyone could walk right in-- and they would, if they'd noticed minutes later that their key had suddenly got missing.

And unfortunately for them, that was exactly what was happening now.

Two guards-- one of them the same man Mireya had stolen from, the other a shorter woman-- burst into the storehouse, instantly spotting Mireya and Andy.

Wide-eyed, Mireya and Andy exchanged a knowing look. And then, with silent understanding, Mireya calmly walked ahead as Andy scampered behind the crates, hiding.

"What are you doing here?" the woman snapped, stalking forward. "This is off-limits Ruddlan militia property!"

Mireya held up her hands. "Easy, easy! We were just looking for a secluded spot to smoke."

It was a terrible lie, but it didn't have to be good at all. She only needed to buy Andy a handful of seconds.

Both guards stared at her.

"So you went into a locked room full of flammable items," the man said incredulously.

"Hey, the first door into here was open," Mireya said. "And everyone outside had their panties in a twist over something harmless running around outside. A mouse, I think?"

"It was a fucking one-ton bull, you--" the woman snapped, clearly losing her patience as she stepped forward menacingly.

She didn't make it any further, or finish her sentence. Something tiny and fast whizzed through the air, and the woman suddenly stiffened, stopping in her tracks. A moment later, the man likewise went tense and wide-eyed. Both of them wobbled on their feet for a few moments, before slowly losing all strength in their limbs and toppling to the ground. Their eyes rolled back in their heads as they sank into a deep, lumshade-induced sleep.

Andy proudly rose behind a crate from the adjacent wall, slinging her long blow dart gun over her shoulder. "Ay!" she cheered with a smug grin, hand on her hip. "Mira, we make a great team."

Mireya held up a hand for a high-five. "We do! Nice work, Andy!"

With a big smile, Andy came in and pounced for the high-five.

Mireya pointed out that actually, they could skip the step of searching for guard uniforms because they had two right here. They played a game of rock-paper-scissors over who would get the uniform the woman wore-- Andy lost, so she got the ill-fitting one. At least, she was supposed to. After endless badgering and bossing from Andy, Mireya eventually let her have the woman's outfit.

Thankfully, the outfits were a little baggy on the guards anyway, the man was on the shorter side, and Mireya used a couple safety pins so she could make the uniform more fitted to her shape.

"Okay, you take that end," Mireya said, going back to the cart.

It took some teamwork, but together, they had enough momentum rolling and steered the cart to wheel it out of the room. Andy helped open the door as Mireya pulled the cart out into the empty hallways. Letting the door softly close behind her, Andy went back to pushing, peering over the side of the cart with a curious look.

"Hey, mira?" she called pleasantly. "You're always going to take my side, right?"

Mireya waved a hand. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Just saying," Andy said with a shrug, disappearing behind the cart again. "Sounds like you take his side sometimes."

"Huh. Do I?" Mireya asked. "I can't remember doing that."

"Well, you do," Andy puffed. "You know I've always got your ass. Would be nice to know you've got mine, 'cause I'm always on team 'Reya."

"Hey, I do," Mireya assured her. "C'mon, Andy, don't be doubting me."

"Then why didn't you say they were so good for each other?" Andy pressed, circling back to the conversation about Alistair and Aisling. "You avoided the question. You're always doing that."

"Ohhhhhh," Mireya said. "See, I thought you were being sarcastic? Like, 'oh, she's so ugly but still out of his league, haha.'"

That one hurt a little to say.

"Yeah! Exactly!" Andy exclaimed, a grin in her voice. "Not sarcasm, mira. I'm being for real." She snorted, thoroughly entertained. "You're so right. How is she so ugly and still out of his league?"

Mireya shrugged. "Honestly, not a damn clue! I'll have to get back to you on that one. Maybe consult a higher power first or something."

Andy smacked her lips together, tsking. "She's just his rebound, anyways. He'll come crawling back to me like a lil puppy. He always does. He's just with her to make me jealous."

"Bet you twenty copper it'll be in the next month, if not sooner," Mireya agreed.

...Ah, dammit. Why'd she have to make the losing bet? Hopefully she just forgot.

Andy giggled. "Yeah! You've gotta keep me in the know, mira. Otherwise you're losing those rusts."

"Will do," Mireya said with a grin and teasing salute.

A few beats of silence passed before Andy poked her head around the cart again. "Mira," she called slowly just as teasingly, but there was a hint of venom laced in the word. "You don't find him attractive. Right?"

"Pfffffffffff," Mireya blew out with a laugh. "No."

"Good!" Andy said with a smile, leaving it at that.

A quiet wave of relief washed over Mireya as she turned back outwards, spotting the door they'd left through. Okay. This was it. Nearly there--

"Halt!" a voice shouted from behind them.

The tone wasn't urgent, but Mireya stopped in her tracks anyway, trying not to look guilty as she turned around. A new guard was marching towards them, his face downturned in a bored scowl. Remembering she was pretending to be just like him, she stood at attention, straightening her spine as he drew close.

"Where are you taking that?" the guard asked.

"To the headquarters," Mireya said. "Captain Lindberg's orders."

The guard huffed, folding his arms over his chest as he looked the two of them up and down.

"Don't think I've seen the two of you around before," he said.

"We're new hires," Mireya said, praying that he didn't ask what rank that made them. She didn't know that shit. "We just enlisted last week."

The guard squinted at the two of them with a doubtful expression.

"Look, man, I know you've got your questions, but Captain Lindberg requested we have this at headquarters by 1600 and I really don't want to explain to her that we were late because we got held up," Mireya went on. "You wouldn't want to go against the captain, would you?"

The guard's expression shifted into uncertainty. Yeah, that's what she thought. Kaja Lindberg had a reputation for an explosive temper and short patience, and from everything Mireya knew, she wouldn't want to get in trouble with her either.

"Alright, go on," the guard sighed, waving them on. "Don't make the boss mad."

Mireya flashed him a bright smile, resuming the pushing of the cart. She held her breath until they'd gotten through the door and were a healthy distance away before she grinned triumphantly at Andy.

"We took it right under their noses!" she whispered gleefully.

Breaking her silent spell, Andy giggled and jumped, dashing forward to tackle-hug Mireya. "Hell yeah we did!" she laughed, shaking her shoulders with a big grin. "We fucking did it! We're the best!"

"Hell yeah!" Mireya shrieked, jumping up and down in place.

Looked like she'd be getting that third ray. Or beam, as Sparrow called it. Whatever. He needed to get with the times.

Things were looking up.

"But daaaaaaaaads!" Mel groaned, pouting with the cute summer dress bunched in her hands. With the biggest, most pleading eyes she could conjure, she cried, "But this dress is so cute! Pleeeeeease please please pleeeeeeeeeease?"

"Honey, please," Teagan said with his head poked through the curtains, pouting with her now. His doe eyes went wide, his lips nearly disappearing beneath his mustache. "Can we let our baby girl have this? She's all grown up now."

Oscar sighed, frowning as he set his boring plain white coffee mug on the big fancy shmancy accounting desk. Only to dully say, "No. Too revealing."

"Ugghh!" Mel moaned, sinking into the armchair with her arms crossed. "How am I supposed to make cute 'fits if I can't even wear them?"

"Aw, baby," Teagan cooed. He looked back up from his designs, offering a dazzling smile. "There will be plenty of other opportunities. Don't worry."

Oscar sighed, his chair creaking as he rolled off his chair. "I'm going to the back room to keep records. Mel, can you run the shop?"

Mel beamed, scurring to sit up at the edge of the chair. "Can I wear the dress?" she asked excitedly.

Oscar didn't even react or say anything, his stare at cold and empty as his slicked white hair. Just gave her a blank, icy look. Mel sighed heavily, slopping the sunflower patterned dress over the top of the chair.

"Fiiiiine," she groaned, head tilted back. "Yep, I got the shop!" Beaming again, she pushed her curly hair over her shoulder. "I always do~"

Oscar softly grunted in turn, nodding and disappearing to the back room with Teagan.

Finally! Now that her dads were busy, she could actually have some fun without them supervising her all the time! Finally! It felt like ages since they both stepped out at the same time, and she had Niko, and Hild.

Mel craned her neck to peek between the cracks of the dividing curtain, making sure her dads were really in there. She only saw blobs of color, which was good enough, so she waltzed through the main door, announcing her sunny return into the main entrance.

It was a pretty small room, with just the main desk and the arrays of fabric for choosing. The real magic happened behind the curtains. Literally.

"Back!~" she chirped, looking between Hild and Niko.

Hild, hidden behind a stack of rolled fabric on the workbench, barely looked up from her stitching to give Mel a quick nod of acknowledgment. Then she ducked back behind her work.

Hild! Oh, Hild. So adorable and such a cute soul. She wore the most chic outfits and had glamorous skin. Every week they exchanged so many tips on their curly hair, and it was through this smartie-pants that she discovered the magic of shea butter.

Meanwhile, Niko was holding up two pieces of fabric, both of high silk fiber content but of different shades of red. He offered Mel a smile and nod as his way of waving with his hands full.

Niko! Her best friend! They had been besties since the first day of school, way back in the day when she was barely tall enough to peek over her dad's desk. She loved him so much and trusted her whole life with him. They could talk about everything and everything, from fashion to boys to how rainy days really made the week so gloomy.

Mel took pride in hiring the two of them. Oscar kept going on and on and on about how one day, she would take over the shop, which meant she had to start taking an active responsibility and yadda yadda yadda boring boring boring. What did matter was that she got to hire all her friends.

Well, two of her friends. She invited a lot to apply. But many of them... you know! Sucked at sewing. So she couldn't hire them, but that was fine! It was still great to see them around the shop, job or not.

With a sigh, Mel hopped up to sit on the main desk, swinging her dangling legs so the hem of her dress billowed with her movements. Without pause, she went on, somberly announcing, "Bad news, everyone. Dads said no to the dress."

"Aw," Niko said sadly. "It was so nice, though."

"I know, right?" Mel huffed, pouting.

"The one with sunflowers and low neck?" Hild asked from behind the fabric mountain.

"Yeah!" Mel eagerly nodded. "The one I had you model." An idea then dawned on her as she brightened up, grinning towards Hild. "Hey! Maybe you can have it, then? It was soooooo pretty on you!"

Hild looked up at that, expression almost as flat as Oscar's. At least she didn't have his icy blue eyes, otherwise she'd find her stare weirdly too similar.

Hild glanced at the curtain where the Sommers had disappeared to, and leaned forward a bit to quietly suggest instead, "You could have bargained by first asking for something more extreme. That way what you actually wanted appeared more reasonable by comparison."

Mel hummed, teetering her legs. "I dunno," she mused. "Sounds kinda dishonest." Beaming again, she shrugged. "But let's say I try anyways! What would I ask for? Like, I dunno, my dad's whiskey?"

Shrugging, nonplussed, Hild cracked the slightest of amused grins at that. "No. You could, but that would make it obvious." She sat straighter again to assess her stitchwork. "I did mean a different dress. One with a more scandalous cut, since that was Mr. Sommers's one hangup."

"Maybe that yellow mini-dress that you had me model because Hild wouldn't?" Niko suggested meekly.

At that, Hild's grin grew. "It was a lovely shade of yellow on you," she lightly teased.

Niko let out a bashful laugh. "Not the worst look."

"Okay, but you also rocked that dress too, Niko!" Mel giggled. "Ah well. Maybe I'll make a third dress, have Mister Grumpy Dad say no again, and then we can each wear one in the shop together." She beamed and swished her legs forward and back again, now entertaining the idea. "Yeah! It could be a fashion show, called Mel's Banned Dresses."

"I like that idea," Niko agreed.

The bell on the door suddenly grabbed Mel's attention. With a sunny smile, Mel clapped her hands and turned to the door, chirping her usual greeting. "Welcome to Sommers' Stitch 'n Sews!~"

Mel blinked, taking in the customer. A tall, hunky man with ginger hair and tight clothes was at the door. He wasn't a very sunny guy, but the sun was shining on him anyways. Not at his black eye though. But hey, black holes used to be a sun at some point!

"Oh, hello!" Mel greeted brightly, hopping off the desk to be the first to greet him. With her hands clasped together, she stood straight with good posture close by, offering her most dazzling smile. "My name's Mel. How may I help you?"

"Hello Ms. Mel," the man greeted simply with a respectful bow of his head. "I want to get some alterations done for a jacket, and I'm wondering if there's anything you can do about stain removal."

"Oh yes, totally! I can totally do that for you," Mel said with an eager nod and a sway of her hips, her dress moving with her. "Just Mel is fine, by the way, Mister...?"

The man stiffened for a moment.

"Tiberius," he said.

"...Hemming?" Mel heard Niko whisper to Hild in the confines of the shop.

Through the door, the top of Hild's head could be seen poking out again, just enough for her to see.

Meanwhile, Mel's eyes went wide, the name replaying in her head.

Wait, wait, wait. Tiberius Hemming. The Tiberius Hemming? As in, the one with royalty, and with the king? That fun drama?

"Oh my gods!" Mel squealed, unable to contain her excitement. Her eyes sparkled in delight as she shimmied in place. "You're Tiberius Hemming? Like, the one and only?"

The man stared at her, blinking slowly. His eyes flicked behind her to Hild and Niko for a second.

"Uh... yes," he said quietly.

Mel had to literally hold back her squeal by pressing her knuckles against her lips. "No way! This is so exciting! Aaaa, I can't believe you're visiting! I'm so honored!" Excited, Mel snatched his hand, leading him inside the shop. "Come on in! Come on, let me show you around!"

Tiberius was a bit stiff and wide-eyed as Mel pulled him into the shop, but he didn't resist. And of course he didn't; she was so charming, after all!~

"Oh-- um--" he stuttered.

"Oh, don't be shy!" Mel giggled, pulling him along the side wall where she kept all her yummy beverages. "What would you like to drink? You might be here for a while. We have so much to talk about!"

Nudging Mel's shoulder, Hild suddenly appeared behind them.

"Mr. Hemming," she greeted with a plastered on smile. She guided Mel to the right to stand a full arm's length away from him, which she resisted at first, then relented since Hild was a stubborn gal. "It's... good to see you out and about."

Mel stared slowly at Hild, then at Tiberius, then at Hild. Then back at Tiberius. Processing.

Tiberius slowly and awkwardly pulled his hands out of Mel's. He looked at Hild like he recognized her, but also like he didn't know what to say. It was all in the twitch in his eye. She could tell. Her dad did the same thing whenever he stared at a repeating customer.

"Whaaaat?" she drew out, confused. "Do you two know each other?"

Ignoring Mel, Hild politely folded her hands in front. "How might we assist you?" she stiffly asked.

Tiberius's adam's apple bobbed for a second as he swallowed, but he nodded.

"Um. Sorry," he apologized for no reason. "I just... need an alteration and a stain removed. Or. Well. I don't know if that will be possible."

"Niko!" Mel barked over her shoulder. "We have a stain!" She turned back to Tiberius with an apologetic smile. "Don't worry, Tiberius! We'll get that off your hands shortly."

"It's... wine," Tiberius said meekly, pulling out a shirt from under the jacket on his arm.

It was a white shirt with a large red stain on a sleeve. But there was also... well, that wasn't wine. Blood, maybe? Not a problem, they could cover any stain. Plus, Tiberius was a soldier. He probably had a lot of bloodied shirt from all the bar fights he got in and stuff.

Niko ran out, holding up two bottles of chemicals overhead. "Did I hear a stain?" he said loudly, but he quickly froze when he saw the suspicious nature of the stain.

"I just... would hate to waste a shirt," Tiberius said faintly, his voice somehow getting softer with each thing he said, almost like he was trying not to be heard at all.

"Aw! You're so resourceful. So considerate of you!" Mel cooed, eyes sparkling.

In turn, Tiberius pulled his lips back in a cute small upside-down smile. She beamed back. He was so adorably hot and awkward. 💖

"Niko should have them out in no time," Hild answered, sticking out an expectant hand. "He's got it down to a science."

Tiberius handed the shirt to Hild in the most robotic way possible. Like a undead mime who woke up from its grave. Absolutely no excitement in their eyes, like this was supposed to be a soulless business transaction.

"Yep!" Niko nodded hastily. "I got it."

"Right," Tiberius said. "That's. Okay. Thank you."

"You're welcome!~" Mel chirped. "Now, would you like a drink? We have all the teas, coffees, drinks! Even milk! What would you like, Tiberius? It's on the house!"

"I, um. I don't need anything, thank you," he said. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Mel prodded anyways.

"You best be on your way then," Hild hastily said over her, reaching back to hand off the shirt to Niko.

"Wait!" Mel huffed, thinking. "Is there another service we could provide? Maybe you'd like new trousers? New shirt? We have all the colors and patterns! Anything you can think of, we can do it, and we have it!"

Tiberius looked almost pained. Though he wouldn't be if he had just taken her up on her drink!

"...My jacket," he said weakly.

"What about it," Hild tensely prompted.

"I--" Tiberius said, clearly struggling under Hild's sheriff-like interrogating tactics. "I was wondering if you could add in some extra pockets within the lining. And--"

"Yes!" Mel said eagerly. "Totally. We can do that for you. Don't you worry about a thing."

Hild didn't answer this time. There was the slightest hint of suspicion in the way she tilted her head.

Tiberius swallowed. "I don't have to-- I can go somewhere else if--" Tiberius started.

Niko looked almost offended on Mel's behalf. Finally, someone else was being reasonable!

"But we'll do it well!" he protested.

Tiberius looked nervous. Probably because of Hild's mean staring! So Mel stared at her back with a frozen grin, raising her brows to silently tell her to stop freaking out their customer. Hild's plastered-on politeness grew even stiffer and more forced in response.

"Sorry," he said. "This works just fine. Who should I discuss details with regarding the jacket? I um. Have something specific in mind."

Niko flicked his eyes to Hild. But Hild was being weird right now, and she hesitated in answering a moment too long, so Mel clapped her hands to gain attention back to herself.

"Me!" she said with a nod. "I'm Mel Sommers, by the way. I run the shop daily. So if you ever want to see me, you know where to find me!"



Mel got to take Tiberius to the back room! ALONE!... To take his measurements. He was as stiff as a bone, but after her very calming words, he relaxed. Mind you, it was strictly professional, in which she took in every possible measurement so he would have the best jacket ever. And also so she could oogle at his muscles.

Military men were soooo sexy! They were all so big and strong and brave.

She did find it kinda weird that he wanted like a dozen pockets sews around his jacket. What was he trying to hide in there? Bullets? Oh, maybe for pocket knives? Military men definitely carry self-defense items around. Tiberius was many descriptions, and a mystery was one of them. Mel was so intrigued.

She sighed longingly as she waved goodbye from the door, watching her Prince Charming enter his carriage without a second glance back. At least she knew that he'd return later to get his jacket.

By then, Mel would have convinced him to get a drink with her! Maybe he'd say yes if she wore the sunflower dress!

Right. Back to business.

Closing the door, Mel whirled around, hand on her hips as she immediately went on to scold her friend. "Hild!" she barked. "Why were you being so grumpy? You scared him away!"

Hild cast her a look of indifference. "As if you weren't coming on too strongly," she answered as she smoothed out a large square of fabric. "There is a thing called 'professionalism', which you're expected to maintain when you head the shop."

Mel groaned with her head tilted back, marching back towards her comfy loveseat where her fuzzy throw blanket awaited her. She'd been up on her feet all day, working hard to impress Tiberius. She needed a sit.

"Hey, we did the business stuff!" she huffed, plopping down on the cushion. "You can have work and play, you know." Mel giggled, bending her legs to fit in the chair. Then added with a wink, "And there was a lot of play~"

"I saw," Hild said flatly, taking a pair of scissors to the cloth. "You showed next-to-no self-restraint in feeling him up in every possible way you could manage."

"Oh? Hild!" Mel's eyes sparkled, beaming with a sudden realization. "My bad! Did you like him? I should have sent you in the back room with him instead!"

The last snip was harsh-sounding. Hild set the scissors down with a loud clatter and narrowed her eyes at Mel over her shoulder. "If you had just an ounce of brains, you might have questioned the source of the stain. From which he might have confessed that he, political figure though he is, was involved in a barfight. A bout of brutish stupidity that I could have confirmed, because I was the one who had to clean him up afterward."

A barfight! Mel knew it! That made him so much hotter.

Still, she crossed her arms and scrunched her face towards her. "No need to be so mean about this, you know!" she huffed. "Tiberius still deserves to have a million secret pockets." She paused, hummed, then grumbled, "And a drink."

Pressing her lips into a hard line, Hild tilted her chin up almost defiantly. But her glance off to the side meant she was thinking deeply.

"You're right," she relented. "But not about Tiberius Hemming." She turned back to her project. "I just want you to be more careful around him."

"Aww!" Mel beamed, draping her arms over the side of the chair. "You're so sweet, Hild. So protective. Like a mother hen." With a dazzling grin, she flicked her hair over her shoulder and offered a wink and a thumbs up. "Don't worry about me, though! I've got this, 'cause girl, I'm a feminist. Ya girl can take care of herself."

"Very well," Hild further conceded.

"Yeah, guys," Niko said, walking over to join them. He'd wrinkled his nose, probably from the smells of the chemicals. "Some of that was definitely not wine."

"I do apologize," Hild said sincerely to Niko. "It was a biohazard that someone should have warned you about."

Niko looked worried. "Wait, biohazard?"

"It's just a little blood!" Mel said dismissively. "Dried, too. It's no big deal. Hild and I bleed every month. Who cares?" She slouched back on the chair, twirling a curly strand of hair. "So he got into a barfight, huh... Wow..."

"Mel, no," Niko groaned.

Straightening with a grin, Mel leaned to the side of the chair, grinning as she faced Hild. "So that's how you met Mister Charming? Aw, that's so romantic!"

"It really isn't," Niko insisted.

Hild pointed an arm Niko's way, an intensely vindicated look on her face.

In defeat, Mel slumped back against the chair. "I wish a boy would sweep me off my feet during a fight and then touch my face like that," she said dreamily.

"No, you don't," Hild monotoned.

Niko facepalmed. "Your taste in men will be the death of me."

Pouting, Mel fell backwards against the arm of the chair, tilting her head down to watch Hild cut away at the fabric, upside-down.

"Hiiiiild," she whined, drawing out her name. "Niko and I talk about boys all the time. How come you don't ever want to talk about boys? Just this one time, please, can we talk about boys? Please?"

"I refuse," Hild said plainly, her back now turned as she held up the square.

Mel perked up, grinning. "So, do you like anyone?" she asked anyways.

"No."

"So it's not Tiberius?"

"Most certainly not," Hild scoffed.

"Do you like girls, then?" Obviously, Mel had to has this, since everyone who liked boys liked Tiberius.

Hild set down the fabric to mark off where to cut. "No."

Mel pursed her lips, humming. "So. Non-binary?" she asked hopefully.

"I don't like people," Hild said flatly.

"Oh, so like, asexual?" Mel asked, hope returning.

"Stop talking to me."

Mel pouted again. "Nikooooooo," she moaned. "Help me out here."

"With what?" Niko threw up his hands. "Putting labels on Hild?"

"She likes someone and isn't telling me," Mel whined, pouting again.

Niko glanced at Hild. "Not sure about that."

Hild pointed her pencil at Niko. "A wise man." Then pointed at Mel. "Follow his example, and please desist with your theories."

"Ewwww..." Mel said with a scrunched nose, lifting her head to sit up straight again. "You sound like my dad."

"I take this as a compliment," Hild said, indeed sounding self-satisfied.

"Ewwww!" Mel moaned again, turning away. "Fine, fine. Just stop saying dad things. It's weirding me out."

"If you want to head the shop," Hild started, sounding like the start of a full lecture, "you have to set aside--"

"La la la la la la!" Mel loudly said over her, holding the throw blanket over her head to block out sound.

It mostly just made her hair heavy, though.

But her day? Light as a feather!

Shane trusted Kirk. Quite a bit, considering the short time they'd known each other. And he hoped to the gods that Kirk was right about him having access to Tiberius.

That hope was what got him to the door of the Moonlight Kingdom's manor, praying that he hadn't just come up with the lamest way to hang out in existence. The more he thought about it, the more he felt like he was saying, I don't have a shred of a clue about how to hang out with other people, and I'm the epitome of boring and the opposite of fun. Care to join anyway? Still, he was here. He was here with a risky idea and a whole lot of voices screaming in his head to reconsider, but he was here.

He took a deep breath before knocking on the door. Immediately, he wondered if he'd been too quiet in his knocking and winced.

Well. He refused to knock again, in case the first time had been audible and he came off as rude and demanding. Shane wiped the pained expression off his face.

Hurried footsteps came to the door, and a maid Shane saw around the manor came to answer. He'd exchanged greetings with her enough over the years to know her name was Marge, and she was the head maid of the house.

"Oh! Mr. Shane Hawking!" she said, wiping her hands with a towel, looking like she'd run to get the door. "Well hello, there. What are you stopping by for today?"

"Hello, Marge," Shane said politely, smiling slightly. "Do you know if Tiberius is in the house? I was hoping to see him."

It may have been a rhetorical question. He still hadn't noticed Tiberius leaving.

"Tiberius!" Ms. Marge said, her face lighting up a bit. "Oh, he just got in an hour or so. Went out for some errands, but boy he really snuck out of here to do so. I barely noticed he left! Anyway, would you like me to fetch him for you? I can tell him he has a visitor?"

Interesting, Shane thought. Why was he being sneaky about it? Have I missed anything else?

"If he's free, that would be wonderful, thank you," he said gratefully.

"How about you come sit in our waiting room, dear?" she said, waving him inside. "It'll be just a moment."

A beat.

"Hopefully," she added a bit sheepishly. "Don't be shy! Make yourself at home."

Shane smiled appreciatively. "Sure. Thank you, Marge."

He stepped inside, and as Marge scurried off upstairs, he found himself in the waiting room he'd seen a couple times before. It was a nice room, very clean and tastefully decorated. Oil paintings of snowy mountains hung proudly on the walls, as if to remind the manor's visitors of their colder homes, and trinkets of all kinds were nestled between the plants on every table, shelf and surface. It felt like a place of luxury. It did not feel like a home.

This place seemed so similar to the Cypress on the surface and so terribly different underneath. Where the Cypress was filled with memories and sentimental treasures that made the house seem to swell with comfort, the Moonlight Kingdom manor was impersonal. Hardly lived in. Like a house sold to owners who had never seen it before buying it, the manor's personality and style was tailored to a general audience of visitors rather than to anyone who might wish to leave their mark here. It lacked warmth. It lacked love between its walls for the house itself. And it made sense why. From the start, this was always meant to be a place to reside, not to live. Hundreds of people must have stayed here, and despite all that, when Shane looked around, he could've been looking at a place that had never known a human soul.

Slowly, and rather uncomfortably now, he took a seat in an embroidered armchair.

After a few minutes, Marge came shuffling down the hall with hurried footsteps and stopped in the entry to the sitting room.

"Sorry about the wait, Mr. Hawking," she said with a small bow of her head. "He was taking a nap. He will just be a few minutes."

Shane felt a sudden burst of guilt, but he nodded with a faint smile. "No worries. Thank you."

"Of course," she said, bowing her head. "Is there anythign I can get for you while you wait? Water? Are you hungry? I made some fresh bread this morning?"

"I'm alright, but that's incredibly generous of you," Shane said politely.

"Alright," she said. "I'll leave you, then, but don't hesitate to call my name if you think of something!"

"Thank you," Shane said, as Marge ducked out again.

Which left him, once more, alone in the cold, detached waiting room.

Holy hell. This was maddening. How did anyone live here?

Finally, Tiberius entered the living room. Shane hadn't even heard him coming.

"Hey," Tiberius said, standing awkwardly stiff in the entryway.

He looked a little more cleaned up than the last time he saw him, but his poor face was still black and blue.

"Hey," Shane greeted, and he realized he'd have to say more than that, because he'd shown up, unsolicited. An explanation was needed.

"I was wondering if you've been seeing more of Ruddlan," he went on, trying not to sound as anxious as he felt. "There's some spots I feel like you might like. Have you been to the library yet?"

Tiberius stared at Shane for a moment as if it took him a solid few seconds to realize that Shane had just extended an invitation. Or rather, was about to.

"Oh," he said. "No. I haven't."

"It's really very nice," Shane said. "It's a gorgeous building, it has a wealth of books, and it's quiet. Very peaceful place to hang out."

A beat.

"I was thinking I'd head down there," he said, really, really hoping he didn't sound like he was giving the world's lamest invitation. "I'd be happy to have to join me, if you wanted. We don't even have to talk or do anything. We could just read and enjoy the silence together."

For some reason, even though Tiberius's expression didn't really change, his stiff posture visibly - subtly - relaxed. It seemed to have been the no talking needed part.

"That... yeah," Tiberius said with a nod. "Yeah. That sounds nice. I wouldn't mind joining if it won't distract you from your studies."

"Of course not," Shane said, with a faint smile. "You'd be welcome."

Tiberius's mouth almost moved into a smile. He bowed his head.

"Are you leaving now?" Tiberius asked.

"If you're ready to," Shane said.

"I can be," Tiberius said. "I've..."

There was a gap as he seemed to be finding words for how to finish his sentence.

"...nothing else to do," Tiberius finished lamely.

Shane smiled a little more reassuringly. "Alright. We can head out now, then."



A few hours later, the two of them were still in the library. Tiberius had grabbed an adventure novel and lost himself in it near-immediately. Every time he turned a page, he seemed to be already trying to read the words on the next one, and he was on the last few pages. Shane, meanwhile, had been intently taking notes on some old newspaper samples he'd requested from the library archives. The paper was yellowed and the ink was starting to vanish into it, but with some deciphering, nearly all of it was readable. The news mentioned a good Letteran harvest, attributing its blessings to Jord. A faded illustration of what he assumed was a dragon swooping over a plentiful field was beside the text.

That dragon had once felt immortal to Letterans. Divine and all-powerful. It would only take fifteen years after this publication for that rude awakening.

A voice from the front desk called out closing time, and Shane blinked as he lifted his head, snapping out of the past and into the soft sounds of the library visitors packing up their things and preparing to leave. Carefully, being mindful of the delicate paper, he went up to the front desk to return the newspaper, then quietly retreated back to the table to collect his notebook and bag. Opposite his seat, Tiberius was visibly at the end of a race to finish the last page of his book, holding it no more than an inch away from his face.

When he finally finished, he abruptly shut the book and set it down on the table, letting out a small sigh as he leaned back into his chair for a moment, staring out into space as if he were processing what must have been an intense end to the story. Shane cracked a slight smile as he tucked his notebook into his bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

Then Tiberius blinked and shook his head.

"Do I sort this back?" Tiberius asked quietly.

Shane shook his head. "There's a cart by the exit," he said softly. "Leave it there and the librarians will sort it for you."

"Ah," he said, picking up the book. "I'll put it on the cart."

The two of them made their way to the exit, among the last to leave, and Tiberius dropped off his book before they went through the double doors. Outside, the late afternoon sun had cooled to something more bearable, almost pleasant. Shane was grateful for it as they turned back in the direction of the estates.

"Thanks for inviting me," Tiberius said after a few moments of walking in silence.

When Shane looked over, Tiberius met his eyes with a small, genuine smile. Upon seeing it, it was impossible not to smile back.

The relief he felt was crushing, for a moment.

"Of course," he said gently. "Thank you for coming."

"I'm glad I did. It's been a long time," Tiberius said with a sigh. "Since I've been able to just sit and read a book just for the fun of it."

"It's an underrated experience, honestly," Shane said. "I'm really glad you were able to have that again."

"Yeah," Tiberius said with a small nod.

"How was your book, by the way?" Shane asked curiously. "It seemed to keep you absorbed."

Tiberius hummed. "It was full of cliffhangers up until the end. So -- it was very exciting. I thought I was signing up for an adventure but it ended up being more of a... adventure mystery... romance."

He squinted, looking off to the side. "I hadn't read it before, so, it was an enjoyable read. Though, knowing all of the twists, I don't know if it'd be as thrilling reading it back through. I think the writing relied more on shock value."

Shane nodded knowingly. "Well, if you wanted to do this again, you could always pick out something new."

A little slow, Shane once again witnessed Tiberius processing in real time as his eyes widened a little in realization.

"Oh!" he said, his expression softening. "If -- yeah. That. Yes. We could do that."

"If you're feeling it, that is," Shane added. "You don't have to. But if you liked it..." He shrugged, smiling faintly for a moment. "I'm here regularly."

"How regularly?" Tiberius asked.

"Very regularly," Shane said with a slight laugh. "You could probably show up at the Cypress on any given day asking if I'm planning to go, and the answer is most often times yes."

Tiberius smiled very faintly. "Well... maybe I'll try to join you more then," he said. "It's a nice place to get away to."

Shane smiled in return. "You'd always be welcome."

Tiberius nodded, his small smile pulling just a tad wider before it fell. The way it dropped along with his gaze seemed to carry some weight to it, but he said nothing more.

Shane wasn't quite sure what that was, but... well, this felt like progress of some kind. It was something he could tell Kirk about, at the very least.

"To be completely honest," Tiberius said slowly. "I'm surprised you're willing to associate with me beyond political politeness."

Shane blinked, a little surprised at the remark. He knew that background tension existed. It just rarely got called out.

"Not as a slight to your character," Tiberius continued. "But I would think with your family being vocal about the reform of anti-magic policy and my current standing as a public figure and in current history, that you'd - at the very least - keep relations distant out of the unspoken obligation that comes with politics. Not out of any sincere interest."

Shane huffed quietly, but not out of amusement. Instead, the sound was a little sad.

"Our ideologies might go strongly against popular sentiments," he said. "But we can't make the world our enemy, either. To go without relationships or connections would be to build our house on wet sand."

"Normally I'd be quick to agree with you," Tiberius said, looking at him more meaningfully, raising his brows. "But."

He pointed at his chest, widening his eye a bit (well, his right eye - his left was still bruised).

Shane furrowed his brow as he watched him.

"Yes, I know your case is a little different," he said. "You're-- well, your involvement makes you more complicit. I realize this."

Tiberius stopped, and Shane halted next to him, which caused people to give them dirty looks. Trying to ignore them, he stared at Tiberius, whose face looked stark in the late summer afternoon shadows. It was busy on the road, with the bustling crowd and passing wagons kicking up dust into the air, but their setting seemed to be drowned out by the weight of... whatever was going on.

"Finally," Tiberius said lowly.

Tiberius looked at Shane and met his eyes. "Thank you. Finally someone who's honest."

Shane kept staring right back at him.

"I'm sorry, but what do you mean?" he asked.

Tiberius took in a deep breath and pressed his lips together as he looked off into the street. A few people had started glancing at them - Tiberius in particular. Shane knew how to spot people whispering among themselves. For a moment he didn't like, he felt uneasy about being spotted in his company.

"I should've waited until we were somewhere private," he said. "If you're willing to wait an uncomfortable amount of time until we reach your residence, I'll be more clear with you."

Well, that sounded infinitely more comfortable than standing around here.

Shane swallowed, looking back out ahead of them. If people were still looking at them, at least they had the decency to pretend not to now.

"Let's go," he murmured, quickly setting off in the direction of the Estates again.



Shane opened the door to the Cypress. The creek resounded through the house, and somehow, he had the undeniable feeling that it was empty. Something about the atmosphere-- a something he noticed the other eleven months of the year when it was just him here-- gave it away. Still, he was attentive as he stepped in.

"Mom?" he called, stepping aside so Tiberius could join him indoors. "Dad? Are you back yet?"

Silence greeted his words, which meant for sure they weren't here. They would've answered immediately. At least they could talk in private.

He then heard a meow from the stairs, and he turned his head to see Shrimp eagerly bounding down them. Shane held out his arms, and the cat leapt into them with a purr. Scratching behind the cat's ears, he lifted Shrimp close to his chest and turned back to Tiberius.

"This is Shrimp," he said. "I think he's our only company for the afternoon."

Tiberius looked down at Shrimp, then looked up to meet Shane's eyes.

"Your cat is adorable but I want to answer your question like I promised," he said.

Shane nodded, turning away to head into the parlor. "We can sit over here. He won't get in the way."

With of bow of his head, Tiberius entered the parlor and took a seat in the armchair closest to him. Shane took the other, setting Shrimp on his lap. The cat looked like he wanted to go over to Tiberius, but behaved himself, curling his tail around his legs.

"I am tired of being lauded as a hero," Tiberius said seriously. Now that he was talking in private, behind a closed door, his words and expression were focused, more intense. Shane shifted his posture, giving him his undivided attention.

"And I loathe those who make apologies on my behalf," Tiberius went on. "Few in the Moonlight Kingdom share your position and even fewer in power. For over a year no one's been able to look me in the eye and acknowledge anything but my 'victory.' So, finally hearing someone who's willing to give their honest opinion instead of flattery -- I missed it."

Shane examined him silently for a couple seconds. It didn't surprise him that Tiberius didn't like the attention of a war hero. But this was more than that. It wasn't just a distaste for the reverence he got, but it seemed he believed there was... nothing glorious at all about what he was known for.

"I don't think you're a hero," he said honestly. "But if you don't think you are, what are you instead?"

"A murderer," Tiberius answered without hesitation.

Shane couldn't help it. For the briefest moment, he flicked his eyes to the shelf against the wall closest to the dining room, where the chest holding Jordan's rock collection hung open. A gray-blue one speckled with black peeked above the sides, glimmering ever so slightly. It was one of the heavier stones in there-- probably partly composed of some metal-- but it wasn't as heavy as his heart right now.

"Most people would say that's why you're a hero," he said at last. "And you're separating the two. Why?"

Tiberius took in a deep breath, leaning back into his chair to hold the back of his hand against his mouth. His brows furrowed together, and he looked off into the room in deep thought.

Shane's chest felt tight. He realized it was because he'd been holding his breath, and he breathed in deeply through his nose.

"Because," Tiberius said lowly, still staring intensely at a point in space. "They didn't deserve to die."

Somehow feeling incredibly focused and a million miles away at the same time, Shane slowly nodded.

"No," he said quietly, hearing himself speak as though he was removed from his own words, like he was listening from elsewhere in the room. "No, they didn't."

The silence stretched on and on. Where he had no choice earlier, Shane could now no longer bring himself to look back at the chest.

"If I were to say that to anyone else..." Tiberius said quietly, still with his hand over his mouth, unmoved. "It would sound like I regret having saved my platoon."

Shane took a deep breath.

"I'm not telling anyone," he said. "I know that whatever regrets you may have, that's not where they lie. And I... I'm glad they're still here, too. There's just..."

He dropped his gaze to the ground.

"There's a steep price to these things," he said. "Doing the math will drive you insane."

Again, Tiberius was silent for some time.

"Why did you reach out?" Tiberius asked faintly.

Shane slowly looked back up. Tiberius had closed his eyes, and his expression was pained.

"For dinner?" he asked quietly. "With the box? Or today?"

"All of it," Tiberius said. "Why reach out at all?"

Shane sighed quietly. Yeah, he wondered that too.

"The dinner was my parents' idea," he said. "If that had been up to me, I might not have gone ahead with it. After that, though..."

He waved a hand weakly, an uneasy feeling sinking into his stomach.

"I don't know," he said. "You just struck me as someone who might be a good person with a good heart, despite... this. So did Kirk, once I'd met him and started to connect with him too. Everyone can be better than the worst thing they've done. I just hope my instincts are right."

Tiberius opened his eyes, looking at the floor between them. His furrowed brow turned sad.

"...I'm trying to be," he said quietly.

Shane felt his expression shift slightly with some unplanned softness.

"I got that impression," he said, more gently. "That's... well, that's why I reached out. I wouldn't have if I didn't think that mattered to you."

Tiberius looked over to Shane, staring at him for a moment. Searching.

"I still don't get it," he mumbled. "Basing all of this on a... feeling."

Shane frowned softly. Did he seem... naïve?

"'All of this' was a box of homemade food and an invitation to a quiet getaway," he said quietly. "What am I losing by extending this to you?"

Tiberius's glowering look turned to embarassment as he looked to the floor, finally dropping his hand from his face as he let out a sigh.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I... I don't know."

"You're suspicious, aren't you?" Shane guessed softly.

"I just don't know what to think," Tiberius admitted. "Overnight I became a household name and everyone I knew started treating me differently. Strangers were suddenly too-familiar or cold, and I don't know how to read anyone's intentions anymore. Everyone's always wanted something."

Shane hummed quietly.

"It's understandable," he said. "If I'm untrustworthy to you, there's really very little I could do to change that, I guess. It'd be besides the point to convince you otherwise."

Tiberius was quiet again, looking almost dejected as he stared at the carpet under his feet.

"Are you afraid of being seen with me?" he asked.

Shane raised his eyebrows ever so slightly.

"There's far more people who are on your side than mine in this city," he said. "They're probably surprised you would deign to grace me with your presence."

Tiberius squinted at the floor.

"You're right," he murmured. "So what you're saying is, if we are to meet, we should be secretive about it."

Shane shrugged. "I don't mind. You're the one spending time with one of Lettera's most controversial figures. So, are you afraid of being seen with me?"

Tiberius squinted even harder, like he was giving this some serious thought.

A lot of serious thought. Half-sure of the answer, Shane leaned back in his chair, watching Tiberius calmly.

"Yes and no," he said. "I respect you and think highly of you as a person from what I knew of you before I met you and what I know of you now. But I have to consider what kind of position I could be put in if I'm seen with you frequently. Rumors spread fast in this city, and I..."

He pressed his lips together tightly, letting out a huff through his nose.

"I'm not currently in a position where I can risk my reputation," Tiberius said.

Before Shane could say a word, he quickly added: "I don't give a damn about my reputation, mind you. But I... I have to be careful."

Calculatingly, Shane tilted his head to the side as he kept watching him. Tiberius was worried about his loyalty appearing compromised, then. It made sense. Tiberius had to bury his own real doubts, from the sound of it, and that would be a hard enough task without giving himself connections with mage-sympathizers.

"I think I understand," he said carefully. "You can take whatever actions you think you need to. You can tell your friends you don't like spending time with me, even. I'm not the one with anything to lose."

Tiberius nodded slowly at this.

"It feels like a boorish thing to do," Tiberius said quietly. "But if you're unopposed to being discreet..."

Shane nodded quietly in confirmation. "I am."

Tiberius nodded in reply. "Okay." A beat. "Do you have any questions?"

Shane pressed his lips together in thought.

"If I'm asked about you," he said, "is there a response you'd like me to give them? Does that response depend on who's asking?"

Tiberius wilted a bit in his seat.

"I assume you're referring primarily to my colleagues," he said.

"They're the most likely to ask," Shane admitted.

"I've... not been forthright with them on purpose," Tiberius said carefully. "So please don't share anything with them on my behalf or discuss things I've shared with you."

Shane nodded. "Of course. Would it be fine to mention-- for example, if I was asked about today-- that we went to the library and read silently, with no mention of later talking or discussion points?"

"That would be fine," Tiberius said. But then winced. "But... maybe don't tell... Ingrid."

"That's..." Shane paused. "Perfectly reasonable, honestly."

"Or Carter," Tiberius added. "Or Fonzi."

Shane nodded. "Easy. Done."

It came pretty naturally to him to not talk to certain people who unnerved him.

"You mentioned Kirk," Tiberius said without adding any context.

Shane nodded, faintly smiling for a moment. "We've met up a couple times, yes."

Tiberius nodded slightly.

"Can I...?" he said faintly, but then shut his mouth, like he was deciding against it.

"What?" Shane asked, looking at him intently.

"Would you be able to --? Well, I don't know if it's fair to ask this of you," Tiberius said. Still not asking the question.

"You can ask," Shane said. "I won't promise anything until I've heard it, though."

"I can't in good conscience ask where he stands on mages and magic," Tiberius said. "But I think you could."

Shane stayed quiet for a few moments.

He wondered too, if he was being honest. He had high hopes with Kirk-- largely because he was so kind and steady, and Shane had trouble imagining him hating anyone or wishing violence on them. Kirk had to know where Shane stood, and that didn't seem to affect his warmth towards him in any way. But he didn't know for certain yet, and sooner or later, he might have to learn.

Strangely, the subject didn't feel... as pressing as he might expect it to be. It wasn't a looming elephant in the room. He'd only ever felt at ease in Kirk's presence.

"I've been meaning to find out for myself, one of these days," he said. "I probably won't ask directly, and it may take some time for the subject to come up naturally. But I can pass along what I eventually discover."

With a small sigh of relief, Tiberius lowered his head.

"Thank you," he said softly.

Shane nodded, softening his expression. He didn't know whether You're welcome or No problem were really the right responses, so he left it at that.

"Sorry all of this can't just be... normal," Tiberius mumbled. "But I didn't want to pretend like it was, either."

Shane huffed with a twinge of amusement.

"That's the only luxury you lose with the more power you gain," he said. "Normalcy."

"I can think of a few more," he muttered with a pained frown.

Shane pursed his lips in thought. "Yeah, that was an oversimplication. Privacy is another."

Tiberius went to cover his face with one hand. "Don't remind me."

"Sorry," Shane apologized. "All this to say-- it's okay. We don't get that, but there's ways to work around that. We'll find them."

"I need to find a way to walk around the city without everyone recognizing me instantly," he said flatly, looking up to Shane.

Shane paused.

"Serious suggestion," he said. "Try a really large hat. Wear some farmer's clothes with that and you could instantly be one of two thousand people here."

Tiberius blinked.

"Farmers get overlooked," Tiberius murmured. "Noted. Any other advice?"

"This is-- well, this is entirely up to you to decide on whether you use it or not," Shane said. "I won't act on it. But if you wanted... I'm sure my parents are just as safe as I am if you want to bring anyone else into this. They already like you, and they might have better ways of helping than me."

"They like me?" Tiberius asked, narrowing his eyes skeptically.

"Of course they do," Shane said. "Both of them expressed concern about your well-being, and my dad wouldn't let me leave the house without the bread once he heard you got hurt. They like you."

"That either explains everything about why you are the way that you are or you're all trying to con me," Tiberius said flatly.

Shane shrugged helplessly. "I prefer to think I just got it from them, but... yeah, they're a little over the top. I love them for it, though."

Tiberius was quiet. Then he relented.

"Fine," he said, leaning forward and running a hand through his hair. "I'll consider it."

Shane nodded, flashing him a bare smile for a moment. "It's your choice. My lips are sealed with them unless and until I hear otherwise from you."

"Thank you," Tiberius said, meeting Shane's eyes.

Shane managed another flicker of a smile. "Of course."

A beat passed.

"Who made the lasagna?" Tiberius asked.

Shane lifted his hands with a smile, joining the audience in its clapping as the musicians took their bows on stage. He'd been to several of the concerts in the event center, and it was always a 50/50 on whether the applause turned into a standing ovation. He wondered what it would be this time. It had been about twenty seconds of clapping, and everyone was still seated, so--

Oh, there it was. The front row was rising to their feet, and the rows behind them were getting up as well. Quickly, he hopped out of his seat, still smiling and clapping. Onstage, he could see Alan beaming out into the audience, violin lowered at his side and in one piece again. Shane had been relieved to see David had managed the task perfectly as always. When he'd told his father this morning about the accident, he'd had a good laugh to himself before calling his mother in so she could hear it from Shane too. It seemed that if the subject of Alan came up with David again, his father would go along with it, which Shane was grateful for. His father found it funny anyway.

Gradually, the applause died down, replaced by chatter and laughs as the audience prepared to leave and the musicians packed up. Shane, too, was about to turn and begin making his way out of the event center when he paused and looked back over his shoulder at the stage.

He should wait a little and congratulate Alan, shouldn't he? It would be fast. So he lingered with a smile, stepping out into the aisle so others could make their way past him, as he watched Alan chat with friends at the foot of the stage.

It appeared that Shane had his attention too. Having caught his glance, Alan smiled wider and gave him a shy wave. Shane returned the wave, smiling wider too for a moment.

Alan turned back to his friend group, chatting with them for another minute. A few laughs were exchanged within the pleasantries, and eventually, he peeled away with a final wave to his friends. Then sharply turned back towards Shane with a more emphasized wave and a broad grin, briskly walking over, violin in tow.

"Well, well, well. Look who it is," Alan greeted playfully, coming to a stop. "My violin savior came to watch the show. I'm honored."

Shane laughed, tipping his head in acknowledgment as he tucked his hands into his pockets. "I can tell it got fixed properly. You sounded wonderful."

"The quartet sounded wonderful," Alan amended with a smile, nudging his head towards his friends by the stage. "I'm just one part of the fuller song. But..." Still smiling, he briefly inclined his head downwards with his eyes closed. "Thank you. I'm glad you were able to make it."

"Of course," Shane said with a small grin. "As promised, it was a very nice way to spend an evening."

Alan watched him for a moment, smile growing. He softly huffed out a laugh and turned towards the gated entrance of the estate. "The evening's not over yet," he mused, turning back with another soft grin. "Are you hungry? The least I could do is buy you dinner."

Shane paused. "Are you sure?" he asked with a soft laugh.

"Yes, I insist." Alan pursed his lips, smile turning playful again. "But if it helps, I could also say you have no choice. I'm taking you to dinner."

Shane watched him for a few moments with a mix of surprise and amusement, before he shook his head with a chuckle. "Alright. I relent."

"Excellent," Alan said through a chuckle, looping in his arms through his violin straps, wearing his instrument like a backpack. He led the way down the path, beckoning for Shane to follow. "What's your favorite part of town?" he asked curiously.

"The city center," Shane answered, falling into step beside him. "It's got the most attractions."

"And cafes," Alan added with an amused smile, tilting his head towards him. "Why do I feel like that plays a role in this decision?"

Shane chuckled. "Well, there's a few that are open around the clock. I should know. Ever had a cup of coffee at 2 in the morning?"

"Dear gods. And I thought I was an insomniac," Alan laughed.

"Don't try it," Shane said with a grin. "Just don't."

Alan chuckled, shaking his head. "I can certainly promise you that." He paused, softly humming. "Okay then. Let's see here." Another pause, before he turned back to Shane with a brighter smile. "Do you have a favorite eatery? Or type of cuisines?"

"Sure, but..." Shane gave him an amused look. "Don't you have somewhere in mind?"

"The decision is a work in progress," Alan said matter-of-factly. He gestured to the streets ahead, shrugging. "All I know right now is that we're going to the City Center."

"Well, if it helps in some way, I will always be partial to Terran food," Shane said with a smile, before shrugging. "But that's just me."

"Great choice. Terran food sounds delicious to me." Alan nodded, mulling this over. "There's one not too far from here, actually. On the corner of Market Lane and Baker Street." He turned back to Shane with a curious smile. "Have you ever been?"

Shane smiled wider. "You mean Sage & Saffron?"

Alan snapped his fingers, nodding. "That's the one. Do you want to go?"

It did seem a good choice for the evening. The food was good, and it was also less damage on the wallet. The owners would pleasantly chat with him in Terran whenever he went. Shane nodded with a smile. "If that sounds good to you, I can confirm it's a great spot."

"And with that," Alan began triumphantly with a fancy fluorish of his hand, "the decision has been made. Thank you kindly for aiding me in this arduous process." With a grin, he turned a corner and motioned for Shane to follow. "Come on. Let's make this a memorable evening."

After a few more minutes of watching, they turned onto Market Lane, passing through stands of merchants packing up for the evening now that the crowds were calming. Ahead, on the corner of the wide Baker Street, a sign hung above a terrace, spelling Sage & Saffron in sloping green letters. The restaurant appeared busy, but not full. When they reached the door, Alan requested a table for two indoors, and the waiter led them indoors. Shane thanked him in Terran when they were handed their menus, and with a smile, the waiter left to let them look over it.

"So." Alan turned the page of the menu, chin rested over his knuckles. "I have a confession to make." Closing the menu, he sat back with an friendly smile. "I pass this place all the time, but I've never actually eaten Terran foods. This will be the first time."

Shane barked a soft, amused laugh. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Innocently smiling, Alan shrugged, resting his hands on top of each other on the table. "I'm up for trying something new. It sounds like I picked a good time to try, too, since it appears that I'm dining with someone who knows a thing or two about Lettera." He loosely gestured towards Shane. "Was that fluent Terran, I heard?"

Alan didn't seem to know about the ambassador part yet. That was refreshing, honestly.

"Yeah," Shane said with a warm smile. "I'm from Eagle Bell, actually. I've only been living here the last two years."

"Oh, really?" Alan beamed. "So you're still discovering Ruddlan, then? Or would you say you're pretty settled now?"

"Most people would say I'm not a local, so I guess there's still more to see," Shane said, still smiling. "But I've gotten used to the place by now."

"Well, if only for just a minute, I kindly request that you take off your local hat and instead wear your Terran roots with pride." Alan tapped the menu. "Because frankly, I have no clue what to order, and I'd love nothing more than to be surprised by your favorite dishes."

"I can do my best," Shane said with a chuckle, pretending to remove a hat from his head. "Do you have any strong dislikes?"

Alan shook his head, amused smile lingering. "None. I'd like to think I'm not very picky. Anything goes."

Shane hummed, looking over the menu. "Would you like a starter to share too? Are you feeling hungry?"

After a little more back and forth before the waiter stopped by again, Alan picked out a bottle of wine while Shane ordered a gibanica to start them off, the lamb and apricot tajine for himself, and the moussaka for Alan. The waiter took back their menus and went to get them their wine glasses.

"So," Alan began, folding his arms over the table, attention fixed on Shane with a gentle smile. "What brings you to Ruddlan? It's certainly a long way from home."

"Studies, mostly," Shane said with a smile. "I'm a graduate student of history here. That, and I wanted to travel somewhere to do it."

"Well, you know what they say," Alan said with a faint chuckle. "All roads lead to Ruddlan. It's a good city to settle into, being at the heart of Nye. Though hopefully you have plenty of opportunities to visit home as well."

"Well..." Shane laughed, a little more faintly. "I haven't been back since I moved, actually. I guess the roads don't really lead away from Ruddlan."

Alan softly hummed. "Do your folks visit often? Or at least, often enough that your dad could pay Legatto a long-awaited visit?"

"They're in town right now, actually," Shane said, his smile brightening again. "For a little over a month, which is great. I'm sure my dad will make the rounds. I swear, he's only here once or twice a year and it's like he knows half the town."

Alan smiled fondly as he watched Shane speak, breaking into a grin when he finished. "You care about them so much," he said wistfully. "It's lovely to hear. Your dad also sounds like a charming fellow. Maybe one day I'll be able to shake his hand and thank him for his indirect mitigation of my violin debacle."

Shane grinned as well. "He'd be calling you his friend within moments of meeting you, I'm sure. Which means you could go about your repair discounts in all honesty."

"Fantastic," Alan said with a laugh. "Are they here for the festival?"

"They are. They usually try to coordinate their visits with it," Shane said. "Most exciting time of year to be here and all that."

"Most definitely. And since this is your second year in Ruddlan, this would be fairly new to you as well, right?"

Shane nodded. "The festival's very nice, but I've only been to the games once, I think." He shrugged sheepishly. "They're not my thing, honestly."

"I get that. I've been a local for a while, but they're not my thing either," Alan said with an understanding nod. "I much prefer the week leading up to the games, with music, dancing, and community."

Shane nodded eagerly. "Me too. I especially like the plays."

Alan grinned. "You know, there's only so many times I can say 'me too' before it sounds like I'm parroting you. I kindly request that you get out of my head."

"My bad. I didn't realize I was in there," Shane said with a laugh.

The waiter returned with their wine bottle and the plate of gibanica, which had been sliced into two for them. They each served themselves. Shane took his first bite, nodding in appreciation at the flavors. The dough was just right, and the cheese was rich, warm and creamy. This place used pine nuts in their recipe, which was a little unusual, but it didn't constrast badly with any other taste.

"What do you think?" he asked after Alan had taken his first bite.

Alan placed his knuckles over his mouth, taking several long seconds to slowly chew through his small bite. Finally, he smiled softly and nodded, assuring, "It's good. Thanks for asking."

Shane smiled, relieved, and he switched to tasting the wine. "And you picked out a good bottle."

"Oh," Alan murmured, perking up. He grabbed his wine glass, swirling it hand with a smile. "Yes. Thank you. I think it pairs well." With that, he took a hefty sip.

Shane kept smiling, but... Huh. That really was a large sip. He went on to notice that as they ate, Alan would frequently take sips of wine after nearly every bite of gibanica. And it was hard to spot, but his face was ever so slightly pinched.

Dammit. Did he not like it?

"...You don't have to lie to me," Shane said with a soft laugh.

"I..." Alan awkwardly laughed, placing the wine glass down now that it was nearly empty. He idly wrung and itched his hands, staring sheepishly at the quarter-finished gibanica on his plate. Picking up his fork again, he cleared his throat and pointed the fork towards the food, asking, "Sorry, what are the ingredients?"

"Phyllo dough, eggs, lamb, sirene cheese..." Shane trailed off. "Those are the building blocks for gibanica, but this place makes theirs with pine nuts and onions as well."

Almost immediately, all pleasantries were wiped from his face. Unreacting, Alan stared at Shane, blanching. Confused, and now a little alarmed, Shane blinked at him.

"Is... is anything on that list a problem?" he asked quietly.

Snapping out of his daze, Alan gently, slowly, placed the fork down. "Um," he said to fill the silence, staring at the table, in thought. He then broke into a soft smile, hands out in front of him for extra assurance. "It'll be okay," he said gently. "Don't worry." He leaned over, picking up his violin case.

Shane raised his eyebrows as high as they would go.

"Now I'm really worried," he said slowly.

Quietly, Alan stood up and swung his violin case over his shoulders again, movements calm and gentle. He reached in his pockets, fiddling through some coins. "I'm so sorry, Shane," he said with deep focus, slowly placing several silver and copper pieces on the table. "I have to go right now. But I did promise you dinner, so please, stay and enjoy the food."

"Alan," Shane insisted quietly, looking at him with a pleading gaze. "What's wrong?"

Creasing his brows, Alan stared at him with a sorrowful apologetic look. With his lips tightly pressed together, he pressed his hand against the base of his neck and then sharply turned away without another word, dashing out of the restaurant.

Shane stared, but leapt to his feet a heartbeat later, passing their confused waiter on his way out.

"I'm so sorry, I think we're having an emergency. Payment's on the table," he apologized frantically as he ran out. The waiter looked baffled, but nodded in confirmation, moving back to their table.

Shane ran after Alan, catching him by the shoulder-- not to hold him back, but to run with him.

"What's the matter?" he asked in a panic. "Are you-- are you sick? In pain? What's happening?"

Now outside the entrance, Alan slowed in his steps until he gripped on to the stairwell railing, hunched forward with his hand over his throat so he could pause to take battered, ragged breaths.

"I--" he rasped, voice fragmented from his breath. In the midst of uncertain answers, he frustratedly grated out, "Fuck!" as a harsh whisper, wilting.

Shane's head spun. Something in the list of ingredients had alarmed Alan. That had to be the cause. Gluten, dairy, nuts and eggs were the only notable allergens in there. The cheese and dough would've been obvious just by looking, and the first bite would've given away the eggs, so he would've stopped eating right away or never touched it at all if it were any of those. The pine nuts were far more subtle, though...

"Alan," he said urgently. "Please, answer me honestly. Do you have a nut allergy?"

Alan bit back his heavy breaths, stealing a glance up at Shane with a tight jaw. He nodded ever-so-slightly. He had calmed down, but it was apparent that he was already struggling to breathe.

Panic sparked through Shane's veins. He put his arm around Alan's shoulders, trying to get him to move again.

"I'm getting you to the clinic. You can lean on me as much as you need," he rambled, starting to guide him away from the railing. "Come on!"

Alan didn't resist as Shane hurried him along, clinging to Shane like his life depended on it. Shane prayed to the gods it didn't. A path quickly cleared for them as he led them through the streets as fast as he could while still carrying Alan's weight. Alan was quiet, aside from his labored, strained breathing, and the sound only made Shane's heart race faster with fear.

"We're close. We're close," he murmured. "Hang in there, okay?"

Still focused on quietly breathing, Alan only rested his forehead against Shane's shoulder in response. At least he was breathing. Shane looked up to see the clinic just ahead.

For the second time this week, Shane rushed in through the door. He'd never been back here within this short an amount of time, even on his most painful days. Though, ironically, his hand was flaring up right now.

"Anaphylactic shock," he shouted as he entered, still clinging onto Alan. "He's got a nut allergy."

The clinic was fairly empty for a weekday evening. Shane recognized the two doctors working in the lobby, who only shared a worried half-second glance with one another before springing into action.

Doctor Bennett barely had time to finish saying, "Lyall, please fetch Miss Sable," before Lyall, uttering a string of curses, had already burst out the door behind Shane.

"This way," Dr. Bennett ushered with a worried but gentle smile, urging Shane to lead Alan to the patient bed into the patients' ward.

Shane took him there, helping to recline Alan on the bed, who only barely groaned in response, close to losing consciousness. He flashed an anxious look to Dr. Bennett as his heart clenched.

"Is this serious?" he asked faintly.

Dr. Bennett pushed Alan's dangling legs inwards, glancing to Shane with a gentle but worried smile. "We will take care of him. He will be back to health once our pharmacist brings her medicine." She picked up her clipboard on the cart next to the bed, turning back to Shane with a readied pencil. "Would you mind if I ask you a few questions, Shane?"

Shane nodded, biting his lip. "Please, go ahead."

Dr. Bennett went on to ask him how long ago this happened, how long the symptoms took to set in, how much of the allergen Alan had consumed. Shane did his best to answer, but honestly, it pained him that he was the one answering because Alan couldn't manage a word right now. If nothing else, it was a distraction.

"Thank you, Shane," Dr. Bennett said gratefully, setting the clipboard down. "It shouldn't be that much longer." She clasped her hands over one another, pausing for a moment before offering another small smile. "You are very kind to stay by his side. You are welcome to stay here or sit in the lobby, if you'd like. Alan is in good hands here."

"I think I'll stay," Shane said quietly. "If that's okay."

"More than okay," Dr. Edith said with a nod, gentle smile lingering. "How are you holding up?"

Shane tried not to look at Alan out of the corner of his eye.

"I feel bad," he said quietly. "This was an accident. I didn't know he had an allergy, and I ordered something off the menu for him."

Dr. Bennett nodded with gentle understanding, empathy pooling in her eyes. "I can only imagine the stress both of you went through upon realizing this. Neither of you knew, so I hope you don't blame yourself too much, or at all. The best we can do is communicate and look for signs of a reaction, which you did splendidly."

Shane buried his face in his hands, not reassured. "Is that really the best?"

"I know it's scary, to not know with certainty what will happen," she continued, voice gentle and soft. "Especially when--"

"Out of the way!" a woman's voice suddenly shouted from the front of the clinic.

Shane turned and immediately stepped aside for a blonde haired woman-- she must've been Clarity Sable, a Ruddlan pharmacist-- who was barging into the ward, syringe in hand and a determined look in her blue eyes. Swiftly, and without any kind of delay, Clarity rolled up Alan's pant leg, found a vein, and jabbed the needle into Alan's leg.

Alan seemed to collapse-- not quite relaxing, but falling limp, heaving softly for air. His head rolled to the side, and his eyes slid shut.

"Is he--" Shane said worriedly.

"Epinephrine," Clarity said, tossing the syringe into a nearby trash can. "Also known as adrenaline. It'll help. He'll just need to stay under observation until the symptoms subside."

"We'll just keep him here for a little while," Lyall said reassuringly, if a bit out of breath, as he appeared from behind her. "He should be right as rain soon enough, thanks to Miss Clarity Sable's swift response."

Inhaling deeply, Shane looked at their faces, trying to steady himself.

"Thank you," he said softly. "I'll take care of the expenses. It's my fault it happened."

"That's quite generous of you," Lyall said. He stepped around Clarity, who walked away calmly. Dr. Bennett bowed herself out as well, quick to grab Clarity's attention out the door.

Still in the patient room, Lyall wheeled with him a chair, gesturing for Shane to take the seat. "But you mustn't give yourself too much credit on that front."

Shane furrowed his brow as he sat down. "Why?"

Folding his hands behind his back, Lyall cast Alan a glance that almost felt pointed. The next look he turned Shane's way was curious. "Are you friends with this man?" he asked instead.

"I..." Shane trailed off. "We're friendly. I just met him yesterday, and he invited me to dinner. That's where this happened."

Lyall nodded his understanding. "Well, that's that. You couldn't have known, could you? In which case, it couldn't have been really your fault."

"He didn't know what was in the food he was eating," Shane objected. "I didn't tell him."

"Mr. Hawking," Lyall said, gently but with finality, "please. You didn't know. That's all there is to it. Alright?"

Shane very much wanted to protest further, but he withered a little under the doctor's look and closed his mouth, nodding quietly.

Lyall softly patted his shoulder with a murmured, "Alright. Will you be staying as well?"

Shane glanced back at Alan, who was still very much passed out. Absently, he rubbed his right thumb over his left palm. Now that the panic had passed, the pain in his hand from the exertion had started burning again, but at least it was a dull burning.

"I probably should," he said.

"You're not obligated to," Lyall assured him. "I can tell him you had somewhere to be. He'll understand, I'm sure."

A little more certainly, Shane shook his head. "It's only right to."

Nodding once, the doctor warmly replied, "Respectable." He began to step away, but stopped short to ask, "Can I get you some tea? And something for your hand, Mister Hawking?"

Was it that obvious? Shane forced his face to relax. Maybe his expression had looked like a resting wince.

"If it's no trouble to you," he said quietly. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Lyall said, and bowed out for the time being.

Drawing in a deep breath, Shane rubbed his face tiredly and crossed one leg over the other as he prepared to be here for a while again. He didn't like the clinic. Not in that way-- the staff and service were good-- but he hated being in any sort of medical space. There was always a layer of quiet dread suspended in the air. Ironically, he always felt sick in here.

Lyall soon enough returned with a tea cup in one hand, and something to ease the pain in his hand on the saucer. "Mister Hawking?" he softly bid.

"Thank you," Shane said softly, taking both from him. From the smell of the steam, it was peppermint tea. He took the capsules into his palm, looked down at them for a moment, then tossed them into his mouth and took a sip of tea. It was still almost scalding, but he swallowed it down quickly, deciding to let the rest cool slightly.

Some time passed. The tea went from burning to hot to perfectly warm, and it was just starting to move into lukewarm territory when Alan softly moaned, stirring on the bed.

But before either of them could react or call to him, Shane's heart just about stopped another time when Alan rolled himself off the bed, flinging himself to flop onto the floor. Landing with a soft thud, he moaned again, this time more awake.

"Dragons!" Lyall uttered, rushing to haul him up.

Shane jumped to his feet, barely avoiding a spill as he set his teacup aside. "Are you okay?" he exclaimed.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Alan muttered as Lyall lifted him by his shoulders to help him sit upright, but he was quick to scowl and shove his hands away.

"Please, sir," Lyall huffed, raising his hands in relenting anyway. "We sterilize the floor daily, but it's still recommended you recover on the bed."

Tiredly, and still in a daze, Alan rubbed his eye, staring at Lyall as if he had lost his mind. Slowly, he readjusted his glasses, inching himself backwards to scoot closer to the bed.

"I'm good," he said dryly in response, now rubbing his neck. "Thanks."

Slowly, Shane sat down again, looking at Alan with a sad, anxious gaze.

"How do you feel?" he asked gently.

"Is my violin here?" Alan distractedly asked instead, scanning around the room even though his view was limited from the floor.

Shane bent down, grabbing the case on the floor and holding it up for him to see.

Relieved, Alan sighed and leaned his head back against the bed, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. "Thank goodness..."

"Sir," Lyall flatly spoke up again, still kneeling beside him, "might we move you back, now...?"

"Oh... yeah. Yes, actually. I'm feeling a lot better now," Alan said with creased brows, nodding. And misinterpreting the statement.

With jittered movements, he scampered onto his feet, wobbling a little, but able to stand on his own. He brushed down his shirt, glancing down at Lyall.

"I was hoping you wouldn't be here," he muttered, reaching for his violin. "Save me the lecture another time."

Lyall's expression fell as flat as the sands.

Shane raised his eyebrows in confusion.

"He's... a doctor," he said slowly, uncertainly, as though he was the only one here missing something. "He's supposed to be here...?"

"That I am," Lyall agreed, pointedly raising his brows at Alan. "This is in fact my natural habitat, and-- Just where do you think you're going?"

Violin strapped behind his back again, he narrowed his eyes at him, a hint of a playful smirk pulling his lips. "Is Dr. Astrid Ashlund here?" he asked. "I would like for a second opinion. Sorry, I don't trust your credentials."

Pressing his lips into a firm line, biting back visible offense, Lyall slowly nodded as he drew in a breath. He yielded with a mere, "Fine," then turned and evenly strode out.

"Lyall and I are very good friends, actually," Alan explained once the door shut. He offered a silly, if tired, smile. "I don't know why he insists that he doesn't know me when I'm here, though. So now I have to commit to this."

"Oh." Shane laughed faintly. "I see. That... well, that makes a lot of sense."

The door eased open again. The head practitioner glided in with a polite smile, and a sparkle of amusement in her eyes.

"I see a Mister Alvaro has been admitted just a half hour ago?" she said in greeting, quirking a brow. "And now requesting a second opinion?"

"Astrid!" Alan greeted warmly, reaching out to give her a quick hug. "It's so lovely to see you again. You're just as charming as the week before last I saw you."

Wrapping her arms around his back, Astrid gave him a quick, affectionate squeeze. "You flatterer," she said with a laugh.

Drawing away, she shooed at him to sit down. Happily obliging, Alan perched to sit on the corner of the bed, still placing most of his weight on the floor.

"I called you in to only deliver flattery, actually," he said with a friendly smile. "I wanted to personally tell you that Lyall was quick on his feet and provided thorough care. I couldn't be more pleased by his treatment. He runs the clinic flawlessly."

Angling her chin down, Astrid pursed her lips in thorough amusement. "Is that so? I got the sense for some reason that his care had been snubbed just a moment ago."

Trying to be invisible, or maybe astral project elsewhere, Shane quietly took another sip of his tea.

"Really?" Alan hummed. "Must be one of his moods. You know how he is. Awfully hard on himself, sometimes. Perhaps he requires a break."

"Quite tempestuous, too," she lightly hummed in agreement, warmly patting Alan's arm. "I'll be sure to nominate him as employee of the month. He'll get a well-deserved rest as reward."

"Oh, please do. And do quote me if you so require. I am sure he would appreciate that," Alan replied, smile broadening.

"He'll certainly forgive you sooner for it," Astrid laughed with a nod. Stepping back, her eyes flicked bewteen Alan and Shane as she went on curiously, "Now, I believe I've treated both of you, but you've never appeared in my clinic together before. Was there an occasion prior to the incident?"

Alan glanced at Shane, offering an apologetic smile before chuckling softly. "Shane saw I was having an allergic reaction and helped me get here." He sighed. "Today I learned nuts are prevalent in Terran foods. A tough lesson, but one I won't make again."

Shane winced. "I just hope it doesn't ruin the cuisine entirely for you."

"No, no," Alan assured quickly, waving his hand dismissively. "Well." He pressed his lips together. "Unless... are there nuts in every dish...?"

Shane shook his head. "No, our main courses-- the ones we would've had-- didn't have them."

He nodded, smiling. "Then there's nothing to ruin. It only goes up from here."

"Young Mister Hawking," Astrid warmly addressed Shane, "please do try to shed any lingering feelings of responsibility." She rested her hand on Alan's arm. "An adventurous spirit knows well enough that exploration comes with risks. And I don't know a more resilient one than Mister Alvaro. All is well. Alright, love?"

Shane cracked a faint smile. "I'll try. Thank you and for your clinic for your prompt assistance."

"Of course, darling." Astrid inclined her head as she stepped back, hands folded neatly.

Alan glanced between the two of them with a more nervous smile, but then stood up straight again, hands rested on his violin straps slung around his shoulders. "Yes, thank you kindly, Astrid. Truly," he said with a slight bow. "Now, we can get out of your hair and..."

"Oh, nope!" she chirped. Taking the case by the strap, she pulled it up and over his head, and nudged him back to the bed. "I was just about to ask Mister Hawking if I could interest him in any foods to munch on while he visits with you." Then cast Shane an expectant smile. "You've stayed with him this long, after all."

Alan stared at her blankly, processing. "Uh..." was all he managed to get out as realization seeped in that she wasn't allowing him to leave.

"Oh," Shane said with slight surprise, lowering his teacup to his saucer with a soft clink. "I thought he was good to go?"

"That's right," Alan added on, nodding. "I'm feeling well. Shane doesn't need to stay with me. I'd hate for both of us to take up room and overstay our welcome."

Astrid smiled pleasantly at both of them. "Well, that is good to hear, Alan. However, I've kept Miss Sable here to administer a second dose to ensure no further reactions. And I'll assign my son to you overnight to monitor, since you've sung such high praises of his care for you." She carefully set the violin case aside. "So, please. Make yourselves comfortable."

Well. That plan backfired.

Groaning in defeat, Alan resigned himself to the bed, flopping backwards on the thin spring mattress with a slight bounce. Now it was just him and Shane in here, but honestly, he didn't expect Shane to stay long, if at all. This was all one big disaster that he inadvertently got pulled into. Again.

"I'm sorry about all this," he said thinly up at the ceiling, sighing. "I've known Astrid for a long time. I think she's just being needlessly protective. In hindsight, I should have seen this coming." He sighed once more. "Ah well..."

Shane shrugged, offering him a faint smile. "Guess that's what happens when you're friends with the doctor family. They're make sure you're taken care of, for better or for worse."

"Yeah..." Alan propped himself up with his elbows, angling himself to have a better view of Shane.

He was quiet for a moment, recognizing the heavy guilt that pooled in his tired eyes. Wanting to express truer sincerity, Alan sat up straight again, giving Shane his full attention.

"I'm really sorry about causing you undue stress," he said softly. "You asked if there were any foods you should avoid, and I didn't explicitly tell you that I have a bad nut allergy. I don't know why it didn't cross my mind, but this really isn't your fault, Shane. And I truly am genuinely thankful for you. You were there when I needed help the most-- two times now, actually. And for that, I'll always be grateful for you." He inclined his head downwards in thanks. "Thank you, Shane. Truly."

Shane's smile flickered a touch wider before it turned more solemn. He held Alan's gaze for a couple moments before he ducked his head.

"It was just the right thing to do," he said softly. "Both times. You don't need to thank me for any of it."

"I want to give it anyways," Alan assured with a gentle smile. "So: thank you. Again."

Shane's sad smile didn't brighten any, but he nodded hesitantly after a moment, looking up to face Alan again.

"I'm glad you're okay," he said sincerely. "You had me worried. This is the second time this week I've rushed someone to this very clinic for a medical emergency, and... well, it really wasn't any less scary."

"I'm sorry," Alan said with empathy and understanding. "To have this happen twice... that does sound scary."

Shane shrugged slightly again, seeming to get lost in some thought for a moment, before his smile turned reassuring. "All's well now, at least. Even if they do insist upon holding you hostage for a time."

Alan sighed, long and hard. "Yeah... that's one way to put it," he said with a weak laugh, shaking his head. He turned back to Shane with a small smile. "You really don't have to stay here with me, though. I'm quite familiar with the place and the people here. Plus, I imagine you must have more worthwhile things to be attending than this."

Shane paused, watching him for a few moments. "Well, I wouldn't say more worthwhile things," he said with a soft laugh, checking his watch. "But... I probably should find my parents again. It's getting late."

Alan nodded. "Please do. I'll be okay." He smiled wider. "I promise."

Shane managed a wider smile as he stood up, raising one hand in a wave and stepping back. "Take care, Alan," he said, before adding something in Terran. His smile was warmer as he translated, "May the road rise up to meet you."

With that, he turned, starting to walk out of the clinic.

"Wait," Alan called with a small laugh, instinctively holding his hand up to halt his movements. Shane paused, looking around over his shoulder. Alan huffed out a laugh, sheepishly glancing away. "I just realized... well..." Hesitantly, he met his eyes again. "Am I going to see you again?"

"I..." Shane shrugged, realizing as he chuckled quietly, smile still lingering. "I don't know. There's always luck, isn't there?"

"After two unlucky incidents... surely, third time is the charm, right?" Alan said with a smile.

Shane huffed a slight laugh, smiling wider. "What if I'm actually a bad luck charm? I seem to be."

"Well..." Alan rubbed his hand palm over his hand, smiling softly. "There's only one way to find out." He brightened up, attention set on Shane again. "Would you like to test our luck and meet for a third time?" he asked. "And I suppose, if bad luck falls on us again... perhaps it just wasn't meant to be." Alan paused, tilting his head and warmly smiling before adding, "But I have a good feeling about this one."

Shane grinned softly. "Have you got something in mind? Maybe it'll go better if we plan it."



"Well," Alan huffed stubbornly on top of the writing desk at the corner of the room. Because at this point, why not. He pointed a random ruler he found on the desk towards Lyall. "You can thank me later."

Cleaning down surfaces at the other side of the ward, Lyall scoffed in disbelief, "Thank you?"

"Yes." Alan nodded, playful smiling returning as he loosely waved the ruler in front of him. "In case you ever get a very-real, not-fake employee of the month trophy." He waved the ruler, grinning. "You're welcome."

Lyall cast him a strange look at that. "Sure. Thanks, I suppose." He turned to straighten out the askew blankets of a recently-dismissed patient. "If anything, I should get a 'longest-suffering friend' award, for dealing with your idiocy all these years. Surely that one exists."

Alan groaned, tilting his head up in annoyance. "It was one nut, Lyall," he grumbled.

"And it nearly took you out," Lyall said breezily, fluffing the pillow.

"But it didn't," Alan reminded, pointing the ruler at him again.

"What were you even doing," Lyall asked instead, crossing the room to take the desk chair, "with the Hawkings' son? Why did he have to bring you in?"

Alan pursed his lips, tilting his head. "What do you mean?" he asked. "I'm allowed to spend time with whoever I want, whenever I want, you know." He gestured the ruler towards his friend. "Case in point."

Lyall gently smacked the ruler away. Alan scoffed and narrowed his eyes at him as the ruler clattered against the desk.

"You're currently here against your will," Lyall countered flatly, "and those are the words of a scoundrel, if I ever heard any." Picking up the ruler, he poked Alan's chest for emphasis. "Why. The ambassador's. Son."

"Gods, you're so nosy," Alan whined with a scowl, his turn to slap the ruler away now. "I can..." He trailed off, creasing his brows together as he intensely stared at Lyall, realization seeping in.

Slowly tilting his head, Lyall waited patiently.

Then poked him again. "Alan."

Awoken from his daze, Alan forcefully snagged the ruler out of his hands again, sternly pointing it towards him. "Lyall," he called back, voice rigid but calm. "What do you mean, the ambassador's son?"

"What--" Lyall grabbed at the ruler's end, but didn't pull it from Alan's grasp. Especially since Alan was actually holding on to it now, maybe a little too tightly. "What do you mean, what do I mean? You didn't know with whom you were dining-- one-on-one, might I add-- and whom you possibly gave the scare of the month?"

"I don't know, I dine with all sorts of people!" Alan huffed out, trying to shake away his grasp on the ruler. "I don't just assume people are the ambassadors' son."

Lyall huffed, louder. "I refuse to believe you went into that establishment, with nary a care for your allergies as well as that man's prominence in political spheres." He tugged on the ruler, yanking Alan down closer to his eye level. "There had to have been something going on in that vacuous brain of yours."

Alan stopped attempting to shake away Lyall's grasp on the ruler, instead narrowing his eyes while still leaned forward from the tug. "I can't tell you," he said stubbornly. "You're going to make fun of me. I just know it."

Mirroring his skeptical gaze, Lyall didn't budge. "Try me."

"No," Alan said plainly. "I know you too well."

Lips pursed, Lyall studied his face closely. "Be that way," he said, finally letting go of the ruler, sending Alan backwards from the sudden release of tension.

Hand on the desk to steady himself, Alan smugly smiled and pointed the ruler at him again. "Why were you afraid of revealing our friendship, by the way?" he asked teasingly. "Acting like you didn't even know me. Hm. Rude of you."

"It's called professionalism," Lyall said flatly. Then cooed, "But would you prefer I greet you with terms of endearment and bestow a kiss upon each cheek instead?"

"Oh yes, actually. That would be quite nice," Alan said with eager nods.

"If you don't come back through those doors on the brink of death next time," Lyall deadpanned, "then I might consider it."

Alan sighed, leaning back on his hands. "Oh, come on. No need for the dramatics. We're past this."

"Says the very embodiment of theatrics," Lyall countered, leaning back with his chin resting in his palm, and his ankle crossed over his knee.

Alan pouted, falling flat on his back so he could sprawl his arms and legs against the open desk. "Lyall," he sighed. "What would you do if I actually died?"

Opening the drawer beneath him, Lyall poked through and set out a pad of paper and a pen beside him. "I'd pay extra to engrave on your tombstone, 'Here lies Alan the asshat. Illustriously perished by pine nuts'."

"Wow," Alan said with no enthusiasm whatsoever. "I'd haunt you from my grave."

"Worth it," Lyall hummed, a hint of amusement in his voice now as he poked Alan's side with his pen.

"Well, until then, you're stuck with me." Alan propped himself up with his elbow, casting a curious gaze towards his friend. "Am I really stuck here until sunrise? Don't you think that's a little overkill?"

Lyall set out his chicken scratch of medical notes too, and began transposing into neater handwriting on the blank paper. "For the record, I was willing to let you off the hook after three hours."

"Three hours?" Alan whined. "Why that long?"

Lyall shrugged a shoulder. "Would've been two," he chirped instead, glancing back and forth between his notes, "had you not been a pain in the ass the second you woke up."

Alan groaned, thumping his head back down against the desk. "This is extortion," he grumbled.

"This is due process," Lyall calmly corrected. "For your good health, Alan."

"You know..." Invigorated by a nostalgic memory, Alan abruptly sat back up, a fond smile tugging his lips. "This reminds me of the only other time I came in here because of the allergy. Which was when I discovered I even had one, thanks to you. Do you remember that?"

Lyall glanced up with a wry grin. "Thanks to me?" he echoed, a little incredulously.

"Yeah, you dissected everything I ate with you that day," Alan said with a wave of his hand. "And found nuts to be the culprit."

Nodding once, Lyall turned his attention back down to his notes. "I do remember," he said, tone softening as he caught his true meaning. "That was quite the scare then."

"Yeah... I remember." After watching him write with loss of focus, Alan gently nudged his knee with his foot, saying more sincerely, "I'm sorry for scaring you again today."

Lyall set his pen down, and leaned his elbows on the arms of the desk chair, fingers slotted together. He met Alan's gaze head-on now, real relief finally shining in his eyes, releasing the tension in his frame. "I'm just glad you were close by when it happened," he sighed in earnest.

"Me too," Alan agreed with a nod. Then faintly huffed out a laugh, turning away to study the blank wall. "Thanks for looking after me."

Picking up his pen once more, Lyall lightly scratched away at his notes. "I wouldn't be anywhere else."

A sweet, sincere sentiment, coming from Lyall. Which was becoming increasingly rare these days. But that only meant that, when said, Lyall truly meant them.

Alan smiled in kind, laying back down to idly stare at the ceiling while brushing his thumb over his knuckles. Hearing the scratches of pencil against paper, Alan turned his head over towards Lyall's notes, peering over it. He squinted at the page, barely recognizing his name even through Lyall's sloppy chicken scratch excuse of handwriting.

"What are you writing?" he asked curiously, inching forward and leaning in.

"A record," Lyall answered, never looking up, "of today's events."

"O-kay," Alan drew out, leaning forward even more, nearly bumping heads with him. He squinted to try to read the words. "What, exactly, are you writing?"

"An unbiased record," Lyall repeated in a huff. "Unless you'd like for me to embellish?"

"Well, am I allowed to read it?" he pressed.

"It's your medical information," his friend said in answer.

"It's a little strange for your best friend to know about your entire life, including health records," Alan muttered, bending his elbow and holding his head in his hand. "What do you know about me that I don't?"

At that, Lyall tilted his head up to look at him inquisitively. "Do you want to read them?" he offered. Notably, not answering his question.

Alan pressed his lips together, offering a hand. He curled his fingers inwards, signaling for him to give him the notepad. Quirking his brows, Lyall grinned as he relinquished his notes with a playful surrendering wave of his hand.

Straightening the notepad with a flick of his wrist, Alan cleared his throat, squinting to decipher his friend's handwriting. "Symptoms," he began reading. "Swelling. Obstructed airway. Rashes. Wooziness. Loss of consciousness." He faltered, squinting at the notepad even more, bringing it closer to his face. Then continued with a flatter tone, "Complete lack of discretion. Unfounded confidence in his own physical robustness. Troublingly high levels of idiocy."

Alan stopped reading, pressing his lips together into a thin line, slowly lowering the notepad to stare at his friend. Leaning back with his hands clasped behind his head, Lyall tilted his chin up with a self-satisfied grin and waggled his brows.

Alan threw the notepad at his smug face, barking, "Unbiased record?"

"It's as truthful an account as it can get!" Lyall sputtered, batting the notepad down with a wider smile.

Alan groaned, melting on top of the desk. "I told you it was one nut!" he said in defense again.

"You must know how much worse that sounds!" Lyall rebutted.

"Please sprinkle nuts on me now so I don't have to live through the next hours with you," Alan moaned with his forearm slung over his face.

The notepad was then smacked to his shoulder. "Get off my fucking desk, you drama queen."

"No," Alan said with no emotion, unmoving. "This is where I die."

"Last warning," Lyall said calmy, pushing out the chair as he rose determinedly to his feet. "Off."

Instead, Alan only rolled onto his stomach so he laid face-down against his desk, arms extended straight ahead of him.

There was a long, expectant pause.

"Asshole," was all Lyall uttered. Without further notice, he swiftly swept Alan off the desk by his waist and hauled him up.

"Wh-- Hey!" Alan protested, realizing too late that he was already slung over his friend's shoulder like a sack of measly potatoes. Or a five year old.

Indignant, he kicked his feet and pounded his fists against Lyall's back, biting back a pout as he tried to wriggled out of his grasp. "Put me down!"

"Off to bed with you," Lyall snickered. "Doctor's orders."

"Lyall!" Alan scolded through a moan, wildly kicking his feet.

"Shite!" Lyall's steps faltered for a moment. He scolded back, "Don't fight me, or we're both going down!"

That was a genius idea. Struck with newfound determination, he wrapped his legs around his chest, pushing him downwards.

"Ack~" Lyall stumbled again, fisting the back of Alan's shirt to hold him steady. "Fucker!" he hissed. But still, he was dogged. He took the last few resolute steps toward the nearest patient bed.

"Dammit, Lyall!" Alan hissed with a sharp turn of his head upwards, legs still clinging on to him. "You always fucking do this!"

"What? You mean win?" Lyall stopped by the side of the bed, sounding winded but no less pleased for it. "Then yes. I'd agree, that's a constant."

And it was the perfect time to strike.

"Oh, fuck you, I'm taking you with me," Alan snarled.

And so he used what little momentum he had to push Lyall forward. Legs still wrapped around his chest, Alan gracefully lifted himself up in the air, leaning backwards to displace Lyall's center of balance, propelling themselves forward so they could both fall on the bed.

Grinning with victory, Alan's back landed on the mattress with a soft thud, but the grin immediately deflated as Lyall fell forward with his face jabbing into his stomach. Alan forcefully exhaled from the force, groaning and loosening his grasp on his friend.

Lyall hastily scrambled off and fell gracelessly to the floor with a sputtered, "Alan!"

"No," he moaned, going limp. "This is your fault."

"Noooo," Lyall indignantly drew out from the tiles, "this is your fault!"

"Ly-allllll," Alan drew out through a groan, rubbing his face.

Puling himself back up to his feet, Lyall let out a winded breath, hands set on his hips in a semi-victorious stance. "Well~" was all he said.

Alan sighed, turning away as he eyed the other empty beds in the overnight patient room. The street lanterns shined through the window, cutting through the warm summer night.

It really had been a while since he stayed here.

"Can you stay with me?" he asked nonchalantly, more calm this time.

Which was only met with momentary quiet. He could sense Lyall faltering a bit all the same. There was a soft exhale before the young doctor turned back to the desk without an answer. Papers shuffled, the drawer was opened and closed again, and the gas lamp on the wall dimmed down a bit.

Then Alan's knee was gently poked with a simple, "Scoot."

Alan poked his head up, smiling at the sight of his friend, holding a beacon of light, and a genuine soft smile. Tiredness hung heavy on his eyes, but Alan knew he carried more than that. Much more than that.

Gladly, he swept his legs up on the bed, scooting to the edge. "I don't know if we'll both fit," he murmured, noting that the flimsy twin-sized beds were only designed for one person. Certainly not two fully grown men. "Unless..." He glanced back up at his friend with a teasing but encouraging smile.

Dropping his hands at his sides, Lyall let out another long-suffering sigh. Then finally cracked a grin as he drew the curtain closed around them, partitioning off their corner of the ward from the rest of the world.

He climbed up on the bed after him. Carefully, one paw after the other, changing shape mid-hop. Lyall bowed down in a stretch, spreading his toes with a yawn. Then he slid down on his belly, his side pressed to Alan's, and all his legs straight out from under him.

"You're damn lucky we locked up tonight," Lyall huffed. But his lazily wagging tail betrayed his own comfort as he rested his head on his paws.

Smiling in complete endearment, Alan tucked away his glasses to the side corner before settling into his side, cozying up to his friend. He set his hand against his soft, faded fur, absorbing the warmth radiating out of him. With rhythmic motions, Alan trailed his pets from his head to his back a few times before settling his hand on top of the deep, thick fur along the scruff of his neck. With a sigh, Lyall further melted.

With a deep and calming breath, Alan closed his eyes and curled inwards towards his wolven friend, deep affection and love for all the times they had shared, and will share, together.

"Good night, Lyall," he whispered, finding enough peace that he already felt himself drift away to sleep.

Tucking his paws against Alan's chest, Lyall turned and settled with his muzzle pressed to the underside of his chin.

"G'night, Alan," he murmured back.

Finally. His first night this month not spent as an insomniac.

Hm... a daughter, huh? Elias wondered how good of a dad Egbert was. He seemed like he could be a good one. Maybe he visited her every week to deliver eggs to Egberta. Hah. Egberta. That was a good name.

Elias was more than happy to take up bucket shift to deliver to the lab. Boss Mustache seemed a little suspicious about him ever since he talked to Gwen yesterday, but Elias assured him that they only talked about the safety precautions of this place and how he had no idea what they were. That sure sent Boss Mustache all pale and panicked.

The safety drills they all got during lunch wasn't very fun, though...

"Here you go, Eggy!" Elias said as he lowered the lumshade petal and pollen buckets on the floor with the others. "Need any help with anything, buddy?"

Glancing over his shoulder with a curled lip, the chemist just waved dismissively at him.

Eli leaned his elbows on a clear part of a table, making sure to not be too close to any science stuff so that Egbert didn't freak out on him. "How's your stomach holding up, by the way? Are you in any pain?"

After a long, begrudging silence, Egbert sighed, "Intact. Now go."

"Aw... stinks that you still have to come to work after getting stabbed," Elias said with a hum.

Egbert hastily reached toward Elias with a sharp glare. Then faltered with a deep grimace, and wilted against the tabletop. "Please shut up."

"It's always safer to travel out of here with a buddy at night. I can meetcha after your shift so I can ward off crazy buggers," Elias offered with a small smile. "Say nothing for yes, and give me your life story for a no?"

The chemist slumped face-down on the table now with a long, tired groan.

Elias drummed his hands on the table, grinning. "Alrighty. See ya after work, Eggy!"

Work sure was monotonous. Elias wondered what would happened if he dipped his entire head in the pollen bucket and took a big whiff. Hey, maybe that was--

"Hey Eggy," Elias called as they walked down the dark alley together. The same one he got jumped in, actually. Glad he wasn't bleeding out this time. "Okay, here's another question for you. What would happen if I stuck my head in the pollen bucket and breathed in all the pollen?"

Taking slow shuffling steps, Egbert glared at him from the depths of his oversized trench coat. But answered anyway, "Essentially, you would get high as the redwoods around King's Peak."

Elias lowly hummed. "That's pretty high. So like, can you die from that?"

"Yes," Egbert groused.

"Huh." Elias hummed. "No wonder the safety inspector lady was telling us we should be wearing masks."

Egbert frowned deeply at that. He didn't comment any further, so Elias's mind wandered some more.

"Here's another smarty pants question for you," he said with a toothy grin. "What if the moon was painted black?"

And, at that, Egbert stopped in his tracks altogether. Staring at him, expression empty.

"Oh." Elias stopped as well, glancing over his shoulder. He nodded once, twice. "Right. Yeah. You're not an astronomer. My bad. I get that mixed up with chemistry."

Egbert's eyes narrowed. "What," he breathed incredulously.

Elias glanced between him and the end of the alley, pointing ahead. "We're going this way, right?"

"No," Egbert answered, sharply. "You're going this way." He turned on his heel, kind of slowly. "I'm going that way."

"Got it," Elias said with an understanding nod, following along. "Don't worry, I'll ward off the bag guys for you. I was in the military, you know. I've faced death in the eyes. Very scary stuff."

"I didn't ask," the chemist snapped. He untucked his hand from his coat pocket, only to wave him away. "Go."

But there were still some burning science questions he wanted to ask Dr. Smarty Pants Egbert, which he answered with a lot of heavy sighs and huffs. Mostly. Egbert still didn't answer the question about the moon being black.

In the silence, Elias's mind wandered some more. He wondered what he'd look like if he was wearing an oversized trench coat too. That sounded uncomfortably hot, though. This city was too deserty for that.

"You spoke with the inspector?" the chemist finally asked as they turned down another dark, empty ally that seemed vaguely familiar. Hm...

Elias perked up, brows raised in question. "The who what now?"

Egbert huffed again. "The inpsector, who recommended the face protection? You spoke directly with her?"

"Oh yeah, sure did." He grinned proudly. "I was chosen for a random interview."

"Did she say who sent her?" Egbert furthered.

"I forget. But..." Elias hummed, stroking his stubble. "She sure did ask a lot of questions about the Blue Suns."

Egbert stopped again with a quiet groan, scrubbing his hands over his face, dislodging his glasses.

"Uh oh," Elias sounded slowly, stopping with him. "That sounded like a bad noise."

"Stab wound," Egbert explained plainly.

"Oh yeah, totally. I also make those sounds when I get stabbed too," Elias said with several understanding nods.

Egbert groaned again, louder, as he bent over, hands on his knees.

"Hey, let's get to your place," Elias said with more gentle understanding, hands on his own knees to bend down lower with him. "It's not far now."

"No," he said stubbornly. "Just tell me what I can do to get rid of you." Straightening, he pressed his hands together as he very seriously offered, "Is it money you want? Food? How might I buy back a moment's peace from you?"

Elias shook his head with a small smile. "No. I've already got all that. I just want to make sure you get home safe and sound. And then I'll stop annoying you."

"Ugh." Egbert dropped his hands to his sides. "...Fine."

Elias smiled wider, straightening up. "We can talk with silence, though. I love silence."

The chemist's expression fell flat. "I don't think you know what silence is."

"Yes, I do," Elias insisted with a grin, resuming their slow pace. "But you're the probably the expert, huh?"

"Yes," the chemist said gravely. "So follow my lead."

"Yes, Sir Eggy, sir!" Elias said with a fake salute. "Following your lead."



Maybe Elias should have told Wilson about the very not suspicious meeting with the inspector chief, after all. But she was very stressed from Egbert almost bleeding on her carpet yesterday, so he decided she could use some time to relax and unwind for a little bit. Plus, he made her more cabbage potato soup that morning. That was sure to help.

Parading around City Center sure was weird. Almost like a dream, really. Like he'd been here before. Nostalgia? Deja vu? Hmmm...

Oh wow. Fancy place Gwen picked here. The chandeliers were so shiny and the music was lively. He almost got pulled into the dance floor, but then he received a divine thought from heaven and remembered that he was supposed to meet someone here at this time. Gwen. Yes. Right. Her.

Sitting at an open table, Elias peered around, not recognizing anyone he knew. Maybe he was early? Or...

Huh. What did Gwen look like, again?

"Elias," a man said, sitting at a table alone. He waved at him.

Elias turned left and right, then pointed at himself. "Me?"

"Yes, you," the man said. "Elias Bennett, right? Get over here."

Elias was sure he didn't know the man, but if he did, he was sure his name would be Joel. And so he nodded and decided that he could keep Joel company. He slid into the bench across from him, then asked, "What's up?"

"Gwendolyn sent me," Joel informed him. "She's a busy woman, so she delegates follow-up interviews. I'm her assistant, Joel Thompson."

"Whoa!" Elias drew out with awe, brows raised high. "You can read minds?"

Joel blinked. "I'm sorry?" he asked.

"I knew your name was Joel before you told me." Elias hummed. Wait a second...

"...So you're saying you can read minds," Joel said flatly.

"Whoa! Yeah! Wow..." Elias leaned back, impressed. "Does that make me a mage?"

"That's not the kind of magic that-- no. You're not a mage," Joel said.

"Aw..." Elias deflated. "That would've been real cool."

"Anyway," Joel said, huffing as he leaned on the table, clasping his hands together in front of him. "I've been instructed to make a request of you, Elias. But only if you're willing to work in cooperation with the law for the greater good."

Elias slowly nodded. This sounded pretty serious. "Yeeeees," he drew out slowly, processing. He nodded several times. "Yes. Yes, I am. Let's do it."

"You do, of course, reserve the right to say no," Joel said. "Understand?"

Elias grinned and gave him a thumbs up. "Copy that."

"Alright. With that clear - the request is simple. After Gwendolyn's earlier inspection of the Lumshade farm, she discovered that there is suspicious evidence pointing to Blue Suns gang activity within the plant, specifically the laboratory. Though this issue technically falls outside of her current jurisdiction she's been given the clearance..."

Man... Joel knew a lot of big words. Was he a lawyer? He wore a really shiny, really green rock around his neck. There was a really blue rock too. It reminded him of another rock he used to have once...

"Elias?" Joel said, snapping his fingers. "Elias, did I lose you?"

"Uh, laboratory. Jury. Uh." Elias nodded eagerly. "Yeah, I'm listening."

"I just asked if you'd be willing to act as an informant on behalf of the Counselor of City Protection and Resource Management. You would report to us on any activity at the farm that is supicious or out of the ordinary - and of course, anything overtly related to the Blue Suns. Is this something you're willing to consider?"

Ohhhhhhh.

Elias stroked his chin, contemplating this. "So you're offering me a job?" he asked with a raise of a brow.

"We will compensate you for whatever information you can get us, yes," Joel replied. "Five more silver than your daily wages on the farm for every report you provide."

Still stroking his growing scruffle, Elias looked off to the side, pursing his lips. "Hm... I might need to talk to my lawyer first..."

Joel blinked. "Your lawyer," he said slowly. "Do you have questions? Legal concerns?"

"That's exactly what I'd be asking Greg," Elias said matter-of-factly.

"Greg... your lawyer," Joel said flatly.

"You know, I told him that doesn't really sound great on a billboard," Elias sighed. "Oh well."

Joel squinted at him, like he was waiting for something.

"So," Joel said. "You're saying you need time to think about it. Is that what I'm hearing?"

This was a perfect time to think about whether he needed time to think about this. He deeply pondered the question, stroking his chin for thinking points.

Mid-think, someone was suddenly screaming for beer. The music came to a flat halt, and nearly everyone whirled around towards the entrance to see what the commotion was about.

"I deserve to be here, gods dammit!" a burly man's voice boomed, standing over another buff guy with curly hair. "Just one beer. That's it, junior. One fucking beer."

"Come back in three months or with a better disguise," the other buff guy snapped, pushing him back to the exit. "Out. Out!"

"Fuck you! I only punched that ginger wafer! I gave you publicity!" burly man #1 yelled back, pushing back.

"His hair is auburn, and this is not a fucking boxing ring!" burly man #2 yelled, barreling into burly man #1.

Hm... Too many burlies. So Elias assigned them to be Burly and Curly instead.

"You can't kick me out! I'm your best fucking customer, gods dammit!" Burly screamed with murder in his eyes.

"Best former customer, more fucking like!" Curly shouted, losing all patience and dragging Burly toward the door by his sleeve.

"I'm taking you to my lawyer! I'll sue this place to the ground!" were Burly's last words before the door slammed to his face.

Curly dusted his hands off.

"Good fucking riddance," he muttered, before raising his voice to the bar. "Hey! Go back to having fun!"

And just like that, the cheery music resumed again, and people went back to clinking their glasses. All back to normal now.

Interest piqued, Elias turned back to Joel, who seemed... huh. Not happy about all this. Angry, even?

"You know that guy?" Elias asked curiously.

"No, but I was here when--"

"What was he yapping on about?" Elias interrupted when the question butted into his mind.

Joel sighed. "He assaulted another customer," he said. "It was this whole scene, and of course it's the talk of the town now because the guy he punched was none other than Tiberius Hemming."

Hm... Why did that name sound vageuly familiar? Then again, these days all names seemed vageuly familiar to him.

"Who's that? Is that the ginger wafer guy?" he asked.

The man blinked. "You really don't know?" he asked. "What, do you live under a rock?"

"No, I'm actually homeless," Elias answered with a tap of his chin, thinking.

Joel sighed again, this time reaching up to run his hand through his hair.

"Tiberius Hemming is the guy who ended the war," Joel said. "He's a hero. Everyone knows about him."

Huh.

"So why would Burly punch him?" he asked.

"I don't know," Joel answered. "Must've been a mage sympathizer or something, I guess. Not too many of those left around these days."

"Hrm... yeah." Elias itched the side of his head, thinking. "So... how'd he end the war?"

"You seriously don't even read the news?" Joel asked. "Or listen to the headlines being announced on the street?"

"My memory stinks," Elias said as he blew out a raspberry.

Rolling his eyes, Joel finally answered. "He ended the war by killing the fire-mage that started it, Verna Fererra. With the mage's leader gone, they had no one to lead their fight and they surrendered."

"Ohhhhh." Elias nodded. "Yeah, that is big stuff. So this Tibby fellow. He's a pretty uppity soldier then, eh?"

"I've never met him," Joel said. "But word on the street is he's kind of a recluse."

Elias stroked his chin again, squinting away. "Hmmmmmmm..." he drew out mysteriously.

"What?" Joel pressed.

Elias snapped his fingers, grinning. "I'll take your job," he said confidently, "if I can see Tibs. How's that?"

Joel stared at Elias long and hard.

"You want to meet Tiberius Hemming?" Joel said in disbelief. "That's your condition?"

Elias nodded. "Yeah. I wanna see if he looks like a ginger wafer."

Joel let out a weak scoff of a laugh.

"You're serious?" he asked. "Tiberius Hemming is a prominent public figure. It'd be no small thing to arrange a meeting with him -- nevermind with someone of your status, sorry to say. It-- it's all dependent upon him even agreeing to it."

Elias shrugged. "I have two close contacts with the Blue Suns. One with four rays, the other five rays. Do we have a deal or nah?"

Joel sat up straighter, meeting Elias's eyes more seriously.

"If we arrange a meeting with you and Tiberius, you'll tell us everything you know?" Joel asked.

"Or," Elias said with his arms out in front of him, palms up, like a fancy lawyer he was imitating, "you arrange weekly meetings with me and Tibs, and then I'll tell you everything you wanna know every week." He set his hands back down on the table, waggling his brows. "Yeah?"

Joel squinted, his expression turning sour.

"...We'll start with one," he said. "And if your information is good, we'll talk about continuing our relations."

Negotiation, great success.

Elias grinned, offering his hand for him to shake. "You got ourselves a deal, Joel Johnson."

"But," Joel said, lifting a finger. "You will meet with us before your meeting with Tiberius. And you will give us that information first."

Elias nodded, still holding out his hand. "Fine by me, Joel Jensen."

Finally, Joel took Elias's hand and shook it.

"It's Thompson, Mr. Bennett," he said.

Aw. He already told him his last name? Elias was hoping he could magically guess it again.

"We got ourselves a deal, Joel Thompson," he said warmly, giving his hand two shakes.

"Meet me back here, at the same time, on the first day of the festival," Joel said, getting up from his chair. "We'll have arrangements for you then. Until next week, Elias."

"Wait!" Elias barked, urgency in his voice. "I have an important question."

Joel sighed, remaining standing as he widened his eyes impatiently.

Elias glanced towards the kitchen, then turned back with a smile. "Gwen said that you'd pay for food and drinks, right?"

Joel tsked, but took a small pouch out of his pocket, tossing it onto the table. Coins clinked inside.

"Enjoy your meal, Mr. Bennett," he said. "And farewell."

Elias watched Joel turn away without another word. Man, that guy really was all business. Elias didn't really care too much about the money. He was hoping he could get a drink and meal with the guy and see if he could lighten up a little, be a little less business.

Ah well.

Elias picked up the pouch, lightly tossing it in the air against his palm.

Were there midnight flower carts on the way home? Wilson might like some nice smelling flowers.

Midtown was. Maze-like. Caspar usually had a good sense of direction, but that really only served someone when they knew an area. He did not know this area. He paused frequently under lamps to squint at Robin's note from an arm's length away, trying to decipher the handwriting.

It had been... literally years since Caspar last made a midnight trek to a safe house. And it was really only to have a friendly meet-up, but instinct made him take lighter steps as he went anyway.

The code was the same, which helped. What didn't was his fast-growing uncertainty as he took the front steps to a very normal-looking stone house.

It had to look normal. And Robin wouldn't steer him wrong.

Tucking the note away, Caspar raised a hand and tentatively tapped his knuckles to the door. His worry multiplied when there was no response. Looking over both shoulders, Caspar hoped no one could see him and thus take him for some sort of nighttime predator. That would be bad, to say the least.

He hesitantly knocked again, a tad louder this time. Then thought, after another few minutes of resounding silence, that he should find another lamp and check the instructions again. Or just. Maybe find Robin some other way, another night.

Digging through his pockets for the note, Caspar turned to leave--

And it was then that the door opened.

"I'm sorry!" he hastily whispered as he spun back around. "I think I'm at the wrong door, I'm going now--"

There was a woman at the door, glaring at him with squinted eyes, frowning. With untamed hair and a faded nightgown, she clearly had just woken up. Which made him feel even worse about the whole thing. Still, she did not react or reply back. Only seemed to... wait. Staring at him.

If he wasn't sweating before, he certainly was now. Though, he was sweating before, so he was even sweatier now.

"I'm..." Caspar stiffly scratched the back of his neck, wracking his brain for the words. "The, uh, winds brought me here."

And still, no response. Just a hardened frown and even more narrowed eyes from her.

Oh, gosh. Was it something else? A river? Rain? Or was he just thirsty?

"Winds?" he weakly repeated. "Uhm... Not winds?"

The woman relaxed her glare, finally moving. To silently tap her ear three times, holding steady eye contact with him. And then, one hand still on the doorhandle, she then raised her palm in a shrug.

Oh. Oh, Caspar, you presumptuous idiot.

It hit him almost a millisecond too late, because she was already turning to shut the door.

Frantically waving a hand to stop her, Caspar mustered an apologetic smile-grimace. "Wait, please!"

She peeked at him through the cracked the door. He bumped his fist to his forehead, trying now to translate what might have been the wrong answer into what will more likely be an even worse answer in hand gestures.

With both hands, he awkwardly swooshed from left to right as he repeated, "Winds?" He repeated the motion. Then drew a small loop in the air for emphasis.

This seemed to grab her attention, at least, since she pushed the door ajar, studying him again. The skepticism was apparent in her face, since her frown seemed to come from confusion.

Okay. What else would communicate wind? Or was it river. No, commit to 'wind'. Windier hands. Whether he was wrong about the code or wrong about the house didn't matter all that much. Either way he'd find himself no better than when he started. Aside from bruised pride. He would just have to avoid this road altogether in future wanderings.

"Winds," he said once more, fluttering his hands as he swept them side to side again. "Brought me here." He patted a hand to his chest, scooting to the right side of the step, then drew out another loop with his other hand to point down at his feet.

And still, despite all of this, the woman was dubious. Desperate, Caspar signed another loop in the air, but then froze when he a young boy peeked between the gaps with wide, curious eyes and a big grin.

Harshly, the door was shut in front of him.

Caspar blinked. Realizing, he just made a complete fool of himself, and his appearance to begin with had to have been just disturbing overall. Nice.

But before he could step away, the door creaked open again, now fully ajar. The woman stared at him, completely unimpressed while the boy beside her was buzzing with energy, hopping between both feet. Stepping aside, she silently motioned for him to come in, inclining her head downwards.

"Come in!" the boy spat excitedly, clearly waiting for his moment to say that, but saying the words so fast, it was barely audible. He then zoomed down the hall, disappearing.

Caspar watched blankly. Was he right? He couldn't have been right.

After a long moment of hesitating, he ducked inside.

It still felt. Strange. He didn't really get clear enough confirmation that the code was well-communicated, thus indicating this was indeed where he should be. What if he accidentally got himself into something entirely different? Like... well, he didn't really want to think what.

"WOOOOOOOOO!" the kid cheered with glee not a second after the door was closed. He jumped up and down at the other side of the hallway, bursting with uncontained excitement. "We have a visitor! Yeeaaaahhh!"

The woman did not pay the child any mind, picking up a lit candle on the side table and stopping to look up at Caspar, catching his eyes. With a silent nod, she quietly led him down the hallway.

She didn't seem concerned about the kiddo's volume, so Caspar tried not to be as well.

"Visitor! Visitor! Visitor! Visitor!" the child chanted, running in circles and pumping his fist in the air. "To the basement! Wooooooo! Yeeaaahhh! Basement!"

Down a hall, they passed a sitting room first. Full of earthy colored drapes and farm-style checker patterns on the furniture. On either side of a full bookshelf were small tables holding up mixed bundles of flowers, and toys and drawings littered the floor in front of it.

The kitchen was opposite of the living room. All he could see of it was the array of baked goods covering every available surface. Which meant either the hostess was a prolific baker, or Bo was here. Or. Actually, it could have been both. Maybe.

The woman finally turned towards the child, casting him a quiet, stern look. Attentive, the boy straighted up, and the two communicated with fast signals of their hands.

"Aw yis!" the child cooed with sparkling eyes, shaking a finger in the air with a grin. Along with signing, he exclaimed, "I can hold fire too!"

The child scuttled to the side table lining the wall, standing on his tippy toes to reach the lantern. It took some pokes and sliding, but eventually he slid it into his hands. Victorious, the boy grinned and held the lantern up high with a thumbs up.

"Okay, mister!" he said with a too-straight back like a tiny soldier, still holding the lantern straight up into the air. "We're going to the basement! Follow mommy!"

Smiling out of endearment, Caspar stood straighter and gave him a small salute. "Yes, sir."

The hostess began the trek below the surface. Their lanterns cast a small radius of light, but it was enough to not trip. The stairwell was musty, and it went deep. Not only was that a good relief from the heat, but it also further assured Caspar that this was in fact a safe house, dug out by an earth mage.

Soft rumbling ahead created a small puff of dust. He didn't realize she was creating an opening until she sealed it shut after him.

The kid was still holding the lantern straight up with his arm extended, and it was at this moment that Caspar realized that he was doing this because of their height difference. The boy was staring at him with complete awe as they descended down the stairs.

"What's your name, mister?" he asked. "My name's Finnley! But my best friends call me Finn. Mommy calls me Finnley though." He scrunched his face in thought. "She does it like this!" And then demonstrated with seven distinct signs, grinning through each one, calling them one letter-by-letter. "Like that!" he finished proudly.

Frankly, the kid went way too fast for Caspar to read anything from his hand. "It's very nice meeting you, Mister Finnley," he said. "I'm Caspar Calderson."

Eyes sparkling with awe, Finnley jumped down each step with excitement, giggling. "Yeah! I'm Mister Finnley now! I'm all grown up, you know. I'm six years old! How old are you, mister?"

Caspar huffed a laugh. "Very grown. Which makes me ancient, I guess."

"Wowwwewewww," Finnley drew out with complete awe. "I can't wait until I become ancient too! I'm going to be the greatest mage known to Nye!"

And then he breathed out and spluttered explosion noises with wild waves of his arms, causing the light to bounce with his movements. The hostess glanced behind her, giving her child a flat look.

"Oh. Sorry, mommy!" Finnley apologized with a laugh, putting his little fist to his chest and circling it twice, clockwise.

Without another word, she turned back around and resumed their long descent down. Finnley drew out a hum, curiously staring up at Caspar again.

"Are you a mage?" he asked curiously.

"I'm not," Caspar answered, "but I have many friends who are."

"Are you friends with Sir Bo and Sir Robin, too?" Finnley asked, already unable to contain his excitement with his little hops and giggles.

Caspar smiled again, finding young Mister Finnley's enthusiasm contagious. "I am."

Over their footsteps, he caught a different kind of rumbling through a door ahead. Then a loud snort, followed by more drawn-out rumbling. Which Caspar instantly recognized as:

"That's Sir Bo's snoring," Finnley explained with a giggle. "He sounds so funny! My mommy can't hear it. So I told her about it like this."

Head tilted up, Finnley opened his mouth wide, nostrils flaring. Then clenched his nose and closed his lips into a small 'o' shape, imitating the movements back and forth a few times. Finished, he proudly turned back towards Caspar with a big smile.

"That's the sign for snoring!" he said matter-of-factly.

"I'll have to remember that," Caspar said, humming in amusement.

Stopping at the door at the bottom of the stairwell, the woman gestured for him to continue, then ducked away to a back room with her son before Caspar could ask the kid how to sign "thank you".

He'll ask them later.

The basement was set up a bit like a second living room, mixed with a storage space off to the side. Boxes of somethings, Caspar couldn't really tell since there was only one lamp that was actually lit.

More importantly, though, he supposed he must have done something right with the code.

On a couch along the furthestmost wall, Bo was stretched out with his long legs dangling over the edge of the arm. With his head curled to the side and his mouth hanging open, the man snored softly with a wolven Robin lying on his chest, curled up tight.

Though Bo was evidently still fast asleep, Robin's ears were up and alert, and his dark eyes caught the light as he looked up at Caspar.

"Hey," Caspar softly called as he shuffled closer, "I'm. Really relieved I found you."

"I knew you'd figure it out," Robin said quietly, still not moving.

The closer he got, the more detail Caspar was able to make out of the two.

Robin's dark muzzle had grown grey around his nose. Faintly around his eyes, too, which Caspar hadn't noticed in the stables, because there was no lamp then. It felt kind of bittersweet, to see him more clearly after so many years, but finding evidence of how time had worn on him.

It did his heart good, though, to see Robin's eyes and mannerisms still sharp and alert.

Beneath the unmoving Robin, Bo peacefully snored away, sounding almost like an earthquake in the quiet of the basement. His hair was much shorter-- buzzed-- than Caspar remembered, and yet he'd grown out the hair on his face. He still looked young, though, and healthy. Also very nice to see.

Robin hadn't moved, and Caspar knew it was to keep from waking Bo.

So. Caspar quietly settled on the floor by the low table, unwilling to wake him himself either.

"Bit of confusion up there at first," he admitted, "but it worked out."

"I had Bo with me when we came in," Robin said. "Made it easier."

Oh. Huh.

"He signs," Robin explained. "I've never been good at it. Paws."

The mental image of Robin trying and failing to communicate with his paws... Caspar couldn't help but grin at that.

Tiny stomps echoed through the tunnel as Finnley zipped back into the room, now wearing an oversized camouflage-patterned shirt that engulfed him, nearly covering up his shorts. With an excited grin, he ran in with a notepad and pencil ready, standing by the edge of the couch.

"Hi! I'm going to take notes!" he announced proudly. "I know how to spell re-sis-tance now. Wanna hear?"

"I'm listening," Robin said.

Finnley puffed out his small chest and then bellowed, "R-I-S-I-S-T-E-N-S-E. Resistance." Grinning with pride, he held the pencil high in the air. "I can write it, too!"

Robin looked to Caspar, in what he sensed was doubt. Caspar only shrugged.

"Very close," Robin said. Then he looked down at the still-snoring Bo beneath him.

"It's not right?" Finnley pouted, deflating. But then immediately perked back up again, pencil on notepad. "How do you spell it, then?"

"Here," Robin said, shifting to his human form atop Bo so he was no longer curled up, but now sitting on Bo's stomach.

Bo's snoring abruptly stopped as his eye fluttered open and he rolled his head to the side, squinting at Finn and Caspar in confusion.

Robin reached out to take the pencil and notepad, writing the word down for Finn before handing it back to him. At this point, however, Finnley was too distracted to notice, instead curiously poking at Bo's foot.

Bo's eye went wide with recognition as he met Caspar's eyes.

"Cas!" he said, scrambling to sit up. Robin, simultaneously, hopped off onto the floor, back to wolf form.

"Bo," Caspar greeted warmly, hauling himself back up to his feet.

And Bo immediately rushed in for a hug. Without hesitation, Caspar tightly hugged him back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw little Finnley patter away.

"Good to see you again," he said over Bo's shoulder with an excited laugh.

"Gods, it's been ages," Bo said, hugging Caspar a little tighter.

It really did feel like forever ago. And yet, Bo didn't look like he aged a day in that time.

He pulled away, holding Caspar out at arm's length as he looked him over. "Look at you! Still as sharp as ever."

With a more self-conscious laugh, Caspar shrugged with both arms. He didn't feel very sharp, but sure.

"And you're always taller than I remember," he said lightly. "Actually, it feels like you've grown."

Bo patted Caspar on the arm before he pulled away, still beaming.

"Psh," Bo huffed. "It's all the vegetables I eat."

"No, he's taller," Robin said behind them.

Patting Bo's arm back, Caspar stepped away, sincerely repeating, "It's really so good to see you again."

"I'm right here," Robin said impatiently behind Caspar.

"I'm coming," Caspar warmly assured him, "hold your horses."

"I hate horses," Robin muttered.

"I know you do."

Getting back down to his knees, Caspar held out both arms in invitation. Robin hurried up and tucked his head over Caspar's shoulder, leaning in. His tail started wagging quickly when Caspar wrapped his arms around him.

"Aww," Bo said with his hands on his hips.

"Shut up, you're ruining the moment," Robin growled.

"Just ignore him," Caspar laughed, lightly carding his fingers over Robin's scruff.

Robin huffed and did so. His tail kept thwapping on the floor.

"I'm getting flashbacks," Bo said, wiping an invisible tear. "It's just like old times."

"I'm going to eat him," Robin threatened.

"Really just like old times," Bo emphasized.

Huffing his amusement, Caspar settled back further to sit on the floor, his back leaned against the couch. He really missed hearing their usual back and forth. Robin joined him by flopping against him, immediately getting comfortable with his tail still going.

"Get down here," Robin barked to Bo.

"Okay, boss," Bo mocked, joining them by sitting on the floor on the other side of Robin. He reached over and scratched behind Robin's ears.

"So," Bo said, looking up at Cas. "How long can you stay? I figure we have a lot to catch up on, but there's the ten minute version and the two hour version."

"I can stay awhile," Caspar answered. He idly ruffled Robin's fur, then smoothed it out again. "Won't be needed back until around sunrise, probably."

"Ough," Bo vocalized. "That's no sleep for you."

"And no sleep for us," Robin added.

"Well. It's worth it for Caspar," Bo said to Robin. "Even though bouncing back will be rough."

"We could nap too?" Caspar suggested. "Don't have to be awake the whole time."

"I missed this," Bo said, waggling a finger at Caspar with a grin. "Practical genius."

"We can nap," Robin said. "Only if you can get Bo to stop snoring."

"Hey," Bo said.

"Challenge accepted," Caspar agreed.

"Now I'm afraid of what you'll try in my sleep," Bo said.

"Roll you over, at worst," Caspar assured him. He tapped Robin's ear and added, "It's probably only because he's a back sleeper."

"He has a flying boar living inside him," Robin said. "It awakes when he sleeps."

Bo patted his chest, looking down as if trying to perceive a creature within.

"Maybe I should name it," Bo said.

"It's been with you for this long," Caspar said with a huffed laugh.

The door softly opened. Strolling in with grace was their hostess, holding a tray with a tea kettle and three cups. Behind her was Finnley, who took slow, measured steps while holding three water glasses. He was intensely focused, trying not to shake the water up more than his steps were doing. Quiet, the woman placed the tray on top of their table.

Looking up to meet the hostess's eyes, Bo signed a few words to her with a goofy grin. "What's a good name for a flying boar?" he asked aloud while signing.

She straightened up, lip raised in thought with a furrow of her brows. Silently, she signed letters while Bo named them out loud.

"Ivy," Bo said, nodding and signing a movement swirling over his heart. "Love it. It's perfect."

Finally, Finnley reached the table, carefully sliding his tray of waters on top. "Phew!" he said with relief, plopping on the floor. Then immeidately scrambled to reach for his pencil and notepad in his pocket. "Now I'm ready to take notes!" he said proudly with a grin. With his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth, he focused on writing his first word. "I-V-E-E..."

"Oh!" Caspar raised a hand for the woman's attention. "While we're talking about names, I never got yours. What would you like for me to call you?"

With a small smile, Bo looked from Caspar, to the hostess, signing in turn. When he finished, the hostess turned back to Caspar attentively, spacing five distinct hand movements for him to follow. Some the of the symbols closely resembled letters Caspar could recognize, especially since she was kind enough to go slow.

"Flora," Bo said for him. "F-L-O-R-A."

She continued to sign with Bo translating out loud for her.

"I will arrange a room for you to stay in if you'd like to sleep overnight. There are towels, fresh clothes, and a meal for you. Stay as long as you would like. I will be returning to sleep, but Finnley wants to stay up to practice writing. I told him only for ten minutes." A pause. "Ten minutes is fine," Bo continued, answering her question and signing expressively. "We'll tuck him back in for you."

Flora nodded, signing some more.

"I will leave the entrance open for you. Thank you and good night," Bo translated as she signed.

"Thank you, Miss Flora," Caspar said with a small smile and wave, briefly trying (and probably failing) to catch the sign for 'thank you' from Bo.

Flora ducked her head as a farewell, then kneeled down to deliver a smooch on top of Finnley's head. Even after she retreated, the boy sat still with visible excitement, bursting with energy as he clearly was ready to practice writing any second now.

"Quick!" Bo said, pointing to the boy. "Spell Bo!"

"B-O!" Finnley said excitedly, furiously writing the two letters down.

"Yeeeeeeeees," Bo said with a gleeful laugh, reaching over to give the boy a high-five.

Finnley giggled, jumping up to high five Bo, whose hand was enormous in comparison. "Mommy never lets me stay up with the adults!" he said matter-of-factly, plopping back down. "What do adults usually talk about?"

"Oh, a lot of things," Bo said. "Sometimes about work, the weather, sometimes about who would win in a fight: a griffin or a flying boar?"

Finnley ooh'ed, dropping the notepad now that he was absorbed by the theoretical. "A griffin! They have claws!" To demonstrate, he clawed at the air with both hands.

"Caspar," Bo hummed, "He makes a compelling argument. What are your thoughts?"

Caspar nodded once. "He could be a monster expert."

"But you'd defeat them both, Sir Bo!" Finnley said as he rushed back up on his feet, puffing his little chesk out with balled fists. "You've got LIGHTNING!" For another demonstration, he flung his hands around with dramatic sound effects, mimicking lighting bolts shooting out of his gun-shaped hands.

Bo laughed heartily. "Cut it out squirt, you'll tear the whole place down!" Bo said in mock worry.

Finnley giggled, jumping up on the empty couch to bounce across the cushions. He pumped his arm in the air, gleefully shouting, "One day, I'm going to be just as powerful as you! And I'll grow up to be a werewolf, too! Like Sir Robin! YEAH!"

"The great and mighty Sir Finnley," Bo said, pounding a fist to his chest. "Quite a noble, fearsome sight indeed!"

"Mommy says I could be an earth or a healing mage!" Finnley went on proudly, still bouncing. "But I want to be a werewolf lightning mage!"

"Wouldn't it be nice if we could pick our magics?" Bo asked with a light laugh. "Hey, Cas, if you could pick any magic, which one would you want?"

Looking up from the top of Robin's head, Caspar didn't even have to think as he answered, "Water."

"Are you as ancient as Sir Bo?" Finnley suddenly asked, repeatedly hopping on the middle cusion now. "He told me he was five hundred years old!"

Bo waggled his eyebrows at Caspar with a goofy smirk.

Amused, Caspar quirked both brows at young Mister Finnley. "Did he now?"

"Yeah!" Finnley nodded eagerly. "That's so old! That's hundreds more than six years old!"

"I'm afraid he's ancient-er than me," Caspar answered, looking back down as he lightly scratched behind Robin's ear.

"Are you ancient-er than Sir Robin?" Finnley asked instead. "My mommy says he's fifty!"

"Cas is older," Robin answered for him.

"So, that's a yes," Caspar said with a nod.

"Caspar is 40," Robin added.

"But..." Finnley stopped in place, contemplating as he mumbled numbers and then counted with his fingers. "Nooooooo!" He giggled, twiddling all his fingers in the air as his proof. "That makes you older, Sir Robin!"

"I am a mere 38 years old, little Finn," Robin said, swishing his tail.

Caspar barked a laugh, ruffling his fur. "I guess neither of us are aging as well as Sir Bo."

"I want to live to be five hundred years old, too!" Finnley went on triumphantly, bouncing on the couch again.

"Do not envy what you do not understand," Bo said gently. "You have a beautiful life ahead of you, Finn. It doesn't have to be eons to be wonderful and worthwhile."

Still with a bright smile, Finnley continued to jump up and down. "What's an eon?" he asked.

"Forever and ever," Bo said.

"Wowwwww!" he cooed. "I can't wait to be eon years old!"

Bo merely sighed, turning his attention down to Robin with a shake of his head. Tilting his head, Caspar wondered about the sudden earnestness in his words and expression.

"When I'm eon years old, mommy will let me get tattoos too!" Finnley announced proudly. "Just like Sir Bo! Everyone at school will think it's awesome!"

"Would you want to match Sir Bo, too?" Caspar asked curiously, poking at one of the serpents spiralling up Bo's arm. Bo angled his arm, showing more of the of the impressive creature's blue-inked scales, and the pale flames that danced around it.

"No, I'm going to get lightning werewolves!" Finnley said with his mouth open and a toothy grin. "They'll have wings, too! They can fly!" He flapped his arms wildly up and down, mimicking a bird flying as he jumped on the cushion.

"I wish I could fly," Robin murmured longingly.

"Maybe you'll grow a pair of wings as you get ancient-er," Caspar said fondly.

Robin huffed through his nose.

Grin broadening with excitement, Finnley hopped off the couch and hunched forward, ready for takeoff. Spreading his arms wide like wings, he zoomed in circles around the room, sounding low whooshing sounds and rumbles as he angled himself like a bird in flight.

After flying around for a minute or so, Bo let out a sigh and got to his feet.

"Alright, Sir Finnlington," he said. "It's time to fly into bed and dream of lightning werewolf griffins."

"Awwwh. Already?" Finnley said with disappointment, slowing to a stop.

"I know, time flies," Bo said. "Just wait 'til you're ancient."

"But..." The child yawned, stretching his little arms up as high as they could go, his body shaking from the big stretch. "I'm not tired..."

Bo reached down, scooping Finn up under the arms and lifting him up high for a moment before bringing the giggling Finn down to his chest, holding the boy gently.

"Yes, but if I don't put you to bed," Bo said. "Your mother will be cross with both of us. And we can't have that."

"Mmhmm..." Finnley cozied up in Bo's gentle grasp. "Okay. But can you tell me one of your stories?"

"Sure, Finn," Bo said with a fond smile, flashing Cas a look that said he'd be back in a bit. "I'll tell you one you haven't heard before. A brand new one."

Caspar warmly waved them off.

The last thing he heard from the child they left the room was Finnley agerly asking, "Does this one have lightning werewolves too?"

"No," Caspar heard Bo say, "this one has lightning dragons."

And the door eased shut behind them, leaving Robin and Caspar in the ensuing quiet.

Tilting his head back, hand still idly stroking over his friend's scruff, Caspar closed his eyes for a moment. Drew in a breath, and quietly let it out. Robin let out a small sigh, sinking further against his side.

There was a comfortable lull of silence as the two of them sat in the quiet of the basement. Sound didn't travel down here as much. It felt peaceful.

"I know there's a lot I've missed," Robin said quietly. "But can I ask what happened with Agnes?"

Blinking his eyes open again, Caspar straightened. "Uh, yeah, that's fine. We, uhm." He rested his arm around Robin. "I don't know," he admitted, feelings of defeat starting to come back to him, "there was. Tension, that I hoped leaving resistance work behind would help lighten. And it did, for a short bit. But it eventually became something else or other, so. It wasn't even the work that was the problem."

Draping his arm around his friend, he absent-mindedly stared at the kettle Miss Flora had brought in. "We both changed, I think," he answered quietly.

"What changed with her?" Robin asked softly.

Caspar had thought about her, about them, so many times. Trying to understand, to reflect on how they just gradually disconnected more and more with time, without falling into rumination.

"What we wanted changed," he furthered. "I wanted kids, and she wanted more time, more space."

Agnes had been through a variety of challenging ordeals, to put it lightly. Which was, he could be honest, initially the only reason they even married. To help her get back on her feet. But she'd realized only shortly before they officially parted ways-- after enough years of their union-- that she never got a chance to be truly independent before that. She didn't hate having help, but she wanted to at least be able to say that she could thrive on her own.

And of course, having kids wasn't exactly going to fuel that.

Robin sighed sadly. "I'm sorry it wasn't a good match."

"Thanks," Caspar murmured. "We at least went our own ways on good terms, though, so... Yeah."

Robin fell silent again, only nuzzling Caspar's side with his snout in a show of empathy. With his arm still wrapped around him, Caspar affectionately rubbed a hand over his friend's shoulder.

Eventually light footfalls were heard patting down the steps with Bo's familiar gait. Coming back down into the light, Bo stopped at the entrance, looking down at the two of them with his hands on his hips.

"That bad, huh?" Bo asked.

"He's divorced," Robin said plainly.

Caspar let out a quiet huff through his nose, both amused and a bit tired. "Can confirm."

Bo's arms dropped to his sides, and he offered Caspar a genuine look of compassion as he returned to join them on the floor, sitting across from them with his legs crossed.

"I heard you had a son?" Bo asked softly. "What was his name?"

Caspar nodded, sadly smiling down at the floor. "Jack Owen. He was a good kid."

Which felt like a good way to delve into Caspar's apparent outward alliances.

"He was also good friends with some of the King's Hand," he continued, voice quieter as he glanced back up to Bo. "Though, they weren't the King's Hand yet at the time."

They were just kids before it all went down.

"If it's... too painful to talk about," Bo said gently. "You don't have to tell me more. We've got time, too. Since we'll both be in town awhile."

Caspar drew in a breath.

Honestly? It would be nice to talk about Jack more freely. In sober company, with those weren't so terribly haunted by his memory still.

And he didn't want to weigh things down for too long tonight. He wanted to hear more about what they'd been up to, too.

"It's not," Caspar warmly assured him, casting him an appreciative smile, "not anymore. But, yeah, we can pace ourselves." He tapped his toe to Bo's knee. "I want to hear a bit of how you guys have been, too, before we crash for the night."

Bo smiled faintly.

"Well, quite a lot's happened in the past fifteen years, so I'm not sure how to nutshell it, but -- let's start with the present," he said.

Tilting his head to the side, Bo's smile faded rather quickly as his gaze drifted into focus on an indeterminable point in the room.

"Though I'm happy my path has crossed with so many friends while I'm in Ruddlan, that's really not what we're here for. Over the past year, we've lost more active agents than ever. Mages have been disappearing before we even catch word of them. It hasn't just been deaths - those, we're used to. More and more, there have been no bodies left behind: which tells us those taken are most likely still alive. What's most concerning is the people being targeted the most are healing mages, who have the least inherently offensive magic."

Worriedly, Caspar glanced down at Robin. Robin had gone still, listening soberly.

Bo let out a sigh, reaching up and rubbing his face for a moment.

"We've been investigating for months," he said. "And we've been able to prove that mages are being kidnapped, and more are being kept alive than DAMG is recording. DAMG records them as deaths, but they're living people who've fallen off the map. We've uncovered a massive human trafficking ring, and all paths lead back to Ruddlan. And unfortunately, it's not as simple as a few dirty DAMG hunters. The Blue Suns are the ones arranging all of this, and their network has been a pain in our side for ages. We're hoping that, this summer, we can deal a mortal blow to their operation. It's unrealistic to think we can stop the trafficking as a whole, but my hope is that we can save as many as possible."

"Ruddlan is their second headquarters, away from home," Bo continued. "And we have proof they've been holding dozens of mages here with the intent to transport them soon. We just don't know what they're keeping them for. Or where they're planning on sending them to."

Letting out one last, long sigh, Bo dipped his head down. "So... we have our hands full," Bo said.

Quietly and with heaviness, Caspar took it all in.

"Bet you don't miss this part," Robin said quietly. But it wasn't to be funny.

"That's always been the harder thing to face," Caspar admitted. Softer, he askedt hem, "How are you two holding up through all of this?"

Bo's face turned deeply saddened as the looked down at the floor. Robin tucked his head in a tad.

"I've lost many friends to the suns," Bo said faintly. "More than I have the heart to count."

That hurt deeply to hear.

"I'm fucking furious," Robin said lowly.

"I'm just hoping that all of this works," Bo said. "That it's not all in vain. That we can actually save them. Some of them."

With sadness in his eyes, Caspar quietly waved his good friend back over. It didn't do that he couldn't embrace him while they shared in each other's loads.

Crawling over, Bo met Caspar with a gentle hug, pulling him in. With his only available arm, Caspar held him tightly. Robin let out a sad, high-pitched whine.

"Maybe I'm just an optimist," Caspar said earnestly, "but I know it won't be in vain."

Bo hugged Caspar a little tighter.

"...I missed you," Bo said softly. Caspar could hear the sadness in his voice.

Robin moved to squeeze between the two of them. He let out another whine.

That quiet ache in his heart from the years of distance, turned into something bittersweet now that they've finally said hello again.

"I missed you too," Caspar said, his hold on his friends never wavering.

Most of the time, Cyrin didn't hate their job. This was one of the days where they almost did. Because they had to watch Alexander Kingsman haul a mage in a net, dragging them over the dirty Ruddlan streets to a horrible fate, and their job was not to leap in, either to rescue or to fight. It was to follow and stay away. And the knowledge that there would be nothing more made their blood quietly boil.

Raj wasn't any happier, he knew. Still, the two of them were sticking to their job, following the mage hunter at a healthy distance where they wouldn't be noticed without losing sight of him either. As much as it sickened Cyrin to see the mage's limp, unconscious body in the net being towed so carelessly, he was glad they didn't have to be awake for this part at least. Hopefully they'd get to open their eyes again.

Alexander took a turn, and the two of them quickened ever so slightly until they could do the same, then slowed to the same casual pace. All signs were pointing to Alexander heading to the DAMG, but Cyrin would be damned if they lost him. No risks could be taken. If they did this right, they could be a step closer to getting all mages taken here back, not just this latest one.

Sure enough, Alexander kept going to the DAMG, but when he got there, he looped around the back of the building. After Cyrin exchanged a look with Raj, the two of them followed a little further.

Once Alexander was in sight at the back door, the two of them halted. The mage hunter was talking to none other than Conway Balfour, something that would've had Cyrin sighing if it weren't so crucial he was completely quiet. Fabulous. Two of the most vile mage hunters in the same place, and only a couple hundred feet away.

They didn't stay together long, though. As if in a hurry, Conway ushered Alexander and his captive in, closing the door behind them. Even from this distance, Cyrin could hear the thunk of the lock.

Very quietly, Cyrin finally allowed himself to sigh, turning to Raj.

"I could climb that fence," he muttered. "I should not climb that fence."

Raj held up a hand, his face pinched in focus as he stared at the door where they couldn't follow.

"Don't climb that fence," Raj said quietly, slowly lowering to one knee as he set his palm flat against the earth.

Cyrin was about to say they wouldn't, but they frowned, standing still and watching Raj.

"Do you feel something?" they asked.

"Focusing," Raj said more tensely.

Cyrin nodded, staying quiet as they glanced back at the door. Right. Quiet helped most people focus. It was the other way around with him, as it was with a lot of things.

...Quiet also wasn't agonizing to most people, but this long, long silence-- as necessary as it was-- was definitely making him wish he'd climbed that fence after all.

"He's underground," Raj said.

"So they have a downstairs," Cyrin said.

"Not just a downstairs," Raj said, lower. "This... there's a tunnel."

Cyrin stared at him.

"A tunnel," he said softly.

"I can't tell how deep it goes," Raj said. "I think it leads towards the city center."

A beat.

"Let's follow it," he said. And Raj broke his stillness to hurriedly rip off his shoes. He got to his feet and tucked them under his arm, slinking off into the shadows. Wordlessly, Cyrin followed after him, heart racing.

Sure enough, Raj's guidance took them closer to the city center, along main roads that were deserted at this time of night. Raj's expression was so focused that Cyrin didn't dare voice any of their questions. They pressed their lips together tightly so they wouldn't accidentally blurt one aloud.

The trek was agonizingly slow. They passed so many buildings as they went deeper and deeper into the heart of the city center. They even passed by the Ashlund clinic, swooping up into the market that was dead at this time of night.

Eventually, Raj finally stopped, crouched in the shadow of an alleyway. He silently pointed at a building across the street. To most people, it was a carpenter's workshop.

"There," Raj whispered. "It leads there."

Cyrin stared at the workshop, unease and dismay sinking into his stomach. Then turned to stare at Raj.

"Raj," he whispered. "There?"

"Yes," Raj said again. "There's levels. More than I can sense with my reach. They build deep."

Cyrin breathed deeply through their nose, rubbing their face with their hand as they closed their eyes. No fucking way.

"Raj, that's the Gallery," he said quietly. "That workshop is a front. Blue Suns come and go through there all the time. There's a tunnel between the DAMG and the Gallery. A goddamn tunnel."

Raj was silent. Cyrin knew his rage wasn't.

Still, he couldn't be silent. Not when thoughts and realizations were bursting to the front of his mind like water from a leaky pipe.

"This--" he inhaled sharply. "This could be the link that explains so much. How the Blue Suns are getting their mages for trafficking, how the DAMG is executing fewer than they capture. They've got a deal. But how--" He had to bite back the growl in his throat. "Who is arranging this?"

"That's what we need to find out," Raj said lowly. "I can't tell which of them it was -- but only one of them continued down to the tunnel."

"Of course it's one of the most notorious mage hunters in the world and we don't know which," Cyrin muttered furiously.

"Better tell Hendrik to hurry up on his end," Raj murmured. "We'll have to update Tula, too."

"And Bo." Cyrin bit their lip. "This is what he's really here for, right? The main reason?"

"Yeah," Raj said faintly. "They'll all need to know."

Cyrin felt a stress headache brewing. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"He's got to get rid of Sparrow," he muttered. "That's the only goddamn hope this city has got."

Raj reached over, setting a hand on Cyrin's shoulder.

"If anyone can... it's Bo," he said quietly.

Cyrin nodded weakly. "I know," he said faintly.

It wasn't enough to know, though.

This was spiraling out of control. Getting out of hand. No. No, this wasn't. She had control. She had this under control.

Taking a deep sigh, Eve read over her pages and pages of notes again and again. She already talked to Bo about the absolute absurdity of everything. As usual, he calmed her down and gave her plenty of affirmations and compliments, which Eve thought was a stretched, but it was good to hear that she was going in the right direction.

Because, really. A meeting with Kirk Fayek about Blue Suns association in the lumshade farm, which she only investigated because Cyrin pushed a random farmer out of the tree due to sheer surprise? Absolute absurdity, like a fever-induced dream.

But here she was. And Eve had to be prepared.

She checked the time against the wall in the tea house, feeling her heart rate rise. She was here absurdly early to give her amply of time to review, but now she was getting needlessly paranoid.

What if this was a trap? What if he knew that she had been lying the entire time? What if, what if, what if...

Because she knew. Eve knew.

She had to tell the truth. Bo mentioned that the best case scenario was an alliance between the two of them.

The worst case scenario, however? Betrayal. Lies. Deceit. Death, even. Because Eve did not trust Kirk Fayek. She didn't trust anyone associated with the Moonlight Kingdom palace. And especially not the despicable King's Hand. Not a single member.

She hated that she had to do this. But this was the only way forward, and she knew it.

For the hundredth time, Eve fell into a calm meditative state of going over her answers in her head, when suddenly her focus was shattered by incoming footsteps.

"Good evening, Ms. Hayes," Kirk Fayek greeted, approaching her table and pulling out the nearest chair. "May I sit here?"

Steeling her nerves, Eve inclined her head forward as a greeting and a nod. "Good evening, Mr. Fayek," she called back. "Yes, you may. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

Taking a seat with a small bow of his head, Kirk offered her a polite smile.

"If I'm being honest, I'm glad you invited me," he said. "Hopefully we can speak more freely here than in the lab."

Eve nodded, flicking her eyes to the now-cold cup of tea next to her. "Before we begin, would you like some time to order a cup of tea and settle in first?" she asked to gauge how long he expected this conversation to last.

"Sure," he said. "That sounds refreshing."

Okay. So, a long conversation. They were going to be here for a while. Eve mentally braced herself for this as Kirk waved a server over, quickly ordering a black tea, and then turned his attention back to her.

"Have you been waiting long?" he asked.

"No," she lied. "Though, I did get her early since I quite like this tea house."

"Understandable," he said, sending a quick look around the room. "It has quite the cozy environment. I'll have to make note of this place during my stay should I need somewhere calming to retreat to."

Eve nodded along, already deciding she was getting tired of the small talk. "What would you like to discuss?" she asked.

"Ah, yes, right," Kirk said, adjusting in his seat to sit up straighter. "The lab. It does have me really, quite concerned. See, I don't know how much of this is within your reach of influence. And-- well, I must be quite honest with you, Gwendolyn. I make it a point to be quite thorough, especially when it comes to matters of this level of severity, with criminal activity and city safety. I went in to the counselor's office this morning to follow up and ask about you, and it turns out, you don't exist."

Eve was prepared for this, and yet, she was caught off guard. Of course a member of the King's Hand would use his resources to look into her position. That was unsurprising. She clenched her jaw, balling her fists to scrunch her skirt fabric.

"Now, I'm sure there's an explanation," Kirk said. "And I want to give you a chance and hear you out. That said, you must understand why I'm a bit wary of divulging more information until you do so."

"Of course. Like a true scientist, you did your research," Eve replied with a simple nod. "I understand, and also, I am not surprised. I entered this meeting, prepared to tell you the truth."

Eve took a quiet deep breath before resuming. "You are correct. Gwendolyn Hayes was a temporary alias to gain access to the lumshade facility. Instead, I am a private investigator. I am unable to divulge the details of my client or their motivations, but rest assured that they have the common civilian's best interest at heart with a goal of reducing crime and violence."

Kirk nodded, leaning back in his seat as he assessed her answer.

"Private investigator," he echoed.

"Correct," she added in the short silent beat that followed.

"With your own personal forger?" he asked.

Eve pressed her lips together into a thin frown, tensing. "I..." She furrowed her brows. "I am not at liberty to comment."

"Not where legal matters become compromised, it seems," he hummed. "Though it's not uncommon for people in your line of work to swim in the moral gray. You say you have the civilian's best interests at heart. I just want to be clear on what that means for you."

This was a lecture Eve didn't care to hear, especially since this was all false anyways.

"What would you like to discuss?" she asked again, more sternly this time.

"I'm trying to get a read on your character and establish trust," Kirk said more wearily. "But before I tell you my findings it'd be nice to have a name. Your real one, is preferable."

"Evelyn," Eve answered smoothly. "That is all you need to know."

Kirk sighed, turning his attention to the server, who circled around tables to set his cup of tea down in front of him. He dismissed them with a thank you and took a sip before bothering to answer the question she'd already asked him twice now.

"Aaron Keller," Kirk finally said, setting down his mug on the table.



Eve scribbled the last words of the sentence into the margins of the page, running out of space for notes. There was quite a lot that Kirk Fayek was divulging.

Brows furrowed, she quickly underlined the main points.

Sentence one: Aaron Keller: head chemist of lumshade processing and production.

Sentence two: Smuggling lumshade outside the facility in small amounts. Timeline unknown. Likely long time.

Sentence three: Member of the Blue Suns? Or coerced?

And finally, sentence four: Mr. Ledger: confirmed Blue Sun member. Ranking 1.

Of course, this was only Kirk's side of the story. What he didn't know was what she knew-- which admittedly, was only what she knew from one possibly unreliable interview-- but it was that Aaron Keller was indeed a Blue Suns member, and a high ranking one at that.

Eve flipped her notepad shut, setting her pencil neatly an inch from the notepad's edge. Clasping her hands together, she angled her neutral gaze back towards Mr. Fayek to ask, "Is that all?"

"Not quite," Kirk said, setting his now-empty mug of tea aside. "I have a certain level of responsibility to the guilds and the lab because of my role. Because of this, I intend to remain involving in this ongoing investigation. I do not mean to impose on your efforts, but I have the obligation to inform the city militia as well. I don't know if you're working in cooperation with them - and it's not required of you - but, perhaps, allow me to serve as a liaison. I think it would benefit all of us, and the city in particular, to have more eyes on the farm. It would be best we don't face this alone. I, personally, want the Blue Suns to feel the pressure. Because, it's under pressure, that they start making mistakes. And mistakes, we can catch."

Kirk was a true politician. Someone who said a lot of words to cushion the deeper meaning behind it. Eve kept her steady stare on him, her brows slightly inwardly twitching as she took away the highlight of all the words he was saying.

"What I'm proposing," he said, more gently. "Is that we work together."

Yes. She could read between the lines.

"That may be a conflict of interest," she said simply.

"How so?" he asked.

"I work for my client," Eve said cooly, stare piercing. "Not the King's Hand."

Kirk went quiet for a moment, his expression turning searching. But Eve refused to give him any more, replying with icy silence.

"Alright," he said. "But -- I do intend to still stay involved. And I'd rather not have us working against each other when I think we have the common goal of ridding this city of the Blue Suns' influence."

Eve nodded only once. "You expect to have a quid pro quo," she began. "I would like to further compromise. Because you are right: we may be sharing a common goal. Therefore, I suggest a one-way street." She slightly angled her chin up, studying him. "Information you relay to me will be kept confidential and only be used to aid in your ambitions. But I am under no obligation to divulge information I have acquired."

"So you're saying you want me to share freely with you," Kirk said plainly. "With nothing in return but your word that you'll use the information responsibly."

"I don't openly agree to cooperate with conflict of interests without strict terms and conditions," Eve replied neutrally.

"I can understand that," Kirk said placatingly. "What I'm having trouble understanding is where the conflict of interest lies. If you have an issue with the King's Hand, you are free to state it plainly if you begrudge my association."

And so she flatly stated, "I have an issue with the King's Hand."

"Okay," Kirk said, holding his hands up. "That's good to know."

Eve waved her hand towards him. "You are a politician, Mr. Fayek. There is always an ulterior motive. It is nothing personal against you."

"Alright," Kirk said. "I'll take you at your word, Ms. Evelyn."

Eve sat still in response, watching him. Waiting to see if he'd finally cut through the flowery words and state the true motivation of why he wanted to become an ally. She didn't simply believe that he would do this out of the "goodness of his heart" by "protecting the city" that he didn't belong in. And if this were for upholding DAMG's reputation? Then she wanted to hear him say it.

"Look," Kirk said with a sigh. "I don't know what else to tell you, but; it makes me nervous knowing the Blue Suns have their hands on excessive amounts of lumshade. It's not just a weapon for enforcing magic-laws. It's a dangerous, addictive, multi-use drug."

"Of course, Mr. Fayek," Eve sharply cut in. "I've done research on you, too. Your advancements in the King's Hand was well-deserved, considering you are touted to be one of the best chemists in the world who pioneered lumshade development. I can understand how an insidious group like the Blue Suns could pose not only as a threat to the city, but to your research as well. And so I must ask you, Mr. Fayek..." She paused, holding her gaze, knowing it had evolved into a glare. "What are you hiding?"

Kirk held her gaze, but his brows drew together. Instead of looking intimidated, he mostly appeared tired.

"I'm sorry it appears we've gotten off on the wrong foot, Ms. Evelyn," Kirk said quietly. With a sigh, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a pen and a piece of paper.

He began jotting down an address.

"I will no longer pester you, since it seems you've made up your mind," he said, sliding the paper across the table. "But, if you do find you'd like to reconnect for whatever reason, I am still open to it."

He got up to his feet, bowing his head.

"Thank you for meeting with me," he said. "I do wish you the best with your efforts."

Eve only gave him a nod of acknowledgement, refusing to give him a proper farewell. Kirk disappeared without another word.

She turned away, hearing the bell of the door chime that signaled his departure. And with that, she finally released the intense tension in her body, closing her eyes and taking a shaky exhale of her breath. She drooped her head low, her hair cascading down to partially shield her face.

Eve felt the anxiety coursing through her, raising her heart rate, letting her see red. She crumpled her fingers around the fabric of her skirt, taking deep breaths in and out so she could properly release.

No. This was a bad idea. She should have told Bo no. It was impossible to work with the King's Hand. It was impossible to work with someone who had a tie to Verna's death.

She couldn't do it. It was wrong. Immoral. Dishonest.

Eve refused to work with a murderer who killed innocent people.

Bo had to understand.

He had to.

The social implications of treating Tiberius Hemming were starting to sink in. Fully. The potential ramifications should anything go poorly, should Lyall misstep anywhere in any way, especially if it was in front of more than one member of the group of representatives... He didn't like it. It could seriously mar the clinic's reputation.

Drawing in a steadying breath, Lyall decided he ought to stop stalling by entertaining the worst-case scenarios, and tapped on the door in the same manner as when he first visited. Miss Marge was again prompt, and just as pleasant. Even more ready to smile this time when she showed him inside.

She was quick to excuse herself this time as soon as they stepped in from the foyer to the sitting room. With a bow of her head, she kindly informed him he'd find Tiberius on the upper level in his room again. Lyall tipped his hat as he warmly thanked her, and was actually a little disappointed she didn't have anymore insights to give.

The moment he turned, though, he immediately found the reason as to why.

Mister Haddon was out in the sitting room. He held up papers in one hand as he reclined and pored over them. What looked like work files were spread on the coffee table before him. It seemed to be an off-day for him, since he wasn't dressed so formally, nor his hair as neat as when they last ran into each other.

Fan-fucking-tastic. Here was that opportunity Santiago had urged Lyall to create himself, should it not arise on its own; arising on its own.

Lyall entered with an easy-going grin, and a breezy greeting at the ready.

Breaking from his concentration, Mr. Haddon looked up to meet Lyall's eyes. His expression brightened pleasantly with a warm smile.

"Dr. Ashlund," Mr. Haddon greeted. "Good to see you again."

"Mr. Haddon," Lyall answered, politely taking off his hat and approaching with a friendly enough wave. "A pleasure to see you as well!"

"You seem in better spirits than I last saw you," Mr. Haddon said, folding his notebook shut. "Has the day been treating you well?"

Lyall dipped his head with a slightly apologetic grin. "I hadn't meant to act so dismissive then," he explained, "for I was in rather a hurry to make a personal appointment."

"Oh, no offense was taken," Mr. Haddon said with a wave of his hand. "I hope you weren't too late. Seems you're a busy man."

"All was well," Lyall assured him. "My fiance is a gracious and forgiving man."

Now seemed as good a time as ever. However, it didn't feel proper to simply spring a request on him like this.

That said, Santiago stressed the importance of getting first dibs. Not in those words exactly, but that was the nutshell of the printing business.

So, Lyall had to go on, "I'm actually glad I've caught you again. I do apologize for the abruptness of it, but I've rather a small business favor to ask."

Eyebrows raising in interest, Carter set his journal to the side on the table, sitting up straighter as he set his hands in his lap, attentive.

"You have my attention," he said curiously. "What's the favor?"

"I have a connection to the Ruddlan papers," Lyall began. Then stopped short, lifting a hand to clarify, "I don't write, but someone I know does. They'd like to individually interview each member of the King's Hand, to write an introductory article about your arrival and ensuing stay in town. And I understand that, while Mr. Hemming is of course a widely acclaimed war hero, you spearhead publicity on all your collective behalf?" He turned his palm to the ceiling in a sort of shrug. "The face of the operation, one should say."

Mr. Haddon nodded. "That is correct," he answered. "Are you wanting to connect me with your contact at the paper?"

Stepping closer, Lyall plucked from a pocket inside his jacket Santiago's formally handwritten request for a meeting and held it out for Mr. Haddon. "I am, indeed. Though I think this could be of great help for everyone involved."

Carter took the note with a nod, briefly glancing down at it.

Lyall stepped back again, holding his bag with both hands. "Since he's an editor. This could be a great second chance at putting your best foot forward." Taking a small risk to seal the deal, he added with an amicable grin, "An opportunity to sweep some less-than-flattering old news under the rug."

Carter raised a brow, smirking slightly. "Hm. Yes. People around here like to talk."

"News certainly travels fast," Lyall agreed with a dip of his head, taking another step back for the stairwell. "And thus all the quicker to be put to rest, with a well-placed word or two. So?"

"I'll send word back to the Ruddlan Read after I discuss the opportunity with my colleagues," Mr. Haddon said. "Shouldn't be more than a day's time, but I like to discuss things with them before I make a decision on our behalf."

Grinning a bit wider, Lyall nodded his appreciation. "Spoken like a true leader," he said brightly. Then turned on his heel, throwing over his shoulder, "Thank you kindly for your time, Mr. Haddon! I hope to see you in the papers again soon, for the better."

And he bounded up the steps, now that the dirty work was done.

At the top, he greeted a second time with pleasant surprise, "Miss Marge."

Looking up from sweeping the floors, Ms. Marge jumped ever so slightly with surprise, letting out a little "oh!"

"So sorry!" he said with an apologetic grin. "Didn't mean to startle you."

Laughing lightly, Ms. Marge put a hand over her chest. "You're quick on your feet there, Dr. Ashlund. Don't you worry about it, though. Just caught an old maid off guard. Here, let me get out of your way."

She quickly swept a little pile of dust to the side to create a path for him.

"Why, thank you kindly," he said warmly, carefully tiptoeing through, "but tis I who is interrupting your work."

Tiberius Hemming's door was a few doors down. And Lyall figured the former soldier wouldn't mind a few seconds more in delay, since he was reluctant about the first visit.

"Is everyone else out again?" Lyall asked curiously, stalling at the other side of the dust pile on the floorboards.

"Except for Mr. Haddon, today," Ms. Marge said. "The girls went out with Kirk and Fonzi, I think. Something about seeing the park before it gets gussied up for the festival!" Glancing down the hall, Ms. Marge lowered her voice to a whisper. "Mr. Hemming was supposed to go, but he's been bedridden all day. Poor man. He didn't even come out for breakfast. I had to bring it to him!"

"Oh dear," Lyall murmured. It had to have been a fifty-fifty between the depression and migraines.

"He's got his whole room dark as can be in there," Ms. Marge added. "I could hardly see a thing this morning, leaving food for him on his desk. He couldn't even manage a greeting."

Migraine, it was.

"He got out the other day, though," Ms. Marge continued without prompting. "Went on a walk, I think, with Mr. Hawking? Said he went to the library. Seemed he was looking up, then. Such a shame to see him fare awfully so soon after."

"May the dragons bless you," Lyall said with a small, warm smile. "You're a kind soul, going such lengths to assist with Mr. Hemming's care."

Ms. Marge let out a touched sigh, smiling softly. "Oh, you're such a sweetheart," she said, touching her hand to her heart. "I'm really only doing my job, dearie. Just doing the best I can."

"Modest, too!" Lyall lifted his hat to her as he started on his way again. "Does there exist a lovelier lady than Miss Marge?"

"Pah! Now you flatter me, Dr. Ashlund!" Ms. Marge teased, batting his arm with the back of her hand. "You go on now." She pointed with the tip of her broom down the hall. "You're blocking my way for sweeping!"

Thoroughly amused to be chased off with a broom, Lyall hurried along with a huffed laugh. Then had to school his features as he stood at Hemming's door, before very gently tapping a knuckle to the wood.

"Mr. Hemming?" he softly called. "It's Dr. Ashlund."

For a moment, there was no response. Then a quiet, pained: "Come in."

The discomfort so evident in the patient's voice helped sober him further. Lyall determined to keep this one relatively short. Check the head wound, treat symptoms, warn Hemming of a final visit to remove the stitches, then get out. As quick and painless for everyone involved.

Quietly slipping into the room, Lyall silently thanked the dragons above for his sharp vision, despite the lack of light. Because Miss Marge was not exaggerating when she said, it was dark in here.

"I'll need a spot of light for only a moment," he said gently. He set his bag down on the desk as before, and turned to the big lump under the blankets on the bed.

Poking his head out from under the covers, Mr. Hemming pulled the blankets away slowly. His eyes were open in slits as he squinted, clearly in pain, into the dark of the room. He pushed the blanket off, revealing he was still in his pajamas. He sat up slowly.

"Sorry," Mr. Hemming murmured. "I can... open the curtains."

"Please, stay put," Lyall answered instead.

He patted down his pockets for a match, and lighted a small lamp on the desk with a quick word of warning for Hemming to brace himself. Mr. Hemming only nodded, still upright with his eyes barely open.

Lyall came around to his side, lamp held up high at a safe distance so that the top of Hemming's head was well-illuminated. Everything was on track, so he quickly blew it out again.

"Are you staying hydrated?" he asked quietly.

Mr. Hemming blinked at the speed of a turtle. "Um..." he said uncertainly.

Brows quirked pointedly (not that Mr. Hemming could see), Lyall set the lamp back down on the desk. "I'll get you a glass and a cold compress."

"Sorry," Mr. Hemming murmured again, this time sounding guilty as he held his head in one hand.

"No need," Lyall assured him, making sure his grin made it into his voice. "Shall I fetch anything else for you?"

"No," Mr. Hemming said quietly.

With a nod, Lyall hung his jacket over the desk chair and made his way to the door. Then paused before reaching for the handle when an idea occurred to him, and asked, "Have you tried aromatherapy?"