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The Homs were calling it Restoration Day; the day that had finalized the rebuilding of Colony Nine. The major Homs settlement now had more than just that race living in it.
Euzen, a relatively minor member of the High Entian government, had been assigned quarters near the ‘ocean’, a salty mass of liquid that had been a cause of consternation for farmers, sourcing potable water, and sanitation planning.
Those weren’t matters under his remit; his background was in mathematics and financial law, but they all had tax costs and with the loss of Alcamoth, there was a lot of cost involved.
There were more plans for the expansion of the Colony, the continued development of Colony Six, and plans to begin exploring the new world they had found themselves on and establishing new settlements.
For one day, Imperial Princess Melia Antiqua had decided that looking to the future could wait.
So now, Euzen wandered the street party feeling distinctly out of place.
He’d had enough Homs blood in his lineage throughout the ages to protect him from the transformation that had turned most of the people he knew and worked with into rampaging Telethia.
His escape from their fury towards those so ‘impure’ they could not assume that awful status had come from his research into corruption laws and a political fracas two millennia ago that had almost caused a coup. Once his intended research had been done, curiosity had compelled him to further reading. When the chaos broke out in the corridors of the ministry, Euzen fled into those ancient tunnels and crawlways, gathering any still of their right mind and High Entian physiology to follow him.
Despite his bloodline, Euzen did not care much for the Homs.
The ones around him were loud, drunk, and incapable of carrying a tune. The singing was perhaps worst than the ones staggering over to put their arms around him before offering a foaming jug of bitter brew to sup from.
He politely declined and carried on his way. As much as the Princess had encouraged her people to make acquaintances and not just work with the range of people they found themselves living alongside… he just yearned for his bed and a copy of the History of the High Entian Financial Irregularities Act.
The span of his headwings made navigating the crowd difficult, but with the bustle in the street he made the calculation that the side streets and alleyways would be free of people.
For the first time in his life, Euzen’s calculations were incorrect.
The alley he had nipped into to get away from the boisterous people had lead him face to face with footpads and guttersnipes counting coins as some played with their long, thin daggers or drank some kind of ale from brown glass bottles.
“Oh-ho?” one of them, a muscular man with a vivid white beard, grinned. “Here to make a contribution to the Colony Restoration Fund? All goes to a good cause!”
Even as his heart pounded, Euzen drew himself up. “I highly doubt you are official collectors to the fund. You are not wearing a green tabard, you have none of the tamper-proof collection pots with you, and most importantly of all the collections have ceased for the time being.”
“Got ourselves a funny man, have we?” A cruel looking girl got up. It was somewhat impressive how she kept her dagger balanced on her fingertip by the point of the blade as she rose.
“No,” Euzen adjusted how his glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. “I’m quite serious.”
“Well,” a lanky man in a grimy knitted hat and unwashed jerkin barked an awful laugh, “you should seriously consider giving us your money then!”
They were starting to move towards him, so he took several steps back. “I shall summon the guards if you do not cease this… this intimidation of me in the hopes towards attempted extortion!”
“Whole colony’s partying, feather-head. Some coin would send us off the party and save you from any more…” the largest of the men trailed off.
“Intimidation!” the girl chimed in with.
“Yeah, that. Fork it over, you look like you have enough with those fine robes!”
Euzen felt his nostrils flare as indignation burned within. He was High Entian, and these… lowlifes were threatening him in this dark, gloomy alleyway, so far removed from the splendour of the Imperial Capital that had vanished when their world was remade. Drawing the sleeves of his robe back to his elbows, he brought his hands up in front of him.
Euzen was no fighter, but-
“Someone’s got spunk!” the girl laughed as her colleagues drew the rest of their weapons. “Mess with us and you’re going to get your beak broken!”
“I care little for your insults,” Euzen retorted, gathering what ether he could from the atmosphere. “I will not stand for you-”
Something pressed against his lower back, a presence catching him unaware as he focused his ire and irritation on those in front of him. Of course there’d be more; these Homs scurried about in droves.
“Don’t move,” a brash but feminine voice whispered against the back of his neck, “unless you want your wings clipped, mate.”
All the stress of getting out of Alcamoth and this was how it ended, outnumbered and soon to be murdered? There wasn’t even anyone in his life to fill out the forms to process his passing and the distribution of what possessions he had!
Just another paper to go on the backlog in the Ministry of Records…
Euzen wanted to clench his eyes shut and not see the end coming, but maybe he could even the odds enough to give him a chance. His hands were tingling with the building charge he was amassing. He just needed a little more time.
“One last chance,” the big man shrugged, cruel knives in each hand. “We take your money, or we take your life and then your money.”
A feeble reply of defiance formed on his lips.
“You ain’t taking jack shit, loves!”
That wasn’t what he was going to say!
It started from behind him, carried on overhead, and then finished in front of him accompanied by a flutter of light reddish-brown hair.
The one who had gotten behind him had vaulted over and now stood in front of him with a sword in each hand. There was a lot of bare skin on display, not covered by the black band running across her back. Some of that skin was marked by intricate patterns in a pale purple-red ink. There was a bustle to the back of her outfit that ended in some rather elaborate leggings contrasting to the solid, professional boots.
There was the clash of metal against metal as she parried some strikes with practised skill. Euzen had to wince a little at the clash of her boot between a man’s legs—he’d seen the steel caps on them spark against the street as she fought the attackers back before nipping back to stand between him and them.
“Supposed to be a party, and here you twats are picking a fight with this guy? Not got anything better to do?! Buncha wankers, you are!”
“Ignabane Syrenne…” the largest of the attackers edged back as he recognized her.
“That’s right, Shark!” the woman laughed. “All of you are so happy shaking down the little guys, but I suppose you’re used to that, every time you go for a fucking piss!”
“Fucking bitch!” The tallest attacker darted forwards with his knife ready to stab.
“Think he’s talking to you, love!” Syrenne barked at the girl who had called Euzen a ‘funny man.’ Her swords slid back into their scabbards as she wrested the knife from him, only to hurl it at her.
The handle of the thrown weapon collided with her nose with a bloody result, even as the one who might just be on her side jumped up to drive her knees into the now-disarmed man’s jaw.
“Two of you down, and I’m real ready to work up a thirst on the lot of you!” Syrenne boasted, drawing her swords again.
Euzen took a step back as the accosters became the accosted. This was no noble warrior duelling to a code. She was vicious, loud, rude, and utterly ruthless as she took advantage of the close quarters to funnel the amount of foes coming at them.
It was a chaotic brawl and this Homs woman seemed to thrive in it. There was a grin on her face when he saw it in her twisting ballet of blades and battle. Each blade acted as the balance to the other, letting her spin and strike without losing her footing.
Instinct was telling Euzen that he should run back to the crowded thoroughfares and away from the carnage that she was unleashing. That instinct was being restrained by the part of his mind that always wanted to follow through and complete any action he set himself too.
It was in that observation that he saw the ether pistol—a curious device used by those incapable of the fine skills and control required of elemental manipulation—being lifted and levelled at her by the one she referred to as Shark.
Calling out would only distract her.
Perhaps I could-
Odd, the battle seems a lot closer than-
Euzen let out a pained grunt as he shouldered Syrenne out of the way, his left hand raised.
“Ow! The fuck are you-” she stopped as the Ether pistol spat roaring flames towards them with the pull of the trigger. “Idiot, get down!” Syrenne yelled, kicking at the back of his knee.
He was rooted to the spot and grit his teeth from the blow of those heavy boots, his right knee buckling a little but refusing to topple. It took all his concentration to let the rippling surge of water gush from thin air to snuff that flame bolt out mid flight.
“Well, that’s fucking great!” she was grumbling for some reason behind him as he pointed his right hand towards them, held with his elbow close to his hip.
Something had given way when he barged her out of the way; this was as mobile as he could get that limb with the least amount of pain.
Lightning crackled in his palm and arced up his fingertips. “I suggest that you gather your colleagues and leave,” he did his best to threaten. “I am unsure how long I can hold this charge in my hand.”
It sounded like a threat, but was the truth. So much of the power he’d gathered had been lost stopping the bullet. The light show he was putting on was all bluster and bluff, and if it didn’t work-
“Fucking casters!” ‘Shark’ swore back, hefting up some of his comrades to drag with him. “Move it!”
Euzen remained stood there, puffs of smoke rising from where the energy jumped about his hand and pitted his skin until he could hold it no more. He was just letting out a long breath, parts of him aching more than others when another blow to the back of his legs made him crumble onto the ground this time.
“You utter moron! You’re a right bell end, you know that?! I had ‘em right where I wanted them and then you wanted to play hero? For all the glasses and fancy way of speaking, you’re a dumb speccy bastard, y’know that?!” Syrenne lambasted him.
“I…” he blinked several times as he tried to process the litany of abuse. “You were about to get shot! I saved your life!”
“Oh no, I was gonna get shot!” she mock-gasped, her tone oozing with sarcasm. “Not like I haven’t been pelted with all sorts of shit since I took up the blades! I can deal with that, what I can’t deal with is someone too haughty to know when to back off! Don’t they give you books instructing you lot on how not to be a total idiot!? Walking down alleys like this, might as well have let ‘em rob you!”
Euzen stared at her with his mouth hanging open. Yes, she’d saved his life, but he had reciprocated and all he was getting for it was foul language and a throbbing pain in his shoulder. Trying to climb back onto his feet resulted in that arm giving way as he tried to leverage himself up. With an awkward cry he crumpled onto the cobbled streets
“Hah! Thought so! Gone and dislocated your bloody shoulder! You’re a right muppet, you know that?” Syrenne laughed, clambering onto her feet and offering her right hand for his left to grasp. “C’mon, better get that back in. You got coin to pay for the treatment?”
With the pain radiating from his shoulder, and the burns holding a charge for that long did to his fingers, Euzen threw his lot in with the homicidal Homs and accepted her hand up. “I… yes, I have money for treatment.”
“Good, ‘cause I ain’t spotting ya! Come with me, Syrenne’ll get you patched up nice and proper.”
“Hold it,” his escort muttered, pressing him into the shadows as she helped him to wherever his treatment to proceed.
“Wh-” He couldn’t even get a whole word out before her fingertips were held to his lips.
Quiet voices sounded in passing from the junction ahead, with him being propped up against a wall by Syrenne’s muscular physique, with all that hair nestled against him.
“-hash to be proper, prim, untouchable…” a drink-slurred voice tumbled over the words. The woman had clearly had way too much. Some people knew no restraint! “Even when that’s what she cravesh…” she followed up with, and Euzen felt his cheeks go red.
Work kept him busy—too busy to think of finding a wife yet. Such a craven disclosure almost made his wingtips curl up in embarrassment!
“We’re almost there.” The woman’s female companion reassured her. It was good to know someone had a level head! “Stay close, I won’t let anything happen to you…”
Syrenne held him there for a moment, only starting to move when a chuckle escaped her. “Hah, been that way a fair few times!”
“I do not see the appeal, honestly,” Euzen sniffed.
“You say that now! Wait until you get the medicine in you!”
Euzen found himself dragged into ‘The Ambling Krabble’ and was hit by the sight of armed and armoured Homs clustered around tables drinking spirits. Cheers went up at the sight of his rescuer, and he wondered just what this Ignabane woman did—other than hunt Igna.
“Pammy, love!” Syrenne called to the woman behind the counter. “A flask of surgical spirit for this muppet, and a Barrowfire Whiskey for me! He’s paying, given I saved his arse from getting shanked by Mister Shark and his merry band of absolute arsewipes.”
“Both of those coming up,” the burly woman at the bar counter suddenly grinned to Euzen. “After coin, of course.”
Despite his earlier foolishness, Euzen knew better than to get his purse out here. He always hid coins about on his person, just in case of such situations that he never usually got into due to good planning and preparation. He scanned the price list before procuring the right amount.
“Alcamoth minted…” Pammy mused, counting the coins. “Here’s your change.”
“I… do not wish to be one to question your mathematical skill, but-”
“This boffin’s dumb as bricks when it comes to the important stuff,” Syrenne laughed at his expense. “High Entian coin’s are a little purer, so more valuable than a Colony coin. Not as good as Machina money, but… eh, that’s commodity money versus fiat for ya!”
“Wait… I’ve been short changed by other stores?” Euzen blinked. “And you know economics?”
“… I’m a merc, you muppet. Of course I bloody know, most important thing’s the earnings! When you’re being paid for putting your body and mind on the line? Gotta know your worth, love!” Syrenne grabbed both drinks. “Can I borrow a med room, Pam? There’s a patient to treat!”
The key that got tossed her way was caught in the plunging neckline of her rather… brief top to rest in the crevice the fabric, and her attributes created.
“Hah! Nice shot as always, Pam! Right in the forbidden valley! C’mon, four-eyes, let’s get that shoulder sorted.”
After gingerly having to fish the key out with his good hand, all while Syrenne wore a distinctively mischievous grin, he found himself pushed into a seat with a flask of what smelled like high-proof booze flavoured with a mix of aromatic herbs put in his good hand.
“Right, you drink the surgical spirit, wait for it to take effect, then we’ll get that duff shoulder sorted.”
“Perhaps I should seek more reputable medical treatment than a doctor in a backroom of a tavern?” Euzen objected, trying to get to his feet. His ascent was stalled by a kick from Syrenne planting her boot just to the side of his head.
“You spoil my fun of a good scrap, after knocking me to the floor, and now you want to run from getting that sorted? Honestly! Some people… besides, leave it like that too long and it’ll heal all squiffy like. This place are pros at putting things back where they should be! Now, nut up and neck it—and try not to spit feathers!”
Euzen’s gaze went up her leg, jumped up some, jumped up some more to settle on the woman’s face. For all the foul language, there was a look of concern in her eyes. “If I drink this… will I wake up with my belonging still on me?” he had to ask.
That look turned hard. “Oi, I ain’t no thief! If I was, I’d have bonked you on the head, dropped you like a slab of Armu, and taken all of the hidden coins on you rather than drag your scrawny ass here. Yeah, I know, you thought you were being all sneaky like, but you ain’t fooling no one!”
“I… see. Well then. As some of my colleague used to say? Wings up,” he raised the flask and started to gulp it down to try and avoid tasting it.
Syrenne was watching him with a curious expression that only got more amused the more he drank. When the flask got placed down next to him, hoarse whispering came from his throat as the alcohol stung. The mix of herbs made his lips, tongue, and trachea tingle like it was ice water he’d just downed.
“… Not bad at all for a dork,” she complimented him, lowering her foot and taking a seat besides him.
“The… ah, the flavour is quite… pleasant, though the alcoholic content is… rather harsh,” Euzen wheezed, eyes watering away.
“Yeah, the normal stuff ain’t bad to down as a shot. This is for fixing you up, so… give it a bit,” she smiled, giving him a pat on his thigh. Procuring a jar of some kind of medicinal salve, she took his right hand and carefully turned it up to start daubing the burns from his earlier bluff. “Names Syrenne, though you might have heard that. Guess you ain’t really used to living among us yet, Euzen, to get yourself in that situation.”
“… Now how do you know my name, Miss Syrenne?” he asked with narrowed eyes.
An arch look was shot his way. “Took a look at your papers when we were on the ground.”
“I thought you said you were no thief?”
“I put it back!” She flashed him that cheeky grin. “Quick hands, fast eyes. ‘sides, thought a nerd like you’d be all about the research and swotting up.”
“Must you insult me? Not even the ones who tried to mug me were so disagreeable.” His cheeks felt like they were burning, so did his ears. A tingling sensation was spreading throughout his headwings.
It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was concerning.
“Yep! All about calling a spoon a spoon. And you were a right one!”
“I… see… uh, Miss Syrenne?”
“Urgh, you really gotta be so formal? What?”
Euzen blinked, trying to clear the fuzz from his eyes. “Is… are the walls supposed to be melting?”
“Hah! Lightweight! Pam!” Syrenne raised her voice. “This one’s away with the skeeters already! Let’s get to poppin’!”
“P-p-popping? I… do I want to know?!”
“Ignorance is bliss!”
“I highly doubt… oh.”
It wasn’t long before strong hands were gripping his right arm all while Syrenne wrapped her limbs around him to keep him steady. A wad of folded material covered in a leather strap was offered to his mouth.
“Better bite down on this, love, otherwise you’re gonna wake all the Colony kiddies up!”
When he heard the pop, it was followed by his muffled screams into the offered tool even as the drink he’d downed started to work more…
Euzen started to stir, uncomfortable from the heat on one side of him, and realised there was a physical presence attached to what turned out to be body temperature.
He woke up in the same room he passed out in with Ignabane Syrenne nestled up against his right side. All brash nature and mischief had gone from her expression with that long hair fanning out over her body and his. She actually looked rather sweet and peaceful.
Euzen’s mouth felt like it was full of the beaches of what used to be Eryth Sea. Trying to talk and move made her eyes open, staring up at him with a smile.
“Morning, you! Let’s get that arm moving. I put it in a sling, but it ain’t to be kept there—it’ll petrify the joint and ruin your page turning!” she advised, rolling her tongue in her mouth for a moment before spitting out a feather. “Urgh, well, that ain’t fun!”
“My apologies… moulting is a racial hazard and… I did get somewhat ruffled last night. Well. Miss Syrenne, I appreciate your support, but I should get back to my people. There is work to be done in service to the Imperial line and the High Entian race.”
“Just flying away like that, huh?” she replied, propping herself up with an arm. “I’ll walk you back to the Central Plaza, in any case.” Hauling herself up, she ran her fingers through her hair a few times before shaking the long tresses out. “Shark’s gang might be loitering and nursing a grudge. Didn’t work up a sweat getting that back in the socket for you to go and cork it the morning after!”
“I… very well, if you insist.”
“And I do insist. Syrenne sees a job through, no ifs, no arses.”
“… isn’t the idiom ‘no ifs, no buts’?” Euzen asked.
“Oh, in my line of work? There’s more arses than buts, believe me!”
“Well, Miss Syrenne. This is us,” Euzen remarked with a gesture at the ether light, set in front of the clock tower that was being built. “I can find my way back from here.”
“Guess so… better go check the mission board, see if any of the guilds have work for me!” Syrenne stretched her arms up, nimbly twisting and turning her body.
“Speaking of… how much is suitable compensation for last night?” he asked, offering some coins.
Her hand quickly shot out to close his palm. “Urgh, fucking idiot, you’ll give a girl a bad reputation and get yourself one!” she hissed, glancing around to make sure no one saw that. “Look, I don’t need anything.”
“I don’t take your meaning, but I feel I must offer-”
“… a drink,” she said quietly, looking to the floor. “Buy me a drink some time? For an egghead, you’re pretty good to talk to.”
Euzen sighed. “We don’t lay eggs, and I don’t appreciate the-”
“It means smart guy, you dolt! How much of a buffoon are you?! Taking back what I said, I’d get better conversation from a wall!” Syrenne grumbled away, turning on her heels and starting to stalk off.
Another sigh escaped his mouth before he called after her. “When and where? For the drink, that is?”
“You’re supposedly a smart one, you figure it out!”
He wasn’t sure why he did it.
One night after finishing work for the week he went looking for her.
His hand had healed up, his shoulder stopped aching, and no one had called him a spoon, muppet, dolt, idiot, moron, or any of the other litany of insults that sprang from that woman’s mouth.
Yet, he went looking for trouble.
When he stepped forth into The Ambling Krabble he saw Pam give a nod to the woman at the counter. With a simple kick of her foot the stool twisted round for her to stare at him.
“You took your sweet bloody time, didn’t you? Pammy, can you believe this pillock? Three weeks! Three weeks I’ve been cooling my heels here!” Syrenne grumbled, her arms folded across her chest.
“I wouldn’t say cooling your heels, Sy.” Pam shook her head, polishing the inside of a glass tankard with a fluffy piece of material. “But she has popped in every night.”
“I’d call that cooling my heels! Pam? Barrowfire Whiskey, and make it a double! This guy’s paying for it. He’s got a lot to pay for!”
“What took you so long?” Syrenne mumbled, her head resting against his shoulder as they watched a young man singing to pay for his tab.
“Would you believe me if I said three weeks were different for us?” Euzen asked, sipping from one of the shots of ‘Nurse’s Spirit’, the little sibling of the flask of ‘Surgical Spirit’ he’d had to down as part of his ‘operation’.
“Three weeks is three weeks, innit?”
He laughed, and she turned to glare at him.
“C’mon, four-eyes, what’s the joke?”
“What’s three weeks, Miss Syrenne?”
She scoffed at him. “Twenty-one days, easy.”
“And a day?”
“Twenty four hours, so… fourteen-forty minutes. I ain’t gonna do the sums for seconds, before you ask!”
“Interesting. You say fourteen-forty, I’d say one thousand, four-hundred and forty minutes.”
Syrenne shrugged. “And? You’ve got time to be mouthing all of that. In my life, speed counts. Fourteen-forty. Nice and quick, like!”
Euzen sat up a little to watch her with a snap of his fingers. “Exactly.”
“Exactly what?”
“It’s ‘in your life.’ A Homs has less time than a High Entian, and a High Entian has less time than a Machina. We might use the same figures, possibly some form of earlier standardization or influence from Zanza and Meyneth, but-”
“A minute means a lot less, the more of them you expect to have?” Syrenne finished for him.
“Precisely, so-”
“So you wasted… fourteen-fourty… hundred-eighty… thirty two-fourty minutes of my time then?” Her fist gave a little jab into his right arm. “Ain’t you ministers supposed to be all gentlemen-like?!”
“… I did not consider it like that,” he admitted quietly.
“Well… just don’t keep it that long next time, got it? Now, shut up about this time stuff and keep talking to me about this income tax thing and how it’ll affect mercs like me!”
He laughed a little at her eagerness. “Do you not wish to listen to the man perform?”
“Nope, more important things to do!” she grinned up at him.
“Such as knowing your worth?”
She gestured her fingers at him like an ether pistol. “Got it in one! C’mon, give me the goods.”
For the next year and a half, at least once a week they met up in The Ambling Krabble for a drink and a long conversation, usually before Euzen’s weekend started. Sometimes it was a bit more frequent. They celebrated Restoration Day—without shoulder dislocations—the reclamation of Alcamoth, she knew of the day of his birth from seeing his documents that first time, and a question asked of Pam revealed Syrenne’s.
There were other meetings as well. As a Junior Minister, Euzen had been tasked to visit some industries to see how the tax proposals rolled out were working and feed back. With monsters in the world and the drive of some people towards crime, he had asked for a guard and pushed strongly for a capable Homs fighter; that way it was not two High Entians coming to ask about taking money.
Sometimes they’d even meet before the pub, grabbing dinner at one of the restaurants in the commercial district. Often, they’d take walks after, winding up on a weekend morning in Outlook Park watching the sun rise as they argued about nothing of consequence and debated matters of little importance to all save themselves.
Syrenne had found a way to squirm underneath one of his wings. The first time it had happened, he’d nearly had a panic attack on waking. She wasn’t to know about etiquette among his people and how that was one of the most vulnerable positions someone could put themselves in.
But now his wing routinely folded around her as their glasses emptied and the night turned to day.
She didn’t fiddle with them, thankfully. Euzen didn’t think he was ready for that. There had been another moment of panic when one of the longer feathers had released itself from its brethren overnight and he woke to find her toying with it.
“Hey, ‘zen? Can I keep this? Got a hat it’d go great in!” Syrenne grinned, turning it around in her hand a few times before swishing the tip against her nose until she sneezed.
“I… those have some significance for us,” he admitted in a strangled tone. “Might I have that back, Miss Syrenne?”
“Sure thing, ‘zen! And you dork, how many times do we have to drink together before you stop calling me that? It’s Syrenne. Sy’s fine too.”
She was still ‘Miss Syrenne’ on his lips, even if he’d been thinking of her somewhat differently as of late.
Syrenne was nothing like the women in his society.
His colleagues at work, and those at the academy where he continued his studies to improve his future career prospects, never called him a muppet. They didn’t burp, swear, or laugh—and sometimes all three in that order—and they didn’t armwrestle mercenaries or make giddy little sounds at the prospect of getting involved in a fight.
Had things continued like that, everything would have been fine.
Then he was promoted from a Junior Minister to an Assistant Minister, the next step on the career pathway to being a Minister in her Imperial Majesty’s Cabinet. She’d insisted on drinks at dinner, then drinks at the tavern they always went to, and then what she referred to as a ‘nightcap’.
A drink at her home.
While Syrenne had built up a tolerance for alcohol, something about Homs alcohol left it leaving a tremendous impact on him, and he was reliant on her keeping him upright when they returned to the single room with just a small room to the side for the toilet and shower.
He couldn’t remember much about it, other than a sense of cosiness with all the cushions and knitted throws brightening up an otherwise dreary abode.
“Hey, ‘zen?” she whispered, taking advantage of the close quarters to roll onto his lap.
“Yesh, Mish… Shy… Shyr…. Syrenne?” he replied with his tongue tripping over the words.
“Drop the ‘miss’ shit and… call me what you called me earlier?”
He tried to push past the blanket of alcohol in his mind. “Hmm? What wash… when was th-that?”
“When I brought the last round over. You wrapped your wings, both of ‘em around me… and called me something. I’d like to hear you call me that name again… and fuck it, I want these around me too!” she added, running her fingertips along the edges of his long headwings.
It made a shiver run through his entire body. Had he… yes, he’d stumbled. Said out loud how he’d come to refer her as…
“My ‘renne…”
She bit her lip, reaching up to gently remove his glasses to place to the side. “Yeah. I like that. Call me that some more, got it?”
Something felt wrong as soon as Euzen woke up.
For starters, he was naked. Completely and utterly naked.
Secondly, Syrenne was cuddled up against him in a similar state of undress. The hair that always caught his eye, especially when it the light made it look aflame, was messy and spread out over his bare chest.
He had no recollection of what had occurred between them, but could make a very educated guess as to just what happened.
That wasn’t how he wanted it.
It wasn’t how he wanted that time to be!
Feeling panic gripping his chest, he carefully extracted himself from her embrace and the bed, tucking the blankets around her before quickly dressing. His clothing had been scattered all over the small room, and he had no idea where one of his socks had got to.
He forfeited it and quickly slipped out of the room to wrack his brain in the hopes of filling in the missing pieces of the puzzle.
“Assistant Minister,” her Imperial Highness Melia Antiqua spoke softly to draw his attention. She was doing a walk-through of the Finance Department, all in the company of the Hands of the Empress, the shadow that guarded over their ruler with an expressionless mask bearing a dark handprint of one of the seven heroes turned ruler. “Is everything alright? You look unwell.”
“My apologies, your Majesty! I… had an unsettling weekend, and-” he stopped as a guard hurried over.
“Your Majesty, Lady Tyrea, Assistant Minister Euzen, there is someone asking for permission to visit you.”
A dread voice echoed behind the mask of the Shadow of the Empress. “One does not simply visit a ministry containing financial information and personal data. They must be-”
“Oi!” A voice bellowed through the halls of the governmental department. “I ain’t asking permission, and I ain’t waiting! Euzen! Where the fuck are ya?!”
Sweat prickled on his brow as the eyes of his Empress, her bodyguard, and the guard of the department all turned on him.
“Your Majesty, leave handling this intruder to me.” Tyrea almost purred behind the mask.
“No, Tyrea.” Melia raised her hand. “Perhaps this situation can be defused through-”
A balled up sock sailed past her to bounce off Euzen’s head as Syrenne found him. “The fuck’s wrong with you, ‘zen? Slipping out that way, leaving me waking up alone, ain’t that a stinking way to treat me?!”
“You are right, your Majesty,” he heard Tyrea chuckle grimly. “This is far more fun.”
“Shut it, faceplate!” Syrenne snarled in her direction, her fists slamming onto the edge of Euzen’s desk. “Got anything to say for yourself?”
“… Miss Syrenne, please do not make a disturbance at-”
“DON’T MAKE A DISTURBANCE?!” Syrenne yelled. “Oh, it’s fine to pop my ether plum and slip out the next morning, but I gotta mind my manners when I come round to ask what the fuck’s wrong with you?! And what happened to me being your ‘renne, huh?”
Euzen’s robes were getting drenched with his sweat in the face of Syrenne’s fury and the woman he had pledged his career to standing nearby. He was thankful the Empress had raised a hand up, restraining her Hand from striking with the wicked looking Bionite punch daggers she typically employed in her role.
“I… Miss Syrenne, I do not recall what happened that… I woke up knowing nothing but presuming what… what you said.” His mouth felt parched, his throat prickly. “That isn’t what I… it was a mistake. I didn’t want you to-”
“… Didn’t want me? Mistake... Didn’t fucking want me? You’re a right piece of shit, you know that?! You’re as dumb as a bag of rabbit diodes! You absolute speccy bastard, don’t you… fuck…” there were tears in her eyes, her entire body was trembling. “Fuck this shit! Fuck all of you, and your stupid feathers! Buncha bird-brained bastards, the lot of ya! You come by the Krabble again and I’ll have Pam pull your shoulders out your sockets, you hear?!”
Euzen’s eyes were locked on Syrenne leaving so he could see exactly how many desks in the temporary ministry building she drove her boots through: five.
Three clerks carrying stacks of papers had her swat the piles out of their hands, and one harried secretary to the Minister of Finance found her mug of freshly brewed tea taken from her hands and chucked rather accurately at where his nameplate had recently been installed.
All while swearing up a rather impressive storm, letting loose words he’d never even heard of before.
“I believe,” Lady Tyrea hissed, “that the Assistant Minister should clean up the mess he made.”
“… No. Euzen, was it? I believe you should take some time off. Tend to your feathers some?”
On top of everything, those words made his heart sink.
The promotion he’d worked so hard to get hung in the balance, but that was nothing compared to the weight in his belly at the sight of his ‘renne walking away.
Euzen had dragged himself into his Majesty’s chambers after two days of leave, dressed in his best robes and having carefully rehearsed what he was going to say. There’d been no word from Syrenne, and he genuinely believed that he likely would be at risk of harm if he went to her usual tavern—the assorted mercenaries who visited it were fond of Ignabane Syrenne, and in his stressed, overwhelmed, and awkward state he done immense harm to both of them.
He stood by as the Liaisons of the races left. Lady Fiora, the pregnant wife of Shulk. Lady Vanea, daughter of the head of the Machina people. Lady Oka, wife of the Heropon Riki. The three were chatting in good spirits, and he kept his distance.
His spirits were feeling distinctly dull the minute he got up from his desk. He hoped to make a case to return to it.
“Assistant Minister Euzen, thank you for coming.” Melia said with a bow of her head. The imposing form of her bodyguard stood behind her, and even without eyes visible in the mask he could tell Tyrea was boring a hole through him with her vision alone. “The drama at the Ministry of Finance was unfortunate during my visit. How are you faring?”
“I apologize wholeheartedly for any awkwardness and impropriety, your Majesty.” Euzen dropped to his knees. “I feel that… past that situation, I must explain things that may have been unclear in my panic.”
“I assumed that would be the case. I had Tyrea check into your records, there was nothing indicating such… indiscretion was your usual behaviour.”
Euzen looked towards the masked figure staring at him. “I… am glad my record speaks to my character. Miss Syrenne is a mercenary, one I have hired as part of my duty towards your government and the work you do with the other peoples of Bionis. We… were friends, your Majesty. She wanted to celebrate my promotion to Assistant Minister and… there was drinking involved.”
Many knew Tyrea as a force of nature; the actions at the Defence of Gran Dell stood to her dedication, ferocity, and skill. But when Melia arched an eyebrow, Euzen knew the real power was with her.
“Go on.”
“I… she invited me to her quarters in the Colony, and my memory is hazy. When I awoke, I found myself…” he glanced down at the floor. “Unclad. I panicked, dressed, and left. I had not intended to… it was a mistake, and in my panic, I hid from her. When confronted, I…”
“Made matters worse.” Tyrea’s voice echoed from the mask to reverberate around the chamber.
He winced, but it was true. “Yes.”
“… that does cast a different light on matters. Are we likely to see such a repeat of that behaviour? In you or in her?”
“I… doubt I will see her again, your Majesty. I will allow myself no distraction from my work.”
“That is not quite what I meant, Assistant Minister. Even the Lady Tyrea is allowed some recreation,” Melia warned. “In light of what you have provided, I see no reason for you not to continue in your current role, nor shall this event go in your record. But… should you need more time off for support, I have asked the Minister to grant it.”
He bowed to her. “Thank you, your Majesty.”
There was still a weight about his body as he departed, labouring upon him and making him weary. His job and promotion remained secure… but there had been other reasons for him to seek that ascension in the ranks.
What use was a secure future when the one you were securing it for was no longer present?
Life proceeded in a very monotonous way for Euzen for the next half a year. He worked, studied, ate, rested, and repeated. There were no visits to The Ambling Krabble. No more dinners at Giorgio’s. No more walks up to Outlook Park and definitely no nightcaps. No one called him a geek or a boffin, swore up a storm, or dragged him into situations he’d never have found himself in.
Time proceeded at a High Entian pace, without the anchor of a shorter period of mortality to have him live more in the moment.
Developments continued around the world, with scouts exploring new lands, settlers building new colonies, and research teams examining the changes their world had gone through. There had been an adoring uproar at the first images of a new species being found; adorable creatures dubbed Ottil who cracked shellfish on their stomachs with a rock grasped in their hands.
Tool-using creatures considered to be cute by the masses did little to amuse Euzen.
He just worked hard to ensure that when he left work—later than his colleagues—his in tray was clear and everything that he’d worked on had been dispatched via or was waiting to leave his out tray.
Efficiency, diligence, and dedication had greased his way closer to the Minister. Now he served as Principal Assistant Minister, and was required in the meetings of the cabinet where the other officials that supported her Majesty’s rule, alongside that of her trusted advisors, sat.
Listening to them speak and recording their words in precise shorthand kept his mind from matters of a heart long gone dormant. There were the occasional dream, but those had faded by the time the tears on his pillow had dried.
“Next up then… Fiora? I believe you have the update on progress on Colony Three?” Melia called, smiling at her friend.
“It’s a short one today, everyone will be thankful to know,” she laughed. “Shulk will be heading out in a few weeks time to do the final check on their defence systems. They shouldn’t need them, but I think we’d all rather they have them with no use for them than need them and not.”
A rumble of ‘agreed’ chorused around the room.
“The colony is currently protected by a small militia consisting of ex-soldiers, reservists from the Joint Defence Force, a mercenary band, and some irregulars. The fields are coming along nicely, assaying has revealed promising ore deposits, um… no major medical issues. No deaths, four births since the last update, with seven more currently expecting. Sharla’s working on getting more medical staff trained up, she’s wondering if there’s anyone available to help?”
“Linada is unable to devote any time to it with her current project, dear Fiora,” Vanea replied with a shake of her head.
“Nopon medicine little different to hom-hom medicine, so not sure if people Oka knows good fit, sadly!”
“I shall have our Minister of Health look into additional support, then. Do you foresee the Colony’s needs changing much in the next quarter, Fiora?”
“Yeah, mainly due to births. One of the irregulars has been working while pregnant, but it’s starting to limit what she can do. Juju’s been trying to shift her to civilian duties more, but… well, I know her, she’s as stubborn as my brother can be! Sir Lambert’s offered to go down there for a while and help out, but until she’s able to work again… a replacement might be needed for Syrenne.”
Everyone heard the snap of Euzen’s pencil between his finger and thumb, with heads soon turning to the source of the noise.
“… Syrenne?” Melia hummed. “I see. A very thorough update, as always… I believe that was our last matter. Fiora, would you stay for a moment? And I would ask to borrow our Minister of Finance’s Principal Assistant as well. Tyrea? Would you help our esteemed colleagues leave?”
Whatever gesture she made, everyone was quick to hurry out of the Imperial Cabinet Chambers. Euzen’s superior gave his shoulder a squeeze before departing, but all he could do was give the slightest of nods as he stared at the snapped pencil and the sentence he’d written:
C3 Ireg – seek rep maternity – Syrenne.
“Mel, what’s going on?” Fiora asked, stretching her arms up above her head.
“What information do you have on this pregnant irregular?” Her Majesty inquired.
Fiora leafed through her files and notes. “Ignabane Syrenne, she joined the Colony four and a half months ago, transferring out from Colony Nine. I know her in passing, same with Reyn and Sharla. She was a bit of a hothead here, especially when she had a drink, but she’s been a model colonist over there,” Fiora smiled, tracing her finger along the notes. “No drinking, no getting into random fights, real one-eighty. Talented with dual swords, good in close quarters combat, got a head for figures as well.”
“I see. What did I say, Fiora? Very thorough.” Melia smiled softly.
“Disturbingly thorough at times,” Tyrea sniffed.
“Aww, you just don’t like having competition. Anything else I can do?”
“Yes, uh, well… do you know if she is… co-habiting with anyone? Or has been?”
“Mel!” the blonde gasped, grinning away. “Why, is…” she stopped and looked to Euzen, the grin falling from her face. “… No. No she isn’t… Melia? Is this…”
“… Potentially. Principal Assistant Minister Euzen?”
He managed to startle himself by speaking. “I need a Havres!”
“You shall have it. Tyrea, please call ahead and have a pack with supplies readied for him,” the Empress asked of her guard, laying a hand on her forearm.
“Very well, your Majesty.” Tyrea saluted, pausing as she went to pass behind Euzen. She lingered just long enough to make him shudder with fear before continuing on.
“I’m… sorry I don’t have more information for you at this time, Euzen.” Fiora apologised.
“No… no, it is fine,” he mumbled, staring at the note he made, written in neatly scribbled pencil lines as truth on paper. Syrenne was pregnant.
Either she had gotten over him, or…
“I… have no experience in matters of the heart, or in the state of pregnancy,” Melia moved to Euzen’s side and crouched down carefully to speak at eye level, “but I believe that preparing what you wish to say may help you communicate it to Syrenne and gain understanding.”
“Mel’s right,” Fiora added with a nod. “Just… if this is because of you? Talk to her.”
“That… is all I really can do. Would someone get my notes to the Minister, please? And… is there a bin I may borrow?” Euzen asked, his stomach rolling.
Fiora’s hand was soon patting his back. “Better out than in, you’ve had a big shock…”
The auto-guide function that the engineer Shulk had worked on allowed Euzen to focus on the points he was jotting down in the notepad he broguht with him.
While Colony Nine was situated by the ocean, and Colony Six near the Ether Mines, Colony Three was situated for regular mining from the base of the Valak mountains, farming in the lowlands, and some fishing from a river wending its way nearby.
Euzen had read the reports gathered by the Imperial Ministry and felt it was viable enough. Once those three were up and running, Colony One was due to break ground, then the even-numbered ones would be allocated sites to investigate before a final decision was made with the full facts known.
Syrenne having left for Colony Three made sense of why he hadn’t bumped into her. He knew in his heart that if she’d stayed, word would have gotten back to him, or a chance meeting would have been had no matter her talents for working quietly and avoiding trouble—when she wasn’t causing it.
As heavy as the pit in his stomach was, old feelings stirred too. They’d never gone away; so many nights after work finished for the week did he wish to be discussing something pointless in incredible detail, with all the table thumping and interjections that followed.
Syrenne was fun, smart, and deeper than she let on. Her insight had lead him to new conclusions, and while he’d started his life among them with some disdain for them… Syrenne was his exception. Yes, she was loud. Rude. Vulgar.
But that was different from her compared to the likes of who had accosted him that time before.
He’d taken the time to get used to the rhythm and flow of her verbal barrages when she got passionate about a subject. Occasionally, even he could drop a comment in response that would make her eyes pop before she laughed hard enough to threaten her top’s capacity to contain all that she carried within that black material.
He narrowed his checklist of points down to the essentials:
- Being with her wasn’t a mistake.
- The timing was not ideal, he intended to wait longer before even broaching the topic.
- He did not remember what happened.
- As such, he panicked.
- In time, he also worried about how he, a new initiate to the carnal arts, had been as a partner.
- He would have wanted to remember that moment.
- He would do right by her. Right by the child…
A small part of him, a dark little voice fed by lonely nights and self-admonishment for messing up so spectacularly, wondered if it was his.
Euzen was wise enough to reveal the trap that darkness was setting for him. Such an insinuation would not go well.
If she was still willing to be his ‘renne, the most important part was rectifying his mistake.
He wondered if he could do that without making a muppet of himself.
The Havres was programmed to land at the garrison for the Militia; it was the midpoint of the triangulation towers that Shulk had set up as part of the expansion. The captain came out and looked over Euzen as he awkwardly escaped over the side of the machine. “Are you here for the audits?”
“Audits? I… no, I am here to visit one of the people here. I wonder if you could point me in the right direction?”
Part of his mind wanted to jump into a collection of tomes and lose himself in the relatively simpler world of complex calculations and projections. There might be time for that later… No. Syrenne was his current priority.
It took everything he had to focus on walking forwards to follow the directions he was given. Luckily, the planning had set down a grid alignment for the roads, so it wasn’t too difficult to locate the communal gardens that Juju had been encouraging her to work at.
There were all sorts of people in the fields working away at the mix of vegetable plants that supported what was going on in the larger farms. It was easy to spot Syrenne, her hair tied up in a ponytail that swished along behind her as she yanked weeds up with a peculiar long-pole implement to stick in a canvas sack around her waist. She had a durable blue pair of overalls on, and her steel-toed boots had been changed for something more comfortable and easier to clean the mud from.
“Someone hope for an angel?” One of the men planting tubers called on spotting Euzen.
It was an old Homs word that sometimes got applied to his people—folklore had it that a Homs child who fell had been rescued by a winged being, and it was a corruption of the word ‘Ansel’ being used to describe a High Entian taking pity.
“Not me, got one already,” Syrenne groaned, stretching up with a hand pressed to her lower back. “I swear these weeds have legs like ponio, they’re so quick to run back into position to make my life a living hell!”
“Really?” The man called, his eyes—and the eyes of many of the other workers—on him.
“No, not really, you loon! That’d be silly for ‘em to have legs.”
He shook his head, pointing to where Euzen had carefully stepped along the separating planks of wood to draw closer. “Not about the weeds, about the angel. There’s a High Entian who’s…”
Euzen could see Syrenne stiffen. Degree by degree she slowly rotated to face him, a look of stunned shock on her face and a noticeable bump in the front of her outfit.
‘Miss’ had almost formed on his lips when her palm collided with the side of his face, knocking his glasses off to be fumblingly caught by his hands.
“Piss off, you absolute fucker!” Syrenne snarled, drawing her hand back and balling her fist up.
“Miss Syrenne-” Euzen took a step forwards and took a punch to the gut. He doubled over, but she hopped back in a rather ungainly fashion to avoid him touching her.
“I don’t ever want to see you again, you stupid piece of shit!”
As he tried to get back onto his feet to say what he needed to, hands grabbed at him to pull him back.
“Leave her alone!”
“She doesn’t want to talk!”
“Get away from her!”
“Leave or we’ll throw you out!”
“What gives you the right to-”
What gives me the right?
… I have to make this right.
For her, and for…
“I’m the father…”
The hands thankfully stopped pulling at him as his words sunk in. There was a lot of attention going towards the communal gardens… maybe because he might have spoken a lot louder than he planned to.
“Syrenne…” one of the women she’d been working with spoke softly. “Is that true?”
He watched her watching him, her arms crossed against her chest. “… this little angel don’t need a father. We’re gonna be fine, just the two of us.”
“This guy looks like he’s got money,” the man who had initially pointed Euzen out to her mentioned, “think about how that could help-”
“I’ll tell you what he has got,” Syrenne started to seethe, “he’s got a big ol’ mountain of idiocy. He might look like a geek but he’s an absolute fuckin’ idiot!”
“She’s right,” Euzen admitted with his cheeks flushed. “I am a moron who made a mistake—several mistakes—and… I did not have the confidence, courage, or consideration to find you earlier. You’ve… had to experience this alone, without me, and I am sorry, my ‘renne-”
A sob escaped the capable merc’s mouth. “Don’t you call me that! You ain’t got the right any more to… to…”
“I suppose I do not...” Euzen sighed, stepping forwards and letting his wings flap out a little to hold open towards her; welcoming her in if she wanted. “I… would appreciate the chance to earn that right back. Please. Syrenne… can we talk?”
He found he was holding his breath. A collective silence had fallen over the gardens as Syrenne mulled her decision over. His eyes were conflicted by trying to note all the changes to her face but also the ones to her figure. She looked good—sunned and without some of the puffiness that could come to the features after plentiful drinking.
“… Yeah. ‘suppose we better. Turning in early today guys, I’ll make up for it tomorrow.” Waving her fellow workers off, she beckoned for him to follow. There was no reaching out to grab his hand. “C’mon, you. Let’s grab a drink.”
The drink in question was a spicy, warming beverage carbonated by a Machina process to add fizz to without fermentation. Syrenne poured two glasses before taking a seat on her bed. A lot of the throws and blankets from her place in Colony 9 had made the journey with her, along with a number of cushions that she settled up and readjusted to support her back.
Euzen made use of the chair he was pointed to, a three-legged wooden stool that was near a small table for one in the corner of the room.
“Before you say anything, I’m getting a bigger place when angel’s here,” Syrenne huffed, a hand protectively on her abdomen. “Just saving money this way.”
“I was not going to say anything about the accommodation,” he promised. “It looks homely. You look well, Syrenne.”
She perked up for a moment before looking away. “… yeah, well, gotta take care of myself for this little chick. You doing okay?”
“Professionally, yes. I was promoted to the Principal Assistant Minister of Finance, and have been serving the Minister and her Majesty in the Cabinet.”
“Huh, look at you flying high. Hey, can High Entia actually fly?” Syrenne suddenly asked after a sip of her drink.
“Some possess the ability. It requires a great deal of concentration and energy, apparently.” He saw her mouth open and flashed a smile for the sake of appearances. “No, I haven’t tried.”
“Pff, so you didn’t flap your way over her to get me behind on my weeding?”
“Just a Havres ride.”
“… So, this it then? We gonna talk about décor, jobs, wings and all that and not-”
“Do you remember when we spoke about time and the perception of it?” he asked, leaning forwards a little to watch her.
“Uh, yeah, cultural differences from longevity and all that?” Syrenne replied, her eyebrow raised.
Euzen clicked his fingers together. “Cultural differences from the perception of time due to our longevity… that includes… well, romance, really.” His cheeks were heating up. “I… was taking my time in the development of our courtship. Working hard to prove I was worthy, getting used to your presence… accepting you under my wings and into my heart.
When… when we celebrated that night? Waking up in bed with you, all those plans and steps fell apart. I felt… shame at myself for allowing myself to get inebriated to that point that I would… discard everything and treat you like that. Courtship is important for my people, Syrenne. And when that fell away… I was in a panic.”
She stared quietly at him for a while, taking her time to find the words she needed.“You… you fucking said it was a mistake, Euzen. I gave everything to you and-”
“That wasn’t the mistake! Being with you never was, I promise you that… I just… I remember you wanting me to call you… well, that version of your name and then… you kissed me?”
She stared at him, her brow furrowed. “No, you kissed me. Don’t you remember?”
“To my shame, I do not… I have no recollection between then and the morning. I do not know if I was a… good lover to you-”
“Well, you were good enough to get me knocked up our first time, so you got that going for you! And while my memory’s a bit fuzzy round the night itself I… y’know, didn’t have any complaints,” Syrenne shrugged, not quite managing to meet his eyes. “I mean, it was my first time with someone and not just me flickin’ the bean, but I was satisfied and- uh, Euzen? You’re going kinda purple there.”
“Yes! Yes, I’m… well, not used to such… frank discussions,” he spluttered, trying to control his breathing. “I regret not being able to… to know what went on. To know… well, to know you, Syrenne. And now...”
“I ain’t doing the math to work out how many minutes it was.” Syrenne shuddered. “Alright, look, we could mull over what was forgotten and what was lost but… that’s just wasting more sodding time! There’s more important stuff at stake, so… argh, don’t sit there like a spoon, get your arse over here!” she called, gesturing to her side.
When he started moving, her fingers went for her overall buttons and started popping them open from the top down.
“Uh, that might be a bit-”
“I ain’t trying to seduce you this time, muppet,” she sighed, shaking her head. At least there was a fond smile on her face. “You wanna meet them, right? Our little angel?”
“I… if that’s all right?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s all right, I’m inviting you, aren’t I?”
Tugging the front of her top up over the swell, she reached for one of his hands. There was a soft, quick stroke of a thumb against his palm before she placed the only-slightly scarred hand against her skin.
“Oi, angel, got someone here that needs a right kicking from ya!” she spoke to her stomach. “Go on, give daddy a thrashing! … pff, dozing away like a brog on a log, typical. Lazy little chick...”
Even if there was no response from his child, Euzen kept his hand there. “I hope they have not been too demanding on you?”
Syrenne considered his words carefully before shaking her head. “Nah, though… I don’t think they have wings? I’d have thought it’d be a lot more ticklish—it’s all elbows and heels it seems.”
“Feathers come after birth. Have you ever seen a newly hatched bird? It is similar in effect to their wings,” Euzen counselled.
“… You telling me our angel’s gonna come out all pink, then go fluffy before getting their feathers?”
Euzen tried his best not to laugh at her naivety about his people’s reproduction. “The wing parts will, the rest of them will be just as any Homs or High Entian child.”
“Phew, don’t think I could deal with having a fluffy kid… relax a little, ‘zen.”
The use of his shortened name did not help him relax—his heart pounded harder.
“I’m not gonna hit you, bite you, or anything like that. You got some catching up to do with the both of us, so...” settling back into her pile of pillows she’d set up, Syrenne crooked a finger to bring his head in. “Talk to ‘em. They’ve heard plenty from me about you, might as well give them the other side of the argument.”
As he looked at that taut skin, wondering what he was going to say, a thought came to mind. “Do I want to know what was said about me to them?” he asked, hoping she’d detect the humour in his voice.
“Oh, trust me, nothing I ain’t said to you already; they know all about how much of a moronic muppet you are!”
The hour had drawn late. Dinner had been eaten in the same place they’d spent the afternoon—her small bed. He’d explained to her abdomen about himself, his job, his life, and how he met Syrenne. She added a running commentary, informing him on some elements he’d missed from her life in the time they’d been apart.
With the ether lamps having come on across Colony Three, Euzen carefully sat up and stretched out.
“Hah, your old bones creaking away?” Syrenne grinned a rather sleepy smile, rubbing at her eyes. “… How old are you anyway? Just so I know.”
“I’m surprised that hasn’t come up yet. I am one-hundred and nine years- Syrenne!” he gasped as she slumped back onto the pile, clambering over to check her vital signs with his fingertips on her wrist.
“What the actual fuck?! You’re over a hundred!? I thought you were like… fifty or something!”
“It depends on someone’s bloodline, honestly. For one of the more concentrated High Entian bloodlines, that would be comparable to a ten year old Homs. The more Homs bloodline we have, the quicker we mature… but the less time we have to live, overall.”
“Shitting hell… well, that’s gonna be something to deal with in the future,” she shuddered. “I’m twenty-four, for what it’s worth… dunno how old that makes me in High Entian years.”
“I’d rather not consider that, Syrenne… but thank you, I understand some Homs women can be reluctant to reveal such figures.” He’d heard all sorts of things from conversations overhead at work as some of his colleagues started their own relationships, either among their own people, the Homs, or in the rare few cases, a Machina.
There’d been one clerk who had somewhat of an infatuation with how soft Nopon were, but he tried to avoid thinking any further about how much she waxed lyrical over them.
“In any case, Syrenne, I should see about obtaining a room for tonight. We can talk more tomorrow, and I can see about-”
Her hand grabbed the front of his robe and yanked, pulling him besides her.
“Oh no no no, I only just had you turn up at long last,” Syrenne wagged a finger. “I ain’t letting you slip away.”
“I have no intention of running any more, you have my word on that,” Euzen promised.
“The word of a Principal Assistant Minister?” she teased.
“Absolutely.”
“Well, I’m not interested in that. Look, it’s gonna be a tight fit but… spend the night. No sex—it’ll be a bit awkward with the little angel in the way—we can just talk some more until… well, until we sleep and morning comes. You okay with that?”
He decided honesty was key. “I am nervous about it, but… it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve woken up together.”
“Ain’t that the truth!” Syrenne grinned, shedding some of her outer layers before adjusting the cushions, pillows, and covers for sleeping. “Just… don’t leg it come morning, please? I can’t start waddling to catch up with you.”
“I have no intent on running this time,” he reached over to place his hand on the back of hers. “I promise you that.”
The window was very close to the bed, and Syrenne had positioned her room so she could lay there and easily stare up at the stars. It gave him just enough room to ‘spoon’ behind her, as the Homs called it.
“’zen?” she called softly, lifting her head up a little to fluff her cushion.
“Yes?”
“You… um, I’m a little chilly, you know.”
The bed shifted under them as he moved to get up. “Tell me where the blankets are and I’ll-”
“Muppet, I don’t need a blanket!” Syrenne laughed. “You’ve got arms and headwings, don’t you?”
“Ah, right, of course… I did not want to assume, Syrenne, or-” shutting up, he carefully wrapped his right arm around her midsection and brought his right wing forward to gently drape over the side of her body.
“Thanks, love… first time I saw a High Entian, I thought their feathers’d be all bristly. Soft, though… nice and warm…”
“The key is thorough care and grooming,” he started to explain. “I brush, powder, oil, and preen in my efforts to maintain a good appearance and healthy plumage.”
“Mmmh…” she mumbled, nestling back against him. “Fancy feathers, fancy place, that Alcamoth. I only saw it briefly from the inside, when I came to… ya know, yell at you. Lots of pretty ladies there, too.”
“If you want a tour, I’d be happy to arrange one. Sorry, I realise I was negligent in not taking you-”
She stiffened in his arms, her body clenching inwards. He worried something was wrong with the baby until she spoke a question that stalled his heart.
“You don’t have to stay, ‘zen. If you want to leave…? Won’t hold it against you.”
“Syrenne… I-”
She carried on. “There’s classier ladies. Nicer ones. Not inked or scarred like me.” She chuckled at that, having once previously shown off the map of scars and old wounds dotting her flesh like they were badges of honour. This time, there was a tremble to her words, a vulnerability that was rare to see in the Ignabane.
“Syrenne, you-”
“A guy like you—not just a Junior Minister but now a Principal Assistant one—could have your pick of the High Entian honeys out there; far more suitable than some grunt like me—born in battle and likely to fuckin’ die in one. You can get a flight back to Alcamoth, I’ll stay here in Colony Three and raise this one, proper as I can. This place needs good hands, and I’ve got great ones.”
Despite all the bluster, he could feel the tension making her limbs shake as she gave him an out. It hurt him on many levels to see her like this, and though he had nowhere near earned the right yet…
His lips touched against her shoulder, kissing the centre point of one of the tattoos she bore proudly. “My ‘renne… I am unskilled in expressing myself. I… I wish that night between us had not happened-”
She clenched up, muscles taut as she prepared to move away. He brought his leg up to cross over hers.
“Let me finish, my ‘renne. Please. I wish it had not happened because… I would have better liked to have remember our first time. And you could be right, that others might be be seen as more suitable for someone in my position.”
She coiled under him like a spring, likely ready to throw him off.
“But they would not be you. Argumentative, cheeky, well-versed in a torrent of courses and vile epithets… with an incredibly quick mind, an inquisitive soul, and remarkable confidence,” he reassured her, kissing that inked shoulder once more.
He heard her sniffle, and continued to say the words he needed to reach her.
“Life was incredibly lonely without you. I became a creature of habit, not rooted in the now. As much as I tried to avoid thinking of you to save myself the pain of missing my ‘renne… you were always on my mind.”
“’zen…” another sniffed sob came from her.
“When Lady Fiora revealed that you were…” his hand—still bearing the scars of how he had tried to come to Syrenne’s defence that first time they met—brushed over her bump, “I told them straight away I needed a Havres. I couldn’t but come for you. You are correct that I don’t have to stay; I want to. For you. For them… and for me,” he smiled, blinking away some of the tears welling in his own eyes. “After all, who else could make me smile by insulting me?”
Quick as a flash, Syrenne turned in his arms to face him—clinging to him. The night sky was ignored as she buried her head against his bare chest. “You, ‘zen, are the smartest absolute fucking idiot I know…”
“See?” Euzen chuckled. “I’m smiling already…”
“Yeah, well… stop smiling and kiss me proper—and you better remember this one!”
“And that,” Syrenne grinned, twirling the kitchen knife in her hands before dicing the bright red vegetable for the soup she was making, “is how your father and I got together, angel. Well, as your dad tells it.”
The pair were sitting at dining table, her now seventeen-year old daughter with a curious white cat in her arms. Eunie was cat-sitting for Noah after he’d been requested to go with the delegation to meet those of the other world that had once almost Intersected with their own. The fluffy white critter was enjoying a lot of fuss from Eunie’s fingertips, while she hand-fed the pampered kitten with flaked, steamed fish.
“So, basically, Mum? You’re saying you beat up a load of crooks, did unlicensed medicine on Dad to get his shoulder back in, insulted him, got him drunk, boinked him, got pregnant the first time, had a fight, split up, and he only came back to you once he realised he’d put a bun in your oven?” Eunie ticked the various elements of the story off her fingers. “And that’s supposed to be romantic?! Give me a snuffin’ break...”
The spray bottle of water that Syrenne used to spritz the flatbreads to help them bake without drying out was of equally good use on a fussy bird. One pull of the trigger and Eunie was hissing away, her headwings flapping frantically.
One of Mio’s little paws came up to swipe at the descending spritz before her little nose scrunched up as a light dustying of water dewed her fur.
“Mum! Aww, why’d you always do that? My feathers take so long to-”
“It’s just a little spritz, gremlin.” Syrenne laughed. “If you wanted a romantic story, you should have just asked and I’d have made something up!”
“But-” Eunie was silenced by a strand of diced carrot to nibble on.
“Love isn’t always going to be about romance, angel. You and Layla are flying high right now, and I’m happy for you both. You’re going to have highs and lows, you might fly together for a long time or split and take your own journeys. If your dad and I had been better at communicating, as good as we are now? Things would have been different. Took some time and tears for us to learn that lesson-”
“Yeah, and you insulting the Shadow of the Empress,” Eunie muttered. Tyrea terrified her ever since she was a little girl and that still extended to now.
“I did apologise to her, and she was understanding… point is, better to learn that lesson through stories than ‘everything was good, everything was great, kisses and wing-fussing forever,’” Syrenne promised, dropping the knife and cleaning her hands before moving round to cuddle her ‘swoopy Ansel’ from behind, with a lot of kisses atop her head.
“Mum, stop! I took ages getting it brushed ready for my date!” Eunie wailed, her wings beating quickly against the side of Syrenne’s face as she placed Mio on the table.
The cat took the opportunity to sniff curiously at a plant in a flowerpot hand-painted by Eunie, back when she was in Mister Reyn’s classes. He’d had something to say about the subject—a hungry dinobeast swooping down on Nopon—but it still had pride of place on the table.
“When you’ve got trouble, talk to her. If you’re not sure about something, talk to her. If you just want to drop a little reminder that you think she’s the second coming of Meyneth? Talk to her and say it.” Syrenne smiled, tracing her fingers over the tattoos that Eunie had gotten for her previous birthday.
No longer did her daughter get caught with the pens drawing her own ‘tats’, Syrenne had worked on the design with her and taken her over to the same person who did her own ink.
“Fine, fine, I’ll be more vocal with her! Just… brush my hair out again? And… I look okay, right?”
“Yep,” Syrenne promised, giving her daughter one more hug before moving to fix her hair. “My little bun in the oven’s become a right tasty muffin! Layla’s lucky to have you, angel.”
“I… um… thanks… for the confidence boost, y’know? … ‘least she ain’t a geeky moron like Dad was.”
The front door opened as Euzen returned home from work, hanging the outer robes up before coming in to greet his family.
Syrenne smiled as she got a kiss on the back of the neck, his arms wrapping around her midsection. “Mmmh, welcome home, ‘zen.”
“A long day, my ‘renne, but all the better for seeing you. And our little angel,” he added, “who is looking rather presentable tonight.”
“Hey Dad, and only presentable?! Spark, I was hoping for snuffin’ gorgeous!” Eunie wailed.
“Your dad’s always been one to understate. Like I said, a right tasty muffin. You sure you and Layla don’t want dinner here?”
“Nah, there’s that burger place I wanna try, and that tea place I like, and-”
Euzen deposited a few coins that had been secreted away on him. “In which case, you’ll need some funds for your date. I did see her at the top of the street, pacing away.”
“SHE’S ALREADY HERE?! AWW SNUFF! Oi, why didn’t you say that first?!” Eunie scrambled to her feet and made a break for the front door. “Bye Mum, bye Dad, see ya later!” she remembered to say this time before making a dash for it.
“… yep, glad we only had the one.” Syrenne shuddered. “Two gremlins is too much to consider!”
“Rather, my ‘renne, so, just us for dinner tonight?” Euzen inquired, his wings folding around the pair as they stood together in a tender embrace.
“Yep, love…” Syrenne smiled, turning in his arms to plant a kiss on his lips. “So better eat up, ‘cause I figure we might not have plans for another… but we can still practice, right?”
“After seventeen years, do we still need to practice?” Euzen teased, a flap of his wings making them beat once against her rear.
“Practice makes perfect, don’t it?”
Just as she started pulling her top up, the front door swung open.
“Just me, I’m back for… aaah! Mum! Put them away!” Eunie pressed her wings over her eyes. “Layla, love, don’t look, Mum’s got her baps out!”
“She’s exaggerating, Layla.” Syrenne called, lowering the material. “Didn’t even have the chance to get them out.”
“I believe you, Syrenne!” Layla called from outside.
She was fond of the Machina girl; one of the many sisters to Eunie’s friend Lanz. Their dating had caused some consternation between the pair, but Lanz had eventually gotten over the two making kissy faces at each other.
“What did you forget, Eunie? Door keys? Wallet? ID card?”
“Something way more important than all that!” Eunie said, still shuddering at walking in on the pair.
Euzen had gone rather quiet, a blush on his cheeks as he just stood there waiting for her to leave.
The forgotten something turned out to be Mio. Eunie carefully placed the white cat into her satchel bag, making sure her head could poke out.
“… You’re taking Noah’s cat out on your date?” Syrenne raised an eyebrow.
“’course I am, Mum! Layla’s gonna love giving this pussy some fuss! Now go back to doing what you… definitely don’t ever do, ‘cause I don’t want to know about it!” Eunie called, making her escape once more.
Syrenne shook her head at how much of a handful her daughter was, then grinned at her husband. “’zen, love? You’re turning purple. She didn’t mean it like that…”