Chapter Text
When Monty had agreed to make an appearance at Bellenuit that evening, he was prepared for a typical night of rubbing elbows with Gathian elite, dealing with obtuse politicians who wouldn’t understand the true cost of progress if it bit them in the ass, and drinking just enough champagne to stay pleasant and keep a twinkle in his eyes, all beneath the twinkling stars of the underground city of lights.
What he was not prepared for was the feeling of a light tug on his coat and the sound of a familiar voice, one he hadn’t heard in many long years and sounding distinctly more weary, from behind him.
“Mr. Montgomery, will you sign a copy of my favorite book?”
It was like seeing a ghost, a haunted spirit of someone who had once been so vibrant and sky-eyed. Her eyes were sunken, as were her cheeks, and her clothes seemed to hang from her frame like a zombie. The corset that she had always worn now seemed to do more to physically hold her together and to hide her likely visible ribs than to act as the fashion statement it always used to be. Still, behind the haunted eyes and gaunt face was an oh-so-familiar glint of mischief that promised a whirlwind of trouble as Marya Junkova held out a copy of one of his books.
Monty couldn’t help the laugh that exploded from him, nor could he prevent it from devolving into more of a coughing fit than anything else as he whirled around to get a glimpse of everyone who had gathered around him.
“No! No! Goddamn it!” Monty exclaimed as he took in the smiling faces of his old friends with a giant smile of his own quickly lighting up his own face, highlighting the wrinkles and smile lines that he knows match those around him.
“They’re great books, man; so soft, so absorbent, the paper,” Van said, an easy grin on her face as she saluted him with a shiny brass prosthetic arm.
“Surprise,” Daisuke greeted warmly, with more wrinkles than any of them but no fewer smile lines and pronounced crow’s feet, betraying a lifetime of adventures and laughter of which Monty counted himself lucky to share with him.
There was only one person missing from this little rendezvous, but Monty was honestly glad. As he scanned everyone’s faces, he gave an internal sigh of relief at not having to face the woman who had seen to his fall from the skies.
It was at that moment that he realized that despite the absence of one old face, two new faces were among the crowd of his past, though they both did seem familiar at first glance.
The first was a well put-together young man who, despite his gentlemanly, serious demeanor, Monty could tell held a fire for adventure within him. The second was a younger woman who was attempting to hide herself behind Van’s bulky frame.
“Okay, Monty,” Marya began with a grin on her face as she gestured to the new people in turn, “you’ve got a pretty big fan here, and a kind of lukewarm one here.”
Monty couldn’t help but zone out as the young man introduced himself as Maxwell Gotch, grandson of Cadswitch Gotch. He was distracted by taking in the small form of the young woman still hiding behind Van, her hair curtaining her face but still not able to hide piercing brown sky-eyes and a round face, one he had last seen 20 years ago when he had stormed away from a shouting match for the last time, retreating to his quarters on the Zephyr to fume and draft a letter to his publisher to request a room in Bellenuit as soon as one was available. Those eyes, always so sharp, always clouded with adventure and looking to the future rather than the present, now bored into his nearly two decades later.
Monty shook himself out of his stupor as soon as she blurted out a nervous greeting, stumbling over her words and shaking slightly. This was not the same woman, and with any luck she never would be.
Monty put a warm smile upon his face and held out his hand in greeting. “It’s Montgomery Lamontgommery. Absolute pleasure, nice to meet you.”
“My name is Olethra,” she said softly, reaching out to shake his hand reverently, “Macleod. Comfrey Macleod is my grandma.”
Ah. That would explain the resemblance then, though now that she was facing him properly, Monty could see all of the differences between them. Olethra had Comfrey’s eyes, yes, but rather than the harsh coldness Comfrey’s had taken on whenever she spoke to Monty in those last months, Olethra’s eyes were full of wonder and awe as they met his. Where Comfrey’s face had been full of wrinkles that showed her experience as an adventurer, Olethra’s was rosy and smooth and covered in freckles, tanned from the sun and smudged with dirt. He decided not to mention the dirt to her, just to save her some embarrassment.
Olethra Macleod may be Comfrey’s granddaughter, but they were not the same, and Monty would not treat her any differently than he would any fan, especially one his old friends seemed to like.
“Yes of course, Lamontgommery Cog Scout 01714! You sent me a Pilby mantis six years ago that I added to my collection. A near perfect specimen!” Monty recalled with a fond grin, and watching the way Olethra’s eyes lit up and she began to beam just cemented in his mind what he had decided.
Olethra was her own person, of course she was, and it would not do to force her to bear the weight of the many sins of her grandmother. He would not let Olethra’s sky-eyes become jaded as Comfrey’s had. Perhaps if he took her under his wing, he would be able to also grant her clear eyes the likes of which her grandmother had never truly found.