TheAmishPirate

Return to Thellamie

Hazel always stayed to the end of the end credits. Pretty, animated splash screens with only one or two names set to a new favorite music eventually give way to the long, long scroll. One song, two songs, three songs flow one right after the other. He recognizes a few titles. Gaffer. Gang boss. Best boy. No idea what they are, but with names like that how can he forget them?

The last notes fade. A few more silent screens play out before him. Logos. Legal notices. Nothing more. The lights come all the way on. Pop music plays gently over the speakers. The spell is ending. It’s time to go.

He gets up in one fell swoop, leaning forward and pushing himself up by the armrests. It’s a short walk out of the theater, down the hallway, out the door, and back into the car. When he gets home, he’ll probably be back down to earth again. He knows it, deep down. So he savors this short walk that doesn’t feel like walking. He basks in the glow of a story well told and better enjoyed. All his thoughts turn to worlds beyond this one, full of adventure, music, and wonder. His body is weightless. His steps light and sure and different. Any one of them could carry him to one of those worlds. He could be anyone, do anything. In this moment magic was real and it flowed through his veins.

Just for a short walk.

********************************

Hazel jumps in his seat with a yelp, and has to give an accompaniment of follow-up noises as he juggles his flatbread and only narrowly saves it from a terrible fall! Ow! Amali!!!

Wait.

Oh no.

He hasn’t thought of a cover story.

I mean, yes, duh, of course he needs a cover story, he should’ve thought of a cover story, but, he didn’t, and, oh no, Anat! Augh!

“Sorry! Train of thought went,” wait, do they even have trains here? “I mean, uh, I completely forgot what I was going to say. One second.” Um. Uh. Okay. Well. Cover story. Sure. He can do that. Just. Pick a place and….goooooooo? “I’m from…Stoneward, right. It’s not a big place, just a little village in Kel. There’s me, my folks, and a few little brothers and sisters. I, well, I help out around…the village, place. You know, odd jobs, keeping things tidy, lending a hand around the house. But that’s not my job, no, that’s just, my real job is working at the……..store.” What did Yuki say Kel specialized in again? “For crystals and such. Make sure people have enough lighting, and food, and other supplies as they go. It’s a nice job. Steady work. Yeah.”

Oh no she was still looking at him expectantly. Oh no Amali was looking at him with a decidedly kickful gleam in her eye. Um. Uh. Augh. “And, I came out here to visit my aunt, for the Festival of Light. I, always wanted to see Crevas, but, never had the chance to go before now. Picked a heck of a time to visit, huh?” He laughs easily at his own misfortune. “Still! It’s been a really fun trip. I’ve been hoping to go for a really long time but it, well, it just never really worked out before. And now that I’m here, for real, it’s just. There’s. I. Wow. I don’t even know where to begin.” The food, the festival, the sights, the sounds, the people, the dancing, the prophecy, the chasing, the adventure, the magic! “It’s been the trip of a lifetime. I’m, really glad it’s not over yet.”

Yet.

There’s still a bit more walk to go.

Return to Thellamie

Ah beans.

There really is only one spot to sit, isn’t there? The prospect of sitting on Amali’s knitting - or worse, of asking her to move her knitting - is unthinkable. He doesn’t even run the math. It simply isn’t done. He could stand, true, and that is going to be awkward and weird immediately, trying to have a casual conversation while looming over everyone else. And juggling hot wings and curry without the benefit of a lap? Impossible.

“Excuse me,” he says in a small voice, and makes himself smaller still as he slips onto his seat. Being a bit of a beanpole, there’s a lot of room for folding in, you see. Feet tuck under his seat. Head hunches down. Shoulders squeeeeeze in, hands in his lap, and he turns his torso juuuuuuuuust a little bit, so he’s not poking into her side quite as much. Not the most comfortable. But he’ll live. A lifetime of morning school bus rides have trained him well. He takes his helping from Amali, leaning down to take careful bites without elbowing Anat, and he listens.

It’s nice, just listening. Amali and Anat chat away about work, about family, about travel, and he gets to soak it all in. The food is tasty; all the better for the work it took to walk this far. The fire’s a little stuffy with three people packed in here, but from outside (and possibly Outside) there’s a faint breeze, picking up the smoke and carrying it up and out. It’s just enough to keep hands and faces from toasting like the flatbread. Smell, heat, and song.

Even just talking, she sounds like she’s singing.

Is he bothering her, sitting here? He hopes not. He’s probably not? When he stops, and listens, he can forget that his shoulder is lightly pressing against her side. And his knee. And his other side. And a bit of his leg. When he listens, all of it sinks into the faint, pleasant presence of another body sitting close.

Not quite pleasant enough to still the restlessness pacing through him. He can forget where exactly she’s touching him. He cannot forget she is sitting next to him. It never rises high enough to be a thought. But he cannot forget she is here. She is speaking. She is aware of him.

The Crysthanamum.

“Oh, thank goodness,” he breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m glad you could find a new place to stay, and on short notice too.” And his eyes are big as he looks up at this traveling celebrity(?!) and singer, perhaps a little wider than they were before. Maybe that’s a flicking hearth playing tricks. Maybe that’s a fluttering heart playing tricks. A tail flicka-flicks.

Of course he doesn’t give anything away! If even Yuki doesn’t know where he’s going, he’s not going to tell someone he met yesterday either. Besides, Amali was playing things pretty close to the chest. Best to follow her lead, rather than unintentionally spoil something.

He chases a bit of curry with a scrap of flatbread. Thinking. “What’s it like, being a traveling singer?” He’s contributing to the conversation. He’s doing a good job of conversation. “I mean, I’ve never met one before. I definitely haven’t gotten the chance to traveling sing,” this he says with full seriousness and a smile in his eyes. “I can’t really picture that kind of life, you know?” How did she get started? What’s it like, really like, on a day-to-day basis? How does she manage to live in so many different places? Does she still have a place she calls home?

A boy who’s spent his whole life at home will ask all these and more.

[Activating Friendly Benefits, Anat gets a string too!]

Breathless Dead

She’s beautiful.

No, the word is all wrong. Not suitable at all. Much too small to match the size of the feeling.

He is starving. He’s been starving. Don’t ask him how long exactly. Long enough that the emptiness inside him feels normal. He hasn’t forgotten, not really, but he’s forgotten enough that he can wake up, get dressed, and go about his business without falling to pieces. He knows he was full sometime, like he knows that once humanity warred with the Endless Azure Skies. Surely it happened at some point, but don’t ask him to describe much more than that, he’s not studied up on it recently.

She is a big bowl of stew, served alongside a loaf of fresh, crusty bread, the kind that tears apart into big, fluffy chunks that were just made for mopping up broth.

She is a cabin you can just barely see through the snowstorm. Up ahead, if you squint, there are windows sharing the light from a big, roaring fire. And through the biting cold is the whiff of wood smoke, growing stronger with each step.

She is the voice saying come in, you must be hungry after such a hard journey.

Through the tinted lights and echoes of battle, he staggers towards the void. One step in front of the other. Arrow-straight through the rubble. He clutches his companion’s hands, and they keep him upright. He is too lost to notice one hand emerges from an oversized hoodie.

Dolce is starving.

Dolce is going home.

Return to Thellamie

Oh! Hey!! It’s Anat! What are the chances…well, it’s the Road, it’s not really a matter of chances, is it? You meet who you meet, and that’s that. But still! Wow!

Wait, great-nephew?

Oh. Oh right. She didn’t recognize him. Because he’s wearing a disguise. Because it’s very important that he stays incognito. Aaaaaaaaaaaaand he was moments away from waving to her like a big dork and blowing his cover. Because they are friends. Acquaintances. They did a good performance together. That’s why, and no reason else.

Okay! Lesson learned: Don’t say hi to anybody you know in public. PS: Burrows on the side of the Road count as in public.

“Of course, we don’t mind at all. Happy for the company.” Hazel stands, politely, as she enters. She’s swapped her performance dress for a diaphanous blouse that, oh! It still keeps the constellation theme, little diamonds glinting in the low firelight, connected by silver thread. Oh that’s really clever. It’s pretty.

Look away.

Right. Right. Sorry. Yes, it’s pretty. It’s just pretty. It’s a girl who is a snake who is wearing a pretty outfit. That’s okay. He can say that. Nothing more. She’s just. It’s just. They only met the once, stop being ridiculous.

But what if

No. It doesn’t work like that. They don’t know anything about each other. This whole train of thought is stupid. Why is he still thinking about it? It’s just pretty. It’s a pretty dress. She’s a pretty snakegirl. That’s it. Like Amali said; he’s going to behave himself.

Er. Where is he supposed to sit, exactly?

“Is there anything I can help with?” Hazel shuffles to his ‘great-aunt’, which has the distinct advantage of keeping him standing, occupying as little space as possible. Managing the tins, getting out napkins and utensils, seeing to the fire, just say the word, he’s your deer. He might need some instructions on a few of those, but he’s a quick learner. Good at following directions.

Breathless Dead

“No thank you.”

He can hardly recognize his voice. It sounds thin. Tinny. Details swallowed up by the ringing in his ears. There’s no time for it to recover. The volleys are coming too fast.

“I am not going to leave you alone with him.”

The smoke is growing thicker. Soon, blinking won’t clear the stinging from his eyes. They cannot stay here. The ornate trim of the shuttle bay provides plentiful cover but they will have to dart through the open to do it. Through the smoke. It’s the only way to avoid a direct hit, for now.

And then what?

The elderly Summerkind are slow. They aren't mobile enough to flank them. They could still advance down the hangar. What can he do if they are beaten to the shuttles? They’ll be hemmed in, just the three of them. The smoke is growing thicker. Soon, he won’t have any voice at all.

They can’t stay here.

“Get,” he feels the first cough more than he hears it. “Keep moving. Cover to cover. Outcropping ahead, ten meters that way. You may have. Have to carry me.”

But he’ll run as far as he can.

Return to Thellamie

A chariot. With golden-antlered “deer.” Thundering right through a crowd.

It’s been less than a day! It’s barely been half a day! She got shot! When did she have the time to put any of this together? Is she just…always ready to kidnap random people off the street, or, or make grand exits?!

Oh beans she’s not stopping

Yes, he knows Amali, he knows! Give him a second! He’s picking up the crossbar and starting to move, see?

The crowd around them’s already in motion. Parting, not stampeding. Pressing in tighter, as best as they can. Individuals seek out cracks between the bigger groups, and everyone gives the wagons and carts as wide a berth as they can. It’s chaos. It’s a rush. And he remembers everyone around them. Jaks- and wife beside them. Family on a cart ahead and to the left. Little family groups here, here, here, here, over there, and here. He sees them move. He sees where they’re headed, what they’ll avoid, where they’re going to be.

He throws his weight against the rickshaw and pushes.

The gap opens just as he steps into it.

People give rickshaws as wide a berth as carts and wagons. They’re hard to miss, see. Once one gets rolling, nobody’s going to get in its way if they can help it. People behind him, people like Jaks-, they have a wide lane to follow behind as they scamper to safety. No need to shove. He’ll have full control, from start to stop. These are all good points, and if anybody mentions it later, he’ll blink, think about it, and say, really, he wasn’t thinking that far ahead, with a chuckle at his own foolishness.

Read the crowd.

Cause no harm.

When necessary, create a new flow.

In that moment, nothing more existed in the eyes and mind of Hazel.

Really, it was a lucky thing no one got hurt.

[Rolling to Defy Disaster, risking Hazel’s own physical safety: 4 + 6 + 2 = 12]

Return to Thellamie

Rickshawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

It’s even fun to say!

Now, had he ever driven one of these things before? Nope. Had he ever really, seriously thought about driving a rickshaw? Of course not. But that’s not important. This wasn’t the sort of dream you sit on like a hammock on a summer’s day, feeling it with your whole body as a long sigh escapes your lips. This one was quieter. Stealthier. Creeping in without you noticing. In the moment you see a video of a rickshaw driver carting a couple around some far-away city, it strikes. As you’re distracted by the sights and wonders of adventure, it slips past your guard and takes up residence in a silent corner of your heart. Waiting. Watching. Biding its time. For one day, you might find yourself looking at an unmanned rickshaw, and it’s only in that moment you’ll realize that you’ve always wanted to try driving one of those things.

Was he nervous about the possibility of running himself, Amali, and her entire collection of yarn into a wall? Absolutely. But fate, possibly feeling some remorse about the last half day or so, gifted Hazel with quiet backstreets to start his journey on. He braces his feet against the street, and leans, pouring a gradual stream of strength into the crossbar, until the sleepy wheels yawn and stretch and trudge their way forward. Then it’s step, step, step, slowly at first, feeling the momentum tug at his outstretched arms even as he keeps pushing forward. It wants to roll. It wants to sit upright. It’s not terribly interested in going much faster than a deerboy, but it could be convinced. Otherwise, well! It’s a fine day for bumbling about, driver, you just give it fair warning when you want it to make a change.

The alleys wind up and down through the city, even before they reach the main road. Gentle, but mischievous. They’ll make him lean his whole weight forward, keeping that cart moving even as it longs for lower climates. They’ll promise him an easy time on the way down while whispering to the rickshaw that this would be a great spot to build up to a sprint, wouldn’t it? But they’ll have to try harder than that to find Hazel sleeping on the job. He plants one foot after the other in a steady rhythm, tensing his upper body and dampening the shock with his arms, and Amali won’t hardly feel a jostle. He lets the momentum carry them down, digging his heels in and leeching enough speed to keep from rolling out of control. Turn by turn, they make their way out of the alleys and towards the main streets. The pavement gets smoother as they go. He can’t feel so many bumps, traveling up the wheels, down the poles, and into his hands.

By the time they reach the crowds, he’s learned how far he needs to pull and for how long to ease the rickshaw into a gentle stop. He’s learned roughly how much of a push it needs to get going, and that it’ll take less pushing to keep it going after that. He hasn’t quite figured out how wide this thing actually is yet. That’s okay though! He knows where everybody else around them is, and what they’re up to, so he can just give them as wide a berth as he can manage. No need to try anything too daring.

See, you have to be patient with crowds, especially when you want to go fast. There’s a flow to them. People follow the people in front of them. Groups stick together, not terribly minding how fast or slow they’re going. Streams branch off of the main flows, seeking faster paths. You have to keep an eye on what’s happening around you. If you’re being passed, give it a minute. See if it evens out. Crane your neck and see if you can spot the slowdown. Don’t weave, if you can help it. Angle yourself. Aim for where you want to be. Aim for where there’s going to be a gap. Ride the flows of the crowd, instead of fighting them. Get through as fast as possible, while causing no harm or concern to anyone else. For this is the way of moving through crowds, learned through many high school hallways and weekend mall trips.

They’re making good time. He knows, because they were behind that cart with the lanterns before, and now it’s far, far behind them. His starts and stops have been on point. He’s pulling a whole entire rickshaw all by himself, and his muscles shout out that they could pull like this all day. Flick-flick-flick goes his tail, poking out from his nice new clothes.

He’s doing such a good job.

It takes until the lady next to him waves, at him, to realize he’s being talked to. It takes until the man gestures at his antlers for his eyes to light up in understanding. “Ohhhhhh, the antlers, right!” He laughs with only slightly more relief than necessary. “No, no, it’s no trouble at all, you’re good.” In all the hubbub, he’d almost forgotten there were people who braved the Outside for a living, and sometimes came back changed. Venturer. He was a venturer. Right. “Sorry, I can’t say that I do,” he says easily. “I hope you two didn’t get caught up in all that mess last night.”

Because that’s the tune that he’s been working to all this morning. Isn’t Crevas wonderful? Isn’t it grand, to see a city still standing? Of all mornings, they’re stepping out into one where families walk safely down the road home, swapping stories of the festival, without a hunting howl to be heard.

It’s a new day. How can he keep from humming while he works?

Breathless Dead

There is only one way out.

The theory is sound, in that he knows it’ll work. If he followed Ember, Aphrodite would take over from there. But Ember has training. Experience. He’s pretty sure he noticed her whenever she popped into his cafe on some mission or other, but he would never say for sure. The chance was low, but never zero. She could adopt the role required of the ritual, to the degree required of the ritual. But ask him to call that love?

He could never pull it off.

Which left the boardpedoes. Or a shuttle. Either way, two defensive screens to fly through. A ship full of chaos and blood. Problems he did not have answers for. Funny how many of those he ran into, working within the real power of the Skies. But he’d have to see about finding a miracle later.

Iskarot wasn’t here. If he was left behind, then escaping to the Plousios changed nothing. He was smart. Clever. Resourceful. Flush with the authority to go where he pleased, within reason. He’d know what the alarms meant. He’d have seen the attack plans coming. He’d know he didn’t have time to rendezvous here like they’d planned.

I met you in a dream…

He didn’t know where Iskarot was.

The quality of a mind is not in its discoveries or its successes, but in the length and breadth of its emergency protocols.

But he knew how to find him.

“Sanalessa will be escort enough, though the offer is much appreciated.” He tap-tap-taps a sheaf of papers, and passes them to Ember in a neat stack. “You have a job to do, and we would only slow you down.” Diagrams. Floor plans. Alert protocols. All the intel a scout of Ceron could wish for. His smile shines soft as his wool. “We’ll see you aboard the Plousios. That’s a promise.”

Return to Thellamie

Well wasn’t that kind of her? Sure, it’d be better if she didn’t put herself in danger for his sake. Or really, it’d be nice if she didn’t have to leave her nice apartment just to see him off. But when a grandmother gives you such a lovely gift, it’d be rude to try and give it back to her. “Thank you much, ma’am. I really do appreciate it.” He can’t help but smile, big and warm, as he says it again. As if he could say it enough. He can’t promise anything about the worrying, but he’ll keep that from bringing her down too.

Still. That was tomorrow. Now, he had a warm blanket across his shoulders, a warm cup of tea ready for drinking, a warm cat bonking at his hand, and…well, tablets don’t really get warm like phones, do they? They just sort of work. Like those e-readers with the really simple screens, the dim ones, they barely seem electric at all. Which makes sense, it’s not really electric, it’s magic, but it’s not that unreasonable to expect magic to be warm, right? Or cold, or tingly, or glowy, or something. Magic typically does something magical. Or it ought to, anyway. He gets all the way to #thellamemes on reflex before he slams the magitechnical door shut. The unread notification instinct carries him all the way to his DMs and there he stays. Yuki’s chat history fills the screen, with no room for anything else. He didn’t see any messages in the group chat. If he stays here, he can pretend there’s nothing there. And there’s no other unread DMs.

For now.

He licks anxiously at his lips (still tingling) as he reads. And reads again. Shoot shoot shoot shoot shoot. He types with one hand, getting the words out as quick as he can. The cat won’t abide any other interruptions, and neither could he.

>[.cinnamondrumroll]
>I’m okay! Sorry I didn’t reply sooner. I haven’t had a chance to check my tablet until now. But I’m okay, I’m safe, nobody here’s trying to catch me.
>I don’t know where I am *exactly*, but I don’t think anybody else does either.
>Except for the aforementioned “nobody here” people. But they’re good, they’re friends. And not trying to catch me.

No response. So, Yuki probably didn’t have her tablet out either? Probably? So he had a bit of time to think. He typed and deleted a few notes, played with phrasings in his head, pet a cat, and then typed away.

>I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m alright for now. We haven’t heard anybody on my trail for a long time, and I’ve got a plan for the next day or so. No sense in leading a hunter here if we don’t have to.

Wait. Wait. Wait.

>Are you okay? Is your friend okay? That hunter didn’t get you, did they?

Yes, brain, he could’ve added an emphasis to “get” there, thank you for the tip. Except Yuki clearly doesn’t like them like that, and that’s not really an appropriate joke to make otherwise. Very helpful.

She’s still not typing back.

She’d silence her tablet if she was in trouble, right? She wouldn’t have let a warning ding give her position away, right? She’s Yuki Edogawa. She’s a seasoned adventurer. The snowkitty herself.

He should’ve said “thank you.” Instead of leaving it implied. No, he should take her up on the offer to chat and figure it out from there. That’ll show her she’s still in the loop. They’re still in this together. He’s not ignoring her now that, I don’t know, adventure happened. Or something. He opens up his notes again. Types. Deletes. Rewords. Thinks. Deletes again. Compares.

…was he sure she’d silence her tablet?

The cat enjoys some much deserved two-handed affection. The distracting tablet sits on the arm of the chair, open to a DM. Every now and then, Hazel sneaks a finger over to tap the screen and keep it awake. The only sound in the room is the ticking of a grandmother clock, and the purring of a contented cat. He sits. He watches. He waits.

She’s still not typing back.

Return to Thellamie

In the space of a few blinks, Hazel rockets from one warm dream to another. Right. They’ve escaped. They made it to Amali’s home. In the way of dreams, he’s not entirely sure how he got here, but then again, nobody’s asking too many questions about it. Himself least of all.

Removing the thirsting wool is delicate work. He has to extricate his arms carefully, one by one. Don’t disturb the cat. Don’t let the blanket fall from his shoulders. Either would be a tragedy. The nets are fastened by something he can’t see, something that ought to make a noise once he figures out the trick of the clasp, snap, thingy.

Pop! Pop!

There they go. At once, a faint glow lights up the room just a hair brighter. He drapes one over his shoulder while he fold-fold-fold-folds. Swap. Fold-fold-fold-fold again. He sets them atop his napkin; ordinarily that’d go in his lap, but, well, the space is occupied. And liquid starlight probably stains tablecloths terribly. He gives his host a polite, grateful smile. “Thank you for the dinner, ma’am.”

Now, he can properly turn his attentions to the meal.

You know, he wasn’t really a huge fan of jam back home. He’d had it for years as a kid, but one day something in him just clicked, and suddenly the lumpy texture of it was disgusting. Took him ages to find a new sandwich he liked after that. Hasn’t really gone back to try it since. But seeing how she put it on his plate, he owes it a chance, doesn’t he? Just a taste, on a corner of toast, and see what it’s like. Right away, it’s smooth, thank goodness. And sweet. And a flavor that resists description. Fruity, sweet, but somehow, a little spiced? Not spicy. Something with bite to it, all the same. And oh! It plays well with a bite of the cinnamon biscuits too. Leaves his mouth tingling, pleasantly. He licks at his lips, and is surprised to find nothing, not even a crumb.

A hand gets halfway to his mouth before he realizes it’s probably quite rude to run a finger over your lips at the table. It quietly retreats, to resume petting a cat.

It is a fact of life that a good meal in good company is always a difficult balancing act. Good food makes you want to be quiet and eat. Good company makes you want to talk and laugh. Hazel muddles through like a seasoned pro. Before long, he’s telling Amali about his day, and all the adventure he’s had. There’s a lot of ground to cover there, a lot of trouble she wasn’t there for, but has gotten herself wrapped up in now. He never speaks for too long before remembering his food, and tactically asks her about past festivals, Crevas, and more. Small bites, then, in case she passes the conversational ball back to him. He really strikes gold when he thinks to ask if she remembers the time when Yuki last visited, and the two of them are soon comparing notes and stories as the biscuits and tea flow freely. So freely, that the night calls for a second pot.

Amali gets to her feet, shooing off his offers of help to clear the table. No, no, he’s helping plenty by keeping that old rascal occupied. He does so love to get under her paws, such is his right. With a fond chuckle she shuffles off to her kitchen, leaving him free to gently pet the lord of the house. So pleasing is his offering, that he is allowed the privilege to scritchie his little ears. So Hazel waits. So Hazel pets. So Hazel drifts-

And he sees her closing the distance, again. He remembers that bit clearly. He closed his eyes then, not really sure why. Then he felt her lips touch his. He made. A noise. His eyes shot open. And then-

Starlight. Bright without burning. Color without shape. Eyes closed now, dearie.

After that, it got. Fuzzy. Presumably he did something with his hands, because he had them before, and he has them now, so they must have done something in the intervening time. But what?

He remembers her mouth covering his. Gently. Completely. Pressing soft but firm, and, he didn’t know lips were so sensitive, but, they were. Gosh. They were. She smiled against him, and he knows that because he could feel her moving, so slightly, and when she did his whole heart fluttered. Or was that her making a little humming noise? Don’t ask him. He’s already lost. The rest of him vanished. The rest of him was pressed in, soft and firm too, from, arms wrapping, flush against his chest, all sides, and

He remembers a body so focused on kissing they’d forgotten how to do anything else. If they hadn’t had a lifetime of practice standing up, surely they would have collapsed in a silly heap. See how easily their hands can be directed to hold onto sides. Feel them grab on, for dear life, without gripping too tightly. Even though they’re hopelessly out of their depth, see how gentle they are. See how eager they are. Lean in, and tilt up. Eyes closed. Don’t stop. Not yet. Let them know they’re doing a good job. Please.

He remembers taking breath and banishing thought. This face is delightful to touch. These lips are sweet to kiss. This heart is dear and precious. Don’t you agree? Deny these facts and they will be proven true again. As if such a chance will be given. All that is needed from you is the sound of your joy. It is the greatest treasure you could offer, more valuable than you could ever know. Whenever you like. As softly as you like. Let your heart sing to me. Delightful. Sweet. Precious.

He remembers that mug of tea being empty a moment ago.

No kettle could match the pitch of his surprise. Amali is there to witness that too. And whatever else she just saw that put such a smile on her face. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t see you come back. Long day.” He takes up his mug in both hands, much to the annoyance of cats in the vicinity. Terribly sorry, he needs to do something with his hands or else he will die. “Thanks, again, by the way. For the tea, the dinner, the place to stay, and, everything.” He takes a careful sip, mindful not to burn his tongue. “Are you still good to travel tomorrow? I don’t know how many people will still be after me then, and with this disguise I could slip out with the crowds easily enough. It’s no trouble at all.” She didn’t know, after all, when she agreed to take him in. It’s only fair she gets the chance to back out of his trouble.