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The Thunder of Coins - [Warbirds-system]

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Al let out a little chuckle at Mavis's assessment of the situation. It did seem that Sula was just turning him this way and that without much regard for him. There was a part of her that wanted to get up now and cut in, save Hawkins from this woman. Though there was something else roiling inside her something she couldn't quite pin down, a fear, fear of something. Like he might be slipping away from her. No, no she didn't like him in that way. No, she was just repaying a favor, wasn't she?

Dawson's comment about her attire quickly snapped her out of her musings. She looked down at her uniform, a very nice uniform, then back to him. Her brow furrowed a little confused and feeling slightly hurt. This was all she had, she didn't have a closet full of pretty clothes to choose from, she had this uniform and the one dress. The gentle hand on her knee refocused her on Mavis who wore a kind smile.

Al looked down then back to Mavis.

"I'm not body conscious." She quickly shot back, though she still felt a little sting, "It's just, I wasn't raised with...pretty things. I had to get by on whatever my mother could find. And they were often what we could barter with the seamstress or tailor to give us. Besides, a skirt would've just gotten in the way at the factory, or in the ring...I...I didn't need them…" her words were defensive. She wanted to be this way, she had to be this way. "I…" Then she looked at her wingmate's kind face, and gentle smile. Looking away she found Hawkins being led around the dance floor. She recalled the way he'd done a double take when he saw her all dolled up. Hanging her head she let out a breath.

"I've never really seen myself as pretty, strong and confident, yes, but pretty, no. I break jaws, not hearts. My hands are rough, my shoulders are broad, and my muscles are big, not something a man looks for in a woman...I mean, not if he's looking for someone to share a bed with. I got plenty of mates, met a lot of them in the fighting ring. I'm just like them and I got used to just being with them. They never commented, or cared that I was a girl, they liked me for my fists, my strength, and ability to down a fifth of whisky and not get shitefaced." She shook her head. "This is all so new to me, I have one dress that even comes close to being pretty, and I'm saving it for a very very special occasion. So I don't really have much else...and I never really needed much beyond some nakard boots, and mucky pants. I got used to being, me, one of the lads. I didn't need to be pretty around them, but they didn't really see me as a girl." She took another sad sip of her drink before snapping her head up at the end of the song. This was her moment.

Downing the rest of her drink she gently grabbed Dawson by the arm, after giving him a moment to reply to Mavis. And began pulling him to the dance floor.

"This one time, I'll let you lead me…" She whispered to him, "the best dancing I can do is a drunken jig, this seems well out of my depth."
 
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Dawson quirked an eyebrow at Mavis. A silent glance at his slapped arm and he sipped his drink. No look of regret, nor apology, eclipsed the quiet mirth he exuded. His eyes, though, remained kind.

Mavis knows.

While Al and Mavis had a heart-to-heart, Dawson sighed, if only in his own mind, and watched the dancers. He listened to their conversation but analyzed the floor. The form used by the dancers. In particular how Sula tossed around poor Edward yet looked so good doing it. How best to approach swapping partners then? The action took a certain timing and art form. He'd probably pull that off better than dancing.

He'd just started losing himself in the planning when Mavis addressed him. He turned back and listened with intent. His only response before Al swept him away was a nod. Obviously, this subject carried even more weight than he initially imagined.

His final look to Mavis was a kind smile of his own. It remained as Al pulled him to the dance floor. He checked the buttons on his jacket.

"You honor me. In that case we are the blind leading the blind," he whispered back. The smell of her whisky tickled his nose. He offered her his hand, "We do our best work under pressure."

In truth Dawson felt rather out of his depth too. His repertoire consisted of one classic waltz and a Kubutian wedding dance. Which itself consisted of an up-tempo waltz. Best performed with the aid of wine. Still the latter felt like the best choice.

Left hand interlaced with Al's right, he stepped forward into form, his right arm around her back and and left arm out at shoulder level. He motioned for her to place her left arm over his right. Took a moment, perhaps, but Dawson looked like he wanted to do this properly.

"And one, two, three. Step, glide, step. One, two, three," he whispered as they began.

To a hawk-eyed performer like Mavis, their dancing looked rather formal and stilted. Still Dawson led as best he could. He also kept an eye on the styles at play around them. And slowly but surely, if Al started feeling more comfortable, he picked up the pace and changed up form to match the jazzy music. No dancing awards were coming his way, but this wasn't about him.

His smile remained, and soon he looked to be enjoying himself.
 
Mavis gave a small, self-satisfied smile as her words had spurned her friends to action before looking back to her empty glass and sighing. Damn that woman. Her family's flight to New Boromih wasn't any sort of secret. Mavis, however, would prefer leaving the past just there: in the past. Realizing that she wasn't accomplishing anything more than spiralling into more maudlin thoughts while she sat alone, Mavis left the table behind to wander about the Broken Fang for a bit. Maybe she'd even run into Wendi. She needed to give her former squadron commander her present before they left for the mission.

Her meandering lead her past the bar where she refilled her drink and then up to the second floor balcony that overlooked the former outside courtyard that had since been turned into an atrium. Normally it would be full of tables with busy wait staff bustling about to serve rowdy off duty soldiers. But now it was quiet and cast in half-light, the only illumination focused on why the Broken Fang was the DOP bar: the Remembrance Wall.

It wasn't a proper memorial like the Last Watchpost, which stood on Parliamentarian Plaza and contained the names of all of the fallen soldiery of the DOP chiseled into floatstone-infused marble. No, the wall was more of a shrine made for fallen comrades by their surviving brothers-and-sisters-in-arms. Trinkets, photos, and other mementos dotted the wall and Mavis could practically feel the history in the room weighing down her shoulders like a heavy coat. A handful of burning candles indicated where the fallen of both the Inventionis and the Zephyr were now memorialized.

Far too many friends lost, Mavis thought as she read the names. She paused to run her fingers across a photo of Francis Keene and his intended, the man who shielded her in the initial attack. Nearby was an older photo, with a baby-faced Eugene Travers surrounded by a quintet of girls that Mavis pegged as his sisters. A quick prayer to the Lady for their souls later, the redhead turned her attention to the ragged piece of elevator wreckage that served the as the stele for all lost DOP pilots.

A little over a generation ago, a bloodbeast calling himself Admiral Theramore had launched a surprise assault of New Bormomih with an flotilla of older sky-ironclads. That was the crucible that the DOP air corps was forged in. Those brave men and women in their rickety cloth covered biplanes threw themselves skyward against the titans of iron and steel that loomed overhead. The cost was heavy in both personnel and airframes, but the self-titled admiral went down with his ship when Rosarita Santiago had piloted her damaged plane into the aft elevator. The wreckage of her plane had jammed it so that his flagship, Furiosa, corkscrewed bowfirst into the harbor; the formerly mighty dreadnaught's keel snapping in half on impact with the shallow sea floor. The marine life took care of the rest.

Now the salvaged piece of history served as an apropos tombstone to the fallen. Names with their callsigns were carved into the iron plating, a score more having been added with the broken wings of the of the Inventionis and the Zephyrs' pilot cadres. A flash of pink caught the Givrians' attention and she focused on a familiar name: Alexander "Pinky" Keese. Someone had filled in the etching with what looked to be pink fingernail polish. He would have liked that, Mavis thought as she raised a parting glass to the lost aviators and aviatrixes. Her friends.

"As they said in flight school, we all might end up on the wall one day. Rest well and may the world never forget you or your sacrifice. Santé!"
 
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Al swallowed hard hearing Dawson's admission. This did not bode well for their rescue operation. She just hoped he didn't have two left feet. A small smile bloomed on her face as he mentioned when they did their best work. While she didn't mean this exact situation it was rather apt. A screw up here and they might be the laughing stock of the Zephyr flying corps. Part of her began to regret diving into this without much thought, but they were here now and she wouldn't back down. Not now.

Dawson more posed her in the correct form for the dance he wished to undertake. She felt awkward, his hand pressed against her back, his hand holding hers and her hand on his shoulder. It was close, and one would say almost intimate, but the strangeness of the situation and Al's focus on the task at hand kept a bit of a barrier between the flight leader and subordinate.

As the dance begin Al was a little slow on the uptake missing a few beats and her feet getting ahead of her. Taking a breath she started to follow the beat, her footwork while more at home in a boxing ring, was helping her here. With a quick look over her shoulder she noted Hawkins position and it focused her brought a new determination to her. Soon, her steps were on the beat, her glide a bit more of a glide and not a lateral shuffle. It wasn't pretty, but it wasn't so terrible that they would be the talk of the officer's mess next deployment.

With that sorted they started making their way over to Sula and the hoodwinked technician. Taking a breath she looked to Dawson making sure he was ready then said the words that would take them past the point of no return.

"Mind if we cut in?"
 
Semi-Autogyro said:
"As they said in flight school, we all might end up on the wall one day. Rest well and may the world never forget you or your sacrifice. Santé!"
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Mavis was caught at least by some surprise as a second glass clinked against her first, the gloved hand holding it, belonging to the familiar form of Wendigo, who, like a certain someone, had opted for staying in uniform – but hadn't even bothered to go for the parade version of it. Instead Wendigo was standing comfortably in her day to day service uniform, her usual scarf wrapped around her lower face and neck – if anything the only concession to the occasion were the gleaming leather boots that were not standard issue, but looked comfortable and smooth enough for her to enjoy a few dances later.

"À ta santé!", she called out lightly and turned her head lightly, the movement natural and well trained: not enough to put you off but enough to hide her lower face in the shadows as she tugged lightly on her scarf to take a sip. Lowering the glass again and letting the scarf fall into its place again without having shown you anything you hadn't seen before, she gave you a small nod: "An impressive voice as always Songbird, I am sure the Owner appreciates your free entertainment.", she said half dry, half teasing, before turning to the stele fully herself:

"We were lucky to some degree, that we have gotten out in time and without more damage and looses. But that doesn't make it any easier.", your superior said sadly, her own eyes tracing the images added to the memorial, searching for faces and people she knew and didn't know, before her gaze fell onto other images, other battles, other friends other loses. With a shake of her head she broke out of those thoughts and gave Mavis a "smile" of sorts, or at least she could imagine one beneath the scarf as Wendigo asked: "Can you imagine how much of a struggle it must have been to talk Ravina into putting this up in her bar?"

Vagabond422 said:
"Mind if we cut in?"
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At your question Hawkin seems to perk up from whatever state of shock his unreal situation, has brought him into and Sula gives you a full smile of white teeth and soft red lips, as she cooed: "Two beautiful woman after another, dear Hawkins will have…bragging rights for the rest of the evening I am sure.", the worst sending a flush through your damsel in distress, as he glanced from her to you and with a beat of the music, Sula brought him to a stop, before letting go and bowing gently in thanks for the dance, before holding out her hand again to Dawson: "May we then?"

As the woman sweeps of Dawson next, shifting a little to accommodate his prior knowledge of the waltz, her movements just familiar enough that he can follow, but at the same time shifting into forms and directions that were new and looked just as fetching on the dance floor: she truly knew how to work with whatever she found in her hands.

This left Hawkins smiling bashfully at Al, both of them with their trepidation written plainly on their faces, but he reached out – after a moment of hesitation- with a warm smile on his face: "May I?", he said softly and held out his hand to her own.
 
Mavis started briefly, as her too-quiet ex-boss ambushed her with a surprise toast.

"Merde," she hissed under her breath, "somebody ought to get a damned bell."

Mavis deftly managed not to spill a drop and gamely took a drink from her cocktail after the the fact, as Wendi commented on her role as tonight's entertainment.

"While Ravina can pinch a penny with the best of them, tonight was never about money for either of us," Mavis said before continuing.

"If this," the redhead idly indicated the names in front of the pair with a sweep of her glass, "ever becomes 'too easy' or 'just routine' for me, that will be the day I turn in my wings."

The silence stretched on for a fair bit, Mavis giving Wendigo space and some time to parse what thoughts the bescarved woman felt was needed. She didn't expect the question that followed, and answered from the cuff.

"Probably about as well as I take having to work with the butchers. From what I've gathered, the afflicted do not much care for how much the admiral set them back in society's eyes with his delusions of grandeur. They're all remarkably tight-lipped when concerning that debacle."

"Speaking about having to put up with something; thank you Ma'am for everything. It was a pleasure to serve under your command." Mavis gave her former superior a wide smile. "If you would kindly escort this lone pilot back to the bar, I have a small token of appreciation to give you from all of us in wing three."
 
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Much to Al's surprise Sula released Hawkins swapping partners with her and carrying Dawson away. Hawkins looked as lost as she was both of them just left staring at each other. She hadn't really considered what to do next, didn't have a plan for what was going to happen once she got him away from the woman. So now they were left for a moment the music still playing in the background, both of them in their dress uniform. It would have been a wonderful picture or painting if they just weren't so awkward.

Eventually Hawkins spoke offering his hand and Al froze for just a moment. She suddenly felt deeply out of her element. Looking into his eyes he was serious, and she didn't quite know what to say. She wanted to say no thank you or to find some excuse to back out, but she couldn't back out, she'd done a lot to get to this point.

"I should warn you, I know shite about dancing." She admitted taking his offered hand.

"Not much better, but you seemed to handle yourself alright with Loomis." He gave her a small smile, "And I should return the favor. Don't worry, we'll take it slow." She could tell he was trying to be reassuring but, Al wasn't feeling it. Though she still took his hand driven on by either pride or just simple courtesy.

Somehow she was even more nervous moving about with Hawkins than she did with Dawson. There wasn't anything on the line, this was just them with all their friends and coworkers watching. That thought alone took Al out of the moment a little causing her to stumble just a little. While he was taken a little by surprise, he was able to recover shifting just enough to catch both of them before they both crashed to the floor.

"Sorry." She meekly apologized.

"It's alright, I'm not doing much better." He said giving a nervous smile.

"We're really not good at this."

"I think it's passible." Hawkins replied with a chuckle, "Would pass inspection, if the inspector was blind and deaf."

"Don't make me laugh, it's making it worse." Al held in a laugh which almost led her to stumble again, but she kept it together.

"Can't be any worse than when we first met." His smile stayed on his face trying to grin his way though the situation.
 
Dawson for his part focused on dancing. All too obvious that dancing required concentration from the small man. He didn't have the unconscious competence of experience. Still no laughter echoed their way, and that was enough for him. Instead he focused on Al and tried his best to match her form while helping her along. Still her determination to rescue Hawkins certainly contributed to her success. Plus, he mused, her training as a boxer. Even he'd seen dancing transition rapidly to fighting!

Blind leading the blind indeed.

His face lit up in surprise at Al's cue. Not one to argue the point, he gave her a knowing look and followed her lead. Hawkin's reaction could be described as nothing short of adorable. Between that and Sula's response, Dawson couldn't help but look amused at the whole situation.

His hand slipped into Sula's and he returned a slight nod. The action telegraphed a certain smoothness. Elegance even. Not nearly as practiced as the performance during their conversation. A moment later off he was swept.

Impressive.

That's all the thought he allowed during the dance. Instead of analyzing her dancing, he simply went with the flow. Sula obviously knew her stuff and taking the lead only felt natural in such a situation. Machismo didn't factor into the decision for him. Best to enjoy the dancing, the music, and the moment. Which he did find himself enjoying. Even being a bit charmed by his athletic and experienced dance partner.

Not that he let his guard down completely. No, no. If anything conversing with her clued him in to some of her quirks. Or that she may have a few parts rattling loose in her head. Either way he maintained his poise while doing his best to adapt to Sula's skill. Which again and again he was reminded of as they danced. Looked to a learning a few things as they swayed and glided across the floor.

Perhaps they even looked good.

"You are a woman of many talents, Sula."
 
Semi-Autogyro said:
From what I've gathered, the afflicted do not much care for how much the admiral set them back in society's eyes with his delusions of grandeur. They're all remarkably tight-lipped when concerning that debacle."
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"The afflicted. ", Wendigo mused with a certain something in her voice, shaking her head before continuing: "A very homogenous label: a uniform, clawing and biting mass of monsters nipping at the heels of the refugees and the fleet itself – isn't that how Lord Greyham portrayed them in his autobiography? The gun witches have similar records, they escorted the refugees from the remnants of Trubc northwards and held the street later on." With a light shifted towards the figure at the bar not too far away, Wendigo added: "Hard to believe that there ought to be one strain of something that creates beings like Ravina and mindless bloodhounds out of human beings." Shifting a little she took another careful sip from her glass, not showing anything as she added: "Many of the western powers still destroy whatever traces of the blood beasts, the Stratocracy or the forest reaches their shores, for Ravina and others is quite literally the choice between control under the Order of Uruquhert or returning to the madness that is the bloodbeasts fiefs in Trubc."

Taking another ship, she shook her head lightly "I am sorry Songbird, sometimes I do sympathize, at least with Ravina and her like.", turning to you fully again, you had the impression she would have given you a beaming smile if she could have – but while she was unable to mirror your wide smile, she touched your shoulder with a light pat: "It was a pleasure to be in command of you all three of you, however brief that was. Now…", she offered you her arm with a teasing "….I do hope it isn't a bell and a collar awaiting me at the bar, I might be most cross if my targets can hear me in the future."

Vagabond422 said:
Al held in a laugh which almost led her to stumble again, but she kept it together.
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Thankfully all further stumbles were caught in time – even if the heat in Hawkins cheeks at least was growing as they brought him ever close to Al in that given moment. At least his co-workers had taken to cheering on the pair for the first few steps – before they headed onto the dance floor too. Before long you found yourself a lively mass of dancing pairs, friends, lovers or just people who had found no one else they knew. The dancing you could see wasn't the best and there were at least some people who seemed to have a lot less luck with the whole staying upright than the pair of Al and Hawkins. But that didn't matter, did it? Even the crashes send laugher through the room and helpful hands pulled up collided and fallen dancing partners and before too long at least six air-troopers had formed a line, arms on another's shoulders and side by side, they were dancing from leg to another, swinging them eight and circling the various pairs on the dance floor in a circle, like a human-line-shepard dog~.

Dariusprime said:
"You are a woman of many talents, Sula."
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"Thank you Dawson, complimenting a woman from the Stratocracy on her skills is far better than trying to go with something as changeable as looks: more of your countryman ought to learn that little different.", Sula replied half seriously half teasingly as she guided Dawson into another turn and twist, the tailor able to match her more comfortably than he might have expected. Her hand felt warm in his own and the calluses he could feel from her sword training were most likely just as practical as they were a statement in a society where each part of the body could be changed, tweaked, twisted – and stolen. When the Stratocracy was depicted in papers there was always the menagerie of horror: hulking infantry troops advanced with bodies of stolen muscles and enhanced bones; runners and scouts with the taken sinews of talented peasants and weird creatures, stitched together and created in the image of old mythology and banners. People like Lady Sula had their own place in these horror flicks: beautiful faces, polite manners, cultured knowledge and perfection that was both unnatural and seemingly the work of hard work: off-putting and not-quite-right if you get too close.

Getting guided by her on the dancefloor was effortless and dangerously natural: she was born, breed and raised to lead and for all the talk of the Stratocracy being a society of merit, all the advantages – as in any other society- rested already in ones crib. But it was easy to be charmed or it might be as he was led further and further, till Sula suddenly said "I have heard of your family and from them I have heard of you Dawson. The Stratocracy might need a man with talents like yours for a project, just a… thought experiment so far. Should it pan-off your family might very well find itself as the sole and only supplier of a certain kind of parachute we are looking for. That is indeed your… chosen area of expertise, isn't it?"
 
"That's not really in my area of expertise, epidemiology. My sister was the doctor, she'd been the one that could have have held a lively discourse on the variances of Renfield's Disease. I'm the more of a broad strokes sort of gal when it comes to knowledge outside of my wheelhouse." Mavis mimed painting a canvas with her free hand.

"The western powers have the right idea, as well they should lest their own countries mirror the fall of the old world due to the appearance of opportunistic scavengers on their shores." The redhead replied with a faint smile and shake of her head in the direction of the antics happening on the dance floor. "Much like how the poor base MP's will have to deal with the ramifications of tonight's festivities."

Mavis looped her arm through her superiors. "No apologies necessary. It is saddening that good and decent people like Ravina are often found guilty by mere association in the eyes of society at large. In a better world, they'd be judged by the content of their character and not by any other standard."

Mavis resultant snicker at the bell jab was enough to get some curious looks in their direction as they approached the bar. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but no. Though I do know a good leathersmith if you're in the market for that sort of thing~" The Givrian shot back with a mischievous eyebrow waggle.

Mavis got Ravina's attention and mouthed the word 'gift' to her, relying on the woman's honed skill at lip-reading in lieu of shouting across the noise of the room. Once the crimson-eyed woman had filled the drinks and passed them off to the server, she had retrieved a flat hand-sized white box that was sealed with a fancy knot in red string.

"Thanks, Vi!" the redhead chirped as she took the gift and handed it over to Wendi. Inside and artfully folded was an extra long silk scarf, whose saffron gold color glimmered even under the subdued lighting of the Broken Fang.

"May it serve you well!" Mavis saluted with a sip from her cocktail.
 
Well that's over. Way to spoil the moment.

Yes, he'd been swayed by her charms as they swayed to the music. For a moment his mind waxed nostalgic of other days. Not necessarily better or worse days. Just different days. Days like cousin Skatje's wedding. The courtyard filled with laughing family and friends. The smell of his mother's roses. Dancing shoulder-to-shoulder. Mirth at his aunts endlessly pairing him up with eligible bachelorettes that just happened to be invited to a private wedding. Skatje's beaming smile.

Just like that reality crashed in around him. Perhaps those moments of dissociation, really going with the flow, accounted for his ability to keep up with Sula. At least to keep up with her as well as she led him properly across the dance floor. Now though he felt the strength of her trained muscles, the calloused hands, yes, and the overall impression of her hand grip. Then he remembered their first handshake. Suddenly, everything felt wrong about her. Because yes, she was Stratocracy. In every way that counted.

Still something about the way she hinted at a project. Blunt as a hammer upside in the head in some senses. But in another, just honeyed and vague enough to catch certain people's attention. People like Dawson. Was it fashion, tailoring, design? Was this off the cuff or did she plan for this little business pitch? Manipulation plain and simple.

A reliably underhanded person is still reliable. Someone used to getting their way. A ruler, not a leader.

Perhaps her suggestion was innocent enough. The amount of information she had at her disposal though, and the underlying implication, even threat, didn't pass by him. This time though. This time he found himself in a heady mix of intrigued, off put, and amused by the entire charade.

Thus he looked around at the suddenly crowded dance floor. His smile came unbidden, starting at the troopers dancing in formation and gracing Sula as he faced her once more. "Indeed it is."

The return volley in this next round of the Great Game had some truth to it. From a certain point of view. His dear brother had desperately, to an odd degree, wanted more military contracts. Which of course led to that headline-worthy incident with the MP. Archie knew damn well that skipping the minimum 2,000 hours of testing required by the DOP was a big mistake. Hell, Loomis designers routinely conducted 5,000 hours of testing. But he still did it, and that was what the company was known for.

Even if that is a tiny slice of a much, much larger pie. We have our hands in so many things...

Which she probably already knew. Which was just part of the fun now wasn't it?

Oh, the whimsy of it all.

"Color me intrigued. What pray tell would such a project entail? I am sadly indisposed with the Patrol at the moment." She mentioned 'might' and a 'thought experiment'. Now he wanted to know more. Specifically, if this project existed or if she was just seeing how... agreeable he was. How malleable or amiable to working more closely with the Stratocracy. He guessed the latter, but best to test the waters now.

He wasn't seriously considering a contract one way or another. Other encounters: the captain, the wake, his first meeting with Sula, he was on the defensive. His element included the elegant dance of client and tailor. Designer and fashion seeker. She came onto his home territory. Perhaps he would consider an arrangement. Perhaps he wouldn't. Such was the nature of the fashion game. He would at least politely be interested if aloof. Even if he was off base, he knew in general where this was going.
 
After their initial stumble the pair found their footing. Moving at a pace that seemed to suit them. Al caught herself smile, yes a genuine smile blooming across her face. She hadn't even thrown a punch yet, and she could tell she was nowhere near drunk enough to find everything funny. There was something about the situation that made her happy. The dancing, the pratfall she nearly had, or was it the way Hawkins blushed as she tightened her grip on his shoulder to prevent another stumble. They made their way through a few more steps, slowly seeing the floor fill up with other techs, other pilots. Seemed they all wanted to get in on the action.

Though it was still just them, or it felt as so. For the first time it felt like the world fell away. The other dancers, the Broken Fang, for moment there, it felt like it was just Edward, and Al. Her tough boxer persona fell away, the rank pin on her label disappeared. His embarrassment melted away, his nervous giggle was nowhere to be seen. In that perfect moment they were just two people sharing a dance, getting lost in the music and the movement. Unconsciously the pair move closer together, either to avoid the others around them or just to be closer neither of them knew. Before they could catch themselves they were so close they could feel their breaths brush across their cheeks.

Their bodies seemed to know something their minds didn't as they moved just a hair's breadth closer. Neither of them questioned what was happening, it was just the moment. They were so close, too close some of the more conservative among them would have complained.The pilot and the tech didn't seem to notice, or care. It felt as though they could be like this forever, close held in each other's arms.

Slowly Al's head tilted, Hawkins started to close his eyes, it felt right, it felt perfect. Maybe that was why it couldn't last. It was too perfect, too clean.

Out of nowhere a pilot Al recognized, from first wing, came crashing into them. It was only Al's strong legs that kept her and Hawkins upright. However this did nothing to stop the clearly intoxicated pilot from crashing onto the floor right between Al and her partner.

The drunken dancer laughed, his long blonde hair a mess behind him.

"Apologies mam'," He said from the floor between fits of laughter. "There must have been an uneven floor board."

Al let out a laugh shaking her head, her heart beating fast in her chest. When had that happened?

Hawkins just let out a giggle fidgeting with his hands.

"Well Carter." the former boxer said sticking out her hand which the other pilot took. "Keep a better eye out. Floors are shifty buggers." With one arm she lifted the man to his feet sending him on his way to his partner, a young woman, with dark brown curls, in a flowing violet dress giggling to herself. Carter gave a sheepish grin before returning to his partner.

Al and Hawkins look at each other, the moment broken, their hands at their sides. The couples continued to move around them. Al noted Dawson and Sula still gliding about the space. Tentatively he reached out his hand again and Al took it. While they were still close, there might as well have been an ocean between them. Whatever magic had them under it's spell was shattered. Feeling the emotion just wasn't there, the pair had made movements to exit however they were cut off. The airtroopers had arrived and were intent on keeping the dancer's there.

"Seems we're surrounded Lieutenant." Hawkins said with faux intensity. "Orders?"

"Their blockade seems air tight. We may need to engage." Al replied the same playful tone.

"Wouldn't that cause an incident?"

"It might be our only chance at escape. We can't stay out much longer."

"I'll follow your lead."

Al gave just a thought of trying to run their line of trying to break through. But, this was a wake, not a place to start a fight.

"We'll hold for now, wait for an opening."

"We keep dancing then?"

"We keep dancing." She said a smirk pulling at her lip. By the Queen she was having fun.
 
Semi-Autogyro said:
. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but no. Though I do know a good leathersmith if you're in the market for that sort of thing~" The Givrian shot back with a mischievous eyebrow waggle.
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"I think I prefer it, if neither my enemies, nor particularly playful pilots can hear me coming before it is too late.", Wendigo replied easily with an wiggling of her own eyebrows, her voice filled with mirth as she followed Mavis towards the bar. As you reached the counter, Ravinawas already turning her blood red eyes towards the pair of you – smirking as Wendigo gave her a small wave in greeting. Reaching the bar, Wendigo leaned one arm onto the counter, winking at the owner, before turning her attention back to you: "But I think I had a wingmate in my training, her father was a tanner – you couldn't get her to stop wearing fresh leather boots or shirts: she just loved the smell, even if the rest of the barracks always made her sleep next to the open window. According to her, the colds were worth it."

With amusement from the story still shining in her eyes, she watched Mavis reach out and grasp the package that the proprietress had been safeguarding for just this moment. Taking it carefully from the Songbirds hands, Wendigo glanced down at it and then up to her pilot, before laughing gently "You know I can hardly accept this – but I can hardly not accept it. If anything you would surely find a way to get it to me in a way I can't say no to.", fondness and amusement mixed in her voice as she begin to slowly unwrap the package, her fingertips running over the edges with a careful swiftness, that saw the paper coming off without any tear or stain. Placing the box on the counter, she reached inside and lifted the silken scarfs up with widening eyes: "Now this is really not appropriate for a gift from a subordinate to her – albeit former- commanding officer."

Reaching out she placed her gloved hand on Mavis left shoulder and said warmly "I can only accept it from one friend and comrade to another Songbird and I really appreciate it. I guess I have to rename myself from Wendigo into Goldie if I grow too fond of it and take it along into the cockpit.", she teases ever so lightly. Before winking "If you give me a moment of privacy to try it on – I will come by you and your comrades later to show it off.", she promises with the happiness at the present plain to hear in her voice.

Dariusprime said:
"Color me intrigued. What pray tell would such a project entail? I am sadly indisposed with the Patrol at the moment."
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"Ohh I am sure your absence wouldn't impact the day to day business of the company too much. You are more a man of…vision and hard work, a useful combination for your chosen profession.", with a small twirl, Dawson found himself pressed more closely against that athletic body, a position more than a few of his fellow pilots were envying from what he could see – but which only served to allow her to lean closer and talk into his ears, over the din of the music and just soft enough that none but Dawnson himself were able to hear it: "A parachute for an airship – or at least a gunship. The Aeronatic Corps has decided that the lives of our aeronauts are worth the extra costs – but today there are few things than can help a gunship after its floatstone core was damaged. Experiments with giving out parachutes to the sailors have not been successful: the uneven stop of floatstone electrification sends ships into spins or tumbles, making any escape that way impossible. Especially for those who work deep inside the airships – and what safe rooms and webbing was tried to at least stop people from getting thrown around inside their spinning ships, proved to be quite useless against the sheer force of impact a gunship can feel when dropping onto the ground from its usual operational height."

Taking a step back and performing a few more steps, she let go of Dawson hand – seemingly just for another spin, but when she returned into his arms, her hands deposited a sheaf of papers in his jackets pockets "The true challenge not only lies in finding a system that can slow down the fall of a whole ship – but in finding a system that can trigger multiple smaller parachutes or their emergency step-ins at once. Finding a fitting material is of course another issue, but if you have an interesting enough idea, one could arrange a visit to one of the Stratocracies raw material research centres.", she promised easily enough and took another few steps back as the song came to a close. Looking around the crowded dancefloor with a smirk, she turned her attention back to Stitch and bowed elegantly:

"I do think you for the dance Dawson, but I fear I might have to uphold some other social obligations at this gathering still. Please give Lt. Croy my regards and my best wishes for your upcoming mission – think about the offer and…", she pauses for a moment says after a brief moment "…take good care of Mavis.", regaining some of her usual confidence she had missed for just one beat, she said her farewells and left you on the crowded stage, disappearing somewhere between the other visitors of the wake.

Vagabond422 said:
"We keep dancing." She said a smirk pulling at her lip. By the Queen she was having fun.
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While the siege might have simply been the result of the timing having been unkind to Al and Hawkins – the moment the former boxer made eye contact with the smirking ever expanding line of air troopers, whose faces were very familiar to her after the weeks spent in the training room with them onboard of the Zephyr. Seemingly the time had come for a reckoning for all the bruises Al had gotten them, or for all the tips and little manoeuvres she had shared with them from her pit fighting days – she wasn't quite sure which one it was yet. But thus treachery was joined with trickery and Iron Jaw found herself encircled by those she had called her comrades in arms, the whistles and laughs they were throwing her way quite plainly showing what they were doing – if them splitting into four lines of five wasn't enough of an indication. Only when the music finally came to an end did they offer Al way out – but only one between two lines of them, their wide grins welcoming her and Hawkings like the lines after a wedding, applauding loudly for the two uniform wearing dancers, as the rest of the bar joined into the thundering applause – even if not even most of them knew what was going on.

It was Hawkins who took Al's hand into his own, calluses, scars and all – and pulled her away from the far too happy air troopers, guiding her towards the bar, where the ever watchful eyes of Ravina made sure that such shenanigans were kept away and soon the whole bar was dissolving into small groups and larger gatherings once more: tears, smiles and the occasional fight breaking out and dissolving again either by themselves or with some gentle help by the other people in the bar. In the end, Al finds herself with Hawkins holding her hand right in front of the worst person to meet in such a situation…

…. Mavis, who found herself, or had found herself for a few moments, alone at the bar.
 
"Inappropriate? Moi? What slander!" Mavis touched a hand to her chest in faux self deprecation before setting her drink on the bar; smiling all the while at Wendigo's appreciation of her gift.

"You are correct, though. If I hadn't gotten this to you tonight, I was planning on roping in Captain Sakandelidze. Barring that, you would have found it sitting in your plane next time you took it up." The redhead explained as the scarf was withdrawn.

Mavis clasped Wendigo's shoulder, returning the gesture of friendship. "I am proud to call you my friend. You deserve it and so much more, Wendi. Also, I kinda did still sorta owe you after somebody cleaned me out multiple times at the Zephyr's betting table miss cardsharp."

Letting the mirthful woman go, Mavis was content to people watch for a while as she lounged against the bar. She'd need to get back on stage, or at least change the record here in a bit.

It was then that the noblewoman got her present of the night as a familiar duo fled the dance floor, holding hands only to stop short like an understudy caught in the spotlights.

"~My, my, my. Now what do we have here?" the Givrian lilted as she appraised the sight in front of her with a cat like grin. To Al, the expression was eerily akin to the manic glee that Mary and Cathy had on their birthday, one full of excitement at the expectation of things to come...
 
Dawson couldn't help but smirk at a bit. The attention, from Sula and the envious onlookers, felt novel to the tailor. He was the type to make a statement, typically with his attire, and fade into the background. Not so much a wallflower as the person overlooked by the more charismatic characters. Which suited him quite well. You could hear so much that way.

On he danced, pressed close to Sula and taking in every inflection of her whispers. My how he was wrong. No, she had something in mind. Something very specific. Intriguing. Enticing even. The music, crowd, the sound of his breathing, faded into the background until only her words remained. She may as well have been screaming them for how they lounged in his mind.

The spin felt natural. As if he anticipated it. Either the thin man had learned her technique or had fallen under her spell. The papers registered only in the most abstract of ways. His mind had just started to wander, to consider the specifics of such an invention. An enterprise of scale and innovation this one...

...and did he ever have an idea for the materials. His expression softened into an enigmatic smile.

Things change though. Sula stepped back as the last notes drifted off. He looked a little disappointed, but far confident and relaxed than at the start of the dance. With a happy sigh, he matched her Strato-Givrian bow with an appropriate bow of his own.

"My sincere pleasure. Thank you." His expression did not change at her momentary lapse, and a slow nod answered her request to care for Mavis. "A fine night to you, Sula."

The smile remained as he looked around the room. He had just enough time to throw a wink to the envious pilots when applause erupted. For a split second he wondered if it was for him. Then he turned back to the dance floor and the Choreographed Airtrooper Ensemble. Somehow he missed it in all of the excitement. And then the cherry on top, who should emerge but a flustered and victorious Al.

Chuckling to himself, Dawson weaved his way through the tide of people drifting away from the dance floor. His maneuvering put him behind and to the side of Al. Close enough to see her hand entwined with Hawkins', and close enough to hear Mavis in front of them. Her tone alone told him what she was thinking.

The thin man put his hands in his pockets as he circled around the couple, yes couple, to the bar. Of course he then realized what was in his jacket pocket and tucked them away as he approached. He took up position next to Mavis, glanced to her, and then back to Al and Edward.

"Congratulations." Simple, to the point, and earnest.
 
Al was a little dumbfounded as the troopers closed in around her and Hawkins. As she started to put names to faces a realization dawned on her. These were the very same men and women she'd sparred with in the gym. She saw Hunter, and burly trooper that she panted on his rear with a blindsiding left hook, Em, a quick and devious fighter that Al had shown how to put more power into her jabs and how to blind her opponents. These were people she thought friends, or at least allies. Were they taking vengeance for embarrassments or ribbing her in a good natured way. It was hard to tell.

"Don't worry about them…" Hawkins nearly whispered into her ear. "Just keep dancing." His voice brought her back, returned her mind to the task at hand. She felt his hand calloused and scared almost rougher than hers but there was a gentle warmth to it, one that she could feel in her heart. The troopers closed ever tighter around them and it was hard to ignore them. They would cheer and it would ruin whatever moment there was. She could almost feel the end of the song approaching, though she wondered if the troopers would give her a way out. Seems Hawkins could feel the end of the song coming as well, as the crendo hit she felt him press a little more against her back and lean a little more into her. The contact was sudden and unexpected for a moment she didn't know what to do and slightly fought against him. Then her mind caught up to the moment and she allowed herself to dip feeling him holding her, his arms wrapped around her waist. It was almost natural, putting this much trust in him.

As she came back up she found herself a little breathless. Not only from the dancing, which can be quite the workout, but from just being in his presence. She could feel the sweat beading on her forehead, her normal ponytail seemed to have let a few stands come loose and wander into her eyes. Gently Hawkins brushed them to the side behind her ear. The cheers reached a fever pitch and Al was again stunned a little seeing the wedding procession like formation the troopers had formed in front of her and Hawkins.

He took her hand and led her through, she ducked her head trying to hide the blush that was growing on her cheeks. As they made it to the relative safety of the bar, she found herself holding tighter to his hand looking up with a smile then blanching as she saw the Songbird herself waiting for them. Al looked away.

"I...I was just...um…" she suddenly found she didn't have to words to even try and lie, so she chose to stammer and stutter instead. "We…"

"We...were ahhh…" Hawkins tried to speak as well but the tension of the situation had robbed him of words as well.

Dawson interjected leaving the pair now staring at her two wingmates dumbfounded and unsure but still holding hands.

"We're um...just getting a drink?" There was a questioning tone in Hawkins voice as he took a seat a stool away from Mavis, leaving Al to sit next to the bubbly pilot. The tough boxer couldn't hide the smile as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. What was she doing, grinning like a schoolgirl because a boy was holding her hand. She wanted to let go, but it was so comforting. They were still alive, after everything they'd been through, they were still alive.

"I…" Al turned to Mavis whispering while her dance partner got Ravina's attention. "I didn't know dancing could be so much fun."
 
The cheshire grin from the ginger-haired pilot was directed at the tableau of budding romance in front of her.

"~Oh? Well, then I shan't get in the way of further...libations~." Mavis said as she defty scooted aside from the pair, barely acknowledging Dawson's presence with a quick look before turning her focus back on the young lovebirds.

The Givrian was facing outwards to the dance floor, her long legs gracefully dangling from the barstool as she leaned in to listen to Al's admission.

Mavis looked wistful as she looked at the wooden beams above, closed her eyes and nodded with the secret shared. "To dance is to put your hand on your heart and listen to the sound of your soul. You were bearing your soul out there Al, not needing mere words to convey your happiness, joy, sadness, envy...lust."

Mavis had opened her eyes on over-sensualized last word and stared directly into Al's own, the Givirians' cerulean gaze searching for something. Until the impromptu staring contest was interrupted by a metal cocktail stirrer bapping the singer on top of her head. "Ow!"

"Down girl." Ravina deadpanned as she wiped the improvised bludgeon off with a bar rag as Mavis rubbed the crown of her head, pouting at her friend.

"Aww. why did you have to go and do that Vi?"

"Your fifteen minutes are up," the crimson eyed proprietress stated as she pointed back the stage using the stirrer.

"Whoops! Sorry to cut and runtellmeallthesordiddetailsandcomplimentWendiabouthescarfwegother!" The diva of the DOP rambled in farewell to her wingmates as she made her hasty exit, only for moments later the sound of assorted cheers and wolf whistles erupting as she popped back onto stage.

"Hello boys! I'm baaack!~" she crowed to the crowd, grabbing the microphone as the strings came in. The songbird began whistling a familiar tune, encouraging the crowd to join in.
 
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Al held her breath a little as Mavis whispered her response. There was a slight smile to her face, looking to Hawkins as the emotions in her heart rose. On her last word it literally caused Al to swallow hard. Her brown eyes were wide a slight blush on her cheeks but she wasn't going to look away. Deep in her eyes, if they were looking for it one could see just the tiniest spark of something. Her breathing was just slightly elevated.

As Ravina broke up the contest Al looked away returning to the whiskey that Hawkins had set in front of her. She gave a small wave to Mavis as the singer walked away stepping into her element with all eyes on her. Al just wanted a certain set of eyes on her. And even with her back turned she could feel him looking her way.

The blush deepened a little as she turned back to her dance partner, unsure if there would be any salacious details to share. Though she wasn't immediately against them, on the other hand didn't she do this just to repay a favor? She left it up to Dawson to handle Hagi, the wing leader just felt like spending time with Hawkins. The tech was pointedly looking away, as if he didn't want to get caught looking at something, or someone, sipping on a highball. Al just took a small sip of her own drink feeling the warm burn of whisky. It was almost comforting, like a warm coat...or an embrace.

"Um…" he started taking another sip. "You were ahh...very good out there." His brown hair was a little curly she was noticing, his warm brown eyes looked at her like she was the only person in the room.

"You're not too bad yourself." She shot back trying to find her confidence again. She found something like it. A slight smirk bloomed across her lips. He returned it. "You on leave too, while Big Z gets all patched up?

"For now, though, they might be reassigning me to another vessel. Can't have wrenchmonkees laying around doing nothing." He smiled fully, a bright smirk that made her heart beat just a little harder in her chest.

"Spent all that time training us might as well get some use out of us." Al said looking over the rim of her glass.

"What about you?" He asked with a little nervous lilit to his voice.

"Oh, I have a few days off, but I should really...ah, um my family needs me." Her heart sank again. As much as she would like to spend all her time with him. She knew her responsibilities lay elsewhere and not with him.

"Oh," he looked just as crestfallen.

"But, I'm sure I can make some time later...and well, I'm free for tonight."

"Are you now?" he said eyes sparkling.

Al's eyes returned the look.
 

The night ended in a blast – not with a whimper, despite the alcohol flowing thick and freely as Ravina filled up the glasses handed to her tirelessly and ever eagerly as the Patrol proofed the wisdom in renting the whole upper floors of the bar to them. As the new day approached quickly, the groups of the party goers were slowly thinning and even Mavis voice was – if not faltering, then slowly but surely getting busy with other games as she left her gig to roam the bar. The last that was seen of her for the evening was how she ended up sharing and matching drinks with one of the Zephyr's artillery officers – his face shining as brightly as his boots after both of them had enough drinks that someone called a taxi just to make sure that they get home. With some envoy and amusement, it was then told that the artillery man both paid the taxi and decided the address they were going to drive to. It seemed that even with the wake and the gig, Songbird had enough time to find herself the shiniest and most promising pair of boots she wanted to knock with…

….but how had she known that her chosen lover was going to make a truly terrific breakfast in the morning after? Surely she must have at least scouted out the place to know that his apartment had a sparkling new shower, this couldn't just be coincidence or some kind of weird power, could it~?

=}❤{=​

While Mavis was out there for the fun, the thrill and the vintage her chosen lover for the night had cooled and ready next to his bed, Al's own forays into matters of the heart were more…tender. While they did not leave head of heels like lovers in novels or on the big screens, she and Hawkins shared an embrace as they slipped out of the bar, not minding that their uniforms barely held up to the expectations one might have had of star struck lovers. They had one another and for this night that was more than enough. Taking something from Mavis chosen lovers playbook – and from his winnings of the night, having taken to the dance floor not just with two beautiful woman, but they one he had been trying to approach since he had met her covered in sap in the dark bowels of the Zephyr… well, he was feeling very lucky and his mates didn't begrudge him winning a bet or two.

And while his bed wasn't all that spacious, in a single room he sparingly used between deployments – the breakfast was more than good, with his elderly grandmother delighting with a few cackles as the two of them slipped down the stairs towards her kitchen… even if Al was a good fit for the clothes he could loan her. The true troubles of course didn't begin with his grandmother – but rather with her widely laughing sisters upon her return home and the knowing look her mother was giving her…

=}❤{=​

…truly family was terrible. But at least it meant that not even Stitch was all alone at home. He might not have taken to a lovers embrace, his mind too busy flying – falling and everything in between, but he wasn't alone – couldn't even be truly with his family around. Not that he had been before, he was the only one left to appreciate his former wingleaders new fashionable scarf, the colour and material Mavis had chosen fitting quite well to her – and good enough to Wendigo herself. Not that the other pilot seemed to have anything less but happiness in regards to her gift, smiling – or at least he could presume she was- and sharing a few jokes and stories from her own stay at the Broken Fang. But with the night slowly turning into day and bar slowly emptying as Ravina begun to clean up, even Stitch took his things and left for home…

…just in time to be roped into his uncles early breakfast, finding himself laden with cheese, sausages and ham on small slices of toast as he made his way back to his room, careful not to awaken any of the children. After all if that were to happen – there would be no peace or wink of sleep left for him. Like this he at least could catch a few sparse hours before the whole house and family came to life again.

=}+{=​
 
Al had a few more drinks staring deeply into Hawkin's brown eyes she could almost get lost in them. There was a slight twinkle in his eyes, and the way he smiled at her made her feel warmer than the whisky that was currently coursing through her veins. She was tipsy, a little more open than she would have been normally. And there was just something about him, this technician with a kind smile and rough hands. As they walked outside she thought nothing of getting into a taxi with him, and going to his place. She trusted him, though her heart was beating fast in her chest. Her hands rested in her lap, unsure of what to do with them, though it seemed Hawkins was just as awkward fidgeting with the hem of his coat. She could hardly make eye contact with him though when she did she couldn't help but smile, he just had that effect.

As they arrived at his place he finally took her hand and led her inside. The house looked lived in, much like her own, even in the dark she could see family photos, a comfortable chair, a basket of knitting resting next to it. Though her attention was mostly taken up with the brown haired boy telling her to be quiet as they made their way up the stairs. Only for the first step to creak loudly feeling as if that sound could wake the dead. The pair as quickly and quietly as they could dashed off into his room a sparse space with only a bed and a desk with a few papers scattered across it.

Before she knew it her arms were around his waist, his warm hands spread across her back pressing her into him. She swallowed thickly, for all her bravado and bravery in combat she was nervous. She'd never been with someone, not like this, her life had been spent protecting her family, working to keep her family fed, and fighting for everything she had. This, this was different, she was both scared and excited. She leaned in closer, as did he, she could smell the whisky on their breaths but there was something under it as well, a pleasant scent of him. As they came closer he stopped looking her in the eyes.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

She answered him with a kiss, her first. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her legs weak, and her mind turning into cotton.

The bed was just big enough for the two of them, though at first they nearly fell off it as they adjusted to the new intimacy. But soon they settled into each other's arms.

The next morning he was still there, his head resting on her shoulder. As his eyes slowly opened he smiled at her.

"So it wasn't a dream." He muttered blinking hard and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. She laughed lightly running her fingers through his wavy hair.

"It felt like one though." She whispered, pulling him in for another kiss. Even without a drop of alcohol in her system she still enjoyed this feeling. The feeling of him close to her, the feeling of trust, of safety. They held the embrace, for what felt like an eternity. His heat soaking into her, it was like a drug, something she couldn't get enough of. As they broke the kiss he looked into her eyes running his fingers through her long dark blonde hair, free from the ponytail she always had it up in. Her hair tickled the back of her neck and brushed between her shoulders. His hand calloused and scared ran down her back sending pleasant sensations through her.

"You want some breakfast?" He asked again with that warm smile on his face. She couldn't bring herself to say no.

"Sure." As they got out of bed she tried not to peek too much as he got dressed and turned around and offered her one of his fresh shirts and a pair of pants. Her uniform would definitely need to be cleaned after a night on his floor. With a smile she took the offered clothes, before twirling her finger to wordlessly request that he turn around, to protect her modesty, whatever of that she had left.

Putting her hair back up with a spare hair tie she had she followed him down to the kitchen where his grandmother was waiting. Al looked away brushing her hair back as the elderly woman cackled a little.

"I never thought I'd see the day that my Eddie would bring home a girl."

"Grandma." Eddie protested.

The woman cackled again as she served up some eggs and bacon she had already prepared. The Elder Hawkins was a joval woman, with a healthy frame and beaming smile, her grey hair pulled up into a bun that sat on the top of her head. Her simple dress was worn but not moth eaten, the shawl around her shoulders looked hand made likely by her. She sat at the kitchen table pulling up her knitting, her wrinkled hands still agile enough to turn the yarn around the needles.

"What's your name Dear?" Grandma asked looking pointedly at Al, her hands still knitting away.

"Um...Alberta mam' Alberta Croy,"

The other woman laughed again.

"Please call me Alice."

"Um, thanks for breakfast ma...um Alice."

"You're very welcome dear." There was a slight twinkle in the older woman's eyes, somewhere between mischievous and caring.

After breakfast Al stood at the doorway her uniform folded under her arm, the morning sun starting to banish the fog that hung over the town early in the morning. Edward met her at the door.

"I'll get your clothes back to you before I leave." She said looking down.

"Don't worry about it." He replied, "I'll give me an excuse to visit your house."

"I'd like that." She looked up into his eyes still warm and inviting.

She turned to walk away before she felt him tug on her arm turning around he pulled her into one last kiss, one that felt like a promise, one to meet again. Her breaths were shaky and her heart yearned to spend just another day with him, but her responsibilities lay elsewhere.

Walking home everything seemed just a bit brighter, the smells just a touch sharper, though she could still feel him, his hands wrapped around hers, his lips kissing her cheek. She shook her head, this was all so new, and exciting, and also terrifying.

As she came back home she found her sisters looking right at her, their smiles from ear to ear, looking at her from over the backs of their chairs.

"Someone didn't come home last night." Cathy said in a singsongy voice.

"And someone's wearing different clothes." Mary followed up.

Al looked away, "Eat your breakfast you two."

"Good morning Alberta, would you like some breakfast?"

"No mum, I uh…" She couldn't miss the knowing smile on her mother's face. "I already ate."

"Oooooh." Cathy and Mary said together.

"I bet it was a boy." Cathy said to her sister.

"A really cute boy in a fancy suit."

"He swept her off her feet."

"I'm right here you two." Al shot back.

"So tell us, was it boy?"

"None of your business." The eldest child looked away slightly embarrassed but trying hard to still be the stoic protector.

Her two sisters just giggled to each other taking sly glances at Al as she walked over to her mother and gave her a hug.

"Mum, you think you could wash my uniform?" She asked holding out the slightly wrinkled dress uniform.

"Why don't want the base dry cleaners to see it?" Again Al looked away. "I'll see what I can do." Mother and daughter shared a look, one of love and care. "I do hope you enjoyed yourself last night."

"I did mum, I did."

"Good."

"Al, Al," Cathy called out from the dining room table. "Was it Dawson, was he the cute boy?" That sentence made the flight leader do a double take.

"What no, never, not in a million years." Al's tone was serious, not even a hint of 'protesting too much' "I'm his boss, in a manner of speaking. That's just wrong." Her lip curled in disgust, not at the man, he was fine and lovely but the thought of her and him like that...no.

"He's still cute." Cathy said, turning away from Al.

"I'm sure he is, but I can tell you with certainty that he is not the boy." She rejoined her sisters at the table ruffling their hair a little. Despite all the teasing she still loved them, and she wasn't going to miss the chance to spend some time with them, she would get precious few moments with them.The wake last night drove that point home.
 
Mavis ran the comb through her dampened fiery locks as she sat in front of the small dressing table, the sounds of the sleeping city waking up to the day came in from the open balcony doors. Tilting her face she examined her handiwork in the mirror, when the quiet tableau was broken by a particularly loud snore. The Givrian leaned back to peer around the doorframe, stifling a snort of amusement at the slumbering form of Leftenant Commander Ardeth Bay as he lay across the bed wearing nothing more than what he came into the world with.

Poor man, wasn't able to catch a second wind after that last bit of fun in the shower.

Luckily for her latest paramour, his apartments corner location wouldn't let his neighbors get an eyeful of the sleeping DOP officers gentleman when they stepped out for their morning rituals. Mavis went back to fixing her hair, deciding to leave the tousled look before pulling out her makeup kit from the small clutch purse she was carrying last night. Humming contentedly to herself as she put on her makeup, Mavis had to admit that last night was just what she needed. Well, aside from the spectre out of the past making a damned nuisance of itself.

The redhead had been scoping out the prospects as she danced and sang throughout the night, the byplay with Al and Hawkins being a bit of distraction. The sight of her friend letting her guard down and living in the moment had solidified the itch Mavis had been needing scratched ever since getting back to the city alive and in one piece.

Killjoy fraternization regs, the well worn mental grumble went.

Most people wouldn't be surprised that Mavis was picky in her choice of partners, as there was more than mere attraction that she was looking for. Discretion, for one. Understanding that there wasn't likely to be a second encounter, as another. If they were honest with their emotions, not needing the facades that most people constrained themselves behind. A sense of humor was more important than physical attractiveness to her, though Mavis would admit she was a sucker for a person with body you could bounce a coin off of. Ardeth managed to check off all those boxes, the tanned Artilleryman having gamely played back when she flirted with him throughout the night.

Overheard conversations and a few leading questions to his comrades only cemented her want, with a weatherworn warrant officer practically drooling as she recounted him organizing a feast on another ship the pair had served on together before the Zephyr. Mavis, of course, knew about his family. After all, word tends to get around when the second son of one of the premier executive chefs in New Boromih quits the family business after a very public family row in the middle of dinner service. Going from slinging the most expensive hash in town to slinging artillery shells is a bit of a career leap, which piqued her curiosity even more as she wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery if she could.

Well, I did get to the bottom of many things last night, Mavis mused impishly to herself as she applied her mascara.

Ardeth had not disappointed, his hands well practiced with the careful handling high explosives...which did get the next apartment over pounding on the wall after she did some exploding herself. To her surprise, he was already up before she was the next day and Mavis had woken up to a breakfast in bed that the likes she had only seen when Maurice was in his 'authentic Kubutian cuisine' kick a few years back.

"Oh I see how it is, trying to bribe me with food to stay longer.~" was the amused remark as she cut off a piece of sausage and took a bite. So good.

His boyish grin at her blissful expression led naturally to his question if said bribe was successful.

"You're lucky you're cute."

To be honest, it was a memorable breakfast as they chatted about their families and their duties in the DOP as they ate. Then the insufferable man had pointed out his recently remodeled bathroom had more than enough room for two people to fit in the shower...

Mavis finished up her makeup after that little bit of remembrance and began hunting around the apartment from her cast off clothes from the night before. How did one of my heels get on top of the icebox, she wondered idly as she stood on tiptoes to extract it from atop it's perch.

Now fully ready to seize the day, she checked in on Ardeth again. Still naked and asleep. Well then.

She pulled one of her contact cards from her clutch, setting it on nightstand nearest to him before taking a moment to admire the sight in front of her. Once done, Mavis moved one of the sheets to cover him up and closed the balcony doors. She didn't want for him to catch a cold after that hot shower, after all.

All that's left is the memento, she thought as she pulled out her cherry red lipstick and applied a thicker coat to her lips. She carded her fingers through the sleeping officer's hair lightly before planting a kiss on the cheek that left a very noticeable calling card behind.

He didn't even twitch. Mavis shook her head in silent wonderment before letting herself out of the apartment and closing the door gently behind herself with a quiet click.

Now, she had three days to get her affairs in order here in the City before being stuck on a ride full of nuns with guns. First stop was back at home for a change of clothes.

She strode over to the elevator and pressed the call button. As Mavis waited for the elevator, she planned out the rest of her day. She wanted to get in some range time with her new weapon, drop by the Croy residence to drop off her parents invites to Al's family...

The elevator dinged as it arrived on the floor, the young attendant girl blinking at Mavis as she stepped inside. "Lobby, please."

The attendant nodded at Mavis as she closed the gate and directed the elevator downwards, trying to hide the blush that was rapidly making itself known as she was keenly aware of the marks dotting the redheads neck that Mavis' concealer couldn't fully hide in the close confines of the lift.
 
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Dawson toweled off his face and looked into the bathroom mirror. The ostensive reason being to check for errant stubble. The actual reason being to gather his thoughts. He smacked his lips as he decided where to start.

"Hagi is a great officer and a good person. I should have socialized with her more."

Wouldn't have been easy. Putting two introverts together can be a tough sell, but Dawson always had an angle or two to break the ice. In their case it was complimenting her on the scarf and feigning surprise. The scarf did look fabulous on her, and he told her as much. From there they had a pleasant evening chatting. Really just getting to know each other and sharing good-natured laughter over stories. To be honest, relaxing with the Major proved to be his favorite part of the evening. For a few hours his head, while not clear, at least tacked toward a moderate breeze.

Even if the revelry had a few hiccups. Such as calling a taxi for Mavis and her man toy. And asking Edward's crew mates where he lived, just in case. The latter earned him a bit of dosh for snagging a dance with Sula. Dawson promptly reinvested his winnings in drinks for said crew. A winning investment any day.

Much to his surprise, the night slipped away from him. He bid Major Hagi goodnight and good luck. Only then did his mind take off wild once more. By the time he walked into the house, the rough details of a new parachute (airship parachute!) system had already gelled. As well as the many troubling implications about such a project.

Dawson wanted more sleep. Otti's breakfasts were legendary for a reason though. He would not pass up authentic Kubutian cuisine for anything. Which meant, long night or not, he slept with a vengeance and didn't hear anyone for a few precious hours.

Woke with the sneaking suspicion that people were talking about him...

"Okay, I have a fraction of my leave. I can do this. First, exercise."

He'd skipped part of his morning workout the previous day. This morning, or later morning, he did his full routine. Added a few more blocks to his jog and more pull ups to make up the difference. He didn't make it this far by being lax. Now showered and shaved, he felt ready to face the day.

"Next, brunch with mom and dad. Everyone!"

Company drama played out yesterday. Today focused more on being together. He felt snippets of that yesterday, but today the sunshine and tea made him feel at home. Octavia even pulled out her enormous old camera and took an impromptu family portrait. Dawson was on the right with his parents. The rest of a clan, minus a few with prior commitments, circled the courtyard table with big smiles on their faces. Including Dawson.

"Third, the base."

That ate up way more time than he anticipated. Making sure his belongings (and by proxy, his wing mates') transferred smoothly to the train, and by extension, to the Gunwitch's airship. That step he neglected once and would never do again. The DOP had many strengths, but tracking luggage didn't rank among them. Visiting Rebeka and Mork proved more enjoyable. Poor Mork still wasn't out of the woods yet but seemed to be improving. Rebeka had a bit of that reporter feistiness in her eyes today. Yes, he would do an interview after his new assignment. Yes, assuming the Gun Witches didn't shoot him.

Speaking of guns, he put some rounds down range as well. He didn't have much time, given his schedule, but practice makes perfect. Didn't have time for the tactical course either, unfortunately, but he worked his handling skills as well. He almost locked up more than once on the Zephyr. His basic training saved him, and he'd damn well make it advanced before he was satisfied. Mavis joined him after a bit, and he enjoyed her company. He also offered her some of his aspirin.

"The mills."

And that ate up everything else. A whirlwind of dull meetings that made him yearn for the chaos of his family. Everything looked ship shape. Still running lean but running smoothly enough. For that he was very, very thankful. On a couple of points he confided to Emiko. One, make sure those promised crates of Forest silk made it to R&D. Covertly. Secondly, he would be mailing papers before boarding the Gun Witches' airship. Keep them sealed, confidential, secure, and offsite from the company and his family.

He all but had to run out of the last meeting to make the train.
 
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=}+{=
=} New Boromih - Central Train Station {=​

The days of relaxation, of frantic preparation, of fleeting moments shared with family, friends and lovers were over far too quickly, seemingly in the blink of an eye three days had gone past and the wing found itself on its next mission. The days had been hectic, not only for the pilots, but for the whole Patrol as news about the failed mission against the forest had spread. For many people in New Boromih, the fate of the old city of the same name, was both a pyre of the old age and the beacon of a new one and the loss of a whole continent to the invaders from beyond this world was a shock that still ran deep. Thus, the message of new super-airships of the forest, of a whole cadre of promising young pilots slaughtered in the halls of their own airship and of either wrong intel or outright treachery, had set public opinion against the patrol. In a way it became a victim of its own success, as it was deeply enmeshed with the newspapers of the cities, as the Patrol with its missions all over the world, its fast planes and large calibre weapons were both the shield of the city and its most important source of foreign currency.

This time, the newspapers which would usually have talked about daring raids, bravery in the blue skies and many other things that invited people to wave flags, keep notes of their favourite aces and had young man and woman joining the Patrol to travel to exotic, distant lands, where they would meet exciting, unusual people – before often killing them if such an encounter happened in the sky, instead focused on what some people already deemed the worst fiasco of the last five years. Partly galling might have been the report from a familiar, now one-armed, journalist who had used her access to other people from the Zephyr to reconstruct what had happened, highlighting the total collapse of the command structure as soon as the ship was boarded, highlighted the sacrifices and heroics of the individual – but in the end gave a voice to those who had lost their loved ones to what Kristensen had deemed flaws and weak spots in an outdated system – both the human and the mechanical parts.

Most likely this had been part of the reason you had been sent to your next assignment that quickly and you could only hope that Major Strindt and Wendigo had taken to hiding away from the reporters in the military hospital, instead of truly needing to stay there for the past few days.

For one reason or another, you found yourself before the imposing brick and stone building that was the main train station of New Boromih, its outer walls resembling an fortress of ages past, while its large arched entrances gave way to the hundreds of people coming and going at seemingly any given moment. With your luggage in hand, your military issued ticket in your pockets and your teary eyed families in the foyer, you approached the station platform, the uniformed conductors saluting more or less smartly, depending on how long their conscription had been ago as they saw the silvery rank signs pinned to Al's collar. If there was another perk to officer rank, then that the rank signs were enough to quickly part lines waiting on the train, allowing the rest of the wing to move forward in the wake of their superior officer.

The Patrol seemingly hadn't been cheap when it came to the seating and the trio of pilots found themselves moving forward, just enough that the cheaper and more crowded wagons were left behind them, but not too close to the locomotive – no one wanted to have their window full of Diesel smell on a sunny day like this. Wagon number eight had a shiny green finish, with dark red lines and downright sparkling windows and even if it wasn't the luxury wagon, the compartment you found yourself in was spacious enough for four people to sit comfortably, with enough space above and below to stash your luggage on the trip to the Aerodrome on the other side of the Island.

Just a few hours more and you would find yourself once more with the steady vibrations of the ships engines, the cold of the sky and the steady murmuring of crew all around you. While it wasn't as good as coming home, the prospect of getting onto another airship was a nice one, wasn't it?

=}+{=​
 
The day had been going so well. Mavis had decided to stay at the manse, wanting to stay with her parents before she left. However, she had been so excited about the upcoming mission she'd awoken before sunrise. This had resulted in being on the receiving end of a familiar sigh of fond exasperation from Miri when she'd found Mavis drinking espresso and joking with a laughing Maurice in the kitchen clad in a dressing gown over her smallclothes as the chef bustled about preparing the morning meal.

"Couldn't sleep, I take it?" Her best friend inquired as she accepted a steaming cup from Maurice with a nod of thanks.

"To keyed up. Excited about the trip. Worried about having to come clean to Dawson and Al. Well, Al more than Dawling." The redhead replied.

"I'm sure it will be fine." The platinum blonde stated as she sat next to Mavis. "So, since you're up before dawn, I take it you're going to the grotto?"

Mavis nodded as she took a sip. "I've finished packing my uniforms. I do have some extra space for an extra outfit or two, if you want to help me pick."

Maurice broke in. "Breakfast will be anozzer hour, if you are wondering about zat."

"Well then, I'll be there with bells on." The sole child of the Harpers said as she stood up, leaving her empty cup on the counter next to the sink before going to visit her siblings.

The grotto was originally found when her great-great-grandfather was digging out the undercroft for the château and had broken into a hidden sea cave during construction. Aramis Harper had knocked a hole into the ceiling from above in the garden for lighting, and finally had commissioned the renowned sculptor Octavio Garibaldi for a relief. Said relief, an image of the Lady, was carved into the wall of the grotto and positioned so it looked like she was standing on the seawater that pooled at the bottom of the natural grotto. When it was apparent the Harpers were fleeing Givria for good, her father had contracted builders to convert it into the Harper mausoleum it now was. No remains were laid to rest here, as the Harpers followed the traditional rites of the lady: cremation and scattering the ashes to the waters. In lieu of interred remains or urns just shy of two score of votive columns, each with a candle on top and representing a generation of her family, artfully surrounded a stone bench. Mavis could hear the surf pounding on the seawall she genuflected on the bench, the cries of the seagulls increasing as the first set of dawns rays crested the horizon and began lighting up the chamber. Candlelight flickered from three of the columns, as Mavis sent prayers to the Lady and her lost family members.

Feeling a bit lighter, Mavis had gone on and decided with Miri on the outfit that she was going to wear today. By the time the pair had decided on the beret it was time for breakfast. The meal was stifingly somber before Mavis became increasingly annoyed with her mothers' melancholy behavior and then promptly gently lobbed a piece of her baguette at her father's head. The automatic response from her other parent to act more 'ladylike' was fended off with a tirade of blue collar swearing in the most nasal Kubutian accent she could manage, much to her father's amusement.

"Now that I have your attention, Maman, would you please stop acting like I am running off to join the Black Parade." Mavis said as she pinned Élodie Harper with a gimlet gaze. "This was my choice to serve. I'm a damn fine pilot, and I refuse to be a locked in a glorified gilded cage for my own supposed safety. I am not about to stand by and let despotic flunkies, rabid inflicted, uppity flora, or whatever else that crawls out of the woodwork make me lose this home too. I swore an oath, Mother, and you know how seriously our family takes those." Mavis gave her mother her best winning smile.

Élodie Harper looked at her daughter before sighing and jabbing her proudly beaming husband in the side hard enough to elicit a surprised yelp from him. "This is your fault, amor meu." she hissed before turning back to her only daughter.

"Mavy, honey, I know. Lady above, I know. But...I don't want lose you too. When your father heard about what happened..." Mavis had seen both of her parents at their worst after the family had fled the old country, and the look on her mother's face harkened back to those days.

Mavis got out of her chair to wrap her mother in a hug and was joined shortly by her father. "The world outside that window is not safe. It's wondrous, with treasures to satiate desires both subtle and audacious. But it's not for the timid." The youngest Harper replied, quoting back words that her mother had told her oh so many years and a continent ago.

Her mother leaned into the hug she and her father were giving her with a sad chuckle. "Cheeky girl."


Thanks to Chase and his ability to drive like she flew, Mavis had made excellent time in getting to the station. Her parents elected not to go to the station, as both of them didn't prefer the attention that would entail. Especially so as the news about the Inventionis and the Zephyr made headlines. Any of the local papers worth their salt would have some sources in the DOP that shared information, and Mavis gave even odds that there would be some of the paparazzo lurking about. She'd need to be on the lookout to keep the vultures away from Al, at the very least. The redhead knew firsthand what happened when pushy press meets a person who takes umbrage with the invasion of privacy after her father had a rather pointed discussion with one of the muckrakers from the New Boromih Enquirer with three feet of steel in hand.

Sliding on her sunglasses as Chase helped her out of the car, she looked over at the nearby gaggle of young porters that were in a muted argument who would take her bags. Nobles like her tended to tip well, so Mavis took great amusement in stepping past the winner of the argument to a slip of a girl hovering at the back of the pack of porters.

"Hello there young lady. Mind taking my bags?" she asked the burnette, Diana, who nodded profusely before hurrying over to where Chase was closing the trunk. The stack of baggage was almost the same height as the girl, not helped by the ones that held the wings weapons and other gear that she had picked up after stopping by the base the night before.

Saying goodbye to Chase, Mavis began making her way to the platform; increasingly happy with her decision not to wear her uniform. Oh she'd eventually change onboard the train, but with how interminable the ride was there was no need in her mind to make it worse by being uncomfortable. She moved through the station with confidence and poise, parting the crowd in front of her like the bowspirit of an airship exiting a cloudbank as Diana followed gamely behind her clacking pumps.

By the time she had gotten past the initial set of gates Mavis had spotted a handful of reporters with pencils and pad in hand so her decision to not 'fly the flag' as it were was the correct one. The DOP base was practically swarming with them, with what looked to be an entire newsroom worth of reporters skulking about. When she had gotten to the platforms it was apparent that memo had not gotten to Al, as both the uniform and rank pins had let the redhead spot her friend and superior officer almost immediately. Resisting the urge to palm her face, she picked up speed as she spotted a pair of bogeys angling for intercept. Curses. Welp, time to run interference.

Upon closer look as she closed the distance, the socialite turned pilot knew the duo attempting to bounce her wingmates: an older man with salt and pepper hair followed by a harried young woman toting a camera. Cameron Calitri was one of the first radiomen of the DOP and had helmed the creation and publishing of the Patrol's own newsletter, The Sentinel. After serving a pair of terms, he had left the DOP and worked for the New Boromih Gazette where his reputation as a hard charger hadn't won the man any favors over the years. Rumor was he was on the fast track for editor-in-chief, provided he didn't cause another scandal for the paper. The camerawoman, Peony Pascale, was a well known freelancer who worked for the rags to fund her more artistic endeavors.

"Diana?" Mavis called out to the girl behind her, not slowing her pace as she pointed out the train car she'd be departing on.

"Would you kindly also collect my traveling companions' bags as well?" She paused momentarily to let the porter catch up, pointing to the solidly built woman in DOP uniform and the waistcoated made man.

"Thanks! You're a doll!" Mavis said in appreciation to the shocked young porter, who was staring gobsmacked at a very generous tip in her hand that hadn't been there a second ago. Leaving Diana and her luggage behind, Mavis amped up the sway in her hips as both men and women instinctively moved out of her way as she stalked forward to screen her wingmates.

"Why Cameron Calitri, as I live and breathe." Mavis called over the crowd as she approached, stopping the pair in their tracks as they turned face her.

"Oh, and is that Peony Pascale? Darling, loved your photos that you showed in the Austere Gallery a while back." The camera in the photographers hands was already aiming her direction, so Mavis doffed her sunglasses and posed with a winsome smile as the bulb flashed a moment later.

"Harper. You'll do." Calitri gruffly stated as he extracted a writing utensil out of his pocket and flipped open his notepad with a flick of his wrist.

"Flattery like that will get you nowhere, Monsieur Calitri," a teasingly chiding Mavis said as she steered the reporters away from the rest of her wing by talking and walking with them; before gracefully alighting on one of the wrought iron benches. "I can spare a few more minutes until my train is scheduled to depart, so ask away!"
 
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Yeah, Dawson looked a little gangster. Felt it too. He'd come straight from the office. In his defense, the office didn't have a dress code per say. "Dressing for success" however did resonate for the tailor, and one should always look dashing.

Thankfully, the Mathildes three and Uncle Otti gave him a lift to the station. Part of him was grateful to see them one last time, and another part of him was concerned about his aunts. They were matchmakers. One professionally. In another era, all would have been courtiers or powers behind thrones. Always weaving and spinning. Weaving and spinning. He knew why they were lined up in the back seat of Otti's car. They stared at him with those mysterious smiles. Which, he grudgingly admitted, he had adopted and served him well.

Otti made his goodbyes in the foyer. His aunts though insisted on escorting him to the platform. Thus Dawson "Stitch" Loomis entered the station surrounded by a cordon of steel-eyed Loomis women. Each as different as the next, by clothing and appearance, but all walking in unison around him like a bomber with a fighter escort. He'd draped his jacket over his left shoulder, covering his pistol if not the harness. Only a small shoulder bag burdened him otherwise.

He looked around for his wing mates as his thoughts drifted. That last breakfast with Otti...

---

"Thank you," Otti said as he shoveled more roasted vegetables onto Dawson's plate.

"For what?" Dawson replied after swallowing.

"For joining the Patrol. For sticking your neck out for the family."

"What else was I supposed to do?" The tailor glanced around the empty kitchen. Murmurs echoed from the next room.

"Dawsie, you were on your way up. You could have been big. One of the best. You worked your rumpus off designing. Then... you just walked away because we needed you. You could have been like Aunt Agatha and walked your own path. You didn't need us. By the River, you still don't." Otti sat down with a grunt and rubbed his knee.

"That's not true, Unc."

Otti shook his head. "Life has something in store for you. I can feel it." He tapped his chest.

"That's indigestion." Otti smiled.

"Laugh it off all you want, kiddo. I read the papers." He took a sip of breakfast wine and stared at the glass. His voice softened. "We all cross The River someday. When you do, you won't be a statistic. People will know you and the things you've done. Lives you've touched."

Dawson hung on every movement and word. Uncle Otti wasn't a sentimental man, and that's saying something coming from a non-sentimental people. For all their boisterousness, Kubutians at heart tended toward a quiet, practical humanism. Impermanence always factored into their psyches. You are born, you live, and you die. Only this life mattered before you crossed The River into death. Probably why they made the most of life and tried to make a difference in the here-and-now. Life was far too short to dwell in melancholy.

They just didn't tend to express such. The little wooden sign above the kitchen door caught his attention. "Read well, Eat well." A common Kubutian aphorism.

"This too shall pass...," Dawson began.

"...as but a dream," Otti finished.

Silence fell. Only the clank of silverware could be heard. In time the overflowing plate sat emptied.

Otti sipped his wine, "Do you think you could have saved the company being a designer?"

Dawson sighed, "Maybe in 10 years or 15. Archie picked a very bad time to screw it all up."

Otti nodded. "I'm proud of you." He held up a hand to stop Dawson, "Not for helping the family or doing what needed to be done. I'm proud because you are a good man."

---

Otti didn't give compliments with abandon. Hearing pride from his parents fortified him, but hearing it from Otti moved him. Made all the sacrifices worth it.

His escort peeled away into the crowd as he joined formation with his wing mates. He too spotted the reporters.

To be expected.

Mavis pulled ahead into intercept mode. Dawson motioned to Al to keep moving and handed Diana a luggage slip with another tip underneath. A murmured thanks and he banked toward wagon number eight. Walked with a calm, smooth grace that belied the fact that he studiously avoided even looking at the reporters. In particular the muckraking Calitri. Not a face he liked seeing. And he'd seen more than enough of Cameron after the parachute accident.

His aunts though... disappeared into the crowd. Even their nephew couldn't spot them.
 
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