On what seemed to be the hottest evening of the summer, Sheeva fanned herself with the “worst waste of paper she had ever seen” as she chugged glass after glass of water. She had her shirt unbuttoned as far as she would allow, wanting to be considerate of the men in the room. Still, it was as close to being naked as she could be while being decent.
All the windows and the balcony doors were open, and Sheeva was waving her hand in circles, trying to create an airflow. She could freeze the air but feared accidentally freezing them all instantly, her focus going haywire, on edge from being in the same room as Tazaro.
“This heat is ridiculous. What a day to try to hold a festival.” Vincent groaned, sprawled on his comfortable green chair. Both the men had no shirts on and only wore shorts, but they still looked like they could melt into the floor.
“Festival? For what? If you city-dwellers hold festivals for this kind of heat, you are all crazier than I anticipated.” Sheeva grumbled.
Tazaro snorted and peeled himself off of the couch, leaning forward to rest his sweaty head in his palms. He grabbed his glass of water and chugged, parched.
“Gods, no, we’re not that nuts. You’re confusing us with Pyuritans. Those gluttonous lushes would celebrate anything. Probably even celebrate a sneeze.” Tazaro defended. Sheeva gave a little chuckle.
"That is too true. I couldn't get much more out of them when asking about Llyud at one of their fall festivals. They were too drunk and kept begging me to 'chugalug up an’ fuggedaboutit!" She grunted, never wanting to deal with such mockery again.
Vincent held back a snicker, such behavior typical of the farmers with nary a care for much else than week-long festivals, wine, and sex. He sighed in relief as a gust of wind swept over him. Sheeva took turns giving them each air, having to stop to rest every couple of minutes. During that time, Tazaro would take over, though he was not very good at it. Yet, Sheeva assured him.
“Anyway, it’s the Festival of Lovers. People gather in the streets and try to woo one another. It’s pretty entertaining to watch people be turned down. The four of us…" Vincent gave a pause, glancing between the two romantically frustrated people in the room. "Usually just take bets, but if we don’t go for at least that, then we would just go for the fireworks show.” He explained.
“You bet on people? Aren’t doctors supposed to be nice?” Sheeva asked.
Vincent snickered at the comment.
“We don’t bet on our friends, does that count?”
Sheeva shook her head and rolled her eyes.
“By the way, I’m taking Maya to the festival, and Micah will be joining us later. Assuming that’s fine with you?”
“You’re doing what?” Tazaro snapped his head to Vincent, a worried look on his face.
“You-you’re not bringing her back here, are you?”
“No, no. We’re just going as friends. And, even if something did happen, I’ve got a backup plan. But I don’t think anything will happen. She only had eyes for yo-aah, someone else.” He changed his statement as Tazaro sent him a glare that rivaled Sheeva’s. She seemed to be rubbing off on him.
Tazaro glanced at Sheeva out of the corner of his eye, worried. He wondered if she picked up on Vincent’s slip, and admittedly, he was curious to know if she had a jealous streak. He doubted so, but he could not help the speck of hope that grew when he saw the blush on her cheeks and the frustration in her eyes.
“What are fireworks?” Sheeva asked, waving her hand around herself to give herself a cool wisp of air. Her spell died down as she felt their eyes on her, and she looked at them.
“You’ve never seen fireworks?” Tazaro asked, simultaneously amazed and relieved that her frustration was due to that and not Maya. Sheeva scoffed at him and crossed her arms defensively.
“I would not stay in a place for nearly as long as I have been here.” She answered.
Vincent’s lips curled, and he fought to keep a straight face.
“Well if that's the case, Tazaro can take you to see them.” Vincent decided. Tazaro looked back over at Vincent with a wide-eyed, skeptical look, but it faded into a sly smile as realization clicked when he understood the set-up attempt.
“Sure, I can do that.” He agreed with a smile.
“I told Maya we’d pick out a good spot to laugh at the suckers. We’re heading to the Eastern Quarter Plaza–getting to enjoy watching snobs be turned down by posh blowhards is always a blast." He announced with a derisive giggle that caused Tazaro to chuckle in return.
He felt a small spot of shame that he would be missing out on the hilarities, but it was hard to pass up the opportunity to, maybe, spend a little more quality time with Sheeva.
"You two should stick to the south end,” Vincent stated, standing up and stretching. He reached into his pocket and flicked a ten-Inue at both of them. They caught them surprisingly well, given that Tazaro was still stunned and Sheeva was right-handed.
Heh. Thanks, Vincent. You’re a hell of a wingman. Tazaro thought as he turned the coin over in his fingers and appreciated the generosity.
Tazaro looked at Sheeva. Her wing stuck out like a sore thumb, and with how hot it was, she probably would not want to cover it with anything.
“Not to be a buzzkill, but what are we going to do about that wing?” Tazaro asked.
“I should be able to hide it for a while. Let me see.” Sheeva formed a few signs and closed her eyes in focus. He watched, amazed, as the thing dissipated slowly. When she opened her eyes again, he saw they were purple instead of their usual red.
"Whoa. How did you do that?" He asked. She formed the seals again slowly and focused. As she shook her head, her hair changed from its deep black to a dark brunette.
"A spell I created about half a year ago. It’s still in the making. You should change, too. You are supposed to be dead. Follow. You should feel the energy collected around what you mean to change. The irises of your eyes. The roots of your hair. Perhaps…you should try blue, for your eyes." She explained. He followed her instruction and felt a great burn in his eyes as he visualized them being a gentle sapphire. He squeezed his eyes shut even further at the discomfort.
Worried that he might have blinded himself, Tazaro was relieved to find that he could still see when he opened his eyes.
"Oh. Did it work?" He asked. She nodded and reached for her small mirror to hold it up to him. Sure enough, his eyes were blue, with specks of orange that still lingered in places. To say he was fascinated was an understatement; this spell was something else he could experiment with until either he'd found out everything he could do to make it better and Sheeva hated him for it, or he couldn't possibly learn anything new.
Wondering if he could have his hair a lighter color, he formed the signs again and thought about having blonde hair. Sure enough, when he held out his ever-growing hair in front of his face to look, his chestnut hair was now a dirty blonde.
“That’s really cool!” He grinned, then cast the spell again. Wondering if he could have any shade of color, Tazaro decided on green for the hell of it. He watched the blonde fade away and turn a deep, dark green.
He watched her cross her arms and heard her sigh, an apologetic look on her face.
"Something wrong?" He asked in hopes that she would answer.
"It is my fault you need to change your appearance."
He waited for a moment, thinking of what to say. He'd had more than enough time to “mourn his death,” and realized that there was vastly more to the world than crafting gadgets and furniture. He eventually came to terms with his new reality, and even though he would miss his friends, he did not feel like he could be normal around them anymore, save for Micah, Vincent, and Tyler.
Tazaro shook his head, determined to say something.
"Why did you suggest blue eyes?" He asked, hoping to change the subject, which seemed to be a better idea for the moment. She paused and stared at him, a mild show of surprise bleeding through her stoic expression. That was not the first thing she expected him to say.
"Tarrakkians generally have blue eyes. When casting this spell, I have found it is easiest to reflect something that fits your personality." She answered, drumming up an excuse other than "I thought it might look good," because in all honesty, giving such a compliment might go straight to her head.
Tazaro wondered if the suggestion was a kind of hidden compliment, as Tarrakkians were the ringleaders in advancing technology and exploratory pioneers. He told himself it was, even if she meant it more in a matter-of-fact way, and was thankful that it wasn't a backhanded compliment.
Still, he wished she would be a little more forward about her compliments; the guesswork was maddening.
“Thank you. I’m going to change.” He hurried off of the couch, trying to keep as steady a gait as possible, but couldn't help feel the peppiness of high anticipations.
Tazaro took his time in rummaging through his closet for things he had not worn in ages. He finally settled on a pair of black slacks that were breathable and a white, button-up silk shirt with long sleeves that he rolled up to frame his forearms, amazed to notice the shirt fit him more snugly in the arms and shoulders than it had; his efforts toward training beginning to take shape and pay off. He smiled at himself, pleased with the minor detail.
Wanting to match his still-green hair, Tazaro settled with donning an emerald vest that he had only worn once to a silly, formal school occasion that he only went to because Vincent didn't want to go alone.
He stared at his hair, wondering what to do with it. It had grown out to frame his head and just barely touched along his shoulders. Wondering if it were possible, he attempted to pull back his hair into a ponytail. It wasn't quite long enough for that yet as he managed a piddly pinch and looked like a pissed-off cluckatrice with angrily ruffled feathers.
He immediately ran his fingers through his hair to straighten it out.
As he glanced at his eyes while testing different parting lines for his hair, they surprised him, momentarily forgetting that they were not currently his normal citrine. Should he decide to change his physical characteristics, he wondered if it would ever become possible to forget his initial appearance. He shrugged it off. He would probably have to change his looks daily for such an unlikely thing to happen.
Deciding to keep his hair green to be less likely recognized off the bat by someone even though it would no longer match the vest, he brushed his hair out, fixed it with a part to the left, and then fussed over it in nerves as it didn't look as dashing as he thought. He snorted at himself; he was only obsessed about it now because he worried Sheeva would care. Tazaro sighed and dropped his hands, figuring she would be the least likely to care about such things, considering she suggested ways to change his looks based on his “personality” and not what looked good. It was an emboldening thought, encouraging him to dismiss the tousled state of his hair and head to his door.
He still stuck his head back in front of the mirror and pulled back a lock of hair that dangled in his face. It only fell back in place, and he scowled at it.
Vincent still had not emerged from his room, apparently really taking his time in getting ready, but that didn't surprise Tazaro one bit, considering Vincent liked to look good for everyone, and anything "less than his best was an insult." Tazaro took his spot by Sheeva, pleased to find the slight curl of her lips as she saw him, masked by a scoff as she turned her head to look out of the balcony window.
“What?” He pried, though if he was reading her correctly, he knew very well what.
“You look...nice. If-if that’s ok to say so.” She admitted, still not meeting his gaze, though the sentiment had now crept into her eyes. Tazaro smiled; though it was small, it was still a step.
“Thank you. I appreciate it–it's welcome. How long will this last?” Tazaro asked, gesturing to his face to refer to the spell.
“Well, you’ve been stuck with that mug since birth, so I can’t believe you have to ask.” Vincent quipped as he walked back into the room. He snickered at the rude gesture that Tazaro made and sat down in his chair. Sheeva hid a smile with the back of her hand at Vincent’s tease.
“I’m still developing the spell, but hopefully, a couple hours. I did not start experimenting with this spell until after I was turned away in Anidelle for my eye color.” She answered.
“Mm. Does it work on clothes, too? Or just the body?”
Sheeva glanced at him, then squinted her eyes in thought, the head-tilt-of-curiosity now something automatic, considering how many "out-of-the-box" questions he seemed to ask in a day. Casting the spell on her clothes had never been something she considered, being too comfortable in her own incredibly limited wardrobe. She huffed, formed the seals, and touched her shirt, turning it from navy blue to a gentle lavender hue. She smiled at it.
“Apparently so. If there is nothing else, I am going to change too, I suppose.”
They watched her walk away, also with an unnatural pep in her step.
“She’s cheerful today,” Vincent commented, wondering if something had transpired overnight while he was away at work.
Tazaro gave a simple “hm, yeah.” He managed decent sleep last night. Perhaps Sheeva had, too; the squeak of the wheels in the balcony door never roused him from sleep once in the night.
Vincent grabbed his thin jacket and tucked it under his arm, checked the clock, and sat back down in his chair. He still had time to kill.
“Did you choose that combo?”
“I chose the hair color. Sheeva suggested the eyes.” Tazaro admitted, still staring at the hallway where she disappeared.
“You can choose any color for your hair, and you go with green?” Vincent teased. He watched Tazaro scowl.
“I was just messing around with it. Besides, as long as people don't recognize me, whatever’s fine.”
Vincent laughed, raised his eyebrows in acceptance and understanding, and then sat back in his chair, hands up in surrender.
“Not that they would, I think. Your hair’s gotten pretty long. Sure you don’t want me to cut it? I’ve gotten better at it thanks to Sheeva.” Vincent offered for the second time in the last month. Tazaro shook his head.
In growing self-consciousness, Tazaro began to mess around with the spell, turning his hair in different colors and looking at himself in the small mirror Sheeva had left. He finally settled with jet-black and tinted his eyes an even lighter shade of blue. If he were supposed to be dead, he might as well play the part of a dhampir. Curious, he even added a pair of fangs.
“Hey. Got any blood bags on hand? I could use a drink.” Tazaro cracked with a wide grin to show off what he could do.
“Ugh. Now that’s just creepy.” Vincent pointed out, unnerved. Tazaro sneered and cast the spell again, returning his teeth to their normal state.
“So. Have you thought about what you are going to do?” Vincent asked. Tazaro stared at the floor. He didn't need to ask what Vincent meant but briefly considered playing dumb, in case he was wrong.
“Not...really. I wasn’t even planning to go. Uh, thank you, by the way.”
“Welcome. It’s better than staying cooped up in here, isn’t it? Though, I suppose you guys could watch the fireworks from the balcony if you wanted to have some privacy.”
Tazaro nodded in agreement, though he felt like Vincent had more to say. He took a deep breath. Apparently, Vincent was making him ask.
“You got something else you want to say?”
“You, uh, really like her.”
It was Tazaro’s turn to utter a shy pfft and shake his head.
“Yeah. I noticed.”
“Noticed? Oh, no. No, no, no!” Vincent argued, sitting forward and pointing a finger at Tazaro. “Don't you dare downplay this, Tazaro! It's definitely more than 'noticed.' You like learning just as much as I do, but since she’s started showing you these cool spells and stuff, you’ve been hyper-fixated on experimenting with everything. You push yourself more. You’re much more… weirdly comfortable in your own skin–which I don’t mind, but if you were to start walking around naked, I would have something to say about it. And, uh, ever since you two went on your midnight adventure, you seem different. Haven’t seen you this happy since Kir- ah, well, a while. It’s a different kind of cheerful, and it’s beyond just being happy about your success with the Stargazer. Or even awkward kisses, for that matter.”
Tazaro turned away to keep his face hidden, a screwy smile on his face. All this was true, but there was much more than Vincent knew.
“I’m worth more than what Kirin led me to believe–which, I know that. Of course, I know that, but…Sheeva kind of drove the point home. She–heh,” He broke his thoughts to chuckle, amused. “She doesn’t talk much, but when she does, she can be oddly inspiring.”
"She did, huh?" Vincent turned to look at the hallway where Sheeva had disappeared to. "Good."
Vincent's curiosity got the better of him, recalling her statement about not "building progress on a foundation of lies."
“She seems to do that–pull really excellent advice out of nowhere for random things. What did she say?”
“In a nutshell? Other people don’t define my worth; only I do.”
Vincent sat back, contemplating the statement. It was powerful. Effective. Enough to get through Tazaro's stubborn head.
“Well! I'm going to have to use that! It fucking worked!”
“Mm-hmm.” Tazaro agreed, finding a hot-air balloon in the distance suddenly interesting.
“Good luck.” Vincent cheered, trying to figure out what Tazaro was staring at to hide his bashful state.
“Good luck with what?” Sheeva’s voice called out, startling them both into jerking their heads in the direction. Vincent’s gut dropped as he wondered how long she stood there, hoping she had not overheard their conversation.
Tazaro blinked and shuffled himself around to thoroughly look at her, mouth ajar as he gazed. Her usual black hair was now a light brown, held back in a simple, albeit messy braid with her favored red ribbon. It was probably as well as she could do with a cast limiting the mobility of one hand. And, of all things, she was wearing a yellow dress that stopped over her brown leather boots, with a white cloth jacket on her shoulders. Her eyes were a serene, tourmaline green. Her bound wing was nowhere in sight, and he noticed a small satchel tied to her left hip, no doubt carrying a couple of knives for quick retrieval. She began to fidget with the hem of the jacket in nerves.
“Wow. I, uh…you look great.” Tazaro blurbed, inwardly cursing himself. Gods be damned, Tazaro. Could you sound any dumber?
“Thank you. I, um, took an idea from Cassie’s book.” She offered a small smile, fighting the blush that spread on her cheeks. She could feel the burn of it on her chest. “Though I-I feel naked without Abraxas.” She admitted, a slightly worried glint in her eyes.
Tazaro tried to cover his mouth with his hand as subtly as possible as he felt his cheeks heat.
“You know, you don’t have to go so out of your way to–
–I wanted to. It’s-it is a festival, right?” She interrupted, shooting him a stern glare to mask her shyness, though he thought he could see a light blush on her cheeks. Tazaro had to admit, he was impressed with how much she was trying to break out of her comfort zone.
“I could carry it for you.” He offered.
She squinted her eyes in thought for a moment, then walked away. Tazaro let out a nervous breath, and Vincent began to laugh, managing to get a “man, your face!” out between it.
“Oh, shut up!” Tazaro snapped, smirking at himself and beginning to laugh as well. "I wasn't expecting–"
He stopped when Sheeva returned, carrying Abraxas in her hands, and stood from his spot on the couch as she motioned for him to level with her. She looped the scabbard around his shoulders, stepping back to take a look. Sheeva found it becoming of him but forced the thought aside, needing to focus on the practicality of where her sword was placed for quick retrieval in case she needed it.
She tightened the band around his chest with a jerk of the strap and reached up for the handle with her right hand, forgetting it was still in a cast. She could not get a good grip; the metal piece that supported her brace jutted out and interrupted her grasp.
“No. That will not work.” She muttered, reaching up with her left instead. As she tried to yank it out of its scabbard, she growled, frustrated that it was at such an awkward height above her head. She lacked the leverage she needed.
“Fine. We will try around your waist, then.”
Tazaro sucked in a nervous breath as she pushed him around, and as he felt the strap tighten around his right hip, he looked down to see how it looked on him. She was close enough that he could smell the shampoo she favored. He fought to ignore Vincent’s snickers and sent him a glare.
“Are you done?” Tazaro asked her, uncomfortable with Vincent's look of amusement. She grasped the handle of the sword with her left hand and ripped it out, slashing at the air behind her and then driving the blade forward, bracing it with her casted hand. The strikes were still incredibly fluid, impressing both Tazaro and Vincent.
Tazaro gave a surprised yelp as she turned and stepped towards him once more, spearing the air next to his head. He was sure that if he turned his head, he could press his face against the blade.
Sheeva laughed at his frightened expression.
“Relax. I will not kill you. I just needed to test my mobility.” She assured, closing the distance and sliding her sword back into its place. Tazaro stumbled back a few steps and buckled onto the couch, hand to his throat as he willed away his nerves.
“Well, I enjoyed watching you scare him. Are you ready to go?” Vincent asked, slipping past them and heading for the door. They followed him out and waited while he locked it. The setting sun spread an ethereal glow across the city. Tazaro paid more attention to how it lit up Sheeva, giving her green eyes a clear sparkle and her hair a reflective sheen.
He collected himself, hurried down the steps and towards the central plaza of the southern end of town, Sheeva and Vincent in tow. He was sure he could feel Vincent smirking at the back of his head the whole time.
As they neared the plaza, Sheeva was not surprised to see a caravan from Pacem lined along the side of the streets. As they called out to passersby, she averted her gaze to the other side of the road. Tazaro noticed she moved to his left, and he looked over his shoulder to the right.
“Something wrong?” He asked. Sheeva shrugged.
“I just wonder if people from Pacem can see my true form. A lot of them are seers, psychics. They can move objects with their minds or even read thoughts. My friend Cassie is one of those that can read thoughts, but she never did it to me unless she had to.” She muttered.
“Is that why you’re so blunt?” He wondered aloud. She smiled meekly.
“I suppose so. No use trying to tiptoe around the pond when your thoughts are being read anyway.” She gave a soft chuckle. At this moment, she was glad Tazaro could not read minds, nor that Cassie had been present over their embarrassing circumstances over the past couple of weeks. Cassie would love the opportunity to tease her to high skies, as Vincent seemed to enjoy doing to Tazaro.
Vincent tapped them both on the shoulder, spooking Sheeva and mildly scaring Tazaro. Sheeva whirled around, snatched the fabric of Vincent’s sleeve, locked his arm in such a way that he could not escape, and grasped the back of his head by his cloth-bound ponytail. When she recognized him, she growled and shook his arm in annoyance, released him, then checked over her shoulder to ensure her disguising spell was still in place.
“If you value your life, you will not do that again, is that clear?” She hissed. She took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself, something Tazaro would do when he was frustrated with an experiment gone wrong. A gaggle of spectators began to laugh as they tittered behind their hands, likely thinking that the attempt to woo Sheeva had miserably failed.
Vincent stood in place for a moment, amazed, and as he felt the twinge of pain from where she twisted his arm, he realized that she could have broken his arm, much like hers had been. He reached for his ponytail and ruffled it, massaging the tender spot to distract himself from the ripple of instant goosebumps.
“You know, if you keep showing off like that, I might come to find you attractive and develop a crush on you, too,” Vincent muttered to brush it off, rubbing his wrist. Tazaro noticed a brief hesitance in Sheeva’s demeanor as what Vincent said sunk in and caught himself in a smile.
“Pfft. Your affections would be poorly placed.”
“Whose would you accept, then?” Vincent pried, wondering if she would let it slip.
“That’s a silly thing for you to want to know.” She deflected carefully.
“It’s just a question.”
“There are better people out there than myself.” She dismissed sternly, heading towards the giant fountain in the middle of the southern plaza.
Sheeva sat, mulling the question over, and crossed her arms as she pondered it. There had not been anyone...else she had been attracted to, not that she let anyone get close enough to her. She thought about the kiss she gave Tazaro a little too often, upset that she seemed to do it completely wrong. Not only that, but it had only estranged them further. It was maddening.
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Catching sight of her reflection in the water, she had forgotten how surprising it was to not instantly recognize her own face. She splashed at the water to muddle the mirrored, unfamiliar face.
Other than her ridiculous affections, Sheeva's unfamiliarity with her meek behavior slowly became the new target of self-destructive obsession over the last week. She replayed the situation repeatedly in her head, wondering what might have happened if she had been blunt and straightforward instead of tiptoeing around the pond while waiting for him on his front porch.
Down the way, Tazaro and Vincent watched her sit on the edge and muse on something for a moment, then lean over to play with the water with her uncast hand. Tazaro found himself wishing that he could see how the true colors of her eyes and hair contrasted with the jade fountain and not the disguise she held, cute as it was. When she crossed her arms and legs and pouted about something, he found that adorable.
Tazaro took a deep breath as a thought occurred to him. If she honestly did not understand, perhaps he could help her. He hurried over to a nearby flower stand, browsing the unfamiliar flowers. He kept trying to decide what would look good on her, and all he could think about when trying to decide what to get was what would go with her black hair and red eyes, not her current appearance. It made the process even more complicated, and he absent-mindedly twirled a yellow dahlia in his fingers that he picked up because it seemed to match her outfit.
“Need help?” A voice asked, making him jump. The dahlia slipped from his hand, and he managed to snatch it from its fall, amazed with himself. The reaction-time training Sheeva had made him do catching pencils must have paid off. He shuffled the flower back in the bucket and turned to the old woman that had startled him.
“Um, yeah. Wanted to see about getting, uh, someone a flower, but I’m no good with plants.” He began.
Never had the patience for them. She does, though. She’s so patient toward plants and...teaching my clumsy ass. He gave a soft huff and a small smile as he thought of his ragora that she brought back from the brink of death.
“Red roses represent love. Tulips, too.” The old lady asked.
“Oh! Uh, sorry, but no. Not something for love. Not even anything close. She would probably clock me into next week. Or kill me.” He admitted, feeling a chill run up his spine as he imagined the beating he might receive.
“A fighter, hm?” She asked. He nodded.
“Yeah. Strong. Stubborn to high skies. Doesn’t…like people. We have...something of a friendship, but even that was a stretch. She can be, uh...” He looked back at Sheeva as he tried to decide what to say. “Cute. In a really bizarre way.” He finished with a smile.
He braced himself and crossed his arms as his stomach fell to the floor. He took a deep breath and forced his thoughts from his mouth.
“She doesn’t seem to think she can be attractive, and I wanted to show her other–He stopped when he saw the attendant was no longer at his side, now perusing a display of daffodils. –wise?” He muttered the end of his sentence and walked up to her.
“Daffodils represent new beginnings. Perhaps you should start there.” She suggested. Tazaro’s eyes darted around on the display of daffodils. Most of the daffodils had yellow or white petals with variants of colors in their middles.
“What color is her hair, and what color are her eyes?” She asked.
“Black hair, red eyes.” He blurted with a small smile, but it faded quickly as he remembered that she did not look like that currently. He screwed his eyes shut, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered an “Oh, Vilg sa.”
“I see. Here. Ring of Fire Daffodil. It should look nice in her hair.” She answered, handing him a white-petaled daffodil with a red center. He reached into his pocket and handed her the coin Vincent had given him, waiting while she counted out change.
“It’s a tough thing to do, exercise patience with a Cruinian. Took me years to drill it into my husband’s head that I wanted to marry the fickle bastard. We were together for forty-eight years.” She smiled in fond memory and clutched a ring strung to a necklace, then gave Tazaro a gentle shove towards the door. He looked back to say “thank you,” but she had already turned around and was helping another customer.
Sheeva was still by the fountain, now watching others with a fascinated expression on her face, one that she would get whenever she watched him test some new idea with a spell of hers.
He walked up to her and sat down on her left, trying not to squish the stem of the flower in his hand, though he could already feel the sticky sap from it mix with the sweat on his palm. He set the flower on the side of the fountain and wiped his palm on his pants. Bad idea; it left a noticeable streak. Tazaro quickly gathered himself before he could crumble from clumsiness.
“Hey. Would you dispel your disguise?” He asked carefully. She looked up at him, surprised.
“We are supposed to be hidden.” She reminded him. He gave a soft chuckle. He looked around and leaned forward to whisper in her ear.
“I am. I’m dead. But you, you’re not.”
He watched her eyes dart back and forth with confusion and worry.
“Please? I, uh...want to see you.” He asked. Gods be damned, that was smooth. He thought.
She looked around in nerves, and he offered for her to hug him so that others would not just happen to notice a random color change of hair. She took a deep breath and nodded, tucking her head in his hold, closed her eyes, and focused. As she felt a chill amid her eyes and hair, she pulled away and opened them, looking at her reflection in the water.
Back to that terrible shade of red, Sheeva thought. Her face fell as she stared at the beveled irises amid the crimson, downcast globes.
He lifted the flower he held, saddened and muttering an apology for his quick movement when he felt her flinch and noticed her eyes widened in worry, relieved when she relaxed. He tucked the daffodil in her hair, resting the stem on her ear.
“There. Better? I like it. Looks cute on you.” He complimented her with an earnest grin.
With a blooming blush, Sheeva looked at her reflection in the fountain. As Tazaro said, the daffodil did look good on her, with its white petals popping out amid the black of her hair and the crimson core resonating with her eyes and rosy cheeks. The action reminded her of how Rose would weave a crown of flowers and put them around her head when she was younger. It sent a wave of calm over her, and she smiled.
“Thank you.” She whispered. "You're right; it does look good on me."
Across the way, Vincent observed the scene, his trademark smirk on his face, then looked up as someone cheerfully called his name.
It took him a minute to recognize the blonde, shoulder-length, bob-cut of his assistant, Maya. Maya approached him and he gave a small wave, held his finger to his lips, then pointed at Tazaro and Sheeva. Maya turned to look.
“Aw, you started without me? Rude. I was looking forward to getting a head start this year!" Maya whined, pouting her lip at Vincent.
Vincent smirked as he started in Sheeva and Tazaro's direction.
"Considering who I was with, I couldn't resist."
She looked and instantly smiled, fawning over the two.
"Wow, they're adorable together." She commented, continuing to scan them over. "If they make it, she's a lucky girl; he looks like a hunk!" Maya continued. “Who are they?” She asked, seeming none the wiser that it was indeed Tazaro a mere twenty feet away.
Vincent had to admit, he was impressed that Maya had not recognized Tazaro off the bat, but he had to remind himself that not only was Tazaro's hair and eyes a different color, his hair had also grown to an almost unrecognizable length.
Vincent and Maya shuffled over in their spot as Micah arrived, dressed in loose-fitting, comfortable clothing, and they wondered if he wasn’t in the spirits to entertain any ladies for the evening. Micah waved the matter off as they continued to stare, giving the excuse that “the kids had me running late.”
Maya beamed at him, then offered a flirtatious tease about his sudden fatherly attitude.
“Did we already start? Who are we–
–those two, apparently. They’re cute together, aren’t they?” Maya cut off, pointing at the two subjects under scrutiny. "Oo! Hey, check it out! He's got a nice-looking sword! Ugh, scary-looking handle, though.” She peered her eyes at it, and her lip curled in disgust. “Are those monster teeth? Looks like it could spring to life and eat you."
At the mention of the familiarly frightening handle, Micah took a second look, recognizing the black hair of Sheeva’s head and the drake-toothed handle of Sheeva’s sword. As she glanced their way, muttered something to the person sitting next to her, he saw a brief flash of worry, and an instant back-turn on the three of them.
His eyes shot open in surprise, and he grinned before looking to Vincent for answers.
“Holy shit! Is that–
–Her Highness and our favorite nerd? Oh, yeah!” Vincent cut off with a serious grin. Micah covered his mouth with a hand.
“I didn’t think she had the capacity for cuteness.” He admitted with a blush.
“Who are they?” Maya asked, giving them both a look. They stared back at her, thinking of what to say without giving away Tazaro’s identity.
“Friends of ours. Smitten nerdy boy meets antisocial warrior girl.” Vincent answered carefully.
“Think he’ll try to kiss her?” She asked, staring back at the man and woman seeming to be in strained, stagnant silence. It was almost a painful sight, and she wasn’t sure who to be more embarrassed for.
“He damn well better! I might be inclined to punch him if he doesn’t. Betcha five Inue he goes for it.” Micah barked.
“I thought you didn’t bet on your friends?” Maya crossed her arms and looked skeptically between the two, now wondering how many times they had possibly bet on her.
“Normally, no! But, special circumstances. An…accumulation of missed moments and delightful misunderstandings, if you will, along with not-so-subtle nurturing by yours truly.” Vincent puffed, grinning and slapping Micah’s hand to accept the bet.
“If neither of you two are going to grow a conscience, then I suppose I will. We should leave them alone.” Maya grunted, but remained rooted to her spot, unable to deny her curiosity of the outcome.
They continued to watch, waiting.
Sheeva felt eyes on her and looked back at Vincent, seeing another woman and Micah standing next to him as they talked excitedly–and skeptically, as the woman cast a suspicious, indignant glance towards the other two. She brought the newcomers to Tazaro’s attention, and he looked back at them, then away, nervous.
“Well, shit. Micah. And Maya.” He muttered, staring intently at his reflection in the rolling fountain waters.
“Do you not like her?” Sheeva asked.
“Not romantically.” He answered, uncomfortable. He turned his back as much as he could on his friends, annoyed. But, he reminded himself, he really should have expected them to show up and spectate. He gave a soft smile to himself.
“Hm. Is Maya someone who wastes time with idle prattle?” She asked with a genuine laugh at her quick wit. He snickered, feeling a little guilty for laughing because it wasn’t true; he’d just never been interested in the same things she had, but at least she’d had interests.
“Huh. Humor does help. I can see why you try to be funny in uncomfortable situations.”
“Are you uncomf–No, never mind. You probably are.”
She hummed in contemplation, feeling his assumption was somewhat wrong and took a deep breath.
“Not quite. Nervous, yes. Uncomfortable, no. At least, not so much as I would be if you were not with me. Normally I would be fidgeting with the handle of Abraxas. If you’ve noticed, the pommel-stone lacks luster.” She admitted, then turned to look at her reflection in the water, annoyed with herself as she put them back in an awkward space as Tazaro’s lips curled in a small smile. Sheeva took a deep breath and looked away as she caught the red of her eyes again, then dropped her gaze as she saw a couple share a kiss across the way.
“I never apologized for my uncouthness the other night. I was, ah, curious and was comfortable doing that with you.” She apologized, a blush spreading on her face. Tazaro’s eyes lifted in sheepishness.
Tazaro smiled even more, immediately thinking of all the cheeky things he could say to that… And all of them felt far too corny or not at all appropriate.
“Well, um...at least you didn’t miss.” He grinned, hoping it would help.
“My aim is usually impeccable,” She smiled, but it fell quickly.
“I keep thinking that it was disrespectful of me to kiss you without asking, or that perhaps you didn't appreciate me doing it at all, but you did not stop me, either. I don’t know what to make of it.” She murmured.
Her fingers fidgeted with the grooves of the fountain to calm her thoughts. This was not the right time for a lecture. Tazaro took a deep breath and sighed, shaking his head.
“You're being silly again. That has nothing to do with it, Sheeva.”
As she felt a warm hand rest on her cold one, she jumped slightly, then looked at the owner, her heart doing a silly flip as she saw how he looked at her. Warmly, openly...as though she were the cutest thing on the planet.
“Look. I wanted to kiss you. Just like I do now. So...can I kiss you? Properly, this time?” He chuckled, face red as he leaned closer, tucking his fingers under her chin to guide her closer to him. She gave a bashful smile and nodded.
“Yes.”
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and brought his other hand to cradle her cheek, placing a soft kiss on her lips.
Slowly she returned the gesture, taking her time in learning how her lips felt against his. It was infinitely better than the first one they shared, rushed and purely out of curiosity. Goosebumps broke out on her skin, and excitement and soothing peace, not fear, raced through her body. As the pad of his thumb stroked her cheek, she giggled from the tickle, her hand tightening on his.
He scooted closer and kissed her more firmly, giving a gentle hum at their proximity as she set her free hand on his shoulder to feel the silkiness of his shirt beneath her fingers. Sure, she felt childish doing so, but it seemed to encourage him to kiss her more firmly and pull her closer to hold her to his chest. The guiding pressure of his lips on hers as they puckered and melded with such care was exhilarating, and the wrap of his arms around her frame shattered her chains of negativity as her heart sang in jubilation while she succumbed to the security of his embrace.
The crowd around them disappeared, and the sound of rippling, bubbling water faded as she let herself bask in the sweet, gentle kiss and support of his hold, a hum of serenity and content flowing from her throat as they parted.
So this was how exciting it was to trust in and kiss someone. How emancipating from constant vigilance, and how beautifully it assured her that she, too, could receive such affection!
But…most of all, it was undoubtedly liberating, as if learning to fly all over again, only this time, Sheeva found herself unbound from mental anguish than the confines of the ground.
It made Sheeva’s heart flutter, skin buzz with thrill, and face heat with a rush of blood.
“Hm, better?” He asked, nudging her nose with his, his delight unmistakeable in his tender, husky voice that sent a shiver down her back.
She could only giggle to appease the squeak of thrill that threatened to erupt from her chest, and shyly pulled away, directing her aching grin to the rippling waters. She dared not look at her face, certain it was as deep crimson as her eyes, and instead, focused on the specks of stars now dotting the darkening sky.
A high-pitched whistle snared her attention, and she wheeled around to look for the source, on high alert from the unfamiliar noise. As an ear-shattering boom thundered through the plaza above them, a startled cry shot from her chest, and Sheeva broke away and sprang to action.
She grabbed the handle of Abraxas and tore it out of its scabbard, holding it in front of her defensively and looking around. Everyone else’s attention was on the sky, and as Tazaro walked in front of her with his hands raised to calm her down, she lowered her weapon, still breathing heavily and trembling with the adrenaline rush as she looked at the sky.
The colorful flashes of light tingled into her spine, and she dropped her gaze in embarrassment.
“It’s ok, Sheeva. It’s fine. These are fireworks. I-I guess we should have told you they’d be loud.” He assured her. He took her sword from her and sheathed it, then offered a hand for her to take. She did not receive it right away.
“I have seen those before. I just did not know what they were called. You can see them from the temple rooftops.” She explained. She looked at Tazaro again, feeling silly at her confession. His hair had changed back to its usual chestnut brown, and she cast her altering spell on him, turning it back to a shimmering black.
He shivered as it went into effect, then looked over as Vincent, Micah, and Maya came into view, walking towards them, laughing. Tazaro’s gut tightened in nerves, hoping Maya would not find something she recognized about him.
“Hey, you just earned me five Inue! A good start to the night!” Micah barked, grinning like a fool.
“Could you possibly find someone else to embarrass?” Tazaro asked, this time grateful that his voice was taut and an octave higher from embarrassment as he tried to avoid Maya’s gaze. He turned his back on them.
Sheeva felt herself becoming drained, blinking slowly, and as she took a knee, she wiped away the sweat on her forehead.
“You good, Sheeva?” Vincent asked, noticing her tired state.
“I...am running out of time. I need to leave.” She told him.
“Ah. Gotcha. If the fireworks are too loud, you can go to the outskirts of town. There’s a hillside that will net you a nice view. Let’s go find some other suckers to bet on, guys.” Vincent offered. He looped his arm with Maya’s and headed in the opposite direction. Tazaro watched the two of them disappear into the crowd, relieved.
Micah turned to leave, then looked back at them.
“You look adorable, Your Highness. Take care of the nerd, willya?” He teased with a smirk, turning to take off after his friends.
“Her name is Sheeva,” Tazaro muttered, giving a not-so-enthused wave. Sheeva frowned and looked at Tazaro curiously for his choosing to defend her and not himself, then shook the look off her face.
Left alone, they headed for the southern gate, and as a group of people flocked into the street, Sheeva strolled around the crowd, Tazaro at her side.
He pointed this curiosity out to her, and Sheeva thankfully answered, blinking tiredly at him.
“I avoid crowds because people are grabby, and some have sticky fingers.” She put it curtly, pressing on towards the gate.
When they passed through the gates, Sheeva slowed, exhausted. After they slowly climbed the hillside, they turned around to survey the view, and Sheeva found herself smiling as she saw how they lit up the night sky. As a breeze swept across them, Sheeva took a deep breath, smelling the funny scent of sulfur in the air. It took her back to watching the bursts of colors in the distance from the top of the temple roof with Cassie and Kyle, snacks of grapes, tomatoes, cheese, and bread split between the three of them.
“Cassie, Kyle, and I grew up watching ‘the colorful lights’ from the temple rooftops. Before, we would climb, but after I bared my wings, I would fly us up there. We’d sneak snacks and hot tea from the kitchens and watch them light up from dusk to dawn.” She admitted with a nostalgic smile.
He gave a hum of curiosity.
“Oh, you can see them from that far?”
She nodded, looking for the direction of the temple. Pointing it out, she gave a brief explanation of the towering watchtowers and ramparts. Tazaro squinted for it at the base of the mountains, but couldn’t see anything in the darkness.
“What exactly are fireworks?” She asked, thinking that he would be able to tell her. He helped her sit, then sat next to her on the grassy knoll and leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees. He felt a chill as the spell she cast wore off, and as her wing and usual button-up shirt and shorts came into view, he figured she must have run out of energy. Either that, or she was confident they were entirely alone and had dismissed it. As she lay back and blinked sluggishly at the sky, he decided the dismissal of the spell was for the former and not the latter.
“Explosive powder jammed into canisters. They get their color from different chemicals mixed in.” He explained, laying back with her to look at the stars, more interested in those.
“They are even prettier up close. Although, not...too close.” She chuckled, finding the sudden laughability at her extreme vigilance something new.
“I suppose. I prefer admiring the constellations.”
She turned to him, a little surprised since he liked to create, and thought he would appreciate such a thing.
“You do not think so? I thought you liked artful things.”
“Fireworks don’t last very long. I think art is something that should be everlasting or at least long-lasting. Like statues, paintings, architecture. Not something that lasts for a few seconds and then disappears. Plus, they’re loud.”
“Mm. It would be nice if fireworks were not so loud.”
“But, art is subjective. It’s different for everyone.” He added as an afterthought.
“There are rumors of waves of light in the night sky in the middle of summer in the northern reaches of Pacem. While they are not constant, they are considered a sight to behold. I’d like to see them someday. It was something I wanted to pursue after killing Llyud.”
“Really?” He asked, sounding more surprised than he meant to. She scoffed, sat up, and picked at a blade of grass as though she could pluck words from the ground.
“I had some goals beyond revenge.”
“Had? What about have?”
She stopped fidgeting with the grass at her feet and turned to look at him, mildly confused.
“What?”
Tazaro froze. Her stern tone shook him a little, but he held fast, determined.
“You can still go after those things, you know. After Zakaraia. Or even during. You have already been doing that, I think.” He pointed out with a winning smile and a blush on his cheeks.
Sheeva scoffed to cover up her returning smile. While Tazaro was right, overcoming some of her physical discomforts was not her primary concern. Her face deepened into a scowl, and she crossed her arms, not looking at him, but not paying much attention to the flashing lights she stared through, either.
I could, assuming Zakaraia does not kill me first. Sheeva thought, no longer interested in the fireworks. Tazaro felt the shift in ambiance, and thought for a moment, hoping that she wasn’t regretting opening up to him as she had. After stealing a glance at her face, the frightened glint in her steely eyes could only mean she was drowning about Zakaraia again.
Hoping to nip this one in the bud once and for all, Tazaro braced himself for his next question.
“Thinking about Zakaraia, again?” He called, impressed that she didn’t even seem to hide the sigh and frown of defeat. Perhaps, she was too tired to.
“Yes.” She admitted.
He nodded to himself and focused on the stars that made up Coeurlregina’s pointy ears and ketze face.
“Why would Zakaraia choose to go to Cruinia? Is there something there that you are avoiding?” Tazaro wondered aloud. Maybe, there was some connection somewhere that Sheeva, despite all of her drowning pools of thought, had not anticipated.
Sheeva stared into the ground, contemplating his question. Given how little she seemed to want to pack up the topic and shove it away, she supposed now was a good time to think and talk about it. She found herself suddenly wishing they had a bottle of wine to share since the occasional drunken ramble seemed to do wonders for the psyche.
“I have not been back to my birthplace in about eighteen years. As much as I hate to admit, I am terrified of going back. The woman that birthed me is still there. So is the orphanage. I might be inclined to exact unnecessary revenge.” She admitted. She brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them.
Although she had clued him in on a couple of things, and that he’d formed his own unverified opinions, it made his stomach churn as he imagined even darker things that she may have gone through to warrant her stifling the desire to kill. He didn’t dare open that can of worms–at least, not yet.
“Aside from the obvious, why do you say ‘woman that birthed me?’ Isn’t that a bit of a mouthful? Couldn’t you just say ‘biological mother’? Uh–not that I'm saying you can't. I'm just curious.” Tazaro asked.
She huffed and focused on picking dirt out of her fingernails. It had been so long since she had thought of the woman’s face, but the hazy visage of auburn hair and red eyes, complete with a thin smile like a serpent’s, began to come to view. A twinge of pain stabbed in her chest as she realized that she couldn’t recall seeing the sparkle of life or happiness, as she had in Rose’s and Mildred’s, only disdain and seething hatred. Because, what else had Sheeva ever been at that point other than an “evil, twisted waste of life?”
Tazaro waited out her deafening silence, wondering if she was going to answer.
“That woman abandoned me on the steps of an orphanage in Torde. I was...still in the habit of calling her mother after arriving at the temple, though I didn’t know what else to call her. She still gave birth to me, much as I sometimes...wished she hadn’t.” She admitted, a sour look on her face. She clung to the speck of hope she felt upon realizing that, somewhere along the line, she had developed a dislike of the idea that she wished she’d never been born at all.
What had Tazaro asked, that threw her down this rabbit hole? Why say “woman that birthed me?”
“Woman that birthed me was something Rose said. She wanted to make it funny, somehow. For a while, it-it was. It...stopped after Rose was killed.” She replied, resting her head on her arm as she thought about it. Her chest felt heavy, weighted by guilt, as she briefly realized that Rose would have wanted her to focus on a happy life. Sheeva sighed, upset. How could she have forgotten such a thing?
As she felt fear with the idea that she disrespected Rose’s memory, she remembered Vincent’s profound question that seemed to turn her upside down. She gave a soft hmph. She couldn’t be the only one regretting their life’s circumstances tonight.
“What is your meaning of life, Tazaro? Do you have one?” She asked, wondering if he could shed some light on the ideas she had running through her head whenever she thought about it. Ever since Vincent had asked her, she often returned to the question while sitting in contemplation on the balcony.
In those moments of calm beneath the opalescent night sky, her thoughts were light. She felt maybe the meaning of life was to do whatever she wanted without caring what others thought. But, for the most part, she was already doing that, and when she took a good hard look at what she’d accomplished in doing so, it only left her in embittering solitude.
Other times the theological suffocation would hit when she was trying to get to sleep or after waking in the middle of the night from a nightmare. In those times, she felt life was horribly botched–a rigged game of giving until she died with nothing in return and never having really accomplished anything. These moments drowned her in fear and misery, and she pleaded with the unknown gods that there had to be something beyond what she discovered or ultimately decided. Something better, somehow.
Feeling philosophical today, are we? Tazaro thought to himself, though she seemed deeply worried by whatever his answer might be. In light of recent events, he could understand how grave one’s musings could easily become in relation to the open-ended, familiar question.
He smiled, remembering one of the nights Vincent, Micah, Perron, and he had all stayed up into the wee hours of morning drafting their own ideas as they sat around the amphitheater and drank from a bottle of Pyuritan Riesling. Vincent must have asked her the same question.
“The meaning of life is to give life meaning.” He answered with a smile as he watched her expression carefully, eager to see the glow of a pleasant, motivating epiphany. Just as he’d wished, the hopeful light shined in her eyes, and the starstruck smile curled on the edge of her lips as his words sunk in.
Sheeva pressed a cool hand to her face, embarrassed, feeling that she had been overthinking the simple phrase. Could it really have been so straightforward? The wise words smacked her upside the head, much like a witty “-ism” from Malfa Temple’s Master, and the power of the statement alone made her skin tingle...or it could have just been because there was now a slight chill in the breeze that blew over them.
“To give life meaning, huh?” She mumbled, finding she liked the way they felt on her tongue.
“Yeah. Life is what you make of it, no matter what crappy hand it deals you from the start.” He rephrased.
“Aside from enjoying taking things apart and seeing how they work, I suppose that that’s been another big reason why I like to create things. I make things that can help others, or fix them, and that makes life meaningful–at least, to me.” He explained with a smile.
“Even if I’m just fixing bastard printing presses.” He added with a complimentary eye-roll.
Sheeva gave a small chuckle, then shuddered, still feeling the growing, crushing weight of guilt in her chest.
And what have I done with my life? I spent it training for an act of revenge that I had taken away from me, and now, I will be training even more for the same reason. If we kill Zakaraia, what then? What would I...What would I have left? Would my reason for existence die with him?
As she felt the anger swelling within, she scowled even more. There. The fear and anger I felt before. Are they only here because I cannot let go? If I let go, what do I have left? This revenge was...It was the only thing I had known for the last ten years.
Sheeva wrapped her arms around herself, determined and desperately reaching for something else, something more, because, of all the things she had done, it couldn’t have just been for naught, nor simply boiled down into wasted youth.
No. No, that is not true! I have Cassie. She helped me much, and I’m sure she will continue to help me when we get to the temple. Tazaro and Vincent helped to nurse me back to health. Micah took in those children I cared for. They all push me to question my stoic ways.
Her hands tightened on her arms, and she felt herself swoon, recalling the many different hugs she had received from Tazaro. She hid the bemused smile as the shadow of his lips mingled with hers. Tazaro is here even now. I...have friends that are willing to help me.
Her hopeful thoughts were futile, and her face fell.
“But who have I helped?” She muttered aloud. Tazaro turned to her.
“What?” He blurted, sitting up to face her a little better.
She looked at him, then looked at her hands. They did not create anything, despite her literacy. Cooking did not count, being necessary for survival. If anything, they became harbingers of death, trained in ways to maim and kill. And soon, she would be introducing the same disastrous ways to Tazaro.
“I have only ever helped myself.” She admitted.
If you seriously believe that, then you’re more stubborn than I gave you credit for, Sheeva. Tazaro held his hand to his mouth to keep from saying the idea out loud and kept it there for a few minutes before speaking up, wanting to gather his thoughts. He hoped she listened to what he was about to say.
“That’s not true. You’re helping me. You could have just left me behind instead of agreeing to take me with you to the temple or just been dragging me along while you chase after Zakaraia. Yet, you agreed to train my clumsy butt.” He stated, giving a little chuckle, wanting to keep the conversation light. Though as he began to list examples in his head, Tazaro realized it would not be possible.
“You took care of some homeless, orphaned kids and donated money to a stranger so he could get a prosthetic leg. Whatever that bow-down was that you did to Micah for him to take care of those kids, I don’t imagine you do that freely. You cut a deal with a ta’hal for my freedom, as much as you probably don’t want to admit that.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat.
"Your words last week were…incredible. I feel like I have a weight lifted off my shoulders. Like I'm closer to becoming my own person again. It's very…inspiring. Believe me when I say that I’m eternally grateful. Especially to have my ability to laugh freely back. Having that taken from you is...like being trapped in a room."
He took a deep breath, preparing himself. Sheeva might not accept his next point.
“Sheeva, look at me.” He asked. Surprised with his command, she did, emotional pain plain on her face.
“You fought Zakaraia until your bones were literally broken and your body cut to shreds. You almost died trying to protect my mother and me, and that? That speaks volumes, Sheeva.” He said as fiercely as he could without letting on that he was angry that she thought so harshly of herself. Sheeva glared at him for bringing up the painful topic and turned her head away as he thought she would. He took a deep breath, held it, and sighed, feeling himself relax.
“So...your methods are very unorthodox, but you’ve done a lot, and you’re still trying. I believe s–Mm, no, I know so.” He turned back to watch the fireworks, much as he did not care for them. Interest lost quickly, he lay back on the grass to stare at the skies.
“You...truly believe such a thing?” She asked. Her voice was small, gravelly, and full of pain.
“Yes. I do. I absolutely mean that. You’re so much more than just your revenge.”
He looked over at her when he heard a whimper. She had her head resting on her knees, shaking from what he assumed was her trying to hold back tears. She bared her uninjured wing and wrapped it around herself.
“I’m sorry.” He apologized, reaching to set a comforting hand on her shoulder. She brushed his hand off with her wing and returned it around herself.
“Leave.” She hissed. “Please.” She added, softer still.
He nodded, got to his feet, and walked away, hands in his pockets while trying to ignore the nabbing fact that he seemed to make Sheeva cry far too often. Sheeva’s wails echoed amid the pops of fireworks, eventually drowning out as he wandered further away along the hillside. The bobbling gem of the Moogle constellation shined bright, which he recently thought to be Silka, a blue planet that might just be a giant chunk of ice; there did not seem to be any discernible evidence to suggest otherwise. He wondered if he could get a better view if the Stargazer was bigger.
He kept his distance for a good while, waiting until the moons had risen well above the western plains of Vivroa to show his face. She looked exhausted, the whites of her eyes red and puffy, the flower dangling from her hair. She undid her braid, ruffled her hair, and held the daffodil fondly, smiling at it.
“Thank you.” She whispered, voice still taut from her intense cry. Tazaro fought a chuckle and shrugged his shoulders.
“You're welcome, Sheeva. Let’s just enjoy the rest of these fireworks, hm?” He suggested with a chuckle, taking his seat next to her again. This time, she scooted closer and leaned into him, letting go of a tense breath as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
They did not return to the apartment until well after midnight.