A couple of weeks had passed since Sheeva’s encounter with the men at The Green Lantern. Wishing to lay low for the time being, Sheeva hid in the house, only leaving the property shortly before dusk to nab last-minute produce at Camilla’s stand, drop a twenty Inue coin in the painter’s pot from her change from the shiny hundred-Inue coin–Hey, Crawling Turd won’t be needing it, she reasoned–and drop off the produce at the abandoned house on Dekkir Street. Still, having already completed her search in Southgate, there weren’t many shops left that she hadn’t already been to, freeing up her time to teach the children the various things she had promised herself.
While Tazaro had been over for the weekly family dinners, Sheeva had not yet relinquished her pocketwatch for him to fix, a suggestion she had received from Tyler. She wished to do so while he was at the workshop to entrust that all the pieces made their way into the shop. Particularly, she wanted to ensure he saved the strip of paper that, while no longer readable, held such sentimental value, Sheeva couldn’t bear to part with it.
She spent the free time that she had to spare during the day in not only reading the book Tazaro had suggested but also securing a sigil into the frame of the front and back doors, hoping that Tazaro wouldn’t mind her intrusion or etchings into his hard efforts toward restoring the place. The sigil was linked to a copy of the sigil in her arm, which she fashioned into a rose.
She only performed the feat while Tyler was away and Mildred was taking a midday nap, not wanting to faint and cause them alarm. The spell was still demanding, but significantly less-so, likely because she had ensured she was well-rested, well-fed, and had the confidence of knowing that she had done it before. The only thing she disliked about the event was feeling immensely creepy snooping around to collect a piece of hair from Tyler and Mildred. In Tazaro’s case, the collection was a nasty, bloodletting splinter received from a two-by-four he was trying to secure to the porch roof that Sheeva offered to pick out before he could insist on doing it himself with his teeth and crudely spitting it out.
Creepy that she would have to resort to such a thing? Yes.
Necessary that she had to resort to such a thing? Also yes.
Currently assisting in a spring clean of the attic, she helped carry down a box of books and thumbed through them, announcing their titles to Mildred so she could deliberate whether it would be a “keep” or “donate” item.
Several books in the box were a “keep,” which Sheeva was thankful that Mildred permitted her to read, going slightly stir-crazy with little to do during the day. After pulling one out of the box, she uncovered a thick leather book that seemed an “odd one out.”
“Hm, this…doesn’t have a title.” Sheeva voiced, turning it over in search of something. The green sash tying it closed was worn and tattered, and as she peered at the side to see if a painting had been meticulously painted on the edges of the book like some others they had found in the collection, she noticed a couple of pages had been crudely torn out while other pages had snippets of parchment stuck back in.
“Oh? What’s it look like?” Mildred asked, surprised to find an unlabeled book.
“It is a green journal, I think. Either way, it seems old.” Sheeva described, untying the sash and flipping it open. Thanks to the pages torn out, it immediately opened towards the middle of the book, where a sketch of some type of machine lay.
“The Stargazer,” It was called. The miniature was a cylindric cone, like a giant spyglass, though apparently for “viewing the night sky,” and as she began to unfold the thick chunk of paper in interest, she looked at all the bizarre, unfamiliar equations scribbled in their folds. As she tried to keep going, she found that she’d unveiled quite the blueprint, estimating that the sheet would be as big as the couch if she didn’t stop.
“We’re just gonna…put that back,” She muttered to herself as she carefully folded it back into place.
Turning to the next page, she huffed with a smile as whatever had been there was blotched out by a spilled inkwell with the trail of a cat’s pawprints fleeing towards the other side of the page, and an angrily scrawled Vilg oui, Gimbals! Followed by an amusing comic in which the perpetrator was tarred, feathered, and thrown in a cluckatrice coop to be pecked at by the petrifying reptiles.
She flipped to the next page, the top left corner stained from the previous ink spill, and interestedly looked at the new sketch. It seemed like something that would fit on a desk with buttons containing each letter of their alphabet and numbers, along with some other options she wasn’t familiar with.
“A Type-Writer,” it was called, “to replace those bastard printing presses,” the flavor text read.
“Oh,” Sheeva blurted apologetically with a soft chuckle at Tazaro’s apparent hatred for the machines, and with fair reason; anytime he was requested to work on one, he always ended up with stained hands or ink marks on his face. “This must be Tazaro’s,” She announced, flipping to the front page of the book, where Property of Tazaro Lindus Chorea could be found in nice, neat lettering.
“Ah. It is,” Sheeva declared, closing it gently and tying the worn sash back around the frame. “This seems important–full of blueprints.”
“That might be the same one I gave him when he went away to college,” Mildred mused, then tsked in disapproval. “Hm, he said he’d lost it. Would you return that to him? I think he might like it back,” Mildred asked, so sweetly that Sheeva found herself reluctant to say that he could simply pick it up during the next family dinner.
She took a deep breath and sighed, supposing she might as well run the errand since she wanted to drop off her broken pocket watch, anyway.
“Very well. Let me put this aside, and I will head out,” Sheeva agreed, stacking the books in their appropriate piles.
“Take care, then, Sheeva, dearie–and thank you.”
Sheeva sighed away her desire to insist that Mildred simply call her by her actual name, and crossed back to the front door. She opened it and stepped out, promptly changed her hair and eye color, then proceeded on her way.
******
Tazaro looked up from the plank he was stripping down to fit onto the cedar chest he’d been commissioned to repair as Rin walked in, a concerned look on his face. Tazaro wiped at the sweat on his face with the back of his hand, then looked at the plank of wood that was giving his planing tools a difficult time thanks to a gnarled knot in the middle of it.
“If you heard a new swear, I apologize. This fuckin’ knot wouldn’t strip,” Tazaro explained, grabbing the scrub plane and working it across the plank in order to keep shaving it to something leveled and useful.
“Oh, um, no.” He shook his head, then shut the door behind him. “Are you in some kind of trouble, boy?” Rin asked, stepping closer as he limped, the birchwood cane thudding across the floor.
Tazaro looked up from his hunch, then stood, moved the hair out of his face, and grabbed a rag to wipe away the sawdust from his hands.
“What?” Tazaro chuckled, surprised by the statement. Unconcerned, he grabbed the finer plane and began to work it with the grain, further stripping the plank to reveal the soft, stainable pulp beneath.
“Tazaro, stop,” Rin ordered, causing Tazaro to halt as the man’s voice conveyed all points of seriousness. His smile faded as Rin’s concern grew and the stare hardened, evident by the crease in the knife-wound scar on his jawline that occasionally caused him to mumble. The retired sergeant stepped even closer and dropped his voice low.
“Are-you-in-trouble?” He repeated with such a stern frown that it put Tazaro on edge. He didn’t want to be the people who happened upon that look on the battlefield. Collecting himself, Tazaro thought earnestly for a moment as he stood back up from his hunch over the counter.
Even though the worst thing he had ever done in his life was getting busted as a teenager for tossing cluckatrice in people’s windows to cause havoc, he, Micah, and Vincent had all straightened themselves out…save for a final graduation prank in which they lured flocks of cluckatrice into the auditorium so that people could “indulge in a symphony featuring the dulcet tones of clucks, bawks, and squawks.” Unfortunately for one of their childhood friends, they could not say the same, and as the man delved deeper into criminal ways, it caused a painful rift that caused them to stop hanging out and associating with the man.
“I, I don’t think so,” Tazaro denied, a small sliver of worry that somehow, somewhere, he had done something wrong and besmirched his mother and stepfather’s names. He then gave a snort at himself. “No, nothing,” He assured with complete confidence.
Rin seemed to accept this, and then settled.
“Alright, I believe you,” he answered with a relieved sigh.
“Ok. Good! Now why do you ask?” Tazaro asked, also relieved as the tension settled.
Rin looked back at the door to the lobby with a quizzical look.
“There’s a person looking for you. Gotta be some kind of mercenary ‘cuz she’s not with us; she’s not wearing the uniform. Then, I thought she was some kind of bounty-hunter, ‘cuz she’s got a sword attached to her hip and isn't very cordial. She's insistent on speaking with you and no one else. Seemed real nervous, too–probably a rookie, given by the fading shiner ‘neath her eye.” Rin went on to explain. Tazaro thought for a moment, then began to laugh.
“I think I know who it is,” Tazaro stated with a smile. “Also, Rin, unless you took on another apprentice in the last hour and didn’t tell me, I’m the only other one here, aren’t I?”
Rin gave a grunt.
“Hah! Only time I’ll take on another apprentice is if you quit or you die, boy! I practically own you!”
“Funny, considering you’re paying me,” Tazaro stated. “Anyway, she’s good; I’ll vouch. If it’s alright with you, she can come back here; I don’t mind. I gotta get this done soon, anyway–that delayed shipment really set me behind.”
He set to scrubbing away at the plank again, aware that the sound of Rin’s cane didn’t thud on the floor. He gave his boss a side-eye, finding the man still hadn’t moved and now had a grin. Doing his best to ignore it, he continued, focusing on the satisfying curls as the plane stripped each layer.
“So, is she a lady friend of yours?” Rin teased, though this was nothing new; anytime a female customer paid particular attention to him, and even though Tazaro gave them the same dose of customer service: just enough to get them out of the workshop and on their way, they were suddenly a “lady friend.”
“Mm, maybe,” Tazaro absently said, referring to the fact that they seemed to be somewhere between acquaintances and…better acquaintances, then pursed his lips in annoyance with himself as he realized what he’d said. “Wait, that’s not what I–
–Oh?” Rin cackled. “Hah! That’s a new one! You ‘don’t mind’ if she comes back here to watch you work, and she’s ‘maybe’ a lady friend?” Rin’s grin grew into a smirk. “Should I take an early and extended lunch to leave you two alone for an hour?” Rin snickered.
Tazaro scoffed, though the slight moment of hesitation he had caused the planer to skip, rendering the nice, even shave noticeably jagged.
“Come on, Rin, it’s not like that,” He informed, though he still felt the burn on his cheeks from mild embarrassment. “She’s…probably just running an errand for my mom or something,” He figured.
“Alright. Well, if you say so,” Rin mumbled over his shoulder as he finally turned and walked back to the lobby.
“WeLl, If YoU sAy So,” Tazaro mocked, venting his embarrassment on the gnarly knot with a forceful grunt as the blade caught and stopped his fluid momentum. “It is so, Rin,” He murmured to himself, taking a step back from the plank before he managed to mar it into something unusable. As his hands itched to grab the planer and try again, he crossed his arms tightly to refrain from doing so.
Sure, the shroud of mystery was a draw, and the rare–though bittersweet–smile she gave was so brightly genuine, he couldn’t help but feel it tug a little at his heartstrings, but did that necessarily mean he was attracted to her?
“Pfft, no way,” He decided, waving his hand at the matter.
“No way’ about what?” Sheeva asked in the doorway, seeming amused as he jumped and gave a startled “bah!” After his heart resumed beating normally in his chest, Tazaro laughed the matter off.
“Rin’s just being ridiculous,” He dismissed quickly. “Anyway, what’s up? Mom send you here? I swear, I remembered to bring a lunch this morning,” He joked to further alleviate the faintest of jitters in his stomach due to her amused smile.
She shook her head and held a book out that he hadn’t seen in years. Surprised, he took it and held it fondly.
“Oh, wow,” He muttered in awe, turning it over. The hard, leather-back sketchbook of his still looked the same and, better yet, felt the same, cover smooth and spine well-situated. He felt the smile span his face in seconds, and as he split it open to peer at his old ideas, it fell on the page of an addition to machines that would power them with steam rather than having to rely on physical man-power or natural waterflow.
Curious to know what else he had thought of, he flipped through the book. Naturally, there were a few prankish items, his favorite being a spyglass that would gift someone the appearance of a black eye upon use, but the gears of imagination spun at mach-five as his old interests and ideas sparked.
“Wow, I haven’t seen this in a long time,” He muttered to himself as he stared at the obvious sign of a torn out page, and he began to wonder what had been there. Turning to the next page to see if perhaps he’d restarted on the next due to a scribble-mishap, the thick map for the Stargazer appeared. Whatever his theory on what lied on the torn-out page was died as his eyebrows raised at his past, highly-ambitious self.
Slowly, he unfolded the map, chuckling at himself as he found he had to turn to the counter for assistance in fully revealing the thing.
“I’m impressed. That is a much larger blueprint than I previously thought,” Sheeva stated, walking up to the counter to look at it closer. “Was this for your schooling?”
Tazaro had somehow forgotten Sheeva was there, and his face went cold and his stomach plummeted into his feet, suddenly stricken with nerves as he understood that she had already seen what Kirin had previously called a “maniacal, pointless waste of his imagination.”
“Y-yeah, but, it’s nothing,” He urged, highly self-conscious as he began to hastily fold it. “It’s just some insipid drivel,” He waived, using another phrase Kirin had used to describe his projects.
“Oh, careful!” She blurted as the page threatened to fold where it wasn’t already creased, causing a wrinkle to mar the otherwise neat paper. “Insipid drivel?” Sheeva asked with a scoff. “You would really think so?”
No, of course, he didn’t think so, but he found he was far too embarrassed about his failure to think better of himself in order to admit so. Every once in a while, the hard work he put into self-repair failed him, and sharing his “overbearing” creativity was one of the beasts that he hadn’t quite tackled, yet.
He tried to remember what had been on those pages before he’d torn them out, and, worse yet, whether they were legitimately bad ideas or if they were merely something Kirin had told him were “stupid.” He shook his head at himself; there had been a time when he treasured all of his creativity, even the earlier works that made him cringe. It was a show of progress to point out how much better he’d gotten.
“Excuse me!” She barked, apparently having been waiting for an answer. The terse frown, slight pout, and sudden rudeness threw Tazaro for a loop and he stopped in his tracks, staring at her with eyes wide open. She seemed equally shocked, though with herself as she blinked and settled back with a visible attempt to reign herself in.
“My apologies. I-I still wanted to see that,” She began, then squinted her eyes at something. “You know, for you to think something that expansive is… ‘nothing,’ I…” She scoffed, seemingly at herself, then shrugged her shoulders and looked at some random item on the counter. “Well, pardon me if I am out of line, but it’s disappointing,” She seemed to admit with a shake of her head as she lacked for words.
“Your parents speak highly of you. You should respect them more by respecting yourself,” She insisted, seeming driven into deep thought about something as she crossed her arms and clenched her sword’s handle.
Her words stunned him, and he felt the flash of defensiveness burn on his face.
“What do you kn–He stopped himself, the little voice in the back of his head screaming at him not to finish that sentence. “I mean, uh…”
She understood the implications of his unfinished sentence as though they’d struck her across the cheek, and Tazaro felt terrible for implying that she didn’t know what she was talking about–surely, everyone had some inclination.
The silence lingered as they stared at opposite ends of the room, Sheeva at the cedar chest that appeared to be getting refurbished and Tazaro at the half-folded Stargazer blueprint.
“You’re right, Tazaro. I don’t know. However, I have no right to force a lecture upon you, especially if it’s something I have no experience with and is just…an ‘ideal picture’ of what I want to see.” Sheeva stated. “I do apologize.”
“Perhaps you build that thing someday. Maybe, you’ll get to see the stars and planets up close. It’s quite incred–well, I imagine it’s something incredible,” Sheeva said mysteriously, having nothing in the way of a poker face as she appeared embarrassed about something. Tazaro took it for sheepishness about having a curious nature, as he seemed to think based on the few conversations they had shared.
Not about to open that door, Tazaro gave a half-serious “Yeah, maybe.”
“But, hey,” He redirected. “I owe you an apology, too. It’s not, uh, fair to you to…assume you don’t know. Or, at least, can’t imagine.” Tazaro tried, finding he wasn’t sure how best to phrase his answer. To suggest she couldn’t imagine made his nerves spike, and he attempted to correct himself. “Ah, well, I mean, I’m sure you understand–
–That’s enough, Tazaro.” She assured with a small nod. “Thank you.”
Tazaro found it odd that she would thank him, and in order to avoid a case of open mouth, insert foot, he bit gently on his tongue.
She seemed at peace and pleased with something, and as he noticed the placated glow in her eyes, he blinked at their blood-orange state. Not wanting to break her peace by pointing out the indecisiveness of her eye colors, Tazaro cleared his throat and brought their attention back to perhaps why she had decided to visit him at work, if not waiting until he was home, considering his old sketchbook could have certainly been presented to him there.
“So, uh, did you come here just to drop off my sketchbook, or…” He trailed off, leaving it open for her to answer.
The calm expression hardened as she steeled her gaze at the dovetail backsaw hanging from a peg on the wall, and Tazaro grew slightly worried. She reached into her pocket and retrieved something, and as a bright, purple pouch popped out of her pocket, the soft clink of metal followed.
“I was wondering if you might be able to fix this,” She explained, handing it to him.
Tazaro took the pouch, wriggled the drawstring cinch open, and peered inside.
“Oh, damn!” He blurted, looking back up at her. In the brief time he’d spent looking in the pouch, she had become visibly upset; almost embarrassed.
“I was really hoping it was not that bad,” She muttered softly.
Tazaro grabbed the large, flat-bottomed bowl he used for collecting and holding small screws and gently poured the contents out with a shake, seeing the damage for the beast it really was.
Not only had the glass face completely busted, but the center, crown, and third wheel were popped completely off track. By the looks of the unhinged pin for the center wheel "jewel," it wouldn't be as easy of a fix as simply realigning the wheels, replacing the glass face, and setting the correct time. New parts were in order, and judging by the circa 1305, the watch parts were either no longer being created, or any scrap parts he might manage to scramble for would cost an obscene amount of Inue.
“So–and I know I am asking a lot–but, can you fix it?” She asked, appearing extremely hopeful. If she was intentionally putting on a puppy-dog look…it was certainly working, though a small part of him told himself she wasn’t putting up a farce to prod at his weakness of wanting to help.
He hummed to himself, turning to look back at the pocket watch. He'd at least been able to determine some things, and with a little luck, the challenges he got in chiseling detailed landscapes would give him a slight advantage to the dextrous capability needed for working with such tiny parts and the likely tiny tools to match.
Noticing the paper attached to the lid, he gently pulled it out of the clip. Whatever nice, perhaps high-quality paper it used to be was now sullied with mud, rainwater, and tinted blue from the ink inside the folded piece.
"That stays with it, if you are able to fix it," Sheeva insisted. “Please,” She added.
Tazaro didn't risk unfolding the already crinkling thing and instead turned to look at her.
"What's in it?" He asked, genuinely curious.
Sheeva took a breath, and sighed.
"The note that Rose wrote for me when she gave it to me. Something she always told me before I went to bed, or was scared, or had a nightmare: 'Wherever you go, dearie, my love will follow you."
Tazaro nodded in understanding.
"Oh. That's actually really, uh, sweet. And, uh…"
Why you don't like Mom calling you dearie, I guess.
"Uh, well–if you don't mind my saying so–that just goes to show that she loved you a lot, in my opinion." He offered to alleviate any airs of judgment.
Sheeva chuckled softly and smiled, though bittersweet as usual.
"She really did, in spite of everything. I have a lot to be thankful for," she admitted.
Tazaro turned his attention back to the clock, feeling mildly awkward. He fished for his roll of tools, plucked the hexagonal screwdriver he thought might fit, and set to work in taking it apart.
"So…if I find a magic crystal hiding in here, can I keep it if you promise to show me how to use it?" He asked, wanting to lighten the air. Either she didn't hear him, or she was deliberately keeping silent, and as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, he figured it to be the latter.
Evidently, he had struck a nerve.
“The only thing I’ll promise you is to make you put such a silly thing out of your mind, Tazaro. There’s no such thing as magic rocks.” Sheeva seemed to insist.
"Heard.” Tazaro replied, though he was going to have an even harder time of ignoring it, now. “There’s totally no such thing as magic rocks.”
She sent him a highly unamused look that was most amusing, and he turned back to the broken watch to hide his smile.
“Hate to ask you this, but how did this break? There's scuff marks on the side of it–makes me think it was dropped on the street. Did the chain snap? That's an easy fix, and I'll find you one that's a little sturdier than–
–a bastard tried to kidnap me into a trafficking ring and he hurled it at the wall like a baseball," Sheeva answered, interrupting him.
Tazaro stopped and turned back to look at her, mouth agape, stomach twisting as he digested the news.
"Are you serious? Where did this happen?" He asked. “Wait, is that how you got that black eye?” He thought, now actively looking at the spot. There was a pale, vomit-green discoloration left of the gnarly bruise that he had definitely noticed, but hadn't said anything of it until just now in order to spare her the embarrassment.
She didn't answer, and he thought that perhaps she didn't hear him, appearing to be locked in a thousand yard stare.
“Hey, Sheeva?" He called, not wanting to step forth in case she was locked in a memory that would induce a fight or flight response, keen to the incident from Tyler, Rin, and occasionally Micah. "Would you tell me what happened that night? I noticed you looked pretty rough at dinner a couple weeks ago.”
Sheeva snapped her head up to look at him before glancing in shame at her own hands, then looked for a place to sit, spotted a nearby stool, and hopped up onto it.
“I was in Northside. I heard of a string of kidnappings. Thought it might be Llyud; he can be…preferential. But, it was not. I punched a man for grabbing my butt, and he and his two cronies cornered me in an alley.” She explained as she picked at her fingernails in discomfort.
“What did they–He hesitated and looked to the door. Even though Rin was teasing him about taking an early and extended lunch, if he was still here, he didn’t want the man to overhear. Luckily, the door was shut. “What…happened?” He finished.
She gave a heavy sigh followed by a stern cross of her arms.
Tazaro winced and instinctively pressed his thighs together upon the phantom pain of receiving a kick in the groin as she told him, seemingly step-by-step, the events that unfolded. He even barked out a sudden laugh as she admitted to punching a guy so hard that he shat himself, then squirmed a little as he wondered how hard that punch had to have been. As a recall echoed through his brain of Vincent telling him how he’d treated a pair of men who’d “had their asses handed to them,” Tazaro’s eyebrows raised to the roof as he connected the pieces.
“Wait, this was you?” He blurted, causing Sheeva to go on the defensive, sitting up straight as a board as suspicion grew. Vermillion-colored eyes pierced him like a hawk.
“What do you mean: this was you?” She asked, eyes flitting back and forth between his as she, no doubt, worked hard to bridge the facts.
“Wait, nothing bad,” Tazaro assured, raising his hands in surrender and slightly in case he had to fend off a “gut-busting punch.”
“One of my friends is a physician. Told me a story about these two guys that came in; one with ruptured testicles and who’d nearly bit off his own tongue, and the other with ruptured intestines,” He explained quickly.
“Hm,” she hummed, seeming to settle back. “Anything else?”
“Mm, no?” He said after a moment of thought. “That’s all he told me–and really, he’s not supposed to be telling me anyway, but, uh…” He admitted. “Sometimes things get to him. He is a physician.” Tazaro dismissed.
“What happened to the third guy?” Tazaro asked, and watched as the guilt crept across her face again. At her avoidant demeanor, Tazaro could only guess what had happened, and his gut tightened in his educated guess.
“I broke his arm and threw him against the wall. On his way down, he fell onto a makeshift house formed from pallets and impaled himself with a spear of broken wood.”
“Oh my gods!” Tazaro blurted, simultaneously disgusted with his brain’s imagination and amazed with the sheer chance. It was like something out of a gruesome play. “That guy had some rotten luck!”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“It was not my intention. I merely meant to knock him out,” she sighed.
Not sure he really wanted to know, Tazaro braced himself and asked, anyway.
“What, uh…did you do with the body?” He asked, wondering if it would be traced back to her, somehow, and by default, his family. It was an unsettling thought.
“I…left it there. I was busy trying to usher the children previously living there out of the alleyway and somewhere safe. Unfortunately, they saw the whole thing, and I could not…" she trailed off momentarily, then scoffed.
–feh! I couldn’t just leave them there to suffer the cold and eat raw potatoes and cluckatrice.” She admitted, appearing embarrassed again. “So, I took them somewhere warm and dry, and have agreed to teach them how to care for themselves. It’s…it did not feel right not to,” she said, then hummed pleasantly at something.
“Do the right thing, even if it is the wrong thing to do.”
Tazaro blinked, brought out of his wrestling thought as he wondered whether or not the next step was to keep quiet or say something, although he couldn’t possibly imagine saying anything at all. If anything, perhaps he would encourage her to drop an anonymous tip about the encounter if Tyler hadn't already.
“Tyler taught you that, too?”
Sheeva huffed and nodded.
“I told him about everything that happened, though I didn’t tell him anything about the children. He suggested that, ah, we ‘never had that conversation,” she explained. “Please, uh, don’t say anything. It is…not often I find myself among such understanding people.”
He hummed, glanced at the light, green bruising of her eye, then at the shattered remains of the pocket watch, thinking to himself. To run to authorities might bring a bigger mountain mudslide down on them, so in an effort to keep the waters still, Tazaro sighed as he decided he’d be better off keeping his mouth shut. Not to mention, she had admitted her actions were in self-defense. It wasn’t like she’d sought the man out to drive a knife in his chest or something.
“Okay," he agreed. "On the dead man’s grave, I won’t say anything,” Tazaro announced.
“I do not understand what that means,” Sheeva pointed out, appearing confused but hopeful.
Tazaro chuckled to himself; the phrase he and his best friends would use wouldn’t make much sense to others.
“Something Micah, Vincent, and I say when we sincerely promise something. Let’s just pretend we never had this conversation.”
The warm, relieved wistful smile spanned her face in an instant, and he found it captivating. He found himself wishing to ultimately see a happy smile on her smooth-cheeked face, not one with an undertone of self-conscious worry or bittersweet sadness.
“Thank you, Tazaro Chorea. I am grateful.”
She really didn’t need to voice her gratitude; Tazaro was still stuck on the look that broke through the guarded, hawk-eyed stare. It was pure and genuine, and far too much for him to handle. With a buzz in his chest and warmth in his cheeks, he forced his attention on the remains of the watch in the bowl.
“Yeah," he muttered, trying to collect himself. "Don’t mention it. Give me some time to work on this and see what I can do. I may need to order some parts, but it should mostly still be the same watch as the one you had before,” he assured with a witty smile at his joke.
"I'll leave you to it, then," she agreed, seeing herself out the door.
Tazaro barely overheard Rin's booming, customer-service voice welcoming her back "at any time!" To prevent thinking too much about when exactly "any time" could be, Tazaro began dismantling the poor, broken machine in the bowl.
******
A couple of days had passed since Sheeva dropped off his notebook and her watch, and as the strange lull in business dragged on, Tazaro found himself looking for things to do rather than being generally swamped with requests or repairs. The restoration of Sheeva’s pocketwatch was at a standpoint; unable to find the parts he needed, Tazaro decided to put in a request to a metalworker rather than attempt smithing and shaving what would end up being a shoddy part on his own. Plus, it was a particularly warm day outside, and Tazaro didn’t want to make the workshop a boiling volcano by stoking a flame in the furnace sitting in the cellar.
The sketchbook he meticulously scribbled in rested on the shelf reserved for his bulkier, less-commonly-used tools, put there as an attempt for “out-of-sight, out-of-mind,” but out of the growing boredom–and admittedly, Sheeva’s nagging, fairytale belief that he could build anything as complex as the Stargazer–opening the old sketchbook seemed to be looking like a better idea than twiddling his thumbs in idle time. Sure, he supposed he could carve figurines out of blocks of wood from the “dud pile” that were not even contenders for business use, but he had dozens of miniatures around the place…and maybe, getting a closer look at the stars might be as rewarding as Sheeva seemed to think.
Or rather, suggest, as he noticed her…particular phrasing. After pondering the apparent slip-up, he guessed she’d managed to climb the Arc de Raynak, the regal, tall, centerpiece building of the capital erected as a monument to the “unification of Sferra” before the leaders of the old world turned against Cruinia in retaliation of lies fed by usurpers. Given the fact that she seemed so comfortable on the roof of their house, Tazaro assumed that insane stunts and showy acts of parkour would be an easy feat.
With a shrug, he shook away the possibilities and reached for the book on the shelf, set it on the counter…and hesitated.
He chuckled at himself, now somewhat pleased that Sheeva had seemingly called him out on his “bullshit,” so-to-speak, though she was right. It wasn’t doing him any favors to continue to consider all his ideas as “nothing,” as Kirin had previously insulted. After all, he liked the ideas, and they were a statement to his curiosity, his willingness to “fuck around and find out,” and…and…Why the hell had he even let someone like that say so, let alone begin to believe it?
“Fuck you, Kirin,” He swore with a curl of distaste in his lips, grabbing the hard-back leather cover and opening the book. He flipped through, scanning the projects he’d written about to try to decide on what to craft, though he was already leaning towards building the Stargazer, and not just because Sheeva seemed to think it would be neat.
…So he told himself.
He unfolded the expansive paper, pleased with his past self’s attention to detail as he included possible measurements, equipment, and complex mathematical equations, as well as the additional note: And a fuck-tonne of tea. Considering how big he’d envisioned the machine to be, Tazaro checked over his shoulder at the space of the room behind him.
There was no way it would fit, not unless he scaled it down by a factor of at least five, and he really didn’t want to spend hours on trying to do that.
Maybe, the loft? He wondered, looking towards the ceiling as he tried to picture the space. With the high-ceiling that stretched at least three extra feet than his current space, it seemed a decent fit.
“Rin?” Tazaro called, heading for the door before he could stop himself.
Rin was busy sanding down a green-painted, ornate jewelry box, and didn’t seem to hear him.
“Rin!” Tazaro called, a little louder as he tapped the “nearly deaf,” (per Rin’s preference), man on the shoulder. It spooked him, and he flinched, causing his elbow to jerk into the clutter of tools on the counter. As the screwdriver began to roll off the counter, both of them backed off and raised their hands to prevent them from trying to catch the falling thing; Rin had apparently driven a screwdriver into his leg upon trying to catch a falling tool in his youth, and occasionally suffered an inability to walk from it.
“What, are you trying to give me a heart attack? I already told ya I was kidding about your lady friend!” He joked, trying to laugh it off.
Still, Tazaro bit his tongue. To argue now would only cause a back-and-forth that would go nowhere.
“Sure. Whatever,” He deadpanned, though he was secretly intrigued by the slip-ups she’d had in their conversations, and really wanted to know what lie beneath the guarded exterior.
“Can I use the loft for a personal project? I need more space than the room,” He asked quickly, tipping his head in the direction of said room. “I’ll be ordering my own parts, so I won’t be using any of the lumber we bought for the store. The most I might need would be the occasional small piece of wood, but I thought I could just pilfer from the duds if that’s ok?” Tazaro bargained, feeling it would help his case not to use up all of Rin’s stock.
The offer apparently surprised his boss, and as Rin’s eyebrows danced in thought, he eventually took off his cap and scratched at his balding head and short, greying beard.
“The loft? S’pose so–I haven’t been using it for anything and don’t really plan to–We’re probably gonna be dead until the end of the month, anyway. Whatcha gonna build?” Rin asked.
Though he was excited to get a start, Tazaro still felt sheepish and shrugged his shoulders.
“Mm, hopefully, a working machine,” Tazaro replied, heading for the stairway with his notebook tucked under his arm. “But, thank you! I’ll show you when I’m finished with it–pass or fail!”
A few hours had him well into a forward lean on the counter, propped over the large sheet with a graphite pencil in his left hand and colored pencils in his right–green for things that he’d double-checked and found to be reliable, red for “points of caution,” blue for the equations he needed, and finally, purple for any possible modifications he might want to add on at a future time–all kept tucked between his fingers so that he could switch out and write ideas as they popped up without having to worry about forgetting them within seconds.
Even after Rin had left and reminded him to “lock up before ya leave,” Tazaro remained, pouring over the “final” blueprint, filled with zeal and anticipation.
******
Roughly a week had passed, and Tazaro had a substantial framework laid out for the foundation of the machine. Mirrors he planned to align in a manner that they could reflect the image he was looking at through the lens had been ordered, a healthy stack of Lucassen Birch planks that he could easily steam and bend into place, and as many nails as he felt he might need. He turned to face the project, pleased with himself.
The chime of the clocktower in the plaza rang out, and, while it made Tazaro jump, he realized he hadn’t spent just a “few hours” working on the project, he’d spent several. He found himself surprised that Sheeva hadn’t stopped by, having dropped in through the hatch with a meal a couple of days ago after he accidentally missed dinner at his mother’s house. With the mental note to get himself an alarm clock, Tazaro returned his tools to the knife-roll normally meant for chefs that his mother had gifted him with upon completion of his apprenticeship, then draped the blanket over the ten-foot tall frame of the Stargazer.
Tazaro turned the crank to shut the hatch in the roof that they would open during the rare times they had to lift something bigger than the door into the workshop, headed down the stairs, and firmly locked the door behind himself. Meandering the main streets on his way home and daydreaming of what the planets might look like upon a closer view, he lifted his head to the stars, deciding to use Celeste as a test-subject the first time he peered through the eyepiece fashioned of brass and a polished glass lens. However, both of the moons were hidden from view tonight, a rare occurrence, and he made a mental note to start keeping track of the moon cycles so that he could anticipate the best night to try.
As he made his way to Alkurik’s Shrine in the Eastern Quarters close by his home, he paused and wondered if Sheeva had read that book he’d recommended, or if she’d been too busy in her search. A soft flap sounded above him to his right, and as he jerked his head to the direction, he saw nothing.
Like the first foolish person to die in a horror book, Tazaro stepped closer to the alleyway the noise had come from to investigate, and saw nothing amid the trash bins.
Something falling from the sky caught his attention, and he looked, following the thing with orange eyes as a feather danced and pirouetted toward the ground. Not wanting it to be soiled by dirt, he snatched it from the air, then gently straightened the vane out with his fingers to lock the unzipped parts back together.
It was pristine and white, with a silverish tip that shined in the lamplight, and far too large for a bird. Holding it up to compare against the length of his arm, he found it to be as big as, if not a little longer than his forearm.
Fascinated considering the largest bird he had studied in class was a goose, he began to wonder how big the actual bird had to be. The largest bird ever recorded was the albatross with a wingspan of eleven feet, but…what one would be doing so far inland, he could only guess.
Musings of birds aside, Tazaro found himself grateful for a teacher so dedicated to his job, the man literally hunted and fished for the poor subjects to be dissected under scrutiny, with the added bonus of teaching them how to carve and harvest the meats inside for cooking. As he began to think that such a bird could potentially be people-sized, he snorted at himself in disbelief.
“Hah, people-sized. For fuck’s sake, Tazaro, that’s impossible!” He muttered.
Still, he held onto it and hurried on his way home, eager to get away from the eerie feeling that he was being watched, though he chalked it up to the simple fact that it was the dead of night and he’d just been talking to himself.
Hurrying up the steps to the second floor of his apartment building, Tazaro fished in his pockets for his keys, and as numb fingers pushed the key into the lock, he winced at the ache in his hands from the sudden cold.
Winter still had time to grapple with spring, it seemed.
The warmth of the apartment was inviting, and as he shook off his boots just inside the door, he listened as voices carried from the living room.
"...So we've been looking into it for a while, and have been able to take down a few underground fight clubs," a familiar voice said.
Tazaro looked for the owner, happy to see his two best friends sitting in the living room, Vincent Berkowitz with a book draped over his knee to hold the page, and Micah Yates in a lax slouch against the back of the couch, drink in hand.
"Hey, how's it going? Thought you were gonna be out all night. Swamped with projects?" The man in the green chair–his favorite spot–greeted.
"No, just the one–started building something, for shits and giggles," Tazaro answered, refraining from saying anything about the feather he now had tucked in the sleeve of his blue overcoat. He dipped into his room briefly to drop off the curious thing, then back out into the living room, unbuttoning the overcoat and brown, leather vest over his white button-up shirt. After hanging the two items on the coat rack by the door, he stepped into the circle formed by furniture, and sat down by the fire to warm his chilled, rosy fingers.
As Micah offered a flask filled with whatever type of alcohol, Tazaro took it and sipped, then puckered. Apparently, it was not as smooth a whiskey as usual.
"Blegh, that's rough stuff!" Tazaro commented, handing it back. Micah snickered and sipped for himself, made a face, then screwed the cap back on.
"It's some new Cruinian stuff that just shipped in. Apparently their promotions to increase greenery in the surrounding deserts have been faring well. It’s not…bad," Micah defended, not offended when Tazaro waved off a second offer.
"Don’t blame you, Taz. It’s not all that good, either," Micah muttered.
"Anyway, we're dead, so I started working on something, and lost track of time. If not for needing to eat something, I might have just fallen asleep in the workshop," Tazaro explained the break from the usual schedule.
“What are you working on?” Micah asked, curious.
Tazaro felt the sheepishness on his face before he could fight it.
“It’s noth–he stopped, recalling Sheeva’s insistence that his creativity wasn’t simply “nothing.”
“Well, not ‘nothing,’ I guess, but, uh…” He paused, then chuckled at himself. “Guess someone inspired me to tackle something.”
He waved the matter off with a hand, knowing they would press for details if he gave them a second to think too much about it.
“Anyway, you're not usually home today, Vince. Clinic give you the night off?" Tazaro asked.
Vincent, or "Vince," as his two best friends and the rarely allowed person called him, seemed tired as hell as he nodded slowly.
"Yeah. Spent little over a day assisting a woman in labor. It was a thirty-six hour fight, and in the end, we had to perform a c-section. Either way, it was worth it–both the mom and her baby are safe. He's a weighty boy, too–almost thirteen pounds." Vincent explained, pulling his spectacles off his face to rub at teal eyes upon the reminder of his tired state.
Remembering his hair was still tied back, Vincent unraveled the makeshift hair tie fashioned from firmly wound medical tape and ruffled his long, straight black hair as he yawned.
"I've had too much coffee trying to stay awake since last night, so I'll probably be buzzing for another hour before it finally wears off." He mentioned, then yawned again.
"How've you been, Micah? It's been a while–what, almost two months now? How are the machines coming along?" Tazaro asked Micah.
Micah grunted at this, then sighed in exhaustion at something, leaning back on the couch even more.
"They're not. We're busy trying to clean up things here in town. Busted up a fight club and took down a prostitution ring, thanks to an anonymous tip Tyler brought us. Couple of grimy assholes had been snatching up women from Northside and were trying to start up an illegal brothel of sorts. Heh!" He laughed at something, tipped his flask, and sipped in a toast to something. "Seems two of those bastards had a really rough night a couple weeks ago–a badass lady gave them both hell! Punched one guy so hard, he apparently shit himself!"
He cackled to himself for a moment, the cheer evident on his reddening cheeks.
Tazaro was a little surprised to hear that Sheeva's feat had even reached Micah, but if he were honest with himself, it was bound to somehow, considering Micah and his team helped keep things in line around the city when not busy training. He wasn't sure if Sheeva's identity had been accidentally revealed.
"Oh?" He feigned ignorance. "Any idea who it might have been?"
Micah snickered to himself.
"My money's on our mutual friend, Her Royal Highness." He answered, then chuckled some more. "Speaking of, you should call her that for me the next time you see her, and tell me how she takes it," he laughed.
Tazaro shook his head immediately.
"I'll pass, thanks," he dismissed. “I don’t think I know her well enough to do that.”
"I was wondering who had the capacity to do such damage. Even I was impressed, and I've seen some insane injuries," Vincent chimed in. "Ruptured intestines from a punch that apparently was so hard, he thought she'd shocked him, and a half-severed tongue from a head bash? You think that fits?" Vincent asked, feeling even more tired as he recalled how long of a night treating all of that had been for him.
"Well, you know, it could be anyone," Tazaro tried to downplay and take any possible heat off of Sheeva's back. "I mean, the girls on the farms could pack a punch–you remember Amanda, right, Micah?" Tazaro asked with a smirk, referring to the open-handed smack delivered to Micah's cheek when he'd tried to woo said farm girl at Roussell's Festival of Lovers one summer. At least they had been there for that and not the near-miss of the kiss Tazaro had tried to give his crush at the time, effectively planting a kiss on her nose rather than her cheek as she happened to turn and try to kiss him.
"Ugh, really? I finally got over the phantom sting from her hand print. She bruised my cheek!" Micah groaned in playfulness, then smiled. "Ah, but I don't regret it–best woman I've dated since. A shame we didn’t work out. I wanted kids. She didn't," He added as his smile faded. He took another sip, then closed it.
"One more?" He asked, offering the flask to Tazaro, possibly in an effort to prevent drinking more of the stuff.
Tazaro stared at it, then sucked his teeth.
"Fuck it. Sure," he agreed, taking the thing and sipping. It still tasted like sharp, alcoholic, bottom-of-the-barrel sawdust.
As silence passed while he was busy with his curious thoughts, Tazaro felt eyes watching him, and looked up to find Vincent staring at him, the furrow of deep contemplation as the proverbial gears turned in his best friend’s head. It made him nervous, since Vincent held the uncanny ability to draw intrigue and information from the patterns of a rug, and his stomach fell into the floor. He subtly averted his gaze to the fire and attempted to casually poke at it with the iron poker.
“Still," he stressed. "I think our mutual friend has bigger fish to fry than–
–I appreciate that you’re so noble, Tazaro, but come on, it's obvious. Who else do we know with brunette hair and purple eyes, carries around a sword and a picture of a man she’s hunting, and that can shock someone?" Micah asked.
“Allegedly,” Vincent added, then tsked at something. “Though, if you can believe it, the man she punched definitely had a nice Lichtenburg burn seared into his abdomen.”
“You said they told you her hair was brunette and purple? I overheard them say black and red while I was listening in from outside the room," Vincent countered.
“You were eavesdropping, Vincent? Aren’t you supposed to be a doctor?”
“Patients lie,” Vincent shrugged in defense of himself.
Micah thought for a moment, then nodded in acceptance. People in interrogation often lied, too.
"Man. They really must have been scared stupid, because her eyes were definitely purple when I embarrassed myself in the office. I'll never forget that!" Micah laughed.
Tazaro paused, not because he'd been caught trying to divert, but because of the inconsistency of Sheeva's eye color, and now, her hair color, and the apparent ability to strike with a lightning fist.
His thoughts began to race as he wondered even more about the anomalies in place, considering he knew the pocket watch had been broken before Sheeva delivered the assault. From what he understood from Micah’s quick explanation, they had learned that the crystals needed to be either held in a hand or connected to a piece of jewelry. If there was indeed a crystal hiding in the pocketwatch, it had to be microscopic, since he’d already effectively taken the thing apart and hadn’t seen anything, and if he assumed the crystal popped out when it was thrown against the wall, the theories still didn’t make sense.
If the supposed thing wasn’t in the pocketwatch, where was it, if she was still able to do such bizarre things? Would she have to hold such a thing in her palm to strike with a lightning-induced fist, or had she discovered something the military hadn’t, and it simply had to be somewhere else on her person?
His thoughts darkened as he began to wonder if perhaps she’d been subjected to some kind of twisted experimentation, and had had a crystal sealed inside of her body somewhere during captivity in Midna’s Overlook. Perhaps that was the reason for the recently bandaged forearm she tried to keep hidden beneath the sleeve of her shirt. Maybe, she’d tried to dig it out in a desperate act to get rid of it.
No evidence might mean a slip from detection, and therefore, a clean record.
Needing distraction, Tazaro took a deep swig of the barrel-bottom liquor, then shivered and scrunched his face as the nasty stuff burned a hole into his nose.
“Ugh. This stuff really is terrible,” He commented, trying to offer it to Micah. Vincent reached for it, took it, sniffed, swigged, and also made a face.
“Usually you get the good stuff, Mikey, but I’m gonna have to agree with Tazaro on this one. This is terrible,” Vincent stated with a dramatic pause. “I mean, I know the Lover’s Festival is coming up and you weren’t enthused about going for obvious reasons, but are you sure you’re doing ok?”
Micah laughed, and waved his hand at the matter, then took the flask from him.
“Yeah, I swear, I’m good, I’m good. But, at sixty Inue a bottle, I’m not gonna waste this stuff, either.”
Vincent looked at Micah.
“You paid sixty Inue for that? Lady’s teat!”
Micah huffed.
“Believe me, I certainly regret it! It doesn’t have that good, rich flavor that Tarrakkian Whiskey does.” He sighed. “But, I wanted to show my support, so…” He trailed off his explanation, then shook his head. “Anyway, I swear on the dead man’s grave that I’m good. I was actually thinking about going to the festival this year. Maybe, with the head chef running the kitchen in our mess hall,” Micah grinned.
Vincent nodded, sitting back as he accepted the promise.
“Swear on the dead man’s grave” was the phrase they would use to promise something, whether to secrecy, something they would do, or something they would never do again, throughout their years growing up after happening upon the corpse of a man likely mauled by a bearog. Disturbed, though wanting to do the “right thing,” the four of them–Micah, his brother Perron, Vincent, and Tazaro–scraped at the ground with sticks, then lay the man in the shallow grave, scooped the soil back over the man, then covered the area with rocks and boulders in an attempt to give the man a proper resting place.
Vincent had sworn to never dose himself with another narcotic after a bout with Vicodin had him nearly overdose. Micah had promised that, if his brother ever ended up behind bars again, he would not post bail, and that his brother would have to serve his sentence. Tazaro swore that, no matter how hard Kirin tried to pull him back into a relationshit, he would not, and had essentially gone into a state of no-contact. Perron, on the other hand, used and broke the promises he made, and after his journey took him further away, they lost contact with the man.
“Oh, so, you’re gonna go? Good for you. I hope that bodes well,” Vincent stated. “Have fun! Tazaro and I will just bet on the posh Chad-bros without you,” He suggested. “Unless you were planning on going with someone, too?”
Tazaro didn’t answer, distracted. With the festival around the corner in three months, Tazaro wondered if Sheeva would be around to see it, or, if she was, if she would take the time. He figured the least he could do would be to ask. While he didn’t expect anything of it, perhaps an outing like that, with festival games, exquisite foods, and late-night fireworks would put a real, genuine smile on that cute, oval face.
It budded a well of cheer in his chest, and his stomach riled with butterflies. Maybe, the evening might end with a fond, earnest kiss, and he might net the luxury of seeing a side of her most didn’t get to.
Shocked with himself as he felt a zing of allure when his brain connected that a kiss could lead to a night of passion, Tazaro directed his soft, wasted scoff of deflection towards the coals in the fireplace in an attempt to free his head of the sudden wave of imagination.
It wouldn’t do well to imagine Sheeva surprising him with a visit in the workshop late at night with a kiss that had him scrambling to shove his tools off the counter. Certainly not here, in the company of friends, nor now, since he could only consider them acquaintances at best, nor…yet, he somehow told himself in the realm of maybe?
But, with all that she’s told me, we’re definitely not just acquaintances, and I can see that she’s changed a little from when we first met. At any rate, it seems to be a good thing. So…to ask, or not to ask?
It was a question that brought back the stern furrow of his brow and a cross of his arms.
“Hey, Tazaro, what are you thinking about? You seem mad about something.”
Tazaro blinked, then looked up upon realizing Vincent was talking to him.
“What?” He blurted, then, as the question loaded, he shook his head. “Oh, no. Not mad, no. I was…” He paused, trying to think of an excuse that wasn’t Sheeva. “I was thinking about a project,” He lied. Perhaps it was time to retire for what was left of the evening and try to get some sleep before his tired self grasped at straws to make an even more messed-up sense of things.
“Hm. The pocket watch for Sheeva?” Vincent asked.
Tazaro eyes widened briefly, forgetting he had told Vincent he was trying to fix the thing.
“Wait, Sheeva’s pocket watch is broken?” Micah interrupted, surprised about something. By the look on his face, Tazaro understood that pieces of a puzzle were fitting together. “I overheard that guy’s lackey say something about how they shouldn’t have broken ‘that woman’s watch’ while we were letting them stew in interrogation.”
Tazaro pursed his lips, feeling stuck.
“So it was her,” Micah summed, sounding impressed. “I knew it,” he grinned.
Tazaro frowned again, concerned. If it was so easy for Micah and Vincent to figure it out, he wondered how long before others would, too.
“Hey, Micah?” Tazaro asked, catching his friend’s attention while sitting up from his slouch against the matching ottoman for Vincent’s chair. “Whatever else you know, or whatever else you find out about it, uh…” Tazaro began, then sucked in an encouraging breath as he steeled himself.
“Pretend it doesn’t exist,” He suggested. “I think she’s…been through enough.”
Micah took a slow, deep breath, and sighed, his cheerfulness deflating quickly as he recalled her brief explanation of the events that occurred in Teafshire.
“Yeah,” He agreed, shifting to lean against the arm of the couch and prop his head on his hand. “I know of some things, and I’m sure there’s more, but I already had a mind to not say anything; seems to me like it was a good, clean case of self-defense, regardless of the…casualty. Which–according to the coroner’s report–that third guy’s death was indeed, an accident.”
“You–Tazaro began in surprise, then stopped himself.
“...know about the guy with a pike in his neck? Yeah. Though, gotta admit, I’m more surprised that you know,” Micah muttered with a wry chuckle. “Telling Tyler makes sense; he was there when she gave us the info on Llyud Halma, but it’s funny that she’d tell you about it, since you supposedly ‘don’t know her well enough.”
Tazaro dropped his head to stare into space at the green rug in the center of the circle, fidgeting with the yarn tassels tied into the rug’s edge.
“But it’s not funny, because I don’t.” He countered, though it felt as though he were trying to convince himself otherwise.
He knew her age, or at least, her assumed age. He had a glimpse into the soft, caring side she kept carefully hidden. He had already made a plan with his mother and Tyler of what to get her for her birthday, which would be coming up in the next couple of weeks, and hoped that the parts for the pocket watch would be delivered by then so it could be included. He picked up on small things, such as the fact that she seemed to enjoy learning, and couldn’t get enough of the books they had lying around the house.
“No? Not well enough to share secrets like that?” Vincent pointed out. “Come on, man! You. Are. In. De-nial!” Vincent stressed. “You offered to fix a pocket watch for free, and you did just say something about working on a project inspired by–
–I’m always working on a project,” Tazaro interrupted, but Vincent carried on.
–‘someone.’ So, assuming it’s this girl, I think you know her a little more well than you say.” Vincent reasoned, causing Tazaro to clamp his mouth shut in frustration.
Vincent’s eyes lit up, and he grinned.
“The festival’s coming up. If you were looking for someone to go on a date with, needless to say, I’ve got a suggestion for you! Besides, it makes you happy to be fixing something for her, right?”
Tazaro snorted in disbelief.
“That’s the same thing as you healing a patient and seeing them out the door–It’s purely professional.” He argued.
“Sure, sure. But, doing it for free? I wouldn’t do that for just anyone,” Vincent countered. “So, why not?”
Tazaro felt his face heat with embarrassment, and huffed out a dismissive laugh.
“That’s insane!” He barked, then fought to reign himself in. “Look, you guys. You don’t understand. I barely do. If she’s not helping Mom or Tyler, she’s out there almost every waking hour, hell-bent on taking this guy down, and I don’t see her taking a break anytime soon to be–He stumbled over his words as the butterflies returned. –uh, to be…Pfft, dating. And anyway, if she doesn’t find the guy here, she’ll be taking off to the next town to search there.”
“Maybe you could be the reason she takes a break,” Vincent suggested. “What have you got to lose? At least if it doesn’t work out and she does have to leave, you don’t have to worry about awkward run-ins.”
Annoyed, Tazaro felt the tire in his face and entire body, and, rather than entertain and further subject himself to their prodding questions or fill his head with high hopes, he rudely scoffed at the idea despite how much sense it seemed to make and stood to leave. Still, the thought that she would consider taking a break to see him went to his head, and he lingered in the doorway to the hall.
After all, Sheeva had delivered a meal to him a couple nights ago upon missing a family dinner, even though he was sure he told them he wasn’t going to be there; he was trying to finish work on a last-minute, rushed, oakwood dresser restoration job that the owner offered to pay double for if they could get it done within the timeframe. She seemed content resting for a moment while nibbling on an apple in silence, though occasionally winced at a pain as she looked at her bandaged arm…not that he’d been paying attention while chowing down his meal.
He had since had the brief idea of letting her tour the stars with him once he was done with the Stargazer, as a way of showing his appreciation for encouraging him to think better of himself.
“I–He began, then sighed. “I guess so,” He admitted.
“Whoa. You really mean that?” Micah asked in surprise.
Tazaro huffed at himself.
“Yeah,” He answered, likely more surprised than Micah was. Before they could go any further with their questions, Tazaro made his way to his room, stripped, and crawled into his bed, though kept awake by rampant thoughts and boyish daydreams.