Kuravaan leant against a wall of the foyer, staring absent-mindedly at the nearby band while they played their ninth song for the night. His attention was roused when he saw Horan and Omet approaching him. He sighed and nodded.

Omet extended their hand. “Hey, it’s, uh, it’s been a bit.”

“It’s been thirty minutes,” said Kuravaan, shaking Omet’s hand.

Omet shrugged. “It’s been a lot longer since we were able to talk, and a lot’s happened since then. Relatively speaking.”

“M-hm.”

“We just came here to do a bit of apologizing,” said Horan. “We figured that a change in scenery might be enough to help the three of us get off on the right foot this time.”

“M-hm.”

“Things have been pretty awkward between the three of us,” admitted Omet, “and I think that’s been kind of bleeding over to the rest of our families. To help build some bridges between us, we think we could both work with some insider information regarding what makes some of your relatives tick. We didn’t exactly plan out a tailor-made experience when we had to make preparations on such short notice, but we might still be able to do what we can to have a good time here.”

Horan spoke before Kuravaan got a chance to respond. “And yeah, we’ve established that you’re under no real obligation to help us, that’s perfectly clear. But if you folks were, none of this–” He waved at the faltering festivities around him– “would be necessary. So there’s no need to remind us, we’re already… accommodating you.”

Kuravaan’s gaze flicked between the two Primoi in front of him, the odd syllable escaping his mouth before being promptly cut off. The only thing that could be gleaned from his expression was that he needed to work to keep it unreadable.

Horan exchanged a glance with Omet a gesture which their pupil-free eyes hid from Kuravaan. “Don’t, um, don’t worry too hard about it, we’re trying to build a–”

“I know,” snapped Kuravaan, “I’m just… We understand your investment in our contribution, and we know that you do not intend any sort of coercion in the matter, and this meeting is important to everyone here, so we are interested in communications with you. We understand as well that this sort of communication is important. One of our number fled off to Palestine under an assumed name to ‘build his legacy’ a few months ago, Black Emon or something, and we haven’t heard from him since, and people are probably blaming me behind my back, and I shouldn’t be telling…” He paused to take a breath, but did not continue once he was done.

“O… Okay.” Omet took a small step away from Kuravaan. “How about we give you a little time to think things over, and then come back when you’re a little more ready for us?”

Horan nodded and followed Omet away from Kuravaan and towards the center of the room. He only spoke once he was absolutely sure that the two of them were out of earshot. “Okay, so he didn’t say no…”

“He didn’t say anything,” replied Omet. “Minus that weird rant about his–”

“About the other thing,” interrupted Horan, “it’s true, yes. But we did just kind of spring a big shift in our approach on him, like you said to him. Playing hard-to-get is just part of the process, everyone knows that, and he’s just not trying to look like he’s being tided over. That’s the simplest answer, I mean, you saw how he was trying to keep his poker face up. Have a little faith, dude.”

Omet pursed their lips. “I’m not gonna provide any other theories as to why someone won’t socialize at a party that he personally agreed to go to for the purposes of socializing, but he still smells off. All of these people do.”

Horan looked around at the gaggles of Indians clustering around various points of interest around the foyer, many of whom seemed to be taking steps to maintain distance from the increasingly uncommon Aztecs and Greeks. “If I were to hazard a guess,” he said, “I’d say it’s because they haven’t exactly had the warmest welcome from you people.”

“I did actually try and approach them,” said Omet, choosing to ignore the ‘you people’, “and I would like to point out that they didn’t exactly stand out from Kuravaan’s behavior. I know it does sound like I don’t like them being here, but… Okay, I don’t, but I don’t think they want me to like them here.”

Horan shrugged and approached the buffet table. “Look, I… Nothing’s changed about these people since we found out about what’s going on… out there. We’ve kept that close to our chest so far, so they don’t know that we’ve had an out dangled in front of us…”

“…So?”

Horan stared at the table in silence for a moment. “…So they have some other reason to act like this. Maybe they’re underestimating exactly what the Servants are doing, or… Or they think that we’re trying to get something out of this. My point is, whatever’s going on between us and them all of a sudden, it must be us bringing it. And that means that we can still fix this. There’s something we can do to make them trust us, there’s got to be.”

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Omet grabbed a plate and used a battered pair of tongs to gather up three chicken wings, then handed the plate to Horan. “Stress-eating?”

Horan sighed and cracked a smile before taking the plate from Omet. “Stress-eating.”

Omet sat on the floor while Horan folded his legs and floated a foot off the ground, plate nestled in his lap. Omet craned their neck up to look at their levitating companion. “Hey, you think you can lift me too?”

“Not for very long,” said Horan.

“C’mon, give it a shot.”

“Okay, fine.” Horan flexed his hand and Omet felt an updraft sweep beneath them, pushing them up so that they were eye-level with Horan.

Omet giggled. “Sweet.”

“It’s unique as far as I know,” said Horan sheepishly, “but it’s not sweet. By our standards, at least.

Omet reached down and pushed against the ground, performing a sluggish somersault through the air. “It’s unique as far as I know, too. It’s not every day I get to flip around like an astronaut. By which I mean I’ve never gotten to do this before.”

“Three months ago, you rode a flying boat-cuttlefish into a giant glowing orb that shot lightning. There are a whole lot of things that are a bigger deal than floating a foot off the ground.”

Omet spun around so that they were completely upside-down, their hair hanging loose from their scalp. “Sure there are bigger deals, but I don’t have a friend who can just do that stuff casually. I’m gonna make you do this for me every chance I get from now on, just watch me.”

“I wouldn’t recommend you stay upside down,” said Horan, “you’re gonna–”

Omet winced and tried to right themself. “Ow, ow, head rush.”

“There it is.” Horan reached over and flipped Omet upright.

Omet blinked in a daze. “Thanks, uh, wow, gold is heavy.”

“What a twist.”

Omet looked at Horan for a moment. “I know you don’t put much into promises, so I’ll just say it: We’re gonna get through this. I know all this is fraying your nerves a l– more than a little, so… Well, you’ve got work to do, and you’re gonna do it whether or not it’s a good idea, so just know that I can get your back whenever you need me. It’s not like I’ll have much else on my plate at any given moment.”

Horan looked down at the plate in his lap. “My chicken-gift is getting cold.”

“Actually, that’s true, you should probably get to that before it gets all nasty and room-temperature. Can you set me down real quick? I’m gonna get some stuff for myself.”

“You can just touch the ground with your feet and it’ll wear off by itself.”

Omet stretched their legs out until they were standing straight. “Huh. You learn something new every day.”

Horan rolled his eye. “You really do make a big deal out of everything, huh?”

Omet shrugged. “A lot of things are just big deals to me, what can I say?”

After filling up their second plate for the night, Omet had Horan lift them back into the air, and quickly convinced him to let the two of them eat together in Horan’s spot well above the rest of the party.

“Oh man,” said Omet, looking down at the drop directly below them. “I’m so glad I’m not Mark right now.”

“Can you maybe be a little more careful?” urged Horan. “You might drop something, or something might happen and I might drop you.”

Omet shrugged. “You won’t.”

“But I might.”

“You won’t. Call it a hunch.”

Horan sighed. “Whatever, fine.”

Omet looked down at the people below. “See, isn’t this better? Two dudes, as your vocabulary would put it, hanging out and talking about absolutely nothing of any value whatsoever. We don’t do this enough.”

“Talk about things of absolutely no value?”

“No, hang out.” Omet stuffed a chunk of lamb into a half-open piece of flat bread. “You barely talk to anyone compared to when you’re with Mark. What’s up with that, anyway? I get that the two of you are, like, the thing, but you always act like you’re the most stranger-friendly person around.”

Horan shrugged. “Been a rough year. I like familiarity, and a friend of eight months beats a friend of four.”

“C’mon, we’ve known each other for longer than that.”

“Our interactions with each other before February consisted of Mark introducing you to me, us spending ten minutes trying to kill Thel, and then your family leaving. That’s a business acquaintance at best.”

Omet looked at their makeshift sandwich. “…This is starting to explain things.”

“There’ve been too many crises in the past three and a half years for me to feel safe.”

Omet nodded somberly. “Guess that’s the main thing we’ve been trying to fix this whole time, huh? Feeling safe?”

“It’s the main thing that everyone’s been trying to fix since the beginning of time. We’re not special.”

Omet stayed silent for a long time. Right when Horan thought that the conversation had officially ended, they gave their answer: “I guess it’s a good thing we’ll be there at the end of time, huh? Plenty of chances to fix things for good.”

Horan snorted. “Your mind fascinates me.”

“Then I’m doing something right. When things get predictable, things get safe. And me being the safe one is a concept that I won’t live with.”

“Omet, you’re wearing a cardigan.”

“It’s comfy and I like how I look in it, what do you want?”

“You know what?” Horan held up a hand. “Forget I said anything. You win. You’re a menace to society.”

“I would like to clarify that I’m joking, by the way.”

Horan raised an eyebrow. “You learn to never assume that kind of thing when neither party in the conversation can lie. The ban seems to kick in at random when it comes to saying things in jest.”

Omet nodded again. “I’ve begun to notice. Also, our food is getting old again, we should probably do something about that.”