“Here, try this.” Sally handed Serpacinno a few cork rings.

“What, I just throw it at the guy, try to land the ring on his horns?” She asked, giving an exploratory throw before she even awaited a response. It missed by a wide margin.

“More or less,” The long-haired woman answered, “But the objective is to actually score.”

“You’re a real comedian.” Serpacinno threw again, missing by a wider margin than before.

“So I’m funny?” Sally elbowed her lightly in the ribs, to which her companion sighed and rolled her eyes, “See, you’re already falling for me.”

“Far from it,” A third throw revealed that the first two were indeed not flukes, as the margin continued to widen, “But I’ll admit it - your flower festival, or whatever’s going down here, is nice.”

“Excuse me, coming through!” A disgusting-smelling masked man pushed behind them, nearly knocking them over as he barrelled through.

“Quite the musk on that one.” The fencer waved a hand in front of her nose, trying to dispel the noxious odor.

Serpacinno repeated the gesture, before asking, “Where’s the food?”

“Here,” Sally ran inhumanly fast to procure some crepes, infused with strawberry of course, for the two of them, “A personal favorite of mine.”

“They’re good,” Serpacinno grumbled, but ate the rest of the treat with gusto, “I hate to admit it - but your people’s food is nice.”

“What would you know of my people?” She asked curiously.

“Not much - just bits here and there.” She finished the treat, “I don’t find your food to be as palatable as most people.”

“Good thing we’re leaving, then?” Sally asked, dragging her off to another attraction.

“Look,” She stopped, turning Sally around to face her, “I’m serious. I don’t know if I haven’t been properly communicating this - but we clearly want different things from each other.”

“I think you’ll find, it’s not so different after all,” Sally argued, “Look where we are - the country, no, the city of love. Maybe you just don’t understand love?”

“I understand love.” She assured, “I think. It’s just… I’ve always seen it as something that has to grow.”

“Then let it grow with me,” She insisted back, grabbing the swordswoman’s hands gently, rubbing her thumbs in circles over her knuckles, “If you just give it a chance-”

“Stop.” Serpacinno said with finality, “It won’t. You’ve made me realize something, it already is growing. Just, not with you.”

Sally smiled gently and took her hands back, “I don’t need to hear any more.” She sighed wistfully, mourning what could have been, “He is lucky. You are truly exceptional, Serpacinno.”

“You barely know me.” She crossed her arms over her chest, just happy that Sally seemed to finally be seeing reason.

“I’m a romantic, can you blame me?” She shrugged, moving onward, “But just because you have a little crush doesn’t mean we can’t have fun, huh?”

Serpacinno smiled too, now, intending to make use of the rest of their time to relax, “Lead the way, then.” She pat herself down, a confused look on her face, “Wait, did that guy earlier swipe my pouch?”

—

Lonceré whistled to himself as he observed the pouch he’d managed to lift. Nothing, whatever, He thought as he tossed it over his shoulder behind him, How has he completely disappeared? I swear it was his voice.

“Thank you very much.” He heard Paracelsus’ voice again, likely taking some food. He walked in the direction he heard it, but Capitaine was nowhere to be seen. Lonceré cursed his friend’s short stature, it made him far too able to hide in crowds, even with the mask he was wearing.

He was immediately distracted by the most glorious sight he had ever seen: a tall, shimmering fountain of wine which flowed freely and without abandon. He greedily cupped his hands together, a most unsanitary practice that would continue on much longer than his lifetime, to get a serving of the liquid delight.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

To his right stood a young man, a little taller than him, and lanky enough to entangle his own limbs like a knot, with an awkward mop of curly hair and a thin, juvenile mustache. He had a decidedly foreign look, with a swarthier complexion and purple eyes- probably Iraloan.

“How goes it?” Lonceré tried to make small talk in an effort to not seem suspicious.

The lanky young man looked around for a few seconds, “Me?” He asked dumbly, there was no one else currently at the fountain, “It goes. How goes it for you?”

“It goes.” He replied, before walking around the young man, hand on the small of his back as he passed to stabilize himself. Luckily, he had a much more full wallet than his previous mark.

“Weird,” Tariq had a cringing face as he sniffed the air, “Wonder who that was?”

—

Paracelsus sighed as he took the mask off for a moment. It was way too hot, and the stuffy headwear had no ventilation whatsoever, so he had to fan himself to draw the sweat off. He took a small hors d’ouevre and popped it into his mouth, scarfing down the appetizer to regain some strength before he resumed his activities. He was sure Lonceré would show; the man, for all his faults, did what he promised to do. For now though, he was just wandering and enjoying himself.

“Tariq!” He threw an arm around his helmsman, who was still drinking from the fountain, “I feel like it was a mistake to teach you about alcohol.”

“No mistake, Captain,” Tariq answered with a dopey, giddy smile, “I feel great. Except one thing.”

“What’s that one thing?” He asked.

“I lost my wallet - or,” He giggled, “Maybe it got stolen.”

The captain grumbled, “You’re responsible.” Before leaving to go check elsewhere. It’s a shame Gareland couldn’t show, He thought, observing the live music, She’d probably like it.

—

Taylor raised the cuffed hand above her head, making Gareland’s arm stretch painfully in response, before she whipped it over her head, hoping to slam the fair down on the pavement with it. Suddenly, as Gareland was reorienting herself after being flipped through the air, Peeares swooped in from above, spear in hand pointed straight toward her.

Gareland took the chance and, using strength disproportionate to her stature, managed to position the chain straight in his trajectory. He completed all the necessary work to free her, his weapon piercing straight through to complete her goal.

She shouted “Yes!” As her foes shouted “No!” and immediately set about fleeing once more. Her plan was cut short, however, when she realized how far she pushed herself. As she made the hand sign she required to escape, her brain immediately sent a sharp, stabbing pain throughout her whole skull which made her vision rattle.

Taylor and Peeares came to a stop, looking awkwardly at each other, as she fell to the ground, watching her seize and convulse, not without a bit of foam lapping at the corners of her mouth.

“I guess this works,” The ensign crouched down, producing another pair of cuffs to keep her constrained, “Let’s just hope she doesn’t die.”

—

The Gala was now winding down. Being later in the day, the sky made a beautiful ocean of orange and purple as the sun hid from view. Paracelsus was nonplussed that he still hadn’t found his friend, but with some time still remaining, he figured it would simply be a late re-introduction. Currently, however, he found himself returning the items he’d been given by Alfie.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself.” Alfie shook Paracelsus’ hand, nearly dragging the smaller man up and down like a whip.

“It was very fun,” Paracelsus replied, slapping him on the back, “I regret having to leave so soon.”

“Having to?” The large man asked with a comical tilt of the head.

“Work - the life of an -” He was cut off when a firework exploded overhead, and a great big constellation of sulfur formed the shape of a rose, before falling back down, “Of an engineer is never done.”

“An engineer?” He asked with a flourish that indicated he had need of one, “You wouldn’t mind a few questions, then?”

“I suppose not, why?” He asked, seeing Alfie produce what appeared to be a map of the city. It was decidedly not recent, however, as even Paracelsus’ limited knowledge of the city proved the chart had several inaccuracies.

“You know about the Bohemians? Where we come from?” He asked, and Paracelsus shook his head. So, Alfie recounted their history of persecution to him, “I desperately want to prove that we can coexist with all the other Cartesians. I figure the best way to do that is to help.”

“And what’s the problem you’re trying to solve?” Paracelsus looked over the map again and again - wondering what its relevance could be.

“The prevailing theory is that this Mr. Domingue is currently in the abandoned sewers,” He pressed his large, calloused finger along the map, “I was wondering if you might be able to take a guess as to where the most livable portion is?”

Unknown to either of them, Domingue was watching from a small distance, keenly intent on gauging Paracelsus’ decision. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at the unfolding conversation.

“Sorry, I should’ve clarified,” Paracelsus handed him back the chart, “I’m more of a bridges and buildings-type engineer. You’d probably do best asking a doctor.”

“A shame,” Alfie sighed, but smiled and shook his hand, “Still - thank you for taking a look.” He shook his head as the fireworks, too, subsided, before slapping his palms on his thighs and standing, “Well, it’s getting late. Farewell, Paracelsus.”

“Farewell to you as well, Alfie.” He responded in kind, happy to be able to meet with his crew, at least.

Fate had other plans, however, as before he could look for them, a mouse came up, whispering his name at his ankles. The alchemist kneeled down and sighed, knowing the voice, and similarly knowing it was probably a test.

“You don’t even understand what you’re doing,” He picked up the mouse by its tail, and the creature took it pretty well, all things considered, “You’re just a little mouse.”

Then, he placed it gently on the ground, following it as it (hopefully) led him where he needed to be. Serpacinno was responsible enough and would probably be able to gather Tariq, so Paracelsus didn’t feel bad for going on a little excursion. He first followed the mouse, still occasionally looking back to make sure he was following, through a series of alleyways which only got windier and thinner as he continued. This continued for what felt like a half-hour until he came upon a small house, decrepit and derelict in a small, obscure corner of the city.

“You’re lucky I need a cook.” The captain grumbled as he knocked. So dilapidated was the house that the door gave way as he rapped his knuckles on it, the top hinge half-hanging off.

He swallowed a lump in his throat. This could all still possibly be a very elaborate trap. Set by whom, he had no conception, but it was nonetheless a possibility. The floorboards creaked underfoot, filling the darkness with a distinct eeriness which was matched only by the presence of a ray of moonlight peering in through what was once a roof.

“Enough is enough,” He said to whomever was listening, “You know it’s me, Lonceré, dammit! Show yourself!”

From the moonlight, the barrel of a pistol poked through, a dusky hand gripping it, “S-N-C.” The voice of his friend eagerly awaited a response.

“One-one-seven.” Paracelsus grabbed the gun and pulled it toward him, embracing his friend as he stepped into view, “You bastard! I can’t believe you’re alive.”

“I can’t believe it’s really you.” He replied, “What are you doing here?”

Before answering, Paracelsus got a good look at his friend. Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t grown or shrank, still standing a few inches above his captain. His hair, once a great curly ball, was now arranged in locks which served to make him look a bit unkempt in combination with his facial hair. He’d also, seemingly, lost some weight, but retained his roguish, handsome look.