- BH -

“Thank you so much for doing this, Madi! You sure I can’t give you something, perhaps at my next pay check?”

A woman in her fifties was holding the rear door of her SUV while Madzistrale loaded a few baskets of fruits and veggies in the trunk.

“It’s no problem really. I’m relieved the few things we got can help your family out, that’s the primordial factor,” Madzistrale waved her thanks away.

“But…”

“Gather your money, rent and debts are hefty enough as it is; we always grow too much for us anyway, that’s our point.”

Madzistrale’s neighbour wrapped an arm around her shoulder as a tentative hug.

“Thank you so much, Madi. And Tom!!” she yelled out at him, and he waved back from the garden. “And Gabriel too, since he’s out. You guys are always giving us a big hand.”

“That’s the least we can do as fellows; it’s nothing special...” Madzistrale uncomfortably blushed, distractedly scratching the ground with her boots, trying to end the conversation less awkwardly.

Another car drove up the driveway, and honked as a welcome.

“Oh, that’s our cue. You sure are popular today, must be the good weather,” the woman smirked at Madzistrale as she walked to her driver’s side.

“Nah, that’s our blacksmith Bruno. He usually only wants my cupcakes,” Madzistrale laughed.

“Okay, then bye! And Jonathan says hi too, and that he’s taking good care of his carousel.”

“Glad to hear it. Bye bye!” Madzistrale waved.

Bruno took off his shoes before walking into the siblings’ living room.

“Cupcake?” Madzistrale guessed with a smile.

“I wouldn’t say no, but as you can see, I, for once, didn’t come just for the cupcakes,” Bruno smirked as he picked up two cases and carried them to the table.

“They’re already ready?” Tom marveled; he then paused and shamefully continued: “and yes, that phrase was redundant.”

“It’s metal rods. How long can it seriously take me, come on, give me some credit,” Bruno replied, faking a wounded expression. “So, brother or sister first?”

“Give me some credit. Ladies first, as always,” Tom gentlemanly gestured his sister.

“Alright-o.”

Bruno opened one of the case, and unwrapped its content. Madzistrale’s eyes widened at the sights of the two metal sticks that Bruno handed her. The dull silver material was beautified with elegant emerald green markings and engravings running all its length; and the stick ended with an adapted wooden-finished handle and an aged golden guard reminiscing that of the Chinese jian sword.

“Awe...some...” Madzistrale marveled; but she paused further as she looked carefully at the sticks. She turned to her brother with wide eyes, her shocked realization sinking in, and was about to speak, but then noticed Bruno and restrained herself. She instead said: “That is way cooler than I ever thought they could be!”

“You ask for cool sticks, I deliver cool sticks; that’s how it works,” Bruno politely ignored her awkward moment; he then put on the table the second case, and opened it: “Tom, here’s yours.”

Tom looked over his pair: hued toward an aged iron rod, his also had engravings and markings, but electrical blue. The markings molded into the tips as a casing for several inches; the other ends featured a leather grip and a slanted silver guard.

“So here’s how I went about it, knowing a bit about you guys,” Bruno proudly explained. “Mad’s a strong steel called the L6 Bainite. Knowing she likes to divert, trap, deflect, etc, that metal will allow torsion and stress but is nearly impossible to break or bend it. The handle and guard is also designed with that concept in mind; polished wood is easier for sliding hand positions, while the jian guard design can allow such trapping while protecting the hands. Tom, on the other hand, likes to slam and knock, and take in those shocks. So his own metal is the S7 Shock steel, the metal used for the forge instruments that themselves forge strong metal objects. It’s extremely tough and resistant, but will require a more constant and heavy maintenance than Mad’s, as any onset rust will weaken the metal and make it favourable to cracking...”

“Tom, taking care of stuff? Good luck with that,” Mad cut him to tease her brother, nudging him.

“Oye, I take very good care of things that matter to me,” Tom winked back.

“… Again, a wooden handle for sliding and gripping, and the slanted guard is to distribute away the shocks.”

“You thought about it all?!” Madzistrale marveled, while Tom tested out the grip on his sticks.

“That’s my life job, remember? Unlike some friends I know who farms for fun all day long, and daydream about smacking sense into future probable bad guys.”

“Low blow, mate, low blow...” Tom pretended to turn away with hurt feelings.

“Okay, so… How much?” Madzistrale reached for her purse.

Bruno held out his hand.

“A dozen cupcakes per week, six chocolate and six salted caramel; a honey jar every month; and free repairs of my trousers when I need them.”

Madzistrale looked at him confused.

“But that’s… that’s what we already do for you.”

“Yeah! For the last five years! And only now you’ve asked me for a full job. That means I still owe you for many more jobs.”

Madzistrale jumped on him and hugged him tightly.

“Okay, okay, not too much, Maria will get jealous otherwise,” Bruno uncomfortably wiggled under her hold.

“Pfft, everyone knows Mad is far too picky on her prospects, and prefers anyway foreigners, like Brits, Frenchs, Dutchs, Portugueses, or Gab’s Japanese godfather...” Tom waved Bruno’s worries away.

Madzistrale stepped back and threw them both a raspberry.

“Thanks again, Bruno, these are awesome and exactly, even better, than what we had in mind. You’re a genius.”

Bruno blushed, picked up his cases, and pointed to Madzistrale’s tray of cupcakes cooling on the kitchen counter.

“Now, payment, please!”

The siblings locked their front door, and picked up once again their sticks. They tested the weight, handling… and then they looked at each other… back at their sticks… back at each other. They smiled and pierced each other with fake evil eyes, then jumped into a fighting stance.

“Prepare to feel the awesomeness of my hazardous years of training!” Madzistrale faked a heroic tone.

“Fool! You forget who defeated you at chess for the 82nd time!” Tom countered, spinning his right handed stick.

“How dare you?!”

**

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“At your visits at the hospital, make sure that they give you the daily records of their services. As guardian of the patient, it is your right to have all the legal proof that they are indeed taking care of him in return for the fees spent,” Clara explained to Gabzryel as they arrived at his front door.

Gabzryel nodded, taking in all the information she had given in the last hour regarding the legal procedures surrounding his guardianship of his professor Sollow. He unlocked the door, and let her enter first, knocking the mud from his shoes.

As they entered the living room, they stopped short and met the surprised and guilty expression of Madzistrale and Tom.

“And what the heck happened?!” Gabzryel wondered, half angry, half amused at their expressions.

Madzistrale looked back and forth from her friends and her broom and the pile of glass and ceramic bits around her; Tom innocently continued to hang a Salvador Dali replica painting over a hole on the wall. The sofas were tumbled over, the central table had moved a couple of inches, and the rug was messy.

Gabzryel’s eyes finally settled on two pairs of sticks on the kitchen countertop.

“Ah,” he finally simply said. “Bruno finally delivered them, heh?”

The siblings smiled gleefully despite the chaotic state of the living room.

Clara assessed them and the damage.

“I guess this is the first time you wielded handheld weapons?”

Madzistrale puffed up in indignation.

“Don’t be silly, we trained in sword-fighting when we were young.”

“When you were young, were the key words. And my faith in your skills doesn’t improve much even after hearing that,” Clara picked up one of the pair.

“We were actually not that bad,” Madzistrale defended herself, while Tom wisely chose to keep away from the conversation.

Clara raised an eyebrow.

“The holed walls and the broken items in the trashcan don’t share your confidence.”

Gabzryel finally let out a laugh, and he passed a hand over his brow.

“Had to expect this would happen,” he finally said with a big smile; the siblings sighed in relief. “I actually think I would’ve done worst damage than they did; singlehandedly, mind you.”

Clara sighed and rolled her eyes. She picked up the pairs of sticks.

“And why did you pick sticks? That’s, one, lame as a self-defense choice, and two, staffs are way better for beginners.”

“Yeah; but ours have cool filigrees, colours, and look at the handles!” Madzistrale proudly emphasized.

“When you buy a cheap crappy car, and put some fancy paint on it... it's still a crappy car.”

Clara looked over the siblings and their beaming smiles, sighed, and walked to the patio door.

“Join me in the backyard once you’ve done covering the holes with Dali and Van Gogh. I’ll show you how to actually fight with bastions. You know, the way the military and police do it, against actual opponents; not what your illuminated yoga guru taught you.”

“When she puts it that way...” Tom mused.

Gabzryel stifled a laugh and went in to help them clean.

“Oye, don’t help out, it’s our mess,” Madzistrale protested.

“Yeah, but I have to see how Mad Klutz versus Cadet Clara will end up as a fight! And Stubborn Tom versus Cadet Clara, since we’re there,” Gabzryel teased them.

It was Tom’s turn to blow his friend a raspberry.

While they finished cleaning, Tom asked his sister:

“By the way, what did you want to say, when you first saw your sticks?”

Madzistrale paused, and her brow furrowed.

“The sticks… it was the first time we saw them. I mean, Bruno never showed his progress with us, we never went to see him neither. Today was the very first day we laid our eyes on the weapons.”

“Yeah?...” Tom hesitantly confirmed.

Madzistrale looked at her brother and her friend, her expression a mixture of confusion and worry.

“So how come these were the exact same sticks that appeared out of nowhere in my hands, that day at the plaza, when I smacked them together to scare the crowd?”

Tom looked at her in shocked wonder.

“Are you sure?”

“100%. I adored the design, I thought to myself at that time that it would have been cool if Bruno could make them that way for real. So how come today, Bruno reveals he’s made the exact same sticks that appeared in my hand three days ago, at that event?”

Gabzryel and Tom pondered, just as confused as her. Clara banged on the patio’s door, taking them out of their spell, her face annoyed at their waste of time.

“Well, I guess this will be another mystery added to our already long list,” Tom sighed, rising and grunting from his previous position. “Oh, and don’t forget, Bruno said we can call them ‘bastion’. Will sound cooler if we talk about them to someone than saying ‘stick’.”

Gabzryel kept silent as the siblings went out talking about the names of their new toys; he was still trying to find the answer. He saw the scene in his cameras as he watched over them during that plaza incident. He hadn’t noticed until Madzistrale spoke about it, but that was what mainly surprised him about seeing the bastions on the counter: she hadn’t imagined it, these were the same pair of bastions. Just like the very real pink diamonds, yearly gifts from his long-passed sister; something was inexplicably connecting the ongoing coincidences.