>>5129143Settling next to your fellow gentleman, you watch as the normally composed youth unwinds as he takes a seat beside you, quickly propping his feet up on the table and loosening the collar of his crimson shirt.
“What’ve you thought of this place?” He asks, and while you both know a reply’s not forthcoming, you appreciate how he always asks you how you’ve been. Dorian’s been rather transparent with you about how deliberate his affectations are. ‘A gentleman’, he once told you, ‘is one who seeks to ensure everyone around them is at ease through good manners and an attentive mind.’ He sounded like he was quoting, or maybe paraphrasing something, but you could tell that regardless of where he’d gotten the pithy phrase, it was a mantra he strove to live by.
“Me? Well, it’s a far cry from the Monastery. In nothing but good ways, I assure you.” He says, playing his part in your ‘conversation’. “The world could use less Monasteries and more…whatever this is.”
Dorian gestures at the four walls that surround you, soaking in the décor before continuing. “Just people being themselves, without the Cord looming over everything. I mean, it still is, but…you know what I mean, my good man.”
You make an affirmative buzz-purr as you relax against the artisan’s side, and after a few moments of silence Dorian begins to absent-mindedly pet you as he speaks to no one in particular.
“I miss her.” He breathes, no doubt in your mind as to who his longing refers to. “I’m so proud of her, but it hurts all the same. Part of me worries that she’ll grow into someone that doesn’t need me, but I don’t think I could blame her if she does. It’s…harder than I thought it would be. There’s still too much of Father’s anger in me, and too much of Mother’s people-pleasing nature. I’ve still got a ways to go, but I like to think I’m getting there. Slow and steady, eh friend?”
You purr again, and Dorian chuckles.
“We’ll win this race yet, Sir FuzzBuzz.” He assures you, and you can’t help but drift off a bit…until your Creator’s plan reaches your ears.
Light. Flame. Chaos.
When Merkabah falls, it’s at the hands of your family acting as one. Your fuzz is slightly singed from one too many close calls with the radioactive threat, but any wounds you’ve sustained are worth it to have kept Amara from suffering them. Your young ward sheathes her blade in the battle’s aftermath, the ivory weapon broken down and reabsorbed into its owner’s bare arm. Amara’s winded, but her boundless energy proves to be infectious as she scoops you up in her arms, and your prodigious fluff once again saves your shell from cracking under her alarming strength. As your Creator begins to check in with her brood and confident that Amara’s in good condition, you hover over to where Marco leans against the Metall Geschoss’ imposing turret.
(Continued)
