and other thoughts
Note: To be updated/completed as needed. Most of these are completely seperate scenes/concepts I am working on.
A house is not necessarily always a home
Kiran often found himself in awe of the places that his chosen maternal figures called their homes. He knew that neither of them bothered at all with money, doors opened and agreements were made. He often wondered if he'd ever get the chance to be so confident, so powerful that all he had to was breathe and people would automatically fulfil his desires.
“Which house do you like best?”
It was a simple question and Kiran had expected that both his aunt and his mum would be able to answer without a second thought. Both of them were sitting on the far end of the long dining table, it was practically see-through, he was not yet tall enough to be able to sit without need of a cushion. Kiran hoped to the void he would grow to be tall like his aunt. He shuddered at the thought of being as small as his biological mother.
“We have several homes.” Stasia answered first.
“I know, but which one do you like best?”
“You’ve been to most of them. Or at least seen the outside of them.”
“I know but they all feel like holiday homes.”
He wasn’t trying to sound petulant or insensitive. His mum could be pretty prickly when it came to money and her possessions. Whilst he waited for them to respond, he continued to play with the lukewarm tomato soup. He’d long finished his grill cheese sandwich and didn’t want to ask for another. Kiran really did have to start learning to not just eat one thing over another, especially if what is laid out for him is meant to be eaten together. He lifted his spoon.
“I suppose it comes down to which life we lived and what house they loved.”
“That’s not a straight answer.”
Why were they dodging the question? Wasn’t this supposed to be easy? A straightforward answer was what he wanted. He could barely smell whatever it was his aunt and his mum were dining on. He had wanted soup and a grilled cheese sandwich and they had opted for something a little more refined.
“I do love our house in Amsterdam.”
“It’s very quaint.”
“The one that’s full of tulips?”
“Yes, though I suppose it’s really only habitable when Tulips are available. Otherwise it’s just an empty shell.”
“How about the one in Toronto?”
“Too cold and windy. Precisely the same reason why we don’t stay often in Chicago.”
Back and forth they spoke, listing cities and countries that Kiran could dimly remember visiting. Another spoonful and he wondered if he could just move onto his mains. His aunt and his mum already had, but he shouldn’t waste food.
“My most fond memory I think was that apartment the night we first met.”
“In Rio? That’s hardly a place either of us can call a place to stay.”
“It was where we spent our first night together. It’ll always have a special place in my heart. It’s where I knew most certainly that you owned my heart.”
“Have I been there?” He butted in.
“No, I don’t think we ever took you.”
“Just like the one in New York. It’s just a space for us.”
“You mean the bar? The one that your past life owned?”
“Yes, exactly that one.”
“I want to go to work with you.”
It came out more like a demand than a request, Kiran hoped that his aunt wouldn’t mind. Stasia glanced up from where they sat, reading an email on their phone and responding with very few taps.
“You’ve seen me at work before.”
“Not when you’re making clothes.”
“No.”
His aunt whose voice was usually light, fun and sometimes a little bit stressed out was now cold and stern. This voice only came out when he’d done something dangerous; usually situations where he could have died but didn’t - only because DeVian had caught onto what he was doing before he could do it. Kiran swallowed down the need to apologise and tried again.
“I want to see you work. I want to see what you can do.”
He now eyed his aunt’s bracelets, the light of the room was bouncing off of them and he concentrated on them. It was easier than being glared down at. Easier knowing that if he persisted long enough that his aunt would bend and he would get his way. That’s how their relationship worked.
“As I said. Absolutely not.”
“But… I’ve seen mum work.”
Stasia let out a hiss, that hit a nerve. Kiran returned his gaze to his aunt whose eyes were now narrowed almost into thin slits.
“I know you wear the bracelets to keep us safe. So you don’t hurt us. But what if I want to know? To hurt?”
It was like watching someone have a mental conversation with another person but that other person was halfway across the globe. Kiran had gotten better at noticing when his aunt and his mum would communicate silently through their bond. Eyes glossed over and lips pursed.
“Please. I promise I won’t interfere.”
“Your mother told you enough. You don’t need to experience it.”
“You don’t even let her in.”
Kiran really should not have said that, he bulked and gagged as a thunderous expression of anger crossed his aunt’s face. Maybe he should apologise and never bring up the topic again. Yet some part of him just desperately wanted to know which rumours were true.
“Your mother knows precisely why. You should too.”
“Do you not trust us to cope?”
How and why he chose to preface the question like that. He cursed himself for saying it the way he had. Stasia stood up, bracelets still adorned and began to take steps in the opposite direction. He had to stop her.
“Mum says you could never hurt her. Why are you so scared.”
A bitter laugh was all he got. His aunt left. Not another word nor a glance back or a reminder for him to stay out of trouble. He was left alone. Later, he would ask his mum about it. She was looking through her options for another evening corporate event. Her wedding band adorned on her finger, she was barefoot and her hair and makeup were already finished. All DeVian needed was the right kind of outfit.
“I think I made aunty mad.”
“You violated your aunt’s only rule. Asking them what you did.”
“I only wanted to know. You always say that it’s better to know than to not know.”
“And I told you all you needed to know. We also swore we would not speak on the topic afterwards.”
“What if aunty becomes my enemy one day. I can’t fight someone I don’t know how to beat.”
“Not likely that’ll ever happen.”
“But it could. You said it yourself. No one outside of your house can be trusted.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Of course it does. Yet I also know that were I to ask. Stasia would impale themselves upon their own blade. I know too much and they know it. It’s for the best.”
“But you love each other, your soulmates. Shouldn’t that be an exception.”
“Not when you’re a stationed and active Aikekunai.”
Knowing he wasn’t going to get his answers here either, Kiran decided that this was a situation that called for one individual, an individual he knew could grind down his mother’s nerves just for existing and to who his aunt called their best friend and fellow survivor of the past. Yet like all things, getting to Nuvat was harder than Kiran would have thought. For one thing it seemed the sun claimant was actively avoiding being easy to find. Was it because she knew that her life was on the line or perhaps his aunt had told her to stay out of it. Not like it really mattered. He wanted answers. He was going to get them and no one was going to stop him.
Jade hall
Camera flashes, DeVian blinked away the influx and ignored the shouts for her to look a certain way. She stared straightforward, only occasionally shifting her stance. Before moving on to another part of the carpet, the shade of it reminded her of the egg shaped ruby that Stasia had used as the centrepiece for a crown that DeVian had worn several halloweens ago. Now, that particular piece was being held on display/loan inside the halls dedicated to the Aikekunai inside CMUR. Not that anyone knew that Stasia was behind it.
No one knew who owned ABON. Outside of DeVian, Verin and Gabi. This was on purpose. It ensured that Stasia remained anonymous. Though it didn’t stop the occasional collaboration with another fashion house of the same caliber or Stasia deigning to create a single set for a client willing to pay huge amounts knowing that what they received would be a mystery - all of their answers during the one and only session used to gain information told Stasia all they needed to know.
Out in public, those who had been welcomed into the many and varied offices of Stasia, had been met by a shrew and snarky receptionist before being confronted by the milky eyes of needle and thread. They were about as close to a public face as ABON’s clients were ever going to get.
For instance, when a certain mortal publication had asked Verin for an interview. Verin had wanted to hold the interview and subsequent photo shoot inside Stasia and DeVian’s desert home in the middle of the Sahara. Aptly called the ‘Jade Hall’. For it looked like a giant had melded the sand into a modern art piece. Two storeys, huge bay windows, minimal furniture, even fancier paintings. It was the sun room that Verin loved best. Apart from the fact it was covered in ceiling to floor in the most opulent and pure jade. All sourced from the realm of water - not that the humans knew that. In fact, Verin had asked Stasia to create an ensemble for the shoot.
Only for DeVian to show Verin up by appearing inside the room in a business interview. It was quite the contrast. A infinitely sharp cut power suit in what the interviewer described as an indescribable shade of black and red. It was made of both satin and silk, adorn with minuscule jewels of unknown origin. All of it screamed power and status. The shoes, one of a kind pumps, the heel paper thin yet indestructible and gave off the illusion that DeVian was walking on air. Accessories that looked more like weapons (and for readers. The appearance of DeVian’s engagement ring) had everyone and anyone who was in the business world foaming at the mouth for a mere slither; no a mere hint of ABON. No one would succeed. Thus, Verin’s plans were ruined. She couldn’t fib that the house was hers.
Verin had been very upset, she had gone straight to her older sibling and demanded an explanation - that and a backup plan.
“You know. The Jade Hall was one of our first joint purchases as a couple this life. We commissioned it. I’m also pretty sure DeVian then had the architect and everyone involved killed so no one could dare to try and pull off the same feat. Besides, DeVian planned to appear there. Started planning it at least three years ago.”
“Well. Where should I have my interview then?”
“You can use the lodge in the Swiss Alps. It’s very cozy. We recently had a room refurbished. We’re tossing between calling it the Lapis Endeavour or Azure Crown.”
Verin had gone to inspect this lodge. The room that had been refurbished was the living room. Her assistant had fainted at the sight. It was like being reborn as a molecule of the colour blue. Verin had quickly booked the interview there and then and Stasia had delivered in creating an opulent gown of white-silver. Boots fur lined rather than heels. Accessories resembling snow flakes and other hints of an icy wonderland. Verin looked and felt like she had come straight out of Narnia - that or a Russian fairytale.
Course, news of Kiran’s adoption into DeVian’s family came with its own set of issues. Primarily the mortals wanted to know since when did she have a nephew and why he was under her custody rather than whoever his biological parents were. With all of the prestige that came naturally for the Laws; DeVian held the hounds off by simply adding it to her ever growing list of topics that if asked about could render any publication or individual to their doom.
That didn’t stop the tabloids from sending their vultures to stalk Kiran. It was a little jarring knowing that all of the glossy magazines had photos of Kiran holding DeVian’s hand whilst being walked into the first school of many he would be attending (he changed schools often to keep the press at bay and because no school seemed to possess the ability to keep up with his razor sharp intellect. Something that most theorised came from DeVian.)
Stasia had an easier time picking Kiran up, granted Stasia didn’t obey traffic laws and the helmet they chose to wear completely hid their identity. The leather they chose to wear also hid any indication of their gender. Kiran always loved when Stasia picked him up. Being able to feel the wind disappear before him as his aunt pulled off hairpin drifts and other close calls.
Stasia and the press would have continued to have a mutable relationship of respect. Had they not sent humans on poor examples of automobiles after them on their pick up duty. Especially because the news picked up on it. DeVian had been furious when she had seen that the most pressing news bit of the hour was her partner, her nephew and what had to be at least eighty different vehicles chasing them down a highway. Stasia’s skills as a rider meant that they were ducking in, out and weaving past indignant mortal drivers. Kiran tucked in front, his own little helmet on and gripping onto his aunt for dear life.
“What the actual fuck!”
“Shall I notify Stasia that you’ll be meeting them at the airport?”
“At this rate, they’ll both arrive in France from how fast Stasia is.”
“You don’t think that they’ll attempt to cross the channel… right?”
“We’ll pick them up just as they do. It’s the only way they’ll lose the idiots.”
DeVian, having down two bottles of wine just as the rear door seat was almost ripped off its hinges. Kiran, helmet and all was thrown in. He landed with little ceremony as the door was slammed shut and Stasia sped off once more. DeVian had to calm her heart rate as Kiran removed his helmet and with an expression of utter glee on his face asked:
“Can aunty and I do that again! We went at 300km/h. At one point!”
“Absolutely not. Your aunt is a maniac on the roads.”
“But it’s so cool! Not like anyone knows its aunty.”
“No. Rit or Bruno will pick you up from now on”
“That’s no fun.”
“I don’t want you to die. Should Stasia ever miscalculate the turns.”
She couldn’t exactly surmise what gender this Blonde individual was. Not that it mattered, the only thing that gave this potential person away was when they offered to take her home, the bike they had was new, fast and very expensive. Forget breathing, this blonde rode like the streets were empty, death-defying drifts and going at speeds that at one point felt surely if not impossibly illegal. Yet they hadn’t crashed despite the risk of it all. This Blonde had to be a claimant, but from which house? Why couldn’t she tell?
Again it didn’t matter when the blonde peppered kisses all over her skin. Igniting some part of her that she thought no one, no not even her considered legal husband. Didn’t matter when she had, had impossible as it might sound, exactly eight consecutive orgasms. Hell DeVian probably blacked out but was in too much a euphoric state to care that this Blonde had given more than she could imagine, never taking or asking for anything in return.
It had been a surprise to wake up to an empty bed. A surprise to find no note, no explanation and little to no sign that she had ever had company to begin with. What transpired next was an obsessive hunt to find the Blonde who had without so much as spoken most of the night; to steal her heart like some thief.
It took almost a year before the rumours of the mystery blonde echoed through the teeming streets of Buenos Ares. Why DeVian nearly gave up hope. No one in the house of death, or any of their allies had been able to tell her anything about her mystery Blonde.
It was nearly midnight when sitting in her car, her breath caught at the sight of the Blonde. Shorter hair than before and dressed immaculately. Helmet - the same one from a year ago in hand and a cigarette at their lips. She must have nearly torn the door to her own car off as she rudely and rather recklessly bolted through traffic - the honking and cursing could be ignored.
“Stop!” She shouted as the blonde got on their bike.
At first she worried they couldn’t hear her and she’d have to resort to using her halberd to stop them. But they turned to face her and she gasped. Though she remembered every contour and detail about this Blonde, seeing them again this time felt like she was seeing them all again for the first time. Just like the night they’d met.
“Hey stranger.”
DeVian had been rendered speechless. A melodic laugh accompanied the silence before the Blonde got off their bike, when all rational logic returned to her she found herself scowling.
“Why did you leave without saying anything?”
“You were asleep.”
“That’s no excuse. You could have woken me.”
“Wake up the heiress of death? I would think Novevu would prefer that I didn’t.”
“So you are a claimant! How come I can’t tell which house you’re in?”
“That’s on purpose. Don’t worry Princess. Your secrets are your own.”
Why was this… why were they mocking her? She moved closer, with the sudden urge to slap their beautiful face when she watched in sudden realisation that their eyes weren’t theirs. Someone else entirely was looking back at her.
“I’m not just some claimant. I am an Aikekunai. Surely you know what that is. Seeing as you are one yourself.”
“Stop mocking me.” Her lips curled into a snarl.
It hadn’t been her voice that had left her mouth, but rather one of her older more violent and way less reasonable lives. Qrow was by all means prepared to decimate this city and destroy this beautiful person without a second thought. Several expressions crossed this nameless blonde before a choke squeak that didn’t really sound like words but were words came out.
“Q-qrow?”
Stasia did not eat breakfast. Had not eaten breakfast since their time in the program. Breakfast foods nauseated them, in fact they avoided any food that resembled anything close to ‘breakfast’; thus their diet was quite limited. After all, almost everyone breaks their fast somehow with the same types of food. Even if they’re on the opposite side of the globe from each other - there was always a version of breakfast somewhere.
Godfrey on the other hand, loved breakfast. It was the easiest meal for his stomach to accept. But he also hated eating alone, sure he couldn’t eat as much as his other lives; but there was just some kind of secret sweet pleasure of cracking the top off a soft-boiled egg, the yolk runny went so well with toast that was soaked through with bacon fat. Something exquisite about cutting oranges in half for juice.
Lucas thought breakfast was overrated. Granted he didn’t actually eat unless he was with Amarjeet - were she to ever discover his habit of missing meals; why there was every chance that she’d flail him before forcing him to eat an empire’s entire food supply. Therefore it was not surprising that because he ran on an empty stomach most of the time, he was almost a skeleton - well the kind of skeleton with muscles too defined they look a bit like stretched thin leather.
Eric was very specific about his breakfasts, it was not a single meal kind of affair; no there was the small bite sized bagels with cream cheese and smoked salmon. There was the slightly larger bowl of chopped fruit doused in honey - it didn’t matter what kind of fruit. It just had to be doused in honey. He’d take a break; go kill someone or something and then come back to a hearty plate of animal pieces. Everyone who had sat with him, had noted that it didn’t matter how much meat he piled onto this plate, no one else could have stomached the amount he had without seriously considering psychiatric aid or at least assistance from a dietician to make better choices.
“Where is this place?”
The small frail boy tried his best to match the pace of the far taller, older metal ancient but even with all of the effort he could muster he was still falling behind. Nammay was already agitated that Godfrey had been insistent in bringing his elephant soft-toy ‘Crow’ with him. They were both late for the scheduled arrival and meeting in the Void.
“I almost thought you’d turn tail and would miss our meeting.”
“I apologise.”
Noticing that Crow had somehow gotten some dust on him, Godfrey brushed it off his elephant and so in doing so had not noticed that his ancient had stopped; as a result he walked straight into his ancient’s legs and also collided with the briefcase that Nammay had helped him pack; it was full of his clothes and his other personal belongings. Rather than his ancient who caught him, another person did, he was pale of skin, and he smelt like nothing Godfrey had ever experienced before. Dressed in a velvet cloak, in evolving shades of black that Godfrey had to wonder how how effect was made. Finally, Nammay’s throat clearing forced him to stutter out an apology.
“Sorry…” he wasn’t sure who this man was.
“Novevu.” He offered.
“Sorry Novevu…”
He gripped onto Crow even tighter and looked at his ancient for reassurance but Nammay could no longer look at the weakened aikekunai child and refused to admit that it was probably his fault that this third attempt was flawed and was likely to die well before he even reached adulthood.
|| Three Weeks Later ||
The routine that Godfrey had now that he had gotten used to being the roommate of a boy named Qrow – he thought it was funny that the boy shared the same name as his elephant, just with one variation in letter; though he kept his thoughts to himself and tried his best to stay out of Qrow’s way. One of the things that he had noticed was that the death claimant child seemed to constantly ruin his clothes and was always in need of replacements, it made Godfrey feel bad.
So he waited till Qrow was asleep, and their candles which usually melted down to nothing by the time they woke up flickered in the dark room, Godfrey climbed backwards off the bed and picked up the candle handle, careful to be as quiet as he possibly could, he placed a finger to his lips to indicate to Crow that he was going to be fine but that things had to remain silent; Qrow in the meanwhile was fast asleep, one of his hands gripping a rather deadly looking sword – why he felt the need to sleep with a sword, Godfrey thought it was entirely illogical. He shuffled towards the wardrobe that Qrow had stated was his and knowing that it would creak, pretended to let out a cough as he opened the door. Qrow who was used to hearing Godfrey cough in his sleep didn’t wake whatsoever and instead flipped so that he was now on his stomach and gripping onto an axe rather than a sword.
By candlelight, he took out each item of damaged clothing that had fallen from where they should be neatly placed and sat down on the cold stone floor, plucking a strand of hair from his hand, he waited with bated breath as the strand of hair became an almost translucent needle. Looking back over his shoulder to make sure that Qrow was definitely still asleep, he started to sew. Now, of course many would call his bluff the fact that he had not used as thread; however Godfrey didn’t need thread in order to be able to repair and sew clothes, after all he had his blood. He’d realised this particular gift after he had accidentally torn a hole inside one of his own shirts and worried that Nammay at the time would punish him severely; tried to repair it with all manner of things, in his frustration he had pulled on his hair and as the strands of hair fell, they became needles of various lengths and sizes.
The blood discovery soon came right after, he realised that his blood made anything he repaired or made with his hair needles indestructible to everything from elemental attacks to simple wear and tear. Course he tried to tell Nammay this, but the metal ancient was only really ever interested in the combat and intel capabilities of Godfrey rather than if he was worth anything else. When he did eventually realise, he had forbade Godfrey from using this talent for anything and so it went to waste. However, now that he was basically living permanently in the Void as a guest, he felt that it was only fair that he made some kind of contribution; even if no one knew or thanked him for it.
Sense
The monotone ping of the monitor was accompanied by the raise and fall of a chest. There was no gasp or air, just the lifting and falling. Skin so pale and milky white, hair almost as colourless. Straight like needles and tucked behind their ears. The gown being worn was not one DeVian ever thought to see on her wife. Even the tattoos which were inked in the blackest shades seemed to be suddenly white.
By the table, amongst the medical equipment was a metal stool with all of the effects Stasia had on them until being rendered unconscious. Their pristine scissors of different sizes, sharpness, design and uses. All of their rings, metal piercings - all of them replaced by soft silver on the Aikekunai’s body. Meant as a safety precaution. Their bracelets. Their anklet. The whole of Stasia having been stripped bare.
Another thing that was different about the Swedish-Japanese national was the devastatingly deep scar that ran diagonal across their once unmarked face. Not even the finest of sutures, the many salves, ointments and other concoctions both mortal and ancient had made a dent.
“Lucky to still be alive. To have sight.”
Was how the mortals had put it. The wraith that coarse through DeVian Desdon’s veins would have brought even Phita to her knees. Were she a witness. What infuriated her even more was the fact that an almost undetectable barrier, elemental in nature had been erected. She didn’t know who had put it up, but it meant that she couldn’t touch Stasia. Couldn’t run her hands through the snow-white locks, couldn’t kiss the skin left undamaged. DeVian clenched her fists, gritted her jaw and stared helplessly.
The door to the private room opened, hell the entire floor was empty and all of the staff had been ordered to dedicate every hour into helping Stasia recover. DeVian had bought the hospital and the staff to ensure their focus. Ritunen, clutching a plastic take-away bag stepped in and towards the woman who owned his heart.
“I brought food. Bruno was worried.”
“Not hungry.”
“You need to keep your strength up.”
“Strength? What good is that!”
The last were spoken by another, Qrow was murderous and it was keeping DeVian and every ounce of elemental control to keep Qrow from decimating and erasing the mortal realm from existence. Ritunen bristled, the void was as close to the surface as when Amarjeet first received Lucas severed hands.
“Then don’t eat, but I brought food anyway. Any news on if Stasia will wake?”
“They told me it’s up to Stasia now. Brain activity is fine. Everything is fine but they won’t wake up. It’s like they are a statue.”
“What other injuries?”
“Apart from the one on their face? A few. All from that bitch.”
DeVian never referred to Levei by name. After all the last time she did, Zyphinex had gotten a blow or two in and then went off to poison and murder Marjorie. DeVian would not make that mistake again, especially where Stasia was concerned.
“Kiran keeps asking for you.”
“Tell him. I’m busy.”
“He misses you. Just as much as he misses them.”
Standing abruptly, DeVian placed her hand on the barrier and shoved. It would not give. Until now not even Ritunen had noticed it. He stepped towards it and found that it melted away. DeVian cursed.
“How strange. This seems to have been erected by my father.”
“Novevu did this?”
“Not actively. I think removing all of Stasia’s um blockers and what have you, initiated some kind of barrier. Probably to prevent you from rushing at them and having your entire mind destroyed.”
“Well fuck that.”
There was very little that would stop DeVian from getting to Stasia, and some small particularly sinister part of her agreed. It was hard sometimes to distinguish whether the desire to destroy and devour everything was the void trying to play puppeteer or if it was actually her. Sure, she factored in her past lives and their desires; more or less they mirrored hers - Qrow was usually the outlier, he wanted more violence, blood everywhere and was obsessed with hunting certain individuals.
Another person recognised him, groaning inwardly he stilled himself and plastered a smile on his face.
This time though rather than a hideous old man, the person who was trying to remain at the speed of human locomotion was a friend. Emma was one of the few humans clued into the truth about the claimant world and Ancients. She had during the war been a spy for the French Resistance and they had both suffered a stint in a German prison camp. However unlike Lucas who could not die by normal means, Emma was half Jewish - though you couldn’t tell from her porcelain skin or fine needle thin blonde hair. It was her eyes which were brown and the shape of her ears that gave her away - well at least that’s what the manic German soldiers said.
It had been such a shame when they had taken her dominant arm from her. Now all that was left was a hanging sleeve where her arm should be. Her left arm remained, though she was missing her ring finger - that she had done to herself in order to protect her full-Jewish husband, all that effort however was in vain.
Her husband, Hugh had been killed as one of the final prisoners before the guns fell silent and the war was declared over. Now she was a war heroine and had been offered by ancients like Destodai and Phita to become someone-something else. Alas, Emma refused blatantly, saying it was not worth the transformation because it would take away the scars, the stories, sacrifices and insults that the war had left.
“By Novea, you are a sight for sore eyes.”
Emma’s toothy grin immediately settled his nerves as she came to a stop in front of him. He wrapped an arm gently around her, careful to avoid touching where her arm should have been.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m leaving. I’m not coming back. I’ve been offered a role as a diplomat. They also want me to go back to Geneva and be a witness.”
“Ahh. I see. Congratulations.”
“Coming from you that sounds so hollow.”
“You know I don’t mean it.” He snickered.
“I know. Off to see Amarjeet?”
“Perhaps.”
Emma gave him a look that suggested she saw straight through his non-answer. Moving back to a respectful distance just as the horns of the large vessel rang out.
“Will you miss Europe?”
“No. Never. Asides Geneva. I’m happy to be rid of it. Hugh had always told me how much he wanted to see America.”
“Mmm. What class are you in?”
“Second. Almost cost me every penny.”
He frowned. Looking over his shoulder for the nearest ship attendant. This one was standing with a tray of champagne looking utterly bored.
“You can have my room.”
“No. No. I can’t. I shouldn’t impose.”
“Em. You more than most deserve to be happy.”
“There you are again. I told you to stop with the sympathy.”
“It’s not sympathy. If not for you, the world of mortals would not be here as it is now. You are the reason mortals will learn about the atrocities that harmed your people.”
Now completely in front of the attendant holding champagne. Lucas gave him a firm smile.
“Excuse me. To whom do I speak on the occasion I’d like to change my class and thus my room?”
“Uh…”
The man was caught off guard by the question before swallowing down his shock and lifting one of his hands away from the tray.
“If you head in this direction. You will come across a lift that should lead you to the cabin. You will need to speak to the operation manager.”
“Thank you.”
Skimming his fingers briefly into his coat pocket, he fisted a fifty-dollar bill and handed it to the now jaw-dropped speechless employee.
“For your swift answer. Perhaps even you could follow me. I’ll answer for anyone who wonders why you are not at your post.”
“Y-yes Sir!”
“Oh. Leave the tray here. It’s far too early for champagne. Even the Nazis had some idea at what a foul waste of champagne is during the day.”
With that Lucas gestured for Emma and the now freed of champagne attendant and began on the route described.