In the most shocking turn of events Emilia had ever experienced, they were, once again, stopped at Rayleen’s behest. Even more shockingly—not—Vern and the woman were once again bickering. It continued to be impressive and concerning.
“Seriously, does he usually take this badly to people within moments of meeting them?”
Emilia asked, leaning in to whisper in Jerrial’s ear.
At the very least, they were apparently only two streets away from the holding cells—although who knew if Rayleen had a plan to get them into the building, and then to the cells themselves, or not. For someone who was not only helping them but claiming it as some sort of mission bestowed onto them by the aether itself, the woman really was quite secretive. Early in their journey, before it had become clear that anytime anyone spoke Vern and Rayleen would end up hissing at one another, Emilia had asked why she wasn’t giving them more information.
The answer Rayleen had given was essentially that them knowing the plan might affect their reactions to what they were doing; therefore, they would only be given information as needed. Emilia supposed that made sense, if one were inclined to believe that the woman was actually communing with the aether, and that while the aether had an idea of what lay in the future, that future only existed assuming no one altered it through purposeful intent… or accident? Emilia really hoped that, if the aether really did have some idea of the future, it wasn’t a set of inescapable events, each a game piece set to be played in a predetermined path. What a depressing thought that was—this idea that there was no free will, and that instead, they were all walking a set line with no escape. Hopefully, it was something more along the lines of the aether having an understanding of everything occurring within it, that knowledge leading to it understanding what was
most likely?
Again, assuming one believed in such things, which Emilia… wasn’t sure she did, wasn’t sure she didn’t.
Emilia would have asked whether Rayleen thought there was an inescapable, inalterable future they were moving towards—although her implication that them knowing their potential future could change it seemed to imply that at the very least those who knew the potential path of the future could alter it—except she and Vern had begun to argue, and then, they had continued arguing in what was all but an unbroken stream of negativity.
It was painful, and she was quite done listening to them. Seriously, the combination of the negativity was worse than Leerin! And Emilia couldn’t even think of the last time her friend had said something positive, unprompted!
Honestly, after this much arguing, Emilia had no idea what they were even talking about anymore. Jerrial also seemed quite done with them, and after muttering something about how Vern had always been a little quick to dislike people, but this was impressive, the pair of them ditched their hissy companions to wander into a nearby shop—Rayleen had only said they couldn’t enter the next street yet, not that they couldn’t backtrack and get a quick treat.
In a turn of events that seemed both hilarious and a set-up to making their companions return to their previous argument about a fruit conspiring to ruin Lüshan’s national unity, the store they popped into had the mythical, nation-ruining drink. She and Jerrial, of course, spent exactly ten seconds staring into one another’s eyes, neither of them saying a thing, before ordering one for each of them, along with some ball-shaped confections that went down smooth and fast, even Jerrial’s vanishing in a more normal amount of time while they waited for their drinks.
“This is so… normal,”
Emilia commented as they leaned against the wall, waiting for their drinks and watching as the workers prepared the various food and drink requested of them.
It was a nice little shop—cute in a way that seemed to be popular with younger Lüshanians, the occasional older person who entered the shop wrinkling their nose at the colourful decor and fancy drinks before asking if they had anything
normal
and then complaining about
young people importing in new aesthetics and foods.
“The store?”
Jerrial asked, eyes shifting around as he tugged at his new sweater, which Emilia had quickly zipped into a store to buy, along with stuff for Vern, soon after running into Rayleen, who had insisted they couldn’t be wandering around in such a state.
The pair still looked… not quite homeless, but definitely rough, but it was a step up from the disaster they had been when she’d found them. Had Jerrial tried to enter this sort of place looking as he had before, he would have been turned away—worse, the workers might have called the Drinarna to have him removed. As much as the worker had given him a wary look when they’d ordered, the fact that Emilia looked put together and had been able to pay had settled them enough to now be ignoring them.
“Well, according to that old granny, the store is anything but normal,”
she laughed, the old granny in question turning to glare at her. Emilia waved happily back, then leaned in to practically plaster herself to Jerrial, suppressing a giggle when the woman looked very affronted—the audacity to show physical affection in public!—and huffed away to sit farther from them.
“Funny how, no matter how open a culture is with public affection, silverstrains are always treated like a little hug is going to end with them on their knees giving a public blowjob.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“Hm? Recommend what?”
Jerrial’s eyes were glittering with mirth when she looked away from the glaring granny to meet his gaze.
“Giving me a blowjob. I’m afraid it
'
s been some time since I’ve had a proper shower, so I can’t imagine it would be particularly pleasant for you.”
Giving her a once over and noting that her knees were bare, he also told her the tiled floor wasn’t ideal for such things either.
“What I’m hearing,”
Emilia said slowly, glaring up at her companion who was quickly turning into a friend,
“is that you aren’t opposed to the blowjob, just a blowjob before you shower and we’re in a place where my knees won’t be in pain.”
The man shrugged, telling her he was into both men and women and had always wondered what being with a silverstrain would be like.
“Fräthk had a few around who were… free to be used by whoever, whenever,”
he said, voice sharp and icy enough that the granny finally looked away, although his voice was definitely quiet enough that she couldn’t have heard exactly what he said.
“I obviously wouldn’t do anything like that to someone unwilling, although I know they sometimes picked a little bug to pursue of their own volition—a way to control at least some of their life, I suppose.”
“Not you, though?”
“I never really made a secret of having someone waiting for me, if I ever managed to get out of that place.”
“Vern?”
Emilia asked, thinking back to the way she had seen the two look at each other with clear love. At the same time, she had seen very little physical affection between the two, only looks of clear adoration.
Jerrial was quiet for a long time, the sound of the shop’s ancient machines mixing this or that drink swimming around them. Through the smoky windows, Vern and Rayleen were still standing tucked together in a nearby alleyway, arguing—always arguing. Other people who were arguing? Baylor and Halen.
Taelor was sending her and Valor ongoing updates on the pair, who were sniping at each other over their many moments of arousal since having Halen’s version of her stalking function installed. Neither of the boys were admitting to
why
they had been feeling aroused during their trek to Lüshan—her; she was the reason—but they were still poking at one another over it. Apparently, it was inappropriate, yet, as they had both done it, they couldn’t exactly say that. Instead, they were just bickering, Taelor supplying a photo of Baylor tucked into his chest while unaware of how Halen had been watching them.
Emilia, cruel child that she was, decided that creating an image of a triplets-plus-Halen-and-Emilia sandwich was a wonderful idea. Obviously, she forwarded this to Halen, who, after several seconds of nothing, experienced such a spike in his arousal that Taelor had to message her individually to reprimand her. Simeon also reprimanded her… and then Codeth
and
Coral.
Since when were so many people in possession of information that could lead them to think that
she
was the cause of his arousal!? Less than a day ago, she had been sure he didn’t like her and that meeting again would be entirely her doing and he would hate it!
Clearly, she was missing something—especially given Codeth and Coral had immediately known she had done something. Who knew what Taelor thought—possibly just that she had sent him porn to mess with him—while Simeon had needed to watch Halen’s memories of the previous day to choose a willbrand for Olivier and could have easily figured out that there was
something
there. For Codeth and Coral, Halen’s closest friends, to immediately know she was cause, however… Maybe Halen had just told them about the day before, but maybe, she was really just an idiot, missing signs of
something
existing under all of the animosity the pair of them had wrapped their relationship up in.
That was… weird. Emilia didn’t know what to do with the idea that Halen might have felt something
more
for her for long enough that his friends would automatically assume that a spike in arousal was due to her—not to mention be confident enough to message her about it.
“Once, I thought… maybe,”
Jerrial cut into her growing panic that she was an idiot—although, that wasn’t exactly new; she’d been an idiot most of her life.
“We were friends, long ago. Perhaps, if I hadn’t been taken…”
Shaking his head, Jerrial let the rest of his words go unspoken. It didn’t matter—Emilia could hear them clear across her soul, this implication that being taken had changed him, perhaps even both of them, in a way that made them fit not quite right, even if they still clearly loved one another. Who knew if they ever would have fit, if they had only ever been a
maybe
in Jerrial’s mind, but maybe they would have. Maybe, if given enough time—if the pair of them worked at it—they might come to a place where they fit once more—assuming that was something Jerrial even wanted.
“He loves you.”
It felt cruel to point out, but Emilia had to—it was an important thing to acknowledge as they were minutes away from reaching Fräthk's building. Vern, with his love of this man who clearly loved him in return, but may never be able to love him back in
the right way
, might let that love set his path for him. There were so many people that she herself would die for—would risk everything for, no questions asked. That was possibly how Vern was as well: willing to do this stupid mission and more, all for a love of Jerrial.
“I know,”
the man whispered into the world, barely audible over the din of the store, which seemed oddly not filled with criminals for how close it was to Fräthk’s holding cells.
He was spared from saying more by the call of their drinks being ready for them. Quickly, he scurried forward, slipping between customers who didn’t have the sense not to wait right in front of the counter for their order to be up. Several seconds later, he reappeared, drinks in hand, Emilia moving to push the door open for him while accepting her drink.
One sip, and she was in love. The sort of drink that could bring down a nation, indeed! She would go to war if someone attempted to outlaw this delicious concoction from her life! She was definitely going to be looking into importing the mysterious fruit that powered its glory into Baalphoria—or at least to the Bridge, some chef there surely willing to let themself be convinced to procure the ingredients for this drink.
“I don’t think I’m capable of loving him the way he deserves.”
Jerrial’s voice shattered through her plans of world domination via delicious drink. That was… just too sad—definitely too sad for someone who was once seemingly capable of love and was still so young. While she had no clear idea of the sorts of things that Jerrial had experienced while with Fräthk, she didn’t want to think it something so terrible that his ability to love Vern the way he clearly wanted had been broken—and certainly, she had never gotten the impression he had a traumatic black knot, corrupting his ability to love
right
. Something else affecting his knots, perhaps? Or just sadness, leaching through his life and relationships until no hope remained? Well, the guy had easily brushed aside Emilia’s attempts to convince him that there might be a treatment to be found yet for his olthagri, so, it probably shouldn’t surprise her that he was inclined to give up on his ability to love Vern
like his deserved
as well.
So, getting Olivier, keeping Jerrial from dying, and then figuring out if he really couldn’t love Vern the way he deserved or if he just needed lots and lots of therapy. Just what her to-do list needed, another item!
Arc 9 | Chapter 414: The Mythical Drink Appears
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