✍️ Monthly writing prompt [DECEMBER]

"I was wondering something dear." Myrrha  abruptly spoke up while she and her daughter were walking down the  garden pathways. The young noble glanced at the smaller woman as she  shifted a box in her arms, her eyes wide with curiosity. They hadn't  talked much since the former queen had returned to Fenrir, so what was  this about?

"What's that?" She asked while taking care not to trip  over the outstretched row of flowers in front of her. Myrrha folded her  arms behind her and with a whimsical smile, turned to her child.

"Have  you said you love him yet?" The nature of the sudden inquiry caused  Renne to yelp and drop the box from her arms, her face growing hot as  she turned to face the small Wolflian woman that was her mother.

"W-w-what?!  M-mother, what the hell are you saying?!" Her outburst earned a frown  from the white haired noble who gave a disapproving look.

"Language,  dear." She comically chastised before regaining her smile and kept  walking forwards, leaving Renne to hastily collect the box back into her  arms and hurry after her. Once she was beside Myrrha, the woman went  on. "You certainly can't tell me you don't have feelings for him,  especially not after your affectionate display in Baelheim." 

"T-that's..."  Renne's lips quivered as she thought back to the scene in question. Her  arms outspread as she leapt from the stands and tackled her knight to  the ground in a tight hug. Tears fell from her face that day as she  quietly chastised the boy for being so unbearably reckless. 

"I  was there, I saw. It's alright to admit. After all, everyone has someone  precious to them." Myrrha's voice drew the young noble out of her daze  and she glanced at the white haired woman, the red highlights seeming to  glow as it flowed in the wind. "I don't quite understand why you're  being so stubborn." 

"I..." Renne turned her gaze to the ground  and stopped walking. "Even if I felt someway towards him, what am I  supposed to do about it?" The girl's face flushed a deeper crimson as  she began to think about it more, and Myrrha let out a soft chuckle as  her lips curled into a satisfied smirk.

"Your father was the same  way, you know." She remarked and folded her hands at her waist. "He was a  foolish, reckless boy.  Charging into the front of battle." Momentarily  distracted from her thoughts, the blush faded from Renne's face and she  looked down at her mother with inquisitive eyes.

"Really?" She  earned a nod from the woman who began to recall various events from her  past, and her expressions changed from amusement to anger, and back  again in the span of a few seconds.

"He was that way, but that boy  was also incredibly kind." She went on as the pair continued to wander  about through the palace gardens. "He was admittedly quite idealistic at  times, but I loved that part about him too." Renne's attention quickly  waned and she started to think about her mother's words before. Love?  What nonsense. The girl never had time to think about such things, and  she wasn't particularly a fan of the common romance stories she read as a  child. 

No stories about a knight sweeping a girl off her feet. How ridiculous, she would often say. Even now, she thought they were unrealistic. And yet...

"Oh,  your majesty, and Renne!" The sudden male voice made the pair glance  left and they caught sight of Riy as he passed by them. The boy was  carrying a crate full of armor and weapons, prompting Myrrha to giggle  and hold a hand to her mouth.

"Oh there's no need for that. I'm no  longer your queen, child." She told him with a firm look, but Riy  frowned and tilted his head.

"I dunno, it would feel awkward if I  just called you by your name." He replied honestly, earning a smile from  the white-red haired woman who placed a hand on her hip. Renne on the  other hand had turned her gaze away, her cheeks heating back up from  seeing the youth here. The conversation she had been having a moment ago  was fresh in her mind, and she was unable to maintain eye contact with  her friend.

"Why don't the two of you have some time to talk? I'll  get out of your way." Myrrha said this with a laugh, but before Riy  could respond, Renne tightly clutched the box in her arms and suddenly  hurried ahead towards the palace, her lips quivering. 

"N-no, I  need to get things done. Otherwise they'll p-pile up." She stuttered as  she left the others behind. Seeing her run off, Myrrha gave a tired sigh  and ran a hand through her hair.

"That child of mine." As she  said this, Riy looked at the woman with arched brows, somewhat curious  as to what had possibly transpired.

"Did I miss something?" He was  met with a simple shake of the head, and Myrrha gestured for the boy to  follow her through the garden.

"Nothing at all dear."

Renne  on the other hand had managed to hide behind a pillar nearby, and sank  to her knees as her face regained its crimson color from before. Setting  the box down, she brought a hand to her mouth as her heart beat  quickened. 

T-there's no way. I can't... I... Yet no matter how she tried to rationalize it, she couldn't think of an excuse.
She was truly falling in love with her friend.

FEBRUARY 2018 PROMPT: Something precious

CAST :: 011 Varyag / 543 Marshal Shaposhnikov / 548 Admiral Panteleyev / 572 Admiral Vinogradov

          It was late summer of 2016, the exhausting month of August just concluded for the Russian easternmost fleet a few days ago. By ‘exhausting’, it implied just how eventful August was for them, especially this year as the first year which K-150 Tomsk went back to the Vilyuchinsk base at last after five years of modernization.

          Though located over a thousand of kilometers away, the headquarter of Pacific Fleet in Vladivostok closely followed Tomsk’s activities. August held a couple of big events for their youngest Antey submarine; the anniversary of an unfortunate accident which always plummeted Tomsk’s morale to rock bottom and then, his ‘birthday’ two weeks later. Undoubtedly, the eighth month of the year usually caused such significant mental conflict to him and everyone in the fleet watched over him with concern. 

          Therefore, once September approached, the calmer and uneventful period of time was expected to grace their fleet. However, that didn’t seem to be the case…as the shouting noises of commotion just outside of the flagship’s office proved to be.

          “Yurka! Quit being so persistent and hand me those snacks you hid in your locker!” Such powerful, booming voice belonged to no other than the eldest brother of the Fregat-class’ ‘Kaliningrad Lineage”.

          The panicky, youthful voice then countered with an almost shrieking scream, “No way! You’re going to burn them all! Or at least throw them into trashcan! Why are you so keen on getting rid of my snacks, Boryushka-nii!!??”

          The arguing noises soon turned into a loud, quick repetition of footsteps as the chase began. It was such a ridiculous sight, with the youngest Fregat android raced through the corridor clutching his stash of junk food for dear life. The other frame which trailing him in a close distance, by the look on his facial expression one would think Shaposhnikov was aiming to decapitate his youngest brother once he could catch the runaway disobedient Panteleyev. The corridor and eventually the entire HQ building returned to the calmness as the two arguing Fregat androids exited the door and took their conflict outside and away from the majority of their fleet’s personnel.

          A maple wood door opened quietly to the corridor which now fell silent in contrast to the disturbance just a minute ago. The middle brother of the ‘Kaliningrad Lineage’ serving the Pacific Fleet poked his head outside of Varyag’s office to observe his two brothers on the other side of windows. As he shifted his eyes downward, he noticed a couple of Koala’s March packaging boxes laid on the corridor’s tiled floor. ‘Must have fallen off during their chase’, he thought. Bending down to pick them up, Vinogradov made note to return these two ‘survivors’ to Yurka behind their strict older brother’s back.

          “Thought we could at least gain some peace while Vovka is on a mission away to Southeast Asia.” The mumble in a hoarse voice slipped from the space enclosed by the muted brown color wall. The face of a man who looked to be in late twenties glanced one last time at the fading figures of his siblings as their continued their pursue farther away before sliding back to the place his responsibility was calling him, “Looks like Boryushka decided to ‘raid’ Yurka’s locker but it doesn’t quite go as he planned, sir”

           Behind the grand looking oak desk with several scattering folders of various documents, the ‘red Atlant’ raised eyebrows slightly at the junk food his secretary brought in. There wasn’t anyone in their fleet who wasn’t aware of Panteleyev’s eccentric addiction to junk food. Varyag himself didn’t really care much about the youngest Fregat’s disproportionally love for East Asian snacks and instant ramen – just as long as he didn’t expect everyone in their fleet to follow his choice of diet.

           From years of serving as his secretary, Vinogradov was also well aware of his boss’ indifference toward his sole younger brother’s unhealthy preference. As he sat back down on the chair on the opposite side of his superior’s desk, he placed the pair of cartoony Koala snack packages on his lap. “I’ll give them back to Yurka away from Boryushka’s sight, sir”

          “Are you sure, Nikolka…? I wonder if only one of them will return to Yurka. Worse yet, you’ll absentmindedly munch on both of them while we’re going through all these documents.”

           That seemingly pointless yet accurate muse hit Vinogradov and he let out a heartily laugh. It was true that he also enjoyed some of the snacks which ‘the Junk Food King’ of Vladivostok favored. Although their status only changed to that of flagship and secretary in 2000, they had been friends for nearly a decade prior.

           “Thank you for reminding me, sir. That certainly will make Yurka upsetting…” the project 1155 android with light brown hair moved a folder which they had already gone through and rested it on his lap, completely covering the two snack packages.

           The office returned to the quietness while they went through series of documents together. There were many future plans they had to go through; the arrival of K-551 Vladimir Monomakh later in that month, the commissioning of Sovershennyy – the first reinforcing surface ship android to their fleet in over twenty five years, the scheduled modernization of Shaposhnikov…all the subjects which drew a sigh from the cruiser born in Ukraine. The subject he wished to see…the one that he had been long waiting for, it never materialized.

           “Time is running out now. With Monomakh’s arrival, we’re one step closer to the retirement of Podolsk, Garya and Ryazan. How many years it will take for us to receive the number of Borey enough to take over the three Kalmar siblings? And Sovershennyy’s commissioning is next year…he will be the first among us who never meets Minya. Why are they dwindling so much when it comes to Minya’s reactivation?”

          That long tirade surprised Vinogradov for a few moments he wasn’t sure how to respond. The name which he didn’t hear often enough in the past fifteen years caused him to cast his gray eyes past the stockier frame of his superior…to the lone saber encased in glass case. The last remaining possession of former flagship Lazarev still lingered at the fleet’s HQ and something Varyag deemed extremely precious. While his superior apparently wasn’t ready to turn his attention back to the documents, the Fregat android with pennant number ‘572’ released his focus to drift away from the task in front of them. This saber had been in this office for fifteen years and he had unknowingly become familiarized with its presence here. Would Sovershennyy find the presence of this saber intriguing that he might ask a question?

          “Then…I suggest we start brainstorming about who to assign as Sovershennyy’s mentor, sir. And in process, let person who will be assigned know that he needs to be the first front regarding informing Sovershennyy of Boss Lazarev being our fleet’s secret?”

          His suggestion was soon dismissed though, “I’m not worried about Sovershennyy. It’s the fact that Podolsk, Garya and Ryazan could be all gone by the time Minya wake up again. And I want him to return before those three will be departing…for the final time. It’s unnerving me. Podolsk and Garya have always been here, they were commissioned since the early 80’s. With them gone, it feels like we lose the integral part of our fleet.”

           Indeed, once the Kalmar siblings are gone, their submarine division would comprise only those who were commissioned in the 90’s. That realization gave the Fregat who arrived to Vladivostok merely in the last few months of the 80’s a tinge of sadness. It would certainly feel strange not to see them anymore. Like Varyag, his entire life in Vladivostok always had them as integral part of it. 

          The easternmost fleet’s flagship looked visibly upset, again he went on with his grumble, as if to chide both of them, “We all look forward about Minya’s return anxiously we overlook the fact that Podolsk and Garya are in active duty for almost four decades now. One day the higher ups will just decide that they’re too obsolete for duty. And just like that, they’ll disappear.”

          Yes, it didn’t matter how long before such decision would come in effect. Whatever amount of time left for those aged Kalmars should be considered as precious. The secretary of the Pacific Fleet observed the folders which they still hadn’t finished overseeing and softly added what was on his mind, “Ryazan’s modernization will conclude later this year. They won’t be so heartless to order him scrapped very soon, will they?”

           “We could only hope…” the third ship of Atlant-class android admitted in defeat. The figure in a burning red kosovorotka shirt then rose up from his desk, swiftly turned around to gaze at the glass case nearby.

           “How irony…the period when I kept telling myself back then that I despised this fleet. Instead now I long for it. Certainly it was a depressing era. I don’t know how it has become a precious memory to me. All of you made it bearable for me when I was despair by the independence of Ukraine.”

           Although Varyag’s choice of word was ‘everyone’, the subordinate who actually arrived to their fleet a year before his boss knew deep down that none was more precious to him than Lazarev and Minsk. One shared the destiny of being the sole representative of their class in the farthest corner of the USSR, and another shared the same fate of being separated from their birthplace as Ukraine became a sovereign state outside of the USSR’s control. Those two lent the most strength to Chervona Ukraina. The 90’s was the era when all of them were equally affected by various hardships but they held on and leaned on each other for strength. Maybe that was why…why the decade of struggling was such a valuable memory.

I gazed down at the small child in front of me, her bright blue eyes gazing up expectantly and with a naive innocence that I find almost painful.  There's a pile of books by her bedside, old and worn from years of reading over and over until the lanterns light would flicker or her eyes fluttered shut and fell deep asleep.  My heart ached for her; if not for me, these books would be the only stories she ever got to hear.  I cleared my throat, casting her a warm smile as she nestled down under her blanket, still gazing at me with those inquisitive little eyes.  Yes, time to tell her another story.  Which one would it be tonight?  

"Lysithia, have I ever told you about--"

"Wait."

That was unusual.  Typically she couldn't wait for her story, and to be interrupted just as I was about to begin... it must have been something important.  I waited patiently.  Lysithia twisted her blanket between her fingers nervously, staring down at it while she tried to gather her thoughts.  About a minute passed; I was fine with this.  She always did have trouble speaking her mind.

Suddenly, her small hand reached out and gently rested on top of mine.  I felt my body naturally try to lift and retreat in surprise but I kept it firmly there.  What was all this about? This felt awfully bold for my timid, quiet girl... but the way she suddenly turned her head to stare with such intensity at me had me feeling weak.  I'd not seen a look like this before, not from her, or... not while she was in this body, anyways.

"I want you to only tell me a story that makes you happy, Remy!" She blurted the words so quickly that I wondered if a normal human would have been able to understand them.  I listened intently, only nodding. "Wh-when you tell me stories, even though they're happy sometimes you look so sad... Like your heart is broken.  I can't be happy if you aren't, o-okay?"  

I sat there for a moment, shocked, completely silent.  There she was, using my Old Name as if she'd known it all along, and telling me she knew of the bitter sweet pain that came along with telling my happy 'stories'.  They were all stories about her, who she'd been in her past life and what we'd done.  My eyes began to sting and I quickly rubbed them, forcing the tears back.  Here she was, only seven years old, a sick little girl who could never leave her home, and she understood me better than anyone.  

"Of course.  I'll pick a nice story this time." 

She smiled softly and her small hand slid off of mine.  Normally I'd smile back but now... now I knew she could see right through me and so I could only offer her genuine behaviors.  I sighed softly and closed my eyes for a moment, and when I re-opened them I saw her sitting up, attentive against her bedframe as she hugged a stuffed animal tightly to her.  A burst of soft, deep affection filled me; I loved this gentle little girl as if she were my own.  She was precious... this time I'd get it right.  This life, I'd save her.

"Once upon a time..." 

Well, at least when you are alone, people don't know how pathetic you can be.

Leslie has the same routine every single day. Waking up, putting on his clothes, going on the computer. It was a routine that got him wondering, when was he gonna get tired of it? Leslie was always doing work, talking on foruns, or buying more toys online for himself. It was a pretty lonely and superficial routine, despite all the "danger" he was putting himself into because of his work as an informer and hacker of the mafia, he never really gave much of thought about what could happen to him. Leslie is usually too full of himself to even think of getting caught.

Although Leslie has several issues with himself, like his agoraphobia and germophobia, he always kept his cool on his own safe zone, his house. The panic attacks he used to have, are now almost completly gone, and with that his confidence should get better, but it didn't. Leslie was feeling nothing at all, and he didn't knew if this was dangerous to himself or not. Usually, when he felt that feeling of emptiness, he knew he would explode at some point. He just didn't knew where or how.

He tried to go along his day feeling at least neutral. At afternoon, he prepared to himself a nice "tea party" with no guests. Warm, sweet tea to enjoy with some sugary cookies. Everything was working swell. It was a good day. His day went by, and at night he went to his special room. A room filled with miniature toys from all over the world, adorable toys, plushies, and dolls. He was a big collector, and his room was his happy place and his most precious thing on his life, which is kinda sad.

On the center of the room, there was a lovely white ornate table  covered on an adorable embroidered tablecloth with an sewing machine in the top of it. Leslie gently sat on the chair, who was also adorably ornate, and started sewing a new dress for his new doll, and with his pale hands, the needle accidentally prickled his finger. Leslie stopped to look at his finger, bleeding on the white embroidered fabric, staining it with red. That was the moment Leslie knew it was gonna come sooner or later; When he was about to crack. Tears started rolling down his cheeks, not minding the blood on the fabric anymore. The tears were about another reason, and it was the realization that he was alone, and his most precious being were the dolls, toys, and plushies.

He felt more alone and pathetic than ever. Crying on the center of a toy room, with all the eyes of the dolls on him. It filled him with anxiety, and Leslie's cry grew louder and louder. But that doesn't matter. After all, no one could hear him. He was all alone.

"So, how did you meet, uh..." Tobias gestured to the adolescent deer standing guard next to Maescia in her cozy living room. Maescia looked up from her cup of hot tea, pulling herself out of the major daydream she was slipping into.

"Redwood," Maescia finished for him. The fawn looked at Maescia, apparently responding to his name. "Well, it's kind of a funny story. For me, anyway. Maybe not funny, sort of-" She paused and cleared her throat. "Sorry. Still getting back in the swing of talking like a 'regular' person.

"When I first came to the forest, I spent a lot of time wandering. The house was barely built, and not at all furnished. One day I heard a bunch of scuffling in a ditch, right? Well, Redwood was in there. He had a sort of, uh, snapped leg?" Tobias cringed, and Maescia waved her hands. "It wasn't awful! It was, but not awful to look at.  Painful, that's the word. He was just kind of, trying to get back up out of there, but he couldn't because he was small and weak."

Redwood huffed, nudging Maescia's shoulder and nearly spilling her tea. "Sorry!" She laughed anyway, and Tobias watched silently.

"I remember, I got down there with him to try and help him out, and he went ballistic. He was trying to get away from me and attack me at the same time. It was kind of impressive. Imagine a hurt animal trying to bite your fingers off."

She sat silent for a minute, trying to remember what happened next. Redwood headbutt her and gave her a nasty mark on her left thumb, then...

"Then what?" Tobias leaned forward, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. Then again, that was always there. It was probably just him waiting to move on with the conversation.

"Then I waited for him to get tired and push-pulled him out of the ditch. I helped him to my house, did what I could to fix up his leg, and waited for him to go on his way. He never did. I don't even think he had a momma at that point."

The three sat in a still, tense silence. Maescia took a sip of her tea. Tobias stared at the floor. Redwood stared the male down, slightly less wary than he was when the other human showed up.

"Redwood, he's one of my best friends." Tobias looked up to see Maescia staring in her tea again, platinum blonde hair falling over the sides of her face and hiding her expression. "He's been with me ever since. And that's been, what, two or three years? I'm glad he's here with me."

"I'm sure he takes good care of you," Tobias did his best to smile at the deer, although it probably came off more as a grimace.

"He does," Maescia replied slowly, reaching up and sideways to pet Redwood's head. He bent down and allowed her to do so, closing his eyes. Tobias observed their relationship closely. Obviously they cherished each other, and their bond was practically unbreakable.

Would a deer be allowed in the library? Probably not.

Casanova glanced towards the calendar on the wall, scanning through the days that have already passed. The turn of the year was almost two weeks ago, and most of the New Year festivities have died down. He was more interested in a more important day, however, and he brushed his fingers across the day he had drawn a star in. January 14th is now only two days away, the day of his papa's birthday. It's been over a year since he had last seen him, or had last been in his presence. This time, he felt like visiting him in person. He couldn't wait to be with him again, for he had a lot to tell him. 

Parting from the calendar, he went towards the closet and pulled out a small suitcase from the back corner and began packing a few clothes. He didn't need much; the most he would want to stay is for two, maybe three days. He would go by his uncle, spend some time there, then go see his papa on his birthday. Once the clothes were in, Casanova packed the essential items. He was done in no time, since he wasn't going to carry much, and didn’t have much possessions himself anyway. He had just zipped the mini suitcase shut when he heard the door open.

Helix, his roommate and lover, walked in the room, and his face lit up when he saw Casanova. “Ohh there you are Casa!” He exclaimed cheerfully, suggesting that he had been looking for him. His eyes then wandered towards the mini suitcase and his smile faltered just a little. “W-where are you going?” 

Casanova pointed towards the calendar, and Helix turned his head to look. “...papa’s birthday...is soon.” Casanova spoke, rolling the suitcase towards the side of the bed. He sat on the edge of the bed next to it. 

“Ohh okaaay,” Helix said, closing the door behind him. He walked over to Casanova and sat down next to him, but suddenly realizing something, he turned to face him. “But wait… i-isn’t he-”

He was cut short by Casanova placing his finger upon his lips, and his soft stare down on him. Breathing in deeply, Casanova sighed, then stood up and went towards the closet once more to find his thick winter coat and gear. “I’ll… still go see him,” he said.

“I… I see,” Helix replied, playing with his fingers. “Do you want me to go with you too?” He asked.

Having donned his coat, Casanova paused, thinking about that offer, In the end, he shook his head, and put on his hat and gloves. “No...It’s okay. I… want to be with him… alone.” He finished getting dressed and grabbed his suitcase handle. “Well I’m… going to go now….”

“Oh but Casa,” Helix started, “What about work? What would the boss say about this?”

“Boss… would understand,” he replied, glancing towards the door.

“Are you sure? What if he wouldn’t-”

Once again Helix was cut off from speaking, this time with Casanova’s lips upon his own in a gentle kiss. Stunned, Helix stared back at him wide eyed, until Casanova pulled away and rose his hand to stroke his lover's cheek. “See you… in a few days….” He says, before standing back up and walking out of the room, the suitcase rolling smoothly behind him. Helix couldn't do anything but stare at his back as he left.

Casanova took the elevator to the garage level, and located his car; a modern modelled and popular brand that his uncle had got custom made for him for his longer than average legs. He packed the suitcase in the back seat, then sat in the driver's seat to rev it up. He then started to drive towards the garage exit, then towards the outer road away from his workplace and dorm. Once he drove far enough to have a comfortable position in the roads, he pressed a few commands on the car's touchscreen monitor in the middle of the dashboard, calling his uncle. He picked up after the third ring.

“Casa… is that you…?” his uncle answered in a groggy voice. Casanova realized he had forgotten to take notice of the time difference; where his uncle lived was hours ahead of his own time, and it was past midnight already there. 

“Ah… sorry,” Casanova replied apologetically, “I was just… calling to say that… I'm coming.” 

“Wha...why? All of a sudden why- ohh...” his uncle muttered, and shuffling noises of bedsheets and papers were heard in the background, and by the sound of that “ohh” Casanova concluded that his uncle took notice of the calendar. “Ah I see, I see,” his uncle confirmed, “So, when's your flight? Wait, are you driving?”

“Yes. I'm… driving to the airport now. I'll… call again once I'm booked.” 

“Ahh you should've called after you booked in the first place,” his uncle grumbled, “eh, I'll see of one of the servants are still awake. They'll keep track of you for me.” Casanova heard his uncle yawn then fall back upon his bed; he could hear the thump of the sheets and the slight bounce of the springs. “Well, I'll see you in the morning then.  Or afternoon or whatever.” Casanova told him goodnight then hung up the call, switching his focus on driving again.

A large amount of hours later, Casanova's flight had touched down and he had retrieved his suitcase, walking towards the arrivals area. He spotted one of his uncle's servants waiting for him and he went over. The servant gave his greetings to Casanova and the two of them walked to where the servants car was parked, and they took the long drive to his uncle's very large house. 

Once they reached the house, the two went inside and his uncle greeted them by the door, enveloping him in a warm hug before guiding him inside. Casanova was already familiar with his house before, so he took his stuff upstairs to the usual room he would go to whenever he stayed. From the door to his room he looked down the hallway towards another door near its end. A wave of nostalgia washed over him as he stared at that door, which belonged to his papa. Taking a breath, Casanova went into his own room and made himself comfortable. 

After spending the rest of that day with his uncle and after sleeping in late, Casanova awoke around near noon on the 14th. Once he realized the date, he became more attentive, and started to dress himself quickly. He made his way downstairs where his uncle waited for him, presenting him with a hot breakfast, knowing that Casanova would get up late. 

“You're going to go see him now, right?” his uncle asked once Casanova was done eating. 

“...Yeah. I need to … go into town first though. To… pick up a few things.” He replied, putting his things in the sink. He walked over to where his coat and shoes are and started putting them on. His uncle called one of the servants to go prepare the car for Casanova for him to the into town. 

“Hey,” his uncle spoke, “try and come back before the evening, okay? I’m gonna…,” he took a breath, “I'm gonna grab one of his favorite wines and have a drink with him when you're done, alright?” He gave Casanova a slight smile and Casanova nodded back. 

Once Casanova was ready, he and the servant drove into town. His first stop was into a bakery that he knew well. He normally wasn't into sweet things, but he knew his papa loved the local thick and gooey textured chocolate cake. He bought a slice and had it placed into a special box. He left the bakery and took a walk down the street, glancing at the shops all around him.

The front window of a florist caught his eye, so he walked over and peered through the glass. He saw many colorful bouquets and even more single colored ones lined neatly in rows, waiting to be bought. He entered the shop to take a closer look at them. The shop was small but had a sweet fragrance in the air. The florist, noticing that she had a customer, greeted Casanova.

He slowly moved in front of the bouquet display, inspecting the different types of colors and arrangements of them all. Thinking about deciding to buy one or not, he wanted to find a simple yet meaningful bouquet that would sway his decision. He became lost in thought as he looked, so he didn’t notice the florist come up to him and asked if he wanted some help.

Hearing her voice, Casanova snapped out of it, turning to look at her. :Hello sir, “ she spoke again “I was asking if you wanted some help? You look like you’re having a hard time deciding what to get.”

“Ah...sure,” he replied, shuffling uneasily. 

The florist smiled gently at Casanova. “Now, what’s the occasion, sir?”

“It’s ...a present.”

“Oh okay! For who?”

“Someone… I haven’t seen in… a long time.”

“Ohh,” the florist said softly., then appeared to be thinking of something. After a while, she asked, “Just one more thing,  this person, is it someone close to you? Or someone you care about?”

Casanova looked over at her, slightly surprised at how accurate she seemed to be. All he could do was nod. The florist was content with that. “Here, I think this flower would be a great match for that person.”

She picked a bouquet filled with plenty of pink carnations wrapped in a thick, white decorative paper. “Different types of flowers have their own set of special meanings for certain occasions,” she explains, “and this applies to the color of the flower as well. This pink one has a very special religious backstory to it, but in short, it is a symbol of undying love. In another context, it could be used to say ‘I miss you.’ If that person you're gifting it to was born in January, then it becomes more special, since carnations are like the flower of the month for January, in some places.”

Casanova was fascinated by her explanation. Not only was this new information, since he didn’t know much about the language of flowers, but this specific type and color of flower seemed to be the perfect type for his situation… for his papa. Without additional hesitation he told her that he will buy it, so the two went to the cashier and had their exchange. He thanked the florist with great gratitude before leaving her shop.

Casanova walked back to where the servant and his car was waiting, telling him that he was ready to go see his papa. The servant nodded, and started the engine. Casanova made his way into the back seat, holding his bought items close to him and looked out the window. The car started to move and soon the sights of the town slowly began to die away. 

After what felt like a long time, they finally reached their destination. Casanova caught a glimpse of the big black gates to the entrance of where his papa was being held; he remembered seeing these gates only once before, on the last time he had seen him. The servant parked off to the side of the gate, picking an empty spot, and Casanova left the car, pulling the top of his coat closer towards him. The air was cold, quiet, and unusually calm. He told the servant he would be back within a couple of hours, then turned towards the gated entrance. 

He walked down the paved pathways, glancing at his surroundings, tracing the path he took the first time he came here, over a year ago. The sound of his footsteps and the rustling grass were prominent in his ears. He walked up a hill like slope, taking a couple turned when his memory helped him, and eventually he recognized the area where his papa was. 

He walked a distance, then ran the rest of the way, not wanting to wait a second longer. His breathing shared a rhythm with his pacing, as he kept his eyes glued to one particular object. The wind picked up a little as he approached that object; that marking in the ground that displayed his papa’s location. He then stood right in front of it, then kneeled down in front of it, adjusting his body to sit on his legs. 

He remembered helping his uncle choosing the perfect type of stone; the perfect type of font to engrave his name in; the type of phrasing he knew he would like; the very location he laid in now, upon this hill, closest to where the stars would shine on a clear night. All those important and meaningful decisions looked back at Casanova as he looked upon the object, and traced his fingers across his papa's name.

Over a year has passed since his papa was laid to rest at this very spot.

Casanova placed the boxed cake slice off to the side, then took the bouquet of pink carnations and held it tenderly, before placing it gently in front of the gravestone. He then bent forwards towards the stone, wrapping his arms around it tightly in a warm embrace, and he wore an unusual expression mixed with pain and peacefulness. He turned his head slightly, resting his cheek upon the smooth, cold stone and whispered into it for him to hear;

“Happy birthday, papa.”

Julia shot up from the bed and fumbled for the off-switch of her blaring alarm clock. Click. The woman caught her breath in the sudden silence A moment later she turned to check on the blanketed body of Melodie Ashen, curled under the covers with hardly anything but her wavy shock of dark hair left visible. For a moment she'd hoped that the other one had not awoken, but Melodie stirred sluggishly, bringing her forehead and one bleary eye to view.

„...w't time s'it...?“

„Too early,“ Julia gave her lover a fond look, leaned down and kissed the top of her head briefly: „You can sleep a bit more, I'll wake you up at seven.“ Melodie replied with a vague murmur.

Julia earnestly considered re-setting the alarm clock and submerging under the blankets with her. To lay next to that warm body some more, only if for another half an hour, another five minutes even. Reluctantly, however, she left behind the heat of their bed and dressed with difficulty.

She tiptoed to the refrigerator and was hit with the scent of soured dairy. It had been over a forthnight since anyone had last been to this apartment and neither had spent much time in the kitchen last night. At this rate there was no point grocery shopping anymore, as everything would mold before it could be used up. The woman  grunted in displeasure and looked through the rest of the kitchen for needed materials. Julias' left arm could still barely be lifted at the elbow, but at least the prosthetic one was capable of pretty sophisticated movement. Still, the search was clumsy and resulted in multiple boxes of dried goods falling out of their respective cupboards.

She quickly checked across the doorstep whether the noise had awoken Melodie before beelining for the livingroom phone. As much as the woman wanted to do this on her own she needed materials. Julia unsteadily dialed her husbands' number by heart, then waited patiently while the operator connected the call.

„Wright residence, mister Terry Wright speaking.“ uttered a man on the other end of the line.

„Good morning, Terry, it's me,“ Julia chirped. The mans' sleepy, familiar voice gave her an immediate sense of homesickness. She conjured an image of Terry in her mind - tall, messy-haired and rubbing sleep from his eyes, before continuing with her request: „Could you come over real quick? I need some things.“

„What happened?“ he asked, suddenly a lot less sluggish.

„Everything is fine!“ she elicited a brief laugh to calm the man down, realizing with a bang of guilt that he must've thought she was in trouble to be calling at such an hour: „I need a cup of sugar, and maybe if you have some milk left over...?“

There was a pause, followed by a sigh. „Is miss Ashen  r e a l l y  demanding baking supplies at six thirty in the morning?“

„No, of course not. Look, I'm just making pancakes, of my own initiative. Half the things are either missing or growing an ecosystem. Please, please do me this favor, you can go back to bed afterwards. I only have until seven o'clock before I have to wake her up for breakfast and work.“

Another sigh „Fine, I'll be there in...10 minutes, that fine?“

„Sure,I suppose.“ She thanked him, hung up, and got to work on gathering the ingredients that were actually present. Despite her earnestness the mess in the kitchen was only getting worse from the efforts. Turns out that a bag of flour is very hard to manipulate with semi-workable arms, as are open packages of coffee. By the time her husband let himself in twelve minutes later the place looked like a battlefield in the aftermath of an un-nutritious food war, with her in the middle of it trying to sweep the worst up into a single pile.

He exchanged the usual pleasantries while letting his gaze wander around the kitchen,  stopping at the spilled coffee and flour, then rising to the small victory standing on the stovetop „Oh, I see you've put the kettle on,“ Terry chimed, knowing from experience that remarking on the mess would just be rubbing his wife's injuries in. He put a paper bag on the counter, producing from it a jar, half a bottle of milk, some sugar and a single pale-pink dahlia: „Got your missing groceries, and some jam. Took a cutting from one of my plants while I was at it, since I thought you might want to liven the table up.“

„Terry, you really shouldn't have...“

„Just helping out on you doing the whole „romantic breakfast“ thing properly,“ he smiled a bit and rushed to put the flower in an empty vase: „How's your arm?“

The woman smiled back, then flexed her fingers demonstrably, immediately dropping the broom whilst doing so, „Feels pretty good today“ She attempted to pick the broom off the floor, but couldn't force her digits to close around the handle with enough force no matter how hard she tried, reluctantly accepting Terry's aid in the matter. The prosthetic replacing her right arm was now limp and lifeless. Alas, part of the whole supernatural cover-up meant that she was not allowed to show its' capabilities with „normies“ around, instead having to rely on the limited mobility of her crippled left arm. Julia had come to feel, that she must seem mile-deep in denial to non-occultists and had thus started to avoid their company altogether in recent weeks. It had even become hard to talk to Terry, as the woman couldn't tell him the truth of what had happened to her. Even now, although glad to see the man, a part of her wanted him to leave.

„Thanks for the help, I think I can manage the rest on my own, the arm's just a bit stiff.“

„You aren't going to kick me out yet, are you?“ Terry joked „I thought I could help you make that coffee and pancakes, seeing as it's my day off.“

„This is my attempt at a romantic gesture Terry, I should do it on my own.“

„It's the thought that counts, not who executes it. You'll get things done quicker with me around.“

„Why do you care whether your wife gets her lovers' breakfast done in time...?“

„Because I care about your happiness,“ Terry replied without hesitations. He removed the kettle, which had started to boil, from the stove and kept speaking: „Because miss Ashen seems nice, though a bit possessive at times-“

„Oy!“

„-and I like seeing things go well between the two of you,“ the man poured some coffee into two cups, not including one for himself „I think it's sweet how you're putting effort into her.“

„Well, she's precious to me.“

„I know. I've never seen you light up near another person the way you do with her,“ Terry turned to his wife with a mirthless little smile: „I'm just...just glad that, after what happened, you've got someone you can confide to. Even if that someone is not me anymore.“

The two shared a melancholic look at that, with Julia becoming painfully aware how rapidly they were growing apart despite knowing one-another for twelve years. Her involvement with The Occultists, the contrast between what had really happened and the falsehoods presented to Terry, her own reluctance to play up traumas for the sake of the official cover-story, even their extended absence from each-others lives during the second World War all contributed to the divide. They'd married, because neither had dared to face the world or their respective orientations without an ally by their side, and until recently a part of that arrangement had been mutual honestly, which Julia just could not upkeep anymore.

After all, Terry was precious as well, just in a different way from Melodie. Julia cared for her husband as one would a best friend or a relative, and thus couldn't bear him to get involved with the things that went bump in the night.

Similar thoughts probably went through Terry's head as well, although he was unaware of the nature of his wife's reluctance to spend time with him. After a moment the man coughed and pulled up his sleeves „Tick-tock. 13 minutes to seven, we can still make it if we're quick. Let's do it like this - you make the pancakes by ordering me about, I'm the manual labor. What do I do?“

Julia glanced at the clock as well and gave in, even smiling a bit as she did: „Alright. First, I need you to take two eggs and crack them into that white bowl in the leftmost cupboard...“

She couldn't blame him for putting in effort to make her happy and the least she could do in return was cheer Terry up by allowing him to help. Even despite their perceived divide she was still precious to him, and that would forever mean a lot.

Timeline :: Latter half of 2017

          The Sevmash Shipyard in Severodvinsk by the White Sea is considered a top secret military facility. On top of the fact that the town is a military settlement which prohibited access to foreigners, there are also military brigades stationed here, ready to protect the town and the shipyard in the case of unexpected emergency.

          …Thus, this was the very last place a male worker of the shipyard expected to find himself being in the middle of terrorization…especially by the android constructed in this very same shipyard even. But here, the scrawny man in his early thirties found himself cornered by the robust android, who easily towering over him by the advantage of almost twenty centimeters in height. He had known this android by the name, growing up with the knowledge that this muscular frame in front of him was a part of the SSBN force belonged to the Northern Fleet. Ever since he was first accepted for a job in this shipyard, he merely saw this android from afar. Never in the wildest dream, that he would imagine this android approaching him in such close situation like this.

          And here, the android who always wore a fiery expression on his face was coercing him for something the poor mortal human whose back was up flat against the wall wasn’t even sure why the AI thought he could help him with his request.

          “Come on, just give me a direction. You may not work in the kid’s construction but at least you know which lab he’s in, right?” that ‘kid’ was the member of the top secret project 885 Yasen-class attack submarine, the one whose name was supposed to be ‘Arkhangelsk’ – precisely the very name this intimidating android had been known for the last several years. The much smaller man gulped, he couldn’t predict what was the intention for the request of a visit, much less he could authorize such encounter. But there, he was saved by a voice of an angel. 

          “Miha? What are you doing here harassing this poor boy?” The figure in a mechanic work suit embroidered with Sevmash logo emerged from an adjoining hallway and timely rescued her employee. Under a usual circumstance, being addressed by one of the shipyard’s executives would frighten the unfortunate man caught in this strange situation but here, he was extremely grateful for her intervention. “I’m sorry for his behavior. Please continue what you were going to do before getting caught by my insolent ‘son’.”

          The luckless worker murmured his gratitude before quickly slipping away. TK-17 just shrugged his thick shoulder, “Mother…I wasn’t harassing him. Right, I’m your ‘insolent’ son but I know better than slipping that low to harm ordinary humans.”

          The more fragile feminine frame looked up to cast a distrustful gaze. “It does look like you’re intimidating that poor man to me. Good grief, Miha. Don’t make me lose my worker. It’s difficult to train a new one in case he wants to quit after this confrontation!”

          “Please, Mother…I merely want to see that new kid, the one that will inherit your name from me. So I simply stopped that man and asked him which lab the kid’s structure is being put together. Like, I just want to see my ‘successor’ before I’ll be…gone.” Funnily, the voice of the heavily built android now sounded like a pleading, something which completely unmatched his physique and personality. Zinaida still gave her ‘son’ a stern look, “You could just ask me.”

          He gestured at her attire, ‘Well, you’re one busy woman, Mother. And I have no objection about your dedication to your work. I just don’t want to disturb you in the middle of your shift.”

          “Well, I’m free now.” The blonde with striking heterochromia iridum in her two beautiful blue eyes threw her hands in the air as if to emphasize that statement. “Unfortunately, no – you can’t see him yet, Miha. During this stage, any slight magnetic energy could cause a complication with incorrect reading of measure. And you, my boy, your presence near his construction will be more trouble than good.”

          A groan of disappointment was a prelude to the realization from male ‘Arkhangelsk’, “I see, that’s why androids never get to see younger siblings until launching time.” To which his ‘mother’ nodded empathically. The fate had been sealed; TK-17 would soon enter the decommissioning and disposal process. This enormous baby of hers wouldn’t live for long…maybe a year at best. Painfully, that thought weakened her strict stance toward him in an instant. It was a circle that repeated far too many times for the ‘Mother of nuclear submarines’. No matter how much love she poured in for her ‘children’, eventually, just as she was their creator, she was…also the one taking part in terminating their existence.

         Reaching her smaller hand to lovingly grab the rougher, larger palm under the aged bandage, Zinaida gave a soft tug, indicating that they should move outside of the facility. “Let’s go out for a walk.”

          Surrounding by the crisp, fresher air from sea breezes, those two linking hands were now switching their positions. That brutal hand beneath the cloth stripe served to hide the hideous ‘scar’ instead held the softer feminine hand with great care, as if scared that he would hurt it if he didn’t watch his grasp. The two polar opposite figures lazily strolled alongside the embankment through the several kilometers length of the shipyard, heading toward the White Sea. 

          “What am I to you, Mother? Beside an insolent son that is…”

          “Stupid question, Miha. You’re my precious child of course.” That answer wasn’t enough for the hot-headed fifth Akula. Those strong legs under military style black trousers ceased their forward movement as he brought their walk to a temporary halt. “Am I more precious to you than others? Mother, you know I might not be bearing your name for many years before I was retired, but I doubt there could be anyone who loves you more than I do. That is why…that is why I’m so frustrating with my current situation. I’m here, I bear your name but I can’t protect you because I have no ability to operate missiles any longer! There are so many submarines who bear your name, K-525 before me and soon it’s going to be Vyachko’s younger brother. Am I really…any special to you than the rest or anyone bearing your name would be automatically considered your favorite?"

          ‘What a train of silly, insecure baby whining.’ Thoughts ran as Mother ‘Arkhangelsk’ wasn’t quite certain whether she found this clashing of stern appearance and needy reassurance amusing or annoying. Instead she placed another hand of hers on that ‘injured’ hand covered by the bandage and lifted it up…with some difficulty before TK-17 assisted her with his own physical force. “Mother?”

          “I can never forget that day. The day you returned without prior schedule because of the accident. Miha, what you have encountered was terrifying. To think that I could have lost you when you only left here for three years…I thank God every day that I haven’t lost you. Losing you in such circumstance would kill me, especially since you were so close, just over the horizon within this White Sea I’m living next to.”

          That day from the android’s own memory was kind of blurry; he recalled a huge commotion with radiation measuring, even though the missile that exploded was just a training dummy, not one with fully combat-ready warheads. But what he remembered vividly - was how his ‘mother’ was fretting over him with great alarm in her eyes. That one look spoke volume of how much she always took his well-being into consideration above everything. Suddenly, his ranting seemed embarrassingly childish. Did it really matter that he had to be her ‘number one’?

          “I wish…I could just hug you right now, Mother. But this mechanical body with enhanced strength will most likely hurt you if I give in to my urge. This is such a terrible curse for being an android.” In a gesture that surprised even Zinaida, Arkhangelsk lifted both of her hands up toward his face and gave them a gentle touch with his cold, artificial skin covered lips. He couldn’t figure any other method to express his affection to his ‘mother’ but he was now grateful for whoever decided to give the opportunity for androids like him to understand platonic love such as family bonding.

           “Oh God, Miha. You’re giving anyone who doesn’t know us well a wrong idea that we’re dating or something…” Sensory data received from his ears told TK-17 that his mother’s mood shifted yet again from the slight change in her voice, which he suspected was from an embarrassment of the situation she was mentioning, “I’ll kill whoever thinking such dirty, disgraceful thing!”

           However, when the blue-green color lenses adjusted their position to line up with the other pair of blue eyes, he noticed a trace of fluid in his mother’s eyes. Quickly and quietly, she wiped the wetness away as if trying to conceal what had already happened when it was too late. In recovery, she made a retort, “And less than twenty minutes ago you just told me you wouldn’t slip that low to harm ordinary humans.”

          “If they harm you in anyway, all conditions are off, Mother.” The taller, bulkier frame insisted with a hiss. Then the long, slim hand slipped from the much younger Arkangelsk’s grasp and pinched his chin. She had been so used to the sensation from these touches on the artificial, actually ‘lifeless’ body that the coldness of his skin and the unusual hardness of his metal chin ‘bone’ felt all familiar to her. In a year…the place she touched right now would turn into nothing but scraps of metal and leftover materials. It was a truth she knew all too well, yet it still successfully broke her heart every time one of her children reached his last destination…the scrap yard section of this industrial complex.

           “You’re always such a big, aggressive baby, Miha.” Once again by a tug of her hand, she led her ‘son’ farther west of the shipyard’s territory. A few minutes later they were standing on the beach of Severodvinsk, made up from a mix of mud and sand as the city located right on the delta where the Northern Dvina River reached its final destination, facing the stronger and larger White Sea. The horizon held many memories for both of them…to Zinaida it represented two kinds of happiness; one when her submarine children were deemed ready for combat duty and left to the horizon for their deployment. And another, whenever any one of them returned to her hands for scheduled repair or modernization, they always brought a sense of happiness that she got to see them again.

           Through the tears that welled up again, Zinaida confessed, “I’m going to miss you so much, Miha. Although the shipyard will be a lot more quiet down now that you’re not around to fight with that silly Mitya anymore, it’s a curse for me, too. To be a ‘mother’ who live for so long and ultimately, have to put the existence of her own children to an end. Was it a mistake that initially I gladly took up the role of a mother for all of you in order to teach you about humans? It’s taking a toll on me in some way – I hate this, I hate how I feel that I prefer to be the one putting an end to your existence than losing you to accidents like Kursk or Komsomolets. What kind of a mother is that – preferring to ‘kill’ her own children?”

          TK-17 could do nothing in his stunned state. With his overly strong, muscular arms, he gently circled them around his fragile ‘mother’, trying his best not to use too much force to imitate a ‘hug’ on her while she was weeping into his chests under the rubber surface of his full body wetsuit.

"Good morning!" When he had finally awoken from his slumber, the first thing Riy heard was the voice of a young woman to his right. With how cheery and full of pep it was, it could only belong to one person. With his hair in complete disarray, he turned his gaze to his right and saw someone standing by with a cheery grin and hands on their hips. Their raven grey hair was swept over their shoulder, as they leaned towards him, and their clothes were decidedly steampunk themed, with a large metal gear strapped to their waste. Blinking a few times before yawning, Riy stretched his arms above his head.

"Melilei, why do I have to keep telling you," He reached over midsentence and grabbed the girl by the cheek and lightly pulled on it, prompting her to comically whine. "Not to come into my room?!" He let go of the girl, leaving her to nurse the cheek he'd tugged on with a frown as she stepped back to allow the boy to stand.

"Princess Renne told me it was alright, and besides. No one else seems to be able to wake you." She answered before turning towards the open doorway, her frown quickly replaced by a bright smile. "Enough of that though. Princess Celeste has an important announcement to make, and she sent me to get you!" 

"Celeste sent you? Mrrgh..." With a tired yawn, he glanced over at his dresser where his armor and coat were laid out. There was a pause before he exhaled loudly and rubbed the back of his head with an understanding nod. "I'll be out in a minute." He said this, but Melilei just stood there with an expectant expression. It took a few seconds for it to dawn on Riy that she was waiting for him to undress, eliciting a growl from the youth as he walked over to her.

"Get out!" With a shout, he gave the girl a light shove that moved her into the hallway, then he slammed the door shut with a grumble. He was muttering something that Melilei could not hear, but it didn't stop the girl from giggling at how he reacted to her teasing. Content with this, she skipped down the hallway to head to where the two Fenrir nobles were waiting. The courtyard just behind the palace was currently alive with the sound of animals and rushing water that flowed from fountain heads that were shaped like wolves. Two Wolflian girls waited at the center, and upon spotting them Melilei bounded towards them with a grin.

"Ah, there you are." One of them, who sported a short white bobcut with parted bangs greeted her. Her brilliant blue armor seemed to sparkle in the light of the courtyard and Melilei nodded as she came to a stop before them.

"He'll be right out." Her response elicited a chuckle from the girl with long blue hair, Renne, as she looked to her sister Celeste.

"She says that, but I know him better than that. He'll take a while to get ready." She told her in a soft tone as she crossed an arm under her chest. Celeste just shrugged with a smirk while Melilei approached the younger noble with a knowing look.

"I guess it's fitting that he's the guy you like, huh?" Her words earned a slightly flushed look from Renne who laughed nervously as she let those words sink in. 

"A-ah, yeah. I guess so." She said in a timid voice that betrayed the usual calm she spoke in, and turned her eyes elsewhere. The guy she liked huh? It was true. She couldn't lie to herself anymore, or rather there wasn't any more excuses she could make. The princess of Fenrir had fallen in love with the boy that was her personal knight, and she was prepared to tell him that once he came to the courtyard. The mere thought filled her stomach with butterflies and her heartbeat quicken. Though it was nerve wracking, there would be no more putting it off.

The news she had to tell him. It was the best news in her life.

He hadn’t thought of it in years.

No, that wasn’t entirely honest. It haunted him in the subtext of his dreams, inserted itself as metaphors and bizarre themes that he would forget soon after waking. But the impact of those dreams left a residue on his psyche, in the form of trembling hands, of quickened breath, and he could never parse why.

As his ansible continued to ping on his wrist, it brought it all back, gave meaning to those early morning panic attacks.

It was that thing. The Ecclesiastical. If anything remotely intelligent controlled the universe, Kessler was sure it got a laugh at the name of that ship, and the eldritch payload it had been carrying. The thing he and the cop quietly guided into a nearby star, the dead ship it’s final resting place.

But no – surely it was done, obliterated from existence and melted in the heart of that star.

Kessler exhaled, tapping the ansible to accept the call. A hiss of static denoted the connection was made from many light years away. He found himself unable to speak.

“Hello? Kessler?”

Let silence answer that question and let it die. Let it die and forget, this was never something for you to handle. His mind clamored, trying to rearrange his thoughts, attempting to form words. Fuck, the voice on the other end of the line sounded like that damn cop.

“Yes.” He answered in a voice that he could scarcely hear. “Yes.” More firmly. Make up that confidence, put on a façade. “I’m assuming you aren’t calling me, years later, for a simple chit chat?”

“I never thought I would use your contact ID.” It reassured him somewhat, that the cop sounded as baffled as he did. 

“How secure is this channel?” Kessler asked, suddenly paranoid that someone had to be tapping into this, someone somehow knew this connection was too far apart to be anything casual.

“I’m on a non-tracer. We’re outside of all channels, except for yours.”

“So not a simple chit chat."

“No.”

Kessler leaned back into the pilot’s chair, the micromemory foam molding to every dip and curve of his body. Maybe he would just continue flying until the fuel ran out. That would be nice. 

 Sirius. The detective's name came back to him with a rush of clarity.  Kessler grinned  in spite of everything. So many puns had spawned from that name.

“I’m going to make this short.” Sirius said.  “An AI monitoring the star reported a significant fluctuation on its energy readings.”

Kessler’s stomach dropped, shattering his momentary amusement. “The one—that star?”

“Yes.” Sirius replied in a drawl tone. “Human, I won’t sugar coat this for you. The star disappeared from every visible and non-visible spectrum. I don’t know what was on that ship. I don’t want to know. I kept my word. I need you to keep yours.”

The static faded away, the silence of the cabin pressed upon him on all sides. His deliverer of great news had killed the connection and severed his involvement with the simple press of a button.

Kessler wasn’t going to let him go that easily.

“Galileo?”

“Yes, sir?” the ship’s AI spoke to him as if he hadn’t been eavesdropping on the entire conversation.

“Change of course, we’re going to Herschel.”

“Sir, a diversion to Herschel will cost us six solar days, five hours and—”

“Doesn’t matter. Do it.”

He didn’t know why he was doing it. What was this going to accomplish? But there was one thing he did know. 

There was no way in hell he was confronting this alone.

	K-18 Kareliya
	K-114 Tula
	Former K-64 / now BS-64 Podmoskovye

          Against the backdrop of snowfall in the middle of winter, a tall frame in dark clothing which stood in stark contrast to the environment shifted his weight impatiently onto one of his humanoid legs then another. A pair of tugboats was sent out almost an hour ago to accompany a returning fleet member whom he hadn’t seen since he sent him off for a scheduled repair in their ‘home’ three years ago. Gradually, the blue lenses which acted as his eyes spotted three ‘dots’ afar and K-18 Kareliya dug back inside the nearest building, retrieving a thick towel and black coat in preparation.

          By the time the sixth android of the project 667BDRM barged back to the harsh winter temperature outdoor, his brother was already in a close enough range to hear his shout, “Tula! You’re back!!”

          Cautiously swimming through the passage the tugboats cleared the path for him; K-114 eventually reached the concrete pier and pulled himself up from the frigid Arctic water. The younger ‘Delfin’ quickly threw the large towel to cover Tula’s body, clutching in only their signature long, full body black wetsuit. As his older sibling blotted water droplets off his body before they would freeze, K-18 whose body was protected from wintry frost by a long black coat pulled out another smaller towel then proceeded with helping to dry the wavy dirty blond hair of Tula’s. The youthful looking submarine android then slid his glance to notice two tugboat androids that were shivering in the frosty air, despite wearing winter gear themselves. “Thanks, guys! Go and get yourself warm now, I’ll take over from here.”

          “Sure, just don’t forget to notify us when Tula holds his first tea party! We expect our share of Pryanik!”

          “Tsk…before I left our home, Seva and Yarik almost didn’t let me go until I baked them six Pryaniks each. And now returning to our base, the first thing I got greeted for is still Pryanik?” Now that those tugboats were out of range, that complaint of their colleagues who were at the Severodvinsk's shipyard got Kareliya snickering. His older brother embraced his name too well he started making tea and baked the most famous pastry of the city of Tula, his namesake, on daily basis that everyone viewed him like their favorite bakery for years. “You brought this upon yourself. I’m sure the administrative personnel from your namesake didn’t expect you to hold tea parties regularly when they gave you that samovar!”

          “Speaking of which…” With all the irksome water droplets gone, the calmer ‘Delfin’ finally took the coat from his baby face sibling to cover himself, “I thought Mom shipped my samovar through mail service so I wouldn’t have to carry it back returning here. Has it arrived yet?”

          “Da, safe and sound. No dent detected and still blindingly shiny!” Well, that was a bit exaggerating but Tula always kept his samovar in top condition as if it was a highly prized item. The two brothers then together headed inland from the pier connecting to the Murmansk’s narrow Kola Bay. They might be living in this harsh Arctic climate all their life, but that didn’t mean they like to soak in the -20C temperature one bit.

          "So I heard from Seva…K-64 was back when I was still in the middle of the repair?” That question caught the android whom had been stationed in their base for eight years straight after he completed his modernization in 2009 off guard. Confusingly, Kareliya cast a questioning gaze at Tula, “You mean…you didn’t see him at Zvyozdochka? He just went back for more sync-up there!”

          The answer he got puzzled Tula even more, “Weird…Seva didn’t tell me a thing about that. And I certainly didn’t see him at all after I was released from the indoor facility. You said I should have seen him, does that mean he went back before the day I was released?”

          He got a nod in confirmation, along with a strangely contemplating look. They continued their walk silently among the row of buildings in the still, almost lifeless town, where the ordinary human population knew better than venturing into this weather outside, prior reaching the main HQ which Tula was supposed to report his return to their fleet flagship, Pyotr Velikiy.

           Tula’s return was certainly hailed a joyous event, a big news that he himself couldn’t see why in comparison to the return of K-64 who had been in shipyard for modification for almost two decades, within the Northern Fleet. After reporting to his boss, stream of colleagues reached out to welcome him back throughout the rest of the day. Many of them eagerly await the famed “Tula’s tea party” to grace the fleet again. By the end of the day, K-114 wasn’t sure of his value to the fleet anymore; was he an SSBN in combative duty or was he a caterer feeding the gluttonous fellow androids in the same fleet?

          "Alright, Kareliya, spill the beans. It seems like everyone was as shocked as you when I said I haven’t yet seen K-64 again after he was reactivated. What’s the deal?” The fourth android of project 667BDRM who had gone missing from their base since December 2014 demanded his younger sibling to confess the secret since they were finally alone again in their living quarter. The sixth android of ‘Delfin’ dropped his bottom onto his bed, causing a loud, frightening creak as if the pitiful furniture couldn’t cope with the sudden drop of heavy weight on it. Seemingly to further avoid the dagger glare the almost identical pair of eyes was directing at him, Kareliya laid fully on his bed and stared at the ceiling, too uncomfortable to make an eye contact with his brother. “K-64…or maybe I should call him ‘Podmoskovye’ as he’s named now, said he isn’t ‘one of us’ anymore.”

          A jerk movement of Tula’s eyebrow was enough to express his irritation, even without being accompanied by any verbal reaction. “What kind of unintelligent non-sense he’s sprouting again?”

          Knowing his older sibling referred to K-64’s ‘original’ personality, Kareliya immediately sat up on his bed, preparing for a lengthy debate, “That’s not it, bro! He’s really changed…other than right out refusing to reunite with us, he also became more aloof, avoiding even the Antey! Moreover, his uniform was altered as well. He doesn’t wear this one like our any longer…” As to emphasize his point, the younger Delfin raised both his forearm up, displaying the stripes of rusty red color underneath.

          In what K-18 believed to be an attempt to cool down his frustration, K-114 glided across their room to the window, staring out absentmindedly into the hazy, gray twilight scene of Murmansk. Considering the android with wavy dirty blond hair was in the order right behind K-64 in the 667BDRM class, it should be little surprise Tula had a ‘special’ bond with now Podmoskovye.

          “So when he will be back?” To which the android with light brown hair gestured his surrender that he had no idea for a solid answer. “You better ask Mom. Unless you know the whole process of converting Orenburg from 667BDR to…whatever the code is for that spy submarine project.”

          “Then we’ll wait…” soft, monotonous voice of the older android smoothly concealed his…tremor...inside him. From their past, K-64 was known for being a rather blunt individual and said things which were too direct and inconsiderate every now and then. Was that refusal of not belonging to the 667BDRM anymore a knee-jerk reaction from being away for too long or was it something else altogether? How much his closest older sibling had changed, Tula preferred to refrain from making a judgment or trusting what Kareliya had told him until he would witness the shifting degree by his own eyes.

It was a really comfy afternoon. The weather was fine, with a calm rain, one of those rain that it's amazing to sleep while listening to it. And César was doing exactly it: Taking a nap, enjoying the good weather. Except he couldn't hear the rain, of course. César was a deaf kid, living in an orphanage that was too poor to keep their own children in good shape, so César was a skinny little guy, with big big ears. Of course, kids loved to make fun of the people who wasn't on the "normal list", and César was the target of bullying and bad jokes. But César really didn't mind it. He never knew how to communicate with others, since at the time he didn't knew sign language, so having an "interaction" with other kids made he feel included, which was sad. Being the joke of the other kids just to feel included was sad, and his own way of living in the orphanage.

Of course he never expected to be adopted. He sure was naive, but César wasn't stupid. All the children he saw being adopted were normal looking children, and usually younger than him. He already expected that no one would want to adopt him, but it didn't stop him from dreaming about being in a big family, surrounded by loving people. And it was exactly what he was dreaming while sleeping in the afternoon. 

His sleep, however, was interrupted by a not so gentle touch on his shoulder, trying to wake him up. César woke up a little startled, and looked at the person who woke him up. It was one of the housekeepers of the orphanage, who made him get out of bed and put him on some nice clothes. Of course, César was really confused. It's not everyday that the housekeeper actually cares about what he wears or not. After putting on some nicer clothes, César was pushed to the main hall of the orphanage, where a big woman was waiting with her arms crossed. After taking a good look at César, she said "Yes, I'm taking it."

César knew how to read lips. And he had a little bit of a problem understanding what the woman said. Not because he couldn't read it, but what was "it". Was she talking about César? What was happening? After some paperwork César was once again pushed to the big woman, who called herself mama. She was an coyote hybrid that looked more human than hybrid, but César felt a comforting feeling to be with an hybrid family.

César then got in mama's car and was ready to go to his new home. Mama didn't said a word the whole time, and César thought it was because she was too focused driving, or was just nervous. But he soon found out that mama wasn't actually family. The house was kinda old and some of the windows were broken. Entering the house, his wishes to have tons of brothers came true, but not the way he wanted. Mama had several children, some sitting on the floor, working on sewing and making pieces of clothes. As said before, César wasn't stupid. He immediately knew the purpose of him being there. 

It was the same thing as the orphanage. The normal kids enjoyed picking on César, and of course, he was used to it. He then went to learn sewing with one of the olders sisters, Maya. She was kind and liked to take care of the other children, the true "mom" they needed. Maya taught César how to sew, knit, and to make clothes. It was his work, but Maya made César actually like to knit and sew. It made his time on mama's house a little less horrible.

César honestly should have seen that coming. "Big news" for him would often turn into unfortunate events.

           "So...are you sure you won't change your mind?"

           Indecisiveness laced in the voice that produced the question, doubtful hint was lingered in the air as a breeze from the majestic White Sea behind the pair of tall figures carried the logs of midnight black hair in flowy motion. Two colleagues who survived the moment when the USSR vanished, despite sitting side by side on the strengthened concrete embankment on the westernmost edge of the Sevmash shipyard, their futures were far unlike each other's. TK-20 Severstal was set to 'die' within possibly a few years, while Podmoskovye was likely to live on for an uncertain period of time - as long as the military doctrine of their country would still find a use of him. Switching from SSBN just like the robust-yet-gentle Akula, the former K-64 now invaded into a territory that very few of their kind ever reached - the role of 'spy submarine' whose tasks were replaced, from inflicting mass destruction to intelligent gathering and sabotaging.

           Severstal asked such question because he knew very well what his colleague was getting himself into, well, mostly. Although the 'shark' with lightest hair in his own kind was in an okay term with his closest older 'sibling' - TK-17 Arkhangelsk, they were...not quite sowing the siblings bond to the fullest. And here, K-64 whose identification number shifted to BS-64 to suit his new role was claiming he preferred to cut ties with his own brothers. Even an outsider like him realized very well how the sibling bonds within the 667BDRM-class tangled tightly around this individual, despite spending almost two decades away from the rest of his brothers. "I did my part as you have asked and clamed up toward Tula entirely. You'll be the one fully exposed to his wrath when he understands the whole ordeal."

           "How much has Tula changed? What else happened in my...no, the 667BDRM during my absence?" This particular voice...it was certainly different from what the younger submarine android remembered of what he had always heard originally back in the 90's when they were close colleagues.

           “Keep in mind this is just what I heard from our tiny chatty Yarik though…” TK-20 used his small kilo-class submarine friend’s name as a shield to protect himself from any inaccuracy might occur. “Kareliya got out of here in 2009, his modernization changed his face because Mom deemed he better looks less like a brute carrying name of the land she said ‘full of nice and gentle people who were never a bitter enemy of Russia’. Now unless your little brother is decisively livid, his face doesn’t look like a constant mad bear any more. Oh yes, and DON’T mention a thing about his new face, he absolutely hates that. Listen to this - he actually hit Miha straight in the face when Miha and I caught him the first time after he got out of the facility and Miha, being the bold a—hole he always  is, instinctively laughed at Kareliya’s modified facial features. I take it either you haven’t seen Kareliya or saw him but didn’t recall it was him…”

          Watching how animated he became when the younger android talked about the sixth Delfin who was his good friend back in the 90’s, Podmoskovye relished in a fragment of old memories when they were all in Murmansk together. But soon as he caught on his drifting inner thought, the black hair android willed his control back on – no; those memories were nothing to the life he would live from now on.

          “As you know I have never left here, I don’t witness anything in Severomorsk during 2009 after Kareliya made it back to our base to December 2014 when Tula arrived. According to what Yarik filled me in, and probably partially to brag because his history nerd self had a hand in initiating it, Tula began to ask Kareliya about fist fighting training because his namesake is supposed to be a legendary locality of ancient fist fighting tradition.” The head full of long, waterfall-liked dark hair nodded slightly to indicate that he followed the info accordingly. Using the old data he knew of his own siblings, to say BS-64 was surprised by the next statement would be untrue; he was downright shaken.

          “Turned out, after some time, Tula had discovered his somewhat hidden talent. A year of being pounded by Kareliya in their first trainings, eventually Tula outmatched our boxing-freaked bear!” The ex-third android of the project 667BDRM let his outwardly expression to appear skeptic over the claim, “For real, Tula? I don’t know, Seva. Yarik might be pulling our legs…”

          Standing right up in his new uniform which didn’t match any other submarine android in the entire navy, the pair of bright blue eyes which seemingly to have matured by many folds of his old self cast a single quick sweep over the deeper part of the shipyard’s territory and caught a group of tugboat androids getting their equipment out from storage facility. It was a silent calling to end their conversation.

          “Guess I gotta go, Seva. I’ll see for myself about what you told me. Hopefully, I may return again for more adjustment…you’ll stay around long enough, right?” even while bidding a farewell, Podmoskovye’s expression was more of indifferent than actually hinting any remorse of leaving a friend who would soon be sent on a ‘death row’.

          Those changes didn’t escape Severstal’s observant and TK-20 concluded that there must have been some reprogramming to alter his demeanor, “I miss your old lively self, K-64. Humans should say, ‘best of luck’ in this circumstance. I’m glad I won’t be getting out of our home again so I’m pretty much safe, unless somehow Tula comes back here especially to kick me.”

----------

          For all of those warfare androids in Severomorsk eagerly await the tea party, they were in for a grand disappointment.

          After two weeks with no sign of Tula and his famous afternoon tea party reconnecting together, Kareliya was probably one of the very few persons who weren’t getting restless. Rumors with trace of curiosity circling him whether there had been a reprogramming which removed the memory of K-114’s knowledge regarding baking Tulskiy Pryanik. More than a couple of times, the sixth Delfin needed to dispel the unnecessary fear himself, “Guys, don’t be ridiculous! Remember before Tula left, not all of you joined every single time he held a tea party; you only dropped by whenever you craved his pastry. But here, after three years it’s like everyone wants a piece of Pryanik at once! That’s a lot of preparation to bake at least two dozen of Pryaniks and without industrial quantity equipment!”

          Finally, the third week into his return, the fourth Delfin suddenly pulled the much anticipated event out of his sleeves. By then, the mystery which had kept the party postponed eventually became crystal clear; it couldn’t be luck to coincide with BS-64’s return to the Murmansk’s base. However, this instead generated a new sense of anticipation – whether K-114 would invite his former closest older brother to the party and would the former K-64 accept the invitation?

          In spite of their strong resemble to humans in appearance, still the cafeteria for the androids was separated from that of humans’. Though sometimes androids do consume organic food, it could easily make human personnel rapidly lose their appetite to sense the strong odor of fuel oil some of these androids consume as their main source of energy if they had to share space.

           A small cheer erupted from a dozen or so androids who were out of pressing duty which required their immediate attention as ‘the Prince of Pryaniks’ and Kareliya, who got recruited as his older brother’s assistant because of the number of pastries needed to be baked, made their way back from the kitchen area. Half of the aromatic pastries though soon departed the scene as K-18 was tasked with delivery those to the human commanders of the fleet and their flagship who couldn’t spare his time to join in. With his trusted assistant leaving, Ustinov volunteered to help Tula cutting the rest of the freshly baked Pryaniks into smaller pieces. Excitement was evident around the hall…until a certain figure was spotted outside and gradually brought the silence to the atmosphere.

           Distancing himself from everyone, symbolically cut off from his old colleagues was none other than the android remembered as the third Delfin in the past.

           A grim expression twisted the cheerful Atlant’s face. He was released from the Severodvinsk’s shipyard just a month after BS-64 returned to the outside world from a decade of being deactivated under the indoor facility and of course got a chance to talk to the altered submarine. Not preparing for the next consequence, the cruiser in foggy white kosovorotka was unable to form a sentence in response quick enough when the submarine android who shared the same dirty blond colored hair like his just casually muttered, “Stasik, keep on slicing the Pryanik. I’ll be right back.”

           And just like that, the main host of the party strode toward the glass door of the cafeteria. True to what the rest of the androids were aware, the ‘lone black sheep’ submarine retracted his interest, appearing to be ready to retreat as he noticed his supposed younger brother. Nevertheless, the younger Delfin was determined that they must talk and quickened his pace in a short burst, catching up the escaping BS-64 by a hard grip on his arm.

          Divided by thick glass of ceiling to floor height which served as both wall and window, all eyes were on the two figures out of the boundary of cafeteria. It was like watching television with mute on; they could only guess what the brothers exchanged verbally, body languages cluing Podmoskovye’s persistence on leaving along with Tula’s torn patience in dealing with his unreasonably stubborn sibling.

           Some of the spectators might have caught a glimpse of it. Still, many made reactive sounds involuntarily when out of nowhere, a metallic tray that Tula had somehow carried along slammed forcefully against the side of Podmoskovye’s head, effectively bending the much thinner metallic sheet in half.

           Kulakov seemed to be the one with most rational sense intact as he calmly witnessed the continuing scene, only reached his hand to help steadying the plate of Pryanik Ustinov almost let it slip off his grip. Before long, partially secured the hopefully undamaged head under long black hair in a headlock with his right arm and yanked on some of the hair logs in his left hand, the only Delfin on the scene who still wore the designated uniform of project 667BDRM dragged the other figure in dark color from head to toes back inside the cafeteria. “Nikasha, can you pretend you didn’t see that?”

          “Unfortunately, I can’t. But I can avoid telling Boss, if that’s what you want.” By such statement, it assumed that this incident better not get out of the scene. Keeping his stern posture, the eldest Fregat’s cold gray eyes only moved slightly as Tula sat his estranged brother at the table. “Welcome back, K-64. You deserved that for thinking eighteen years of absence warranted cutting off relationship with your siblings.”

            “But..really…” the android who possessed dirty blond hair just like Tula but with blue-gray eyes found it difficult to respond to the entire situation. He placed the Pryanik plate on a vacant spot on the table and reached for the ‘casualty’ of recent brief confrontation, “I don’t want to think how much Miss Arkhangelsk would be upset if he sustained any damage. Lucky that tray is in no way matched up to the strength of our inner head structure.”

            “Just wait until he gets punched by Kareliya because of…the face.” That calmly stated warning by Northern Fleet’s secretary almost caused the Atlant cruiser to jump up from his seat and warily scan the hallway on the other side of the glass for a sign of the youngest Delfin.

          “Ugh, no…not twice in less than an hour. Oryol, Yura…I recruit you to help me pin down Kareliya if that actually happens!”

----------

           Near the end of that day, the lone shark guarding the ‘gate’ of Sevmash/Zvyodochka shipyards received a text on his mobile phone from the ‘White Atlant’, “Big news, Seva! Tula manhandled Podmoskovye for refusing to acknowledge him as brother and Kareliya almost punched him afterward. Good thing I got Oryol and…someone else to help me prevent that!”