For a Song Pt. 03

"They did," I say as I set my little prize on the bed, "Apparently they got in after we went to bed."

"That late? Damn. Gerardine must have been deep in there."

I hum something at his choice of words, and he doesn't seem to pick up on it. He picks up the cup offered to him, takes an odd look at it, and sips.

"That's disgusting," he grimaces, "What is that?"

"Coffee. An acquired taste, probably. It's big near the Sepia. I think it comes from some of their trade routes. Don't know the whole story. Just that like it."

He considers his options briefly, before taking a biscuit and dunking it. That seems more palatable to him.

"Are the others up," he asks. I shake my head.

"No offense," I say, "But I'm not planning on staking out another meditation session."

He shoots me a look that's halfway between shock, confusion and something like respect.

"That's kind of what we do though," he whispers.

"I'm a contractor, remember? Not beholding to the threads that bind. Don't worry, I'm not planning on ditching you."

He brightens a bit, and I don't think it's completely from a professional standpoint.

"I just want to ask around a bit. That might give Gerardine some paths to consider when she communes. You and Blake can guard her, if that's what's worrying you."

He hums and twists his head, considering angles of attack.

"Hmmm," he says, "I don't know. You're kind of a devious one. So how about I stick with you, so you don't try anything funny."

I did admit to not having a soul. That's worrying. And I'm planning on deviations from a tried-and-true plan. That's also worrying. So, yes, it would make sense to have an official eye on me while I go about the official business unofficially.

"If you can get Blake and Gerardine on board, then be my guest," I say through another drink. The biscuits are good, if a little dry.

The rain keeps hitting the roof, the windows, the street, the entire town. Gawain shimmies and shuffles a bit, tenting our shard blanket over him and inviting me inside. It's warm in here with our shared breakfast and pattering rain. Gawain leans his head on my shoulder and starts humming a happy little song. It takes me a moment to realize what he's singing. I join in softly after a moment.

"No matter how big it is, it's time will come.

It will be reborn as something new.

The full moon, bright balloons

Only my feelings will ever grow," I half sing, half hum. He giggles a bit.

"My mom loves that song," I say once the moment dies down, "One of the few love songs she actually likes."

"That's a shame. I love love songs," he sighs, "How about you?"

"I prefer making love, if I can help it."

He giggles again as I turn and pounce on him. We have one last magical moment in us before the day comes in full force. I feel the colors of threads weaving around us. A glowing forge iron red is coming, and I want one last second of my own deep sapphire tined with rose pink. Gawain tastes like coffee and sleep as I put my lips to his. A knock on the door pulls us free and we have other things to do. Important things. Or at least important to someone.