Work Text:
Galatea City, Galatea, Lyran Commonwealth
20th October, 2984
Quartermaster Zafira Maeda never seemed to leave her office aboard the Vingilot.
Of course, Alaric knew this wasn't literally true. He'd seen her about the ship, usually in the mess hall or working out with the resistance bands in the rec room. But for the most part she was always in her broom closet of an office aboard the Union-class DropShip, fingers rapidly hammering at either the keyboard of her computer or her smaller noteputer. Sometimes there was coffee, once Alaric had sworn he'd spotted a wine glass. Not that he was judging, of course. If it wouldn't get him killed in combat he'd likely bring a flask into the cockpit of his Thunderbolt, Gallowglas.
Regardless, this sort of thing wouldn't even take up space in Alaric's mind, usually. Zafira's predecessor, Grant Koenig, had actively attempted to be a recluse. He'd been a good quartermaster and nice enough when forced into conversation for one reason or another, so unless it was explaining a requisition form, Alaric rarely thought about him.
But things were different with Zafira over the previous quartermaster primarily because on the occasions Alaric had spoken with her, it had been rather enjoyable. He normally spent his leisure time hanging out with the other MechWarriors of Glamdring Company, and he considered most of them to be friends. However, there was one significant interest of Alaric's that none of his comrades shared.
It had been such an innocuous thing. Commander Liu, commanding officer and CEO of the Rohan Riders mercenary outfit, had brought Zafira aboard the Vingilot, had caught Alaric as the MechWarrior had been heading for his billet to take a nap after lunch. That's what shore leave was truly for, after all. But Liu, five foot nothing in height, built like a battering ram, and scarier than a charging Atlas when it suited them, had summoned Alaric over.
"Lieutenant, this is Warrant Officer Zafira Maeda, the Vingilot's new quartermaster. Warrant Officer, this is Lieutenant Alaric Beorning. Give the Warrant Officer a show around. She'll be taking Koenig's old office, obviously. I've got a meeting with the MRB to get to." Liu had said, pointing a thumb over their shoulder.
Alaric had blinked at Liu, then looked at Zafira. The new quartermaster was a little taller than average and quite wiry, a pair of half-rim glasses perched on her aquiline nose. She had olive skin and black hair that had been cropped short. Dark freckles were dusted across her cheeks and nose.
Alaric was only an inch or two taller than Zafira, fit as MechWarriors needed to be but neither brawny nor lean. He was quite pale, with long auburn hair he kept tied back. A shrapnel scar traced a line from below his left nostril to under his left ear, which was missing the lobe.
"Uh, yes, Commander. Will do." Alaric had confirmed, masking his disappointment at being withheld from the comforting embrace of his bunk.
Liu had departed, leaving Alaric and Zafira alone in one of the Vingilot's narrow hallways.
"Ever been on a Union-class before?" Alaric had asked.
"No." Zafira had said simply.
And so Alaric had begun to show her around, which had gone about as one might have expected showing a new employee around would go. Zafira had a way of speaking that had thrown Alaric off at first; not blunt, but direct and without dissembling. What had given Alaric pause, however, was when he'd been showing her the 'Mech bay, standing on a high catwalk and indicating the Thunderbolt TDR-5Sd that he piloted. Alaric had been explaining how essentially all of the original technology had been replaced after two centuries of service in various armies and mercenary commands.
"…but it's still a reliable old warhorse. It's like Helding wrote; 'take away my flesh and bone, what I am endures even so.'" The Alaric had said. Spouting off such quotations had earned him no end of teasing from his fellow MechWarriors.
"Zulifkar." Zafira had said.
"Hm?" Alaric had grunted, one eyebrow raised.
"That line you quoted is originally from Zulifkar's 'Oasis of the Soul' from 2799. Helding wrote 'The Blasted Fields of Hesperes' in 2806. Zulifkar was only really popular on Alpheratz where he was born, however. Helding happened upon a novelized version of the script in a secondhand bookstore on New Avalon and plagiarized a fair amount of 'Oasis of the Soul', knowing that."
Alaric had been flabbergasted. "Huh. Really?"
"Really." Zafira had said, her eye contact almost unflinching.
"Well. Damn. I liked Helding. Seeing 'Ivory Bones and Blank Screens' back home on Northwind got me into theater when I was a kid. Can't act for shit, but I like watching." Alaric had said.
"That was his earlier work, regardless. You are probably still fine to enjoy it. Although it has been called into question what else might he plagiarized, doesn't it?"
So the conversation had gone, to the point where Alaric had forgotten about his desired nap. And when he encountered Zafira in the mess hall a few days later, another had happened, this time not about theater but about cooking, of all things. That had been the way of things for a few months; like two autistic celestial bodies briefly aligning in orbit before passing by.
Alaric, having found himself looking forward to those conversation more and more, had finally decided it was time to stop waiting for them and do something about it. A MechWarrior faced down searing lasers and the hail of missile and shell. There was nothing to fear here, in comparison.
Thus, there Zafira was, studiously at work in her little office, the door open. She wore the same green and gold jumpsuit most people did when on duty aboard the Vingilot, face focused on the screen of her computer terminal when Alaric approached and knocked on the doorframe.
"Alaric. What did you need?" Zafira asked, eyes studiously dashing back and forth as if reading something on screen.
Alaric looked for some sign of how she felt about his arrival in her expression, but as per usual there was very little to be read there. He decided to get right into it.
"Well, don't really need anything. Just came by to see if you wanted to get off the ship for a few hours. We are on shore leave, after all." Alaric said, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. A glance at the walls revealed anatomical pencil sketches of various flowers. Diagrams more than sketches, really, something Alaric had taken note of previously.
"I intend to at some point. I'm merely double-checking some forms we have to submit to the MRB while we're on Galatea." A pause. "Triple-checking, really." Another pause. "Why are you here, then?"
"Calli told me there's an amphitheater in some botanical gardens in the city." Alaric explained, referring to the commander of his Lance, Captain Calliope Grey. She had been a primary driving force in bullying Alaric to make this invitation and stop mooning from a distance. "Some local players I keep forgetting the name of are putting on an adaptation of Centrella-Sangzan's 'Ask Me Again Tomorrow' this evening. Figured you might be interested in seeing it, too."
This, finally, caused Zafira to look up from her work and affix Alaric with an analytical expression.
"Are you inviting me on a date, Alaric?" She asked.
Steeling himself against a flare of anxiety, Alaric replied, "if you want it to be. But it doesn't have to be. I'm going one way or another and figured it might be something you'd enjoy. Wouldn't bother me if we just went as friends." He affected a casual shrug, doing his best to convey that he truly was fine with either option.
Showing none of the trepidation Alaric himself felt, Zafira was silent for several long moments. The MechWarrior prepared himself for a refusal and was already formulating an unbothered response to it.
"Give me one hour." Zafira said.
Alaric blinked. "One hour to…decide?"
"One hour to get ready." Zafira clarified, shutting down her terminal.
"Oh. Great. Uh. Take two if you need it. No hurry." Alaric assured her with a broad smile.
"One will suffice." Zafira said, rising from her seat. "We will meet at the mess hall."
"Sure. Sounds good. See you then." Alaric said, realizing a bit too late he'd been so focused on this part he'd put no thought into what he'd wear.
"There is no dress code for this event, I take it." Zafira said as she came around her desk.
"If there is, I'll probably be breaking it." Alaric said.
A soft breath escaped Zafira's nose. Alaric thought it had been a sigh or a scoff at first, but he saw the slight upward turn of one corner of her mouth and realized it had been a laugh. Buoyed by that, he decided to call it a win.
"Alright. I will see you in an hour." Zafira confirmed, following Alaric out of her office and closing the door.
They parted ways. Alaric took a shower, shaved away his stubble, then returned to his billet, considering his rather limited wardrobe. His dress uniform was far too formal, his fatigues a little too far on the other end of the spectrum. This wasn't exactly a high brow play or venue, so he said fuck it and dressed casually in a dark thermal shirt and jeans. Everything was clean and free of holes so he figured that would do. After some internal debate on which of his hats to wear, he opted for a flat cap of grey wool. Alaric was well aware his chosen aesthetic, especially the hat, was not for everyone, and normally he didn't care, but he did wonder if Zafira would think he looked stupid.
Only one way to find out.
When the time came, Alaric was standing at the door to the mess hall, trying not to look nervous. Between crew members and soldiers, a Union-class DropShip had less than one hundred people aboard, and so everyone knew Alaric, and he knew everyone else. No one stopped to ask what was up, but pretty much everyone could see through Alaric's affected nonchalance.
Zafira arrived as promised, almost exactly one hour after agreeing to do so. Notably, she had removed her glasses for the first time Alaric could recall. The quartermaster wore a simple caftan of teal linen trimmed with white and belted at her waist. Her lips were a shade or two darker than usual, and she'd applied a thin bit of eye liner as well. A canvas tote bag was draped over one shoulder.
Alaric smiled as Zafira approached. He'd always thought her to be quite attractive, but the simple difference in attire from what he normally saw had a way of reinforcing that fact.
"Alaric. I am ready if you are." Zafira said as she approached, her fingers laced before her in a way that gave far more gravity than an outing like this perhaps required.
"Sure am. I like your outfit. That's a nice color." Alaric noted, indicating her caftan.
"Oh? Thank you. I'm just glad it fits. I haven't worn it in years." Zafira said, looking down at herself.
"Figured we'd get dinner beforehand. That sound good?." Alaric said.
"It does. There are eleven places around the venue that we could go to and still have a reasonable amount time to reach the amphitheater on time." Zafira said, producing her noteputer from her bag. "I have them listed here in order of closeness. I would suggest something in the middle. The closest places will probably be busy with people attending the performance like us."
Alaric blinked a few times. "Oh. Wow. You like to be prepared, then."
"I do." Zafira confirmed with a bob of her head.
"Heh. Probably better than my plan to wing it", Alaric said, looking at the list. "Hm. Any preferences?"
"Anything other than sushi." Zafira said.
"No sushi. I can work with that." Alaric confirmed. "Hm. Here. 'Nona Vizzini's Authentic Terran Italian Cuisine.' I do love pasta. Kitschy name means it's either going to be the best we've ever eaten or worse than MREs."
"Only one way to find out." Zafira said.
They left the Vingilot behind, catching a taxi from the terminal outside the spaceport. They sat in the back, partitioned from the chipper driver, watching the towers capital of the Mercenary Star slowly pass on either side.
"You know, haven't met many people who don't like sushi. Texture thing?" Alaric asked, more to make conversation than anything else.
"Yes. It didn't help that I was forced to eat it quite often for most of my life." Zafira said. She had her fingers laced in front of her again, something Alaric hadn't seen her do before that day.
"Forced to eat sushi?" Alaric repeated a bit incredulously.
"Yes. I don't think I've told you yet, but my parents are minor nobility, samurai, on Kazanka." Zafira began.
"Think I've heard of the planet. It's big in laser production, right?" Alaric asked.
"Yes. It's on the border with the Outworlds Alliance. Our ancestral Dragon 'Mech, Ancalagon, is fitted with laser weapons manufactured on-world. Anyway, House Kurita encourages the Combine's nobility to emulate ancient Japan, a nation on Terra. Some do so more than others. And my father is one of the people who does it more, even regarding what my family ate." Zafira said. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly. "It was unpleasant."
"I can imagine. Here I thought I had it rough being forced to eat cilantro by my mom one time." Alaric recalled.
"Cilantro?" Zafira repeated.
"Yeah. Tasted like soap. Anyway, pretty sure no one's going to be making you eat sushi anytime soon around here. If they do, I'll pitch them out an airlock for you." Alaric said with a chuckle. It seemed her family was not a pleasant subject so he considered where to turn the conversation.
Another barely noticeable laugh from Zafira.
"That's good." She said. "I haven't had to since I left home…seven standard years ago. I was eighteen. My older sister pilots Ancalagon in the Galedon Regulars so I had no 'Mech to bring with me. I've always been good with numbers, though. This is the third mercenary command I've worked for, and the first time I've been head quartermaster of a ship."
"Huh. That's right about when I left Northwind. About the same age, too." Alaric recalled.
"I see. Is your family still there?" Zafira asked.
"Sure are. My dad teaches physics at Northwind Military Academy and my mom's a physical therapist at the veteran's hospital there. I had it pretty good compared to a lot of people, enough that when I said I wanted to go to NMA to become a MechWarrior it was pretty much a done deal." Alaric explained.
"You didn't join the Highlanders?" Zafira asked.
Another chuckle from Alaric, this one rather rueful. "I did. I was with the 1st Kearny Highlanders at first. We struck it big on some salvage fighting the Eridani Light Horse, so I managed to buy the Blackjack off them, save up for a few years, then sell that old scrap heap to get the rest of the C-Bills I needed for a down payment on Gallowglas."
"A debt the Riders bought out when you joined three years ago. You could have negotiated a better interest rate fairly easily, by the way." Zafira said.
"Could I? Eh, whatever. It's lower than the last one." Alaric waved it off.
"You are much more nonchalant about money than most mercenaries are." Zafira noted.
"I mean, I've never really been what you'd call poor so maybe I'd see it differently if I had been. As it stands, I figure you can't take it with you when you go, so, why worry over it if you've got enough?" Alaric said with a shrug.
"When you go where?" Zafira asked, head tilting slightly.
"As in 'when you die'." Alaric said.
"Oh. I've never heard that turn of phrase." Zafira said. She scratched her chin. "Why did you leave the Highlanders?"
Alaric stopped a frown from forming. "Eh, they're what you might call 'cliquey.' Not a great place to be if you don't fit their mold. It is what it is. I'm happy here with the Riders." It was a hell of a way to write off several years of constant bullying but there was no reason to bring the mood down.
The taxi stopped. Alaric paid the fare and they both go out.
Alaric, having no real concept of what "authentic Italian" was in any respect, could not have said whether or not the establishment calling itself Nona Vizzini's was living up to its claims. They ate on an outdoor patio shrouded by plastic trellises threaded through with fake leafy vines. Very twangy music backing someone singing in Italian played from staticky speakers. In spite of all the tackiness, the food was actually quite delicious.
The conversation over dinner began on the subject of the playwright of the night's show, Veronica Centrella-Sangzan, a distant cousin of the Magestrix of Canopus, Tamara Centrella. Eventually, it came to the subject of their favorite plays.
"…but then, Segawa's 'Last Words' also resonated with me. I think if I truly had to pick a favorite, it would be that." Zafira decided, gently swirling her glass of wine as she spoke. She was emoting a little bit more than Alaric had seen previously, and he didn't think it had anything to do with the wine. She just seemed more…comfortable.
"Not heard of that one. What's it about?" Alaric asked. His own wine glass was empty and he didn't intend on any refills. No sense going to the show sloshed.
"It's set during the Civil War. It follows four strangers trapped in a bunker on Epsilon Indi after the Amaris forces hit the planet with nuclear weapons. I can't really explain it in a way that conveys the solemnity of it all, but it's a play about the protagonists slowly running out of food and losing contact with their surviving loved ones in other shelters, the bonds that form and break between them during the weeks they're trapped. It's…well, it's haunting. It's always stuck with me. I've never seen anyone else manage to somehow convey such bleak hopelessness alongist melancholy hope for the future all at once. I don't want to spoil it for you, if you ever get a chance, you really should see it, even a taping of it." Zafira said, daring to approach something that might be called enthusiasm.
Alaric was silent for a few moments, sipping from a glass of water, not wanting to interrupt in case Zafira had more to say. He had not heard her say so much uninterrupted.
And, oddly, Zafira's shoulder slumped forward a little, the little widening of her eyes levering down the millimeters necessary to bring about her usual neutral expression.
"Is something wrong?" Alaric asked.
"I rambled. I've been told people don't like it when I ramble." Zafira said. Her usual businesslike tone was stark now.
"I can't speak for anyone else but I can tell you that you're welcome to 'ramble' around me whenever you want. You know. When you feel like it." Alaric said with an easy shrug.
"…do not tease me." Zafira accused with a low mutter.
"I'm not. I mean it. And fuck whoever says otherwise." Alaric insisted.
A few other tables looked his way for saying "fuck" rather loudly. He ignored them.
Zafira looked him in the eyes for what Alaric realized was the first time. They were a lovely, dark shade of brown. She was searching for some sign that he was mocking her, he realized. Alaric met her gaze readily, letting her take all the time she needed.
Zafira's noteputer began to quietly beep. She pulled it out and looked at it.
"We have five minutes to depart for the botanical garden and arrive with some time to view the flowers and get to the amphitheater. I will pay for dinner since you paid for the taxi and the tickets." Zafira said.
"Sounds good to me." Alaric said with a smile, glad she was making time for the flowers.
"Your smile is nice." Zafira said.
The compliment being delivered with Zafira's signature bluntness threw Alaric through a bit of a loop. It took him some time to recover, time Zafira used to flag down their waiter and get the check.
"Well. Thank you…", Alaric said, clearing his throat, feeling his face get warm.
"You're welcome." Zafira said.
Zafira paid the bill and they left the restaurant, walking the couple of blocks necessary to get to the botanical garden. Walking paths snaked between a rainbow's worth of different flowers, interspersed among a variety of trees and wide-leafed ferns. There was, as one would expect, a distinctly floral scent in the air. Fireflies flitted lazily among the vegetation. Once they were in among the plants Zafira produced a pencil and small sketchpad from her tote.
"Please tell me when showtime is twenty-five minutes away." Zafira requested.
"You'll be the first to know." Alaric said happily.
He followed Zafira. She rapidly scratched out a few rough reference sketches for some flowers, taking photos with her noteputer with others. Alaric expected in-depth explanations about the nature of each flower down to their scientific names, but Zafira was mostly silent. At one point, however, she did confess, "I know very little about flowers. I just like drawing them. Sorry if this is boring for you."
It seemed the idea that Alaric wouldn't want to tag along with her artistic endeavor was only just then occurring to her.
"Nope. Saw the walls in your office and figured you'd want to do something like this. By all means, continue. Just means I get to zone out and relax." Alaric said.
"I fear you have planned this entire evening for my sake." Zafira said, her pencil stopping in place.
"Said like someone who doesn't realize how much I enjoyed the agnolotti back at Nona Vizinni's." Alaric pointed out.
Zafira's lips thinned into a line. "You're dodging."
"Not really. I do as little as possible that I don't want to do. Have do to some things, that's just life. Tonight's a 'what I want to do' night. That includes following you around right now. So don't worry about it, eh?" Alaric said.
Zafira considered him, the tip of her pencil gently tapping at a blank page of her sketchbook.
"You're sure?" The quartermaster insisted.
"I'm sure. No need to feel guilty; let yourself enjoy this. Weather's good. Food was good. Company's great, if I say so myself. The play can be shit and I'll still call tonight a win." Alaric said.
Zafira's lips pursed off to one side like she was considering a particularly difficult math problem. Given how good she was with numbers, Alaric feared with all his soul the abomination of arithmetic that Zafira would consider difficult.
"It is about time we made for the amphitheater." Zafira said, putting her things away.
Alaric kept to himself a comment along the lines of, now who's dodging? Instead, he said, "sure thing."
As the two of them began walking, Zafira said, "you know, you never got the chance to say what your favorite play was over dinner."
"Eh? Oh, kinda feel silly admitting this after your answer, but it's Shakespeare's 'Henry V' and it's almost entirely because of the Saint Crispin's Day speech." Alaric confessed with a sheepish grin.
Another of Zafira's slight grins preceded, "it's fitting."
As for the production they saw that evening, it was…fairly good. "Ask Me Again Tomorrow" was a dark comedy about a fictional First Lord of the Star League who was being continuously lied to by his advisors about an advanced civilization of insectoid aliens discovered on the League's border. The farcical nature of the play went so far as the scheming advisors convincing the First Lord that a diplomat from the aliens was actually Kerensky returned from the Deep Periphery. Most of the jokes landed, which was the important part, but one of the advisors who was a recurring minor character had a bad habit of upstaging his compatriots.
Overall, Alaric had seen far worse. He'd peered over at Zafira a lot to see if she was laughing and enjoying herself. For the most part the quartermaster had an expression on her face that said she was analyzing what was going on upon the stage with the same gravity as she might a play as serious as her beloved "Last Words."
When it was over they left the amphitheater and caught a taxi back to the spaceport, mostly talking about what went right and wrong on stage with what they had just seen. Alaric found himself wishing the taxi would get lost or something. He didn't want the night to end. But no good thing lasted forever, and before long the two of them were outside the Vingilot, looking up at the Union-class DropShip.
Zafira once again had her fingers laced in front of her.
"Thank you for inviting me out this evening, Alaric. I really enjoyed myself." Zafira said, turning toward him.
"I'm glad. I did, too." Alaric said. Zafira had made no comment on whether or not the outing had been considered a date, and Alaric decided there was no need to push for an answer. Why over-complicate a good thing?
Zafira looked up at him, then over to the Vingilot, then back to Alaric. "I guess we should be getting back in there, then."
"Yeah, was going to happen eventually." Alaric sighed, not hiding his disappointment.
"Yes. Well. I will see you around the ship. Goodnight, Alaric." Zafira said.
"Goodnight, Zafira." He said in return, offering one last smile.
Zafira nodded to him, turning away and beginning to walk toward the ship.
Letting out a wistful sigh, not loud enough to be heard, Alaric turned his back on the ship, reaching into a pocket for a pack of cigarettes. Smoking aboard ship was strictly prohibited due to the unnecessary strain on the air filters, but he still enjoyed one from time to time.
Alaric was just getting his lighter out when, from behind him, Zafira said, "Alaric."
Cigarette perched between his lips, Alaric turned around to see Zafira standing at the foot of the stairs that led up into the Vingilot's 'Mech bay, hand on the door frame.
"Yes?" He prompted.
A beat passed.
"Should I look forward to a second date?" Zafira asked.
Alaric felt a jump somewhere right through the middle of him.
"I'd certainly be happy if you did." The Mechwarrior said.
She nodded again, then disappeared into the ship.
Alaric looked at the empty space at the bottom of the stairs for a few seconds, then turned away from the Vingilot once again.
"Date." The MechWarrior repeated as he lit his cigarette. He smiled from ear to ear as a puff of smoke curled away from his lips. "Second date."