The sunlight was warm on his face as it streamed through the window that morning. The phone in his hands likewise, showing one video after another. It was one of his guilty pleasures — watching a couple cat videos as he waited for Paris to get ready in the morning. He sat on the toilet, his phone loading another short video of a cat that apparently adopted some ducklings, while Paris carefully applied makeup to an already pretty face.
He didn’t understand why Paris bothered sometimes. She was beautiful in every way, although he could respect her desire to make herself feel comfortable around others, and if makeup and rollers helped, then he wasn’t going to judge. After all, he too spent plenty of time on his own appearance, at least where his hair was concerned.
A shadow crossed over the window, and Chris glanced up to see a small group of birds at the feeder he and Paris had placed outside late in the fall. They were mostly song birds — a couple jays, some finches, others he was unsure of. They were fascinating to watch, but a few peeps from his phone drew his attention back to the video on the screen.
“I think Serge had a thing for birds,” he said absently as he watched the video.
Paris paused from what she was doing to give him an odd look through the mirror.
“I haven’t seen anything about birds,” she said, holding the blush brush away from her face for a few moments as if to ponder the observation, but she soon went back to lightly skimming the soft bristles on the apples of her cheeks and up.
Chris shrugged lightly, tapping on the next video once the previous one had finished. “I just… I was reminded of something I saw the last time I went…”
He didn't make the trip often, not with the sort of dedication Paris had come to show, and he wasn't nearly as interested in the past as his spouse seemed to be, but he would occasionally go to spent a half an hour to an hour investigating the fortress and observing an infrequent memory or two. Like he was paying his respects. He did it not entirely because he wanted to, but because he felt obligated to do so. It seemed important to Paris for whatever reason, so Chris figured he should at least try to make an effort.
Still, he wasn't sure it would matter in the long run. Memories from a thousand years ago weren't always dependable, after all.
The most recent hadn't been any less confusing than all the others.
Quote:
It was always stormy on Jupiter. The degree of severity varied, of course, but in his years there Serge had never seen it stop raining for more than a day or so . And even then, nothing ever seemed to dry out completely. The locals never seemed to mind it, though — the rain brought life, and the strange way the sun refracted light through the otherwise dense clouds kept the planet lush and green.
But even on a relatively fair weather day, Serge was busy at his desk. He wasn’t drafting maps or working on Valhallan business, but instead had a small box of tiny gears, springs, and prongs set before him. He sat behind the desk, peering through a large magnifying glass as a pair of thin tweezers went to work reconstructing something small and silver.
“What are you doing?” the voice of a young man asked from the door to the room. Serge didn’t have to look up to know Liesel had returned — from the library, most likely. Reading wasn’t something Serge particularly enjoyed, but it seemed to ease Liesel's mind.
He also had a pretty good idea as to why the question had been asked with a hint of distress. It wasn’t just any knick-knack Serge was tinkering with, but the pocket-watch Liesel had given him.
“Valkyrie’s old compass got busted up… I’m giving her a new home,” Serge explained as if that were obvious, his eyebrows furrowing with concentration. His expression looked mildly disappointed — in the old compass for breaking now of all times, in himself for being unable to keep it in one piece.
But maybe this would be better.
Liesel seemed incredulous.
“You're using the pocket-watch I gave you to hold your bird?” he asked.
Serge responded with a shrug as he continued to tinker, carefully adding what looked like a a third watch hand inlaid with green stone. It looked quite natural there with the two pre-existing hands.
“Valkyrie is not just any bird,” he said by way of explanation.
“You knights and your spirit creatures,” Liesel mumbled from the door.
Serge's mouth twitched into a smirk. “This way I can keep my two most important possessions in one place,” he said.
He raised his eyes to lay a significant glance upon the eagle brooch pinned to Liesel's jacket, more than aware of the sudden rush of color into Liesel's cheeks. When Liesel seemed as if he had no further argument, Serge returned to his work.
But even on a relatively fair weather day, Serge was busy at his desk. He wasn’t drafting maps or working on Valhallan business, but instead had a small box of tiny gears, springs, and prongs set before him. He sat behind the desk, peering through a large magnifying glass as a pair of thin tweezers went to work reconstructing something small and silver.
“What are you doing?” the voice of a young man asked from the door to the room. Serge didn’t have to look up to know Liesel had returned — from the library, most likely. Reading wasn’t something Serge particularly enjoyed, but it seemed to ease Liesel's mind.
He also had a pretty good idea as to why the question had been asked with a hint of distress. It wasn’t just any knick-knack Serge was tinkering with, but the pocket-watch Liesel had given him.
“Valkyrie’s old compass got busted up… I’m giving her a new home,” Serge explained as if that were obvious, his eyebrows furrowing with concentration. His expression looked mildly disappointed — in the old compass for breaking now of all times, in himself for being unable to keep it in one piece.
But maybe this would be better.
Liesel seemed incredulous.
“You're using the pocket-watch I gave you to hold your bird?” he asked.
Serge responded with a shrug as he continued to tinker, carefully adding what looked like a a third watch hand inlaid with green stone. It looked quite natural there with the two pre-existing hands.
“Valkyrie is not just any bird,” he said by way of explanation.
“You knights and your spirit creatures,” Liesel mumbled from the door.
Serge's mouth twitched into a smirk. “This way I can keep my two most important possessions in one place,” he said.
He raised his eyes to lay a significant glance upon the eagle brooch pinned to Liesel's jacket, more than aware of the sudden rush of color into Liesel's cheeks. When Liesel seemed as if he had no further argument, Serge returned to his work.
Chris could only wonder what Serge had meant about his two most important possessions. Whatever this “Valkyrie” happened to be must have been one of them. The other...
A small portrait of Liesel had been placed on the inside lid of the pocket-watch, Chris knew. Had Serge meant the pocket-watch itself, or Liesel?
He shifted uncomfortably and frowned, looking toward Paris as he wondered what interest she could possibly have in a relationship that, to Chris, didn't seem entirely healthy. As for the bird... he had no idea what that was supposed to be.
With a sigh he asked, “Do you want to come with me to Valhalla tonight?”
