Ugly Duckling [Florian]

[Eitan Angevin]

70th Searing, 121 Steel

The Noble Gambit had docked at one of the many spires the day before, looking none the worse for wear even as wounded airmen and a few severely wounded outpost soldiers were transferred for intensive care. The captain had debarked to deliver reports, but today he was back and Eitan Angevin was among those who were granted some leave. He traveled light between his berth on the airship and his suite at the Angevin Estate, having everything he needed in both places.

As he emerged onto the deck and headed for the gangplank, he noticed Florian Albrecht idling there on deck. He knew the Lysanrin was on leave as well, being in charge of the duty roster. He knew the Lysanrin had a flophouse apartment; he even knew the address from his file. He didn't know why his charge seemed unsure whether to debark or remain.

"Come along, Albrecht," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. It was somewhere between a genuine, brusque sort of camaraderie and that overcompensating masculinity that one found often in the military. "You ought to have been the first one offboard given the chance, eh? Oh—no, all right. That wasn't the injured shoulder."

He paused at the taffrail and looked out over the splendor of the High City. It was a view that inspired him to excel and to fight. He didn't know what it meant to Albrecht, but if the Lysanrin had sworn an oath to protect it against enemies, foreign and domestic, he was content to let him prove his mettle and his worth. He was doing everything reasonably within his power to support that, after all, and he supposed Albrecht would be suitably gracious and grateful when he saw the fruits of his labors.

"Care for a drink?" he asked, dark eyebrow rising. "We're comrades-in-arms now. I rather owe you one for taking a fireball to the face, eh?" He chuckled at his own jest, the clear twisting of the tale. That was how they began, even in the military: a story was embellished until it was hardly recognizable as the truth anymore. But it had started out true. Truth, sometimes, was malleable.

[Florian]

Florian rarely had time to watch the city from such heights. He was usually working while they were docked, and his home was nowhere near the greatest heights the city had to offer. As the sun shone over Zaichaer, the Lysanrin could feel little but anger.

It dissipated some at the appearance of Commander Angevin, as reluctant as he would have been to admit it. The XO had not been easy on him, but he had also not been mean. That had to count for something, and perhaps the city was not entirely terrible. But he could not dare to expect that many would be like him. It was not enough to keep Florian from flinching when he touched him, however. The sudden clap on the shoulder was his most obvious jump yet, though he was not nearly as scared as he would have been had it been someone else. He had seen the same gesture between the other airmen. It was normal, and he had no reason to be scared.

Suitably soothed, Florian looked up at Commander Angevin beside him. "A drink? Sure." Perhaps it would be okay to drink with him around. At the very least, he could count on the fact that a member of the Order with him in tow would keep him safe if his own guard wasn't in top shape. "A fireball to the face, indeed. Is that how the story goes, now?"

He started down the gangplank. Florian did not have many belongings to begin with, let alone much to transport between his own apartment and the ship. He had but one thing with sentimental value, and it was hidden, locked away in his room. "Where should we go, then? I'm not familiar with anywhere serving drinks nearby..." He smiled. "Unless you're keen on going to the Knob." He was being uncharacteristically cheeky. "But you may even look out of place there."

Florian continued on. "I'll need to bring my things home sooner rather than later, though..." He looked down at his bag, as near-empty as it was. "But that may be too much of a detour."

[Eitan Angevin]

"You will be the stuff legends are made of," he said with a grin, ushering Albrecht to walk ahead of him down the gangplank. It was, in part, politesse. It was also a captain-going-down-with-the-ship mentality, though he wasn't captain; but he would get every crew member offboard and to safety before he saw to his own. Perhaps in some shadowy corner of his mind, he didn't want a Lysanrin walking behind him on a gangplank over so much open air, but it didn't occur to him to be afraid of Albrecht. Of course, he was leery of his power and his mental state, but he didn't think that Albrecht had murder on his mind. He wouldn't have made it this far without being sussed out.

"Well, I'm traveling lighter than you," he noted. "Why don't we head in the direction of your apartment and find a place where I'll be stared at as much as you will. In the interest of fairness." He chuckled.

A part of him was curious to see the place in Verowa End that Albrecht called home, but there was no real need for him to see it, and so he defaulted to being polite and waiting for an invitation. But he supposed it was more likely Albrecht would see the Angevin Estate before he saw Verowa End, especially if the Admiral caught wind of this new assignment. He was likely to make it akin to his own experiment with Eitan, proving that a mongrel could be made into a man with at least halfway decent breeding and a proper upbringing. He found he was clenching his jaw and forced himself to relax before he needed dental work.

"How does that sound?" It wasn't an order; it was up to Albrecht. Angevin wasn't the sort of leader who needed to hold onto his authority with white-knuckled desperation so long as he could count on his crew to snap to attention and execute orders when it mattered.

[Florian]

"Oh, you want to go there, then?" A part of Florian was thankful. At the very least, more Lysanrin inhabited Verowa End than anywhere else in Zaichaer, and he would hardly stand out from any other. Humans weren't uncommon, either, and Florian doubted that anyone knew or cared about a random officer on a random airship, even if he were also in the Order.

"Ahh, it'll be a walk, but we can stop at my place first. I think the Copper Cut has the nicest places to drink and it's not too far." He pulled his bag up around his shoulder. "From my apartment, I mean. It's pretty far from here." Florian walked along, a confident stride unbefitting for how anxious he always seemed onboard. He wasn't sure if he just felt more in his element away from the military, or if he were just in a good mood. It was noticeable either way.

"Ah! I need to visit my mother. Maybe tomorrow, she might be busy tonight..." He was talking out loud to himself, his eyes darting from a passing sign and back to Angevin. "Is anyone waiting for you at home?" It was, perhaps, the first time that Flor had tried to pry into Angevin's personal life. He was curious about what the man did outside of the ZADC. If he was receptive, he might even try to ask more questions. For now, he was testing the waters.

In exchange, Florian started to share a bit about himself. "I just have my mother. Not sure if she has any other family - it's always been the two of us." As he spoke, he realized it may have sounded a bit pitiful to anyone else. He did not often talk about himself, and he did not often have anyone to talk to besides her, anyway. Now that he thought about it, it was rare that he had a lasting friend. Not that he yet considered the XO a friend, as much as a somewhat friendly superior who had, for whatever inscrutable reason, sought to reinforce his own power with his. Whatever implications that held could come later.

Florian was well versed in ignoring stares and glances from strangers on the street, and those very same glances became both less frequent and more intense the closer they got to the Knob, until they disappeared entirely in Verowa End. It looked, felt, and smelled like home.

A squat two-story building held Florian's apartment, only one room and sparsely furnished. He reached into his duffle for the key and unlocked the door. "You can come in if you'd like, but there's not much." Perhaps the most interesting facet of the room was the broken bit of horn, lying on a pillow and locked in a case on his bedside table. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust from his absence, but it was otherwise tidy.

[Eitan Angevin]

Angevin was game to answer surface questions, at least, and he made it clear he wasn't daunted by a bit of walking.

"Nobody's waiting for me at home," he assured him. "That's nice, though. Having someone. I was, ah—a mistake. My father took me in anyway, though, after my mother was long gone. His wife never took a shine to me for obvious reasons. I have three half-sisters. One of them is comfortable ignoring the 'half-' prefix, but we aren't close." He shrugged, though, not bothered by it, or so it would seem. Nothing seemed strange to children about their families until they started comparing them to others. "So the Corps is sort of my family."

He left it at that and Albrecht could think whatever he wished about that. Nothing in Angevin's manner begged for pity, though he might have been a piteous boy at some point. Perhaps that was why he took a scrawny Lysanrin recruit under his wing, or at least that afforded Albrecht some warmth whereas the mere assignment would not have asked for it.

The man pointed out a few things: points of interest, points of annotation. At least in the nicer areas of town, he shared trivia to pass the time. He knew the other parts of town less, and given certain events, perhaps he ought not to be going for a drink down there, but the decision had been made. At the door, he was invited, albeit nervously, and he was polite enough to accept with thanks. He looked around without a sneer or any sign of disdain. While he wouldn't trade his luxurious rooms for this, he could see how it might be nice to have a place of his own that wasn't attached to the Admiral and all the weight of the Angevin name. But even though Albrecht was clearly devoted to his mother, he had a space of his own.

"I'm glad your bunk is tidier than this," he jibed, though gently. "It'll be neglected, though, whenever we leave port."

His eyes fell upon the memento in the glass box, and while he lingered, clearly interested, he didn't ask.

[Florian]

Florian dumped his duffel bag and roamed around for a few minutes with a cloth he had grabbed from some corner of the room, dusting off important bits. By the time he reached the glass case holding his horn, he had noticed Angevin looking at it. "If you were wondering, it happened when I was seventeen. I used to get into quite a few fights," He paused, holding his hand to his face in thought. "Different fight than the one that gave me this scar." He pointed to his nose, his voice quiet.

"I suppose I've never been shy of scraps." He looked down at the case, a bit forlorn. "Sometimes I wonder if I can have it repaired, somehow. For now I just...keep it. It reminds me not to get angry at people." Florian knew as much as anyone how useful a tool anger could be. He had used his anger to fuel the strengthening of his aether siphoning, and it had gotten him somewhere, at least. "The Copper Cut isn't far from here." He was louder now, more cheerful, and he set the cleaning cloth on the table. "They've got some truly heinous drinks even closer, but I always thought the Cut's got more...palatable...drinks. And they've got their fair share of Lysanrin patrons."

"I don't imagine you've been down here often." He remarked as he opened the door and pocketed the key. "Now that I think about it, I don't think anyone but me — and my mother, of course — have been in here." He scanned the room and held the door open for Angevin. "I can't imagine what it's like where you live. I overheard some about your family. Other than what you mentioned, I mean. It took me far too long to make the connection." He paused, and then decided to not further comment.

Compared to the walk here, they arrived in the Copper Cut in a flash, the sun low in the sky but not yet set. It was much nicer than even Verowa End, and that neighborhood was one of the cleaner in the Knob. "I think..." Florian mumbled as he strolled down the street, eyeing each sign. "This place was okay." He opened the door to a nondescript tavern. It was certainly multicultural, with a variety of races mingling, drinking, and eating. The Lysanrin hardly looked out of place, even with a few wary glances thrown his way at entry.

Florian took a seat at the bar, though he didn't order anything to drink quite yet. He held his arm to the seat next to him. "I suppose it's me taking you to drinks now, eh?"

[Eitan Angevin]

Angevin was mildly chagrined, hoping Albrecht wasn't doing some light dusting on his account. His comment had been thoughtless, really; he understood the privelege of having servants to dust his room and wash his skivvies. He was going to have to be more careful with his words around the Lysanrin since they were going to have to form a sort of partnership to keep him afloat, and to keep Angevin afloat as well since he would be held accountable if Albrecht sucked the aether out of the Noble Gambit's wards in order to blow a fiery hole through her in a fit of pique.

He nodded a touch gravely at the explanation, eyes staring momentarily at his broken-off horn before his eyes met the changeable gaze of his subordinate.

"Anger is only useful if you can channel it," he opined quietly, nodding and letting Albrecht see him out and off to the Copper Cut. He was cheerful enough as they walked, though he had some qualms about being the minority in a bar full of Lysanrin. He told himself, though, that he ought to put his money where his mouth was when it came to giving a little trust in order to receive it in kind. And he was thinking about the horn that Albrecht kept to remind him to keep his anger in check.

His thoughts moved like clockwork, though some of them were not in the forefront of his mind just now.

But once they were inside, the mix of races seemed a bit seedy, but at least there was no majority who might take umbrage with an officer of the Air Defense Corps. He tended to spend a fair amount of time in uniform, both because he wanted his crew to see him that way and because his father was an Admiral and basically lived in his own uniform. But there were still patriots down here, and so he decided to remain relaxed but vigilant, as ever.

"You suggested the venue, but I will be buying the drinks," he said with a smile and a wink. When the bartender came by, he ordered, "Two shots of schnapps, and... what would you like to sip on?" And he nodded along with whatever Albrecht chose, thanking the bartender politely.

"As for my family, well... 'tis an honor to be the son of Lir Angevin, but of course, I am not the son of his wife, so while that scandal has mostly been put into the ground, it comes up occasionally when someone wants to make a slight. Anyway, I was afforded many creature comforts, an excellent education, but I was never truly welcome in my own home. And I understand why. My stepmother had to smile and pretend everything was fine with her husband's bastard living in the same house with her daughters. My half-sisters resented me because they could surely sense that I was a source of domestic disharmony."

He shrugged.

"I decided a long time ago not to feel sorry for myself. If anything, the hazing at the battle academia was a nice change. A punch in the face is more honest than a snide remark. And I was able to earn the respect of my peers. I will never earn the respect of my family." He paused, blinked. That last had slipped out. He shrugged and smiled fatalistically, and then their drinks arrived.

"Ah, yes. Thank you." He moved one of the shot glasses in front of Albrecht, then raised his. "To surviving your first engagement as an airman of the Air Defense Corps!"

[Florian]

"To sip? Hmm..." Florian pondered the question, "Beer for me."

Florian was thankful for his very, very small family. It was difficult to have such scandals and resentment when there were only the two of you. His father, wherever and whomever he may have been, was never in the picture. Not now, and not when he was born. He doubted he would ever meet or know his name, and he didn't much care to. A father with such an important name seemed like a special kind of torture.

He still did not hear much of the rumors of Angevin's birth, but it was clearly scandalous from what the man himself had shared. It was also not something that Florian sought to learn. He simply did not care about the scandals of the upper class, and being Lysanrin, he had his own problems to deal with.

After Angevin gave him the toast and drank the shot, he followed up the conversation cut short by drinks. "Though I love my mother dearly, she has always reminded me that family is not who you are born into, but who you choose." Florian set the glass down. "I must warn you, I'm a bit of a lightweight. I'm built more like a reed than a man."

Already he could feel the familiar warmth of alcohol in his stomach, and he wondered if he made a mistake. Though Commander Angevin was familiar enough, they had not known each other for even a season. Still, what was the worst that could happen?

"What an engagement that was. Did it even last longer than fifteen, thirty minutes? They'd started to scatter after they realized they couldn't keep throwing the campfires at us." Florian smiled, and sipped his beer. "You know, the next day, someone thanked me. Kloster, I think. He looked wary and strained, like it hurt him to even say it. It was still nice."

Florian flagged the bartender to their corner of the counter and ordered two more shots. "Do you often go out for drinks with the crew?" He asked. He was curious if this were a special case because they'd have to end up working so closely together, or if it were common enough that it wasn't worth thinking twice about.

[Eitan Angevin]

The schnapps provided a short, sharp heat that knifed down to his guts, but it made him smile. The bravado of it and the shared piquancy made it feel like a social ritual: here we begin our carousing. He licked the last bit of fire from his lips, savored the taste, and then took a cooling sip of beer.

"Well, now I know where you live," he said philosophically, "so if I have to carry you home, you don't need to be capable of navigating the good ship Angevin." Dark eyes ran critically up and down Albrecht's whip-thin frame, almost nodding to himself, knowing he could throw Albrecht's dead weight over his shoulder and double-time it back to Verowa End.

"Huh. Good on Kloster. Showing your crewmates they can depend on you is going to be much easier than persuading them anything about your race in general. The Lysanrin have their reputation, but Florian Albrecht will be the face they see and know." He shrugged, then warmed up a bit to the inevitable yarn-spinning they could do with their battle prowess. Angevin maintained an easy authority on the ship, but it seemed he was also capable of being looser off duty without losing sight of who he was. "As for the engagement, it's difficult to say. Time sort of... dilates in battle. Your senses sharpen and I think the mind just speeds up because the stakes are suddenly mortal serious. So it's almost as though we speed up and time seems to stretch funny. I don't think it was a full fifteen minutes between you warning me of your intuition and you cannibalizing my wards. If we had already taken up defensive positions and they were assailing us, it might have stretched out longer, but they went in quick, and when they couldn't seal the deal, they crumpled and fled.

"Hail Zaichaer," he said quietly with a smile, raising his beer. "Hail Victory."

[Florian]

No sooner had Angevin whispered than did the next two shots arrived. Florian did not bother with a toast and downed the shot. A thought hit him mid-drink. When was the last time he had eaten? It had surely been much longer than he realized. A lightweight with two shots and some sips of beer on an empty stomach and he was already starting to feel it. Just enough to loosen his tongue. Even with his realization, he took another sip of beer.

"Are you living your dream, then?" The question fell out of his mouth, an unintentional thought released into the world. A response to his praise of Zaichaer. He could not take such a thing out of the air, and so he did the opposite. "Is this, your work, everything you wish to be? Everything you want to do?" He turned his head as he spoke, watching his expression. He wanted to know if Angevin was going to lie.

"You're clearly devoted in serving the city, but I wonder how much time that leaves you to be devoted to anything else." Florian was clearly not sober, and he ended his grave interrogation with a smile. "I'm just teasing. You don't have to answer." He took another sip of beer, his eyes blossoming into an even lighter blue. "It's none of my business, anyway."

Again, he ordered more shots and drank his as soon as it arrived. It was clear now that Florian was not just here for friendly drinks - he wanted to get drunk, though to what end, not even he could answer. "At least I don't live too far from here. You, on the other hand...you live far." He was close to finishing his beer, too. "But I'm sure you'll fare better getting home than I."

Florian's head swirled with thoughts that the tipsy Lysanrin would struggle not to bring up or act on. For all the anger he buried inside himself, he was not an angry drunk. It was as if the addition of alcohol stripped away the layers of learned self-hatred and pain and fury and left him content. He inclined his head towards Angevin. "You may be the closest thing to a friend I've made in years." Florian still had built up paranoia and questions of his true intentions, but whatever they were, he was enjoying his time now.

"Well. Friendly enough." He followed up, staring back at the counter.