I'll Give You all the Nails You Need

[Reiner Dornkirk]

"I'll Give You all the Nails You Need"
34 Searing, 122 Steel
Base Camp "Siegfried"
The Northern Front

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From atop the watchtower, Reiner's eyes were on the tree line North of Base Camp "Siegfried" scanning for anything out of the ordinary. His rifle was slung over his back, but he was itching to use it and had been for weeks. They all knew Kalzasi was coming. Their knife-eared regent had been making threats since her pidge husband was slain, and her pidge son was abducted. If what he read in the papers was true, it had been their stalwart First Minister who'd orchestrated the attack. Some called it reckless, Reiner called it long overdue. Both sides knew war was inevitable and they'd been playing a game of brinkmanship for longer than Reiner had been alive. It took courage to cast the die. It took character. It took a Dornkirk.

Lowering his gaze from the perimeter, he reached for a pack of smokes and tapped one free, taking it between his lips. He pulled a lighter out of the same pocket and ignited the end, taking a slow first drag and pinching the cigarette between two fingers as he leaned over the railing to look out at the North. That would be Zaichaeri land soon, and he smiled to think on expanding toward their Manifest Destiny.

"The fuck is that?" PFC Eisenmann's voice drew Reiner's attention, as moved sharply to place the cigarette between his lips and unsling the rifle from his back in one smooth gesture, as he turned to look to his fellow ZDC private. But why was he looking South?

"What the..." Reiner lowered his weapon. This wasn't the sort of threat you shot at. This wasn't a threat at all, it was too late to call it that.

"That's..." Eisenmann's voice cracked. He couldn't bring himself to finish the thought, but Reiner could.

"Home." The pair of privates gaped in horror. "What have those pidge fuckers wrought?" He hissed.

34 Ash, 122 Steel
Zaichaer's East End

Reiner had been back in the city for months now, but this was the first time he'd mustered the strength to visit the house where he'd grown up. A far cry and a distant trek from Dornkirk Manor, there was Dornkirk Ditch. That was what he'd taken to mockingly calling the hovel that had been his home before the barracks. He regretted ridiculing his parents, now. He'd been young, angsty and unappreciative. They weren't bad people, they just had different priorities from his. He'd have reconciled at some point... When he was a decorated veteran of the Kalzasern conquest and Grand Marshal Brenner was putting a medal over his head, he'd have reconciled with his parents. But now they were dead, and he never could. And Brenner would never be Grand Marshal, and he would never meet the amazing uncle who'd actually made it from Dornkirk Ditch to Dornkirk Manor. They were dead, too.

There wasn't much space in the Ditch, but it was packed to the gills with memories. Pictures he'd drawn as a child were still up on the walls. They looked like shit, but his mama never had the heart to take them down. It was so strange being able to smoke inside without her scolding him, but cigarettes were definitely called for. So was whiskey, and he was glad his old papa hadn't polished his off before the Fall of Zaichaer.

Since being recalled to the city, he and a lot of the boys in his unit had been put up in some old hotel. The people who ran it didn't survive the blitz, so the government annexed it and put it to use for refugees and government employees. Lodging soldiers in the place was a good way to bake in a constabulary to help curb the trouble that often arose due to scarcity of resources. The Ditch was his by right, if he wanted to lay his head there, but he didn't. He was tempted to drop his cigarette on a stack of his old doodles and let the whole place go up in smoke. It certainly wasn't a seller's market, even if the hovel was worth anything to begin with. At the best of times Zaichaer had more housing that people to fill it, and now there were a lot fewer people.

He sat on the floor and smiled, pulling an old shoe box out from under his bed and sifting through the contents. Clippings of articles about his storied Dornkirk cousins, and the one picture that survived of his mother and her brother Melchior when they were soot-faced children. He grinned sadly until a knock at the door jolted him to attention. His hand darted to the holster at his belt, and he drew his sidearm, stalking quietly to the door and opening it just a crack to peer outside.

There stood a stranger, but he was well dressed- He didn't have the look of a looter nor the kind of confidence man who needed to ply their craft in a place as poor as this. Reiner held the gun behind his back, just in case, but let the door swing further open to reveal that he was fully in the uniform of a ZDC Private, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he spoke:

"The people who lived here are dead and whatever you're selling, I'm not interested."

[Stefan Dornkirk]

Somewhere in the papers that Stefan had painstakingly recovered the second time he'd made himself go to Dornkirk Manor (After Delia had asked him about his family's finances and property and generally what the state of his inheritance had been, and he had remember that the rest of the world still existed) had been a number of letters, unopened, addressed to his father from a Private Dornkirk. The name on the return address had surprised Stefan enough that, even in the odd clear emptiness that his mind had decided into since finding the remains of his parents and sibling, he'd been curious enough to open and read them.

The contents had been more surprising still. It seemed that, rather than from some obscenely distant relation, the letters were from Melchior's nephew, and, therefore, Stefan's cousin. He'd known that his father had family but his elder had never been willing to speak about them at all and Stefan had assumed that, despite the meteoric rise of Melchior's star, whatever estrangement had led him to leave his family to make his fortune remained strong enough that there was no contact.

Perhaps there had been none until this nephew had began writing. The oldest letter was more than a year old, and had been unopened. Either his father had been deliberately ignoring them or, perhaps he'd set them aside for 'later' and forgotten about them as his manservant tucked them all away in the drawer where they had been found. Either way, Stefan would now likely never know what had caused the familial rift and, bereft of members of his own blood as he now was, reaching out felt right.

Making contact with what was left of the ZDC had not been difficult, the majority of that branch of the military had been out of the city on the 34th of Searing and had thus survived mostly intact. Thanks to the stringent record keeping that was as much a part of any Zaichaeri heart as was hatred of magic, locating Private Dornkirk hadn't been too difficult. The fact that he was now stationed on the outskirts of Zaichaer city itself was a bit of a surprise, but, of course, the State must go on, attempts at repairs must be made, even if the Rift was still retching it's foulness all over what had once been its heart.

When Stefan had first decided to reach out, should the man still be alive, he hadn't really thought about what he would say. When the moment came, he realized he had no idea how to step over the breach of whatever had kept them apart up till then. He had a memorial planned, for the lives lost, to mourn loved ones and a home that would never be the same even if it was somehow rebuilt, for all the people who had pulled together to get the two now-floating islands and the tiny fleet of ships off the ground and away to safety. He used that as an excuse, wiring Private Dornkirk's superiors asking that he be given leave of absence, at the request of the former Minister of Science, for the funeral of several family members. He'd also written a letter to his cousin, explaining his request to meet if the man wanted to do so. The letter and a copy of the request for leave he'd entrusted to Dienerin, as well as a small airship to seek out and return with Private Dornkirk in time for the memorial service.

His serving man had left a week ahead of the date for the service, making his way first to the last known location of the regiment, then through the outskirts of Zaichaer, where chaos reined. There were, apparently, dozens of hotels, boarding houses and similar structure that had been taken over to house serving men, government personnel, and most anyone else. Searching through them took the better part of the week until, at last, the day before the scheduled memorial, Dienerin located soldiers who knew Private Dornkirk and, though the young man was not at his lodging house, tell him where he had gone.

The walk into the slums hadn't been pleasant, but at least a well dressed man was less likely to be accosted due to recent circumstances. When he reached the address indicated he hesitated a long moment, wondering if it could be right, before stepping forward to knock. Before he could do so the door opened, if only a little, and a voice explained to him that whatever he might be selling was unwelcome. Clearing his throat he said, in a gentle but dry voice,

"Forgive me, erm, Sir, I am looking for one Private Dornkirk, who I was informed might be at this address. My name is Deinerin, I am in service of Lord Stefan Dornkirk and I am in possession of a letter for the Private. Is he... in residence?"

Just because the man, who had now fully opened the door, was in a Private's uniform, and just because the nameplate clearly read 'Dornkirk' was no reason to make assumptions.

[Reiner Dornkirk]

"On that moment hung eternity. Time stood still. Space contracted to a pinpoint..."

The cigarette fell from his lips as they parted in shock at the words uttered by the well-dressed stranger. He was frozen for only a second and then he promptly crouched to pick up the lit butt from the wood floor before it caught alight. The notion of burning the place down had only been a flight of passing fancy. From his crouch, he looked up at the man.

"Herr Dienerin..." Slowly he rose from his haunches and looked the taller man in the eye, his own glassy with moment. "Are you joking? Are you mad?" He couldn't tell if he was thrilled or outraged at this strange twist of fate. "I..." He took a breath, shook it off and collected himself with a long drag of the cigarette. No use wasting it, just because it had fallen in the dirt for a second. What was a little ash on his lips next to the smoke in his lungs?

"I am Private First Class Reiner Dornkirk. Hail Zaichaer." He saluted, and it would have looked very formal if not for the cigarette still hanging from his lips, causing a crooked grimace to paint his boyish face. "May I see the letter?" He extended an eager hand- quivering with nerves at the prospect that was being presented him.

He'd dreamt of meeting Stefan Dornkirk for as long as he could remember. As a child, he'd fantasised about playing with his older cousins and learning from them. He imagined Stefan and Brenner teaching him to hunt for foxes, or ride horses or other pastimes he envisioned the upper class fancying, while he was kicking cans down the street and pretending brooms were rifles. Even more recently he'd imagined meeting Stefan and shaking his hand on Victory Day, after the Kalzasern conquest was complete and he'd done his valorous part for Zaichaer. Never did he imagine his first contact with Stefan Dornkirk would come at a moment like this- After both of them had just been orphaned and were dealing with the fallout of the greatest crisis in Zaichaeri history.

"Were you truly sent by Lord Stefan himself?" There was an anxious awe in his voice. It was a tenor pitch set high and forward- boyish but with a bit of rasp. He took a final long drag, and discarded the cigarette into an old, empty wash basin.

[Stefan Dornkirk]

The awe that seemed to be pouring off the young soldier was, in the manservant's opinion, correct. All due respect for a Minister of Zaichaer, and a Lord now, in his own right, however little either of the titles might mean under the current circumstance, was to be expected.

When he was saluted he returned the gesture and the hail with the instant precision that told the tale that he had once been in the army himself. Then he reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled forth a sealed envelope. It was actually sealed, with wax, with the Dornkirk crest pressed into it. On the front was the Private's name in a precise, if slightly flowing, hand.

"Indeed." He replied to the question after handing over the envelope, and if his voice was even dryer there was a little humor behind it. "I have been in service of Lord Stefan since he was fifteen, some sixteen years." The tone took on a slightly embarrassed tone, as though he felt obligated to answer the question but did not think that it was strictly proper to be discussing personal family details on the street.

"He instructed me to find you, if possible, and escort you back to where the memorial is being held for the families and family members that were lost on the 34th."

After a very brief pause he amended, "Of Searing." Because today was also the 34th. Stefan had considered holding the memorial on the one month anniversary, but thought people might want to mourn in their own private ways on such a personal date.

Having said this he waited with the non-invasive patients of a man who has been waiting on the needs or pleasure of others for nearly half his life. Once the seal was broken the letter read:

Private Dornkirk, Cousin,

I hope this letter finds you as well as can be expected under the current circumstances.

I am writing, first, to inform you, with the greatest regrets, of the deaths of your Uncle, Lord Melchior Dornkirk, his wife, your Aunt, Lady Sylana Dornkirk, and their son, your Cousin, Brenner Dornkirk.

You may have already been informed of this tragedy, but on the chance that you have not, or had but had not had it confirmed it is my duty to relay that their bodies have been located and given as much honor as was possible at the time.

I have taken the Windworks out of the city, to ensure that the resource remains available to our great State in the event of further attacks. There whereabouts of the factory are, of course, secret and I will not commit any information on that score to paper. However, I wanted to inform you that I am holding a Ceremony of Remembrance for our family and all the other lives lost one month ago. If you wish to join me and the other citizens who have remained with the factor to keep it operational, the Ceremony is scheduled for the 35th of Ash.

My man, Dienerin, will be on hand to escort you on his return journey and a leave of absence has been requested, and granted, on your behalf, to mourn the passing of your family.

On a more personal note, I find myself now lacking in close relations and, if you will permit it, would like to make your acquaintance in the hopes that we might be more cordial in the future. If you are aware of what kept our families apart and do not wish to meet with me I will respect your wishes in this matter. Simply inform Dienerin of your wishes and he will inform me with no need for you to encounter myself should my presence be unpleasant to you.

Otherwise I look forward to your company on the 35th and following.

Yours, etc,

Stefan Dornkirk

[Reiner Dornkirk]

Reiner let out a soft, quivering sigh at the confirmation and elaboration offered by the man. His reflexive urge was to pepper him with questions. He was clearly more than a simple courier or passing acquaintance, if he'd known his cousin for so long. Service was respectable work and bespoke a class above Reiner's own, but it also spoke of intimacy. Servants were highly regarded because they were trustworthy. They dealt with their betters in the most vulnerable of circumstances.

"I... can't believe it," Reiner's eyes immediately brimmed with tears- even just at Dienerin's prelude to the letter. An invitation? For him? "I didn't even think he knew I existed, let alone that I would rate such an invitation, and such..." He didn't even know what to call it. How was he possibly worthy of a personal escort?

Greedily, he took the letter. He smiled wanly and turned it over in his hands, staring at the seal. Their family had its own seal! It felt like a sacrilege to break it. He would burn the image into his mind, just in case he never opportuned to see it again. He took a deep breath and steeled himself before cracking the wax and opening the letter. Had it been written in his cousin's own hand? The penmanship was graceful, yet utilitarian. He must have been a pragmatic man, Reiner thought. He would have to be, as the son of an enterprising entrepreneur like his uncle.

Cousin. There it was right in the salutation. The acknowledgment- the vindication he'd sought for so long right there in black and white. All the people who'd dismissed him and told him he was making up his connection to the House of Dornkirk- that he was little more than a posturing fan boy- now he had proof that they were all of them fools. He read on, stifling sobs.

"I'm so sorry." He didn't look up to Dienerin, embarrassed as he was to be in tears in front of a stranger. "I'm not usually... This is just- I'm sorry to blubber in front of you." He took a breath and commanded the sobs to abate. He finished reading, awed beyond description, and held the letter to his chest just over his heart. It was a beautiful thing, but grimly so- like a sad ballad or a romantic tragedy. Two newly forged orphans united in grief- Reiner and Stefan's family represented the last of the Dornkirks. A line that hadn't been proud until recently, but once it rose it vaulted into the stratosphere.

He folded the letter carefully and unbuttoned a pocket over the chest of his standard issue work shirt to slip it inside. His hazel eyes met Dienerin's gaze and he nodded.

"I would like to meet your master, Herr Dienerin." He looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of one of his childhood scrawlings pinned to the wall. "There is nothing left for me here." He turned his eyes forward, "Lead the way."

[Stefan Dornkirk]

Weeping for the loss of three-fourths of the Dornkirk family Dienerin had served seemed, to him, a perfectly reasonable thing to do. So, he looked away and gave the young man a moment of privacy to release his sudden grief. It was brought under control quickly enough, certainly within what what he would consider appropriate.

The fact that Stefan had not known that this person existed until he'd been forced to go through the family paperwork by the untimely death of the patriarch did not seem like something he should mention. Whatever the personal relations of the family were, however they were handled was not for Dienerin to comment on, so he kept his silence. If Stefan wanted to broach the topic of how he'd discovered he had a cousin with said cousin, that was for him to do.

After the letter was read the manservant cleared his throat and offered a clean pocket-handkerchief from another of his many inner coat pockets. The Private certainly had a flair for the dramatic that Lord Stefan did not share. Master Brenner had, to a degree, but Dienerin hadn't seen the younger brother in intimate moments as he had seen the other, so it was difficult to decide if it was a family trait.

Quite pleased to leave that part of the city he led the way back to the residence that he had been informed was where Private Dornkirk was staying, explaining on the way that he would need to take the approved leave of absence letter to his direct superior and inform him that he would be leaving immediately. Higher ups had done the approving and it would be best to ensure that whoever was directly giving orders to the Private did not report him AWOL unnecessarily. He would wait while this was done, and while the Private packed whatever personal items he thought he might need.

When both tasks were finished he led the way to the makeshift airfield, an actual field, at which he had landed the ship. It had once been intended as a small pleasure yacht, but it had been refit to be more sturdy and was used mostly to ferry people from the ground to the floating fortress made up of the heavily warded Windworks and White Knight Hall.

The inside was, by virtue of no reason to change it, still very luxurious; white leather interior with fine wooden paneling, intricate window casings, a single very fine bedroom as well as a tiny galley. As evening was falling and the trip would take the better part of the night, Dienerin offered the bedroom for the Private's use if he wished to rest. Otherwise the run of the ship was his. The food currently stored in the galley was basic but there was enough for the two of them and the older pilot Stefan had sent along to spell his man servant.

Before leaving the Private to his own devices Dienerin informed him,

"We will be arriving in the early hours of the morning, you are free to stay on the ship once docked to finish your rest. The Ceremony will begin at nine 'o clock in the morning. Someone will be sent to escort you to attend as I myself will be busy helping the family ready themselves..."

A slightly embarrassed look crossed his face as he corrected, "I mean the rest of the family, of course. You will be introduced before the Ceremony if there is time, after if there is not."

His tone implied that, with everything to be done, it would most likely be afterwards.

[Reiner Dornkirk]

Holstering his sidearm, Reiner nodded.

"Thank you..." There was true gratitude and a tinge of shame as he accepted the handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes. He typically didn't carry kerchiefs, and relied upon his sleeves, but he supposed this man was used to serving Dornkirks of more genteel disposition. With a bit of trepidation, he offered it back. He hadn't blown his nose into it, but still it seemed strange to give a relative stranger a cloth still damp with his spent tears.

Hesitating at the door, and then popping back in for the half-finished bottle of whiskey he'd begun, Reiner followed Dienerin back to his provisional barracks at the hotel, asking a few questions en route, but gathering that the man wasn't the talkative type. He wasn't sure to what he was accustomed, and he was eager not to make a bad impression on a fellow who would almost certainly report on him to his lofty cousin. While Dienerin attended to the formalities, Reiner was able to go back to his room and pack a few things. A dress uniform was a necessity, given the nature of the trip, and he would take a few additional uniforms and a couple sets of casual clothes in case he was expected to stay for a few days. All were neatly folded and packed into a duffel bag, while he regaled some of his mates with the tale of this new and long-coming development in his personal story. He sensed a few of his band of brothers didn't believe him, but it didn't vex him the way it usually did. He had proof. He showed them the letter... Let them feel the weight of the pricy paper on which it had been written, and let them read the pretty words penned in a pretty hand. Whether or not they believed him, he felt vindicated.

He jogged back downstairs, shouldering his bag and trying to temper his grin so it wasn't too broad, given the solemn circumstances. In general, Zaichaer was such a miserable place these days. Folks like him still found cause to laugh in the face of the abjection, but he wasn't sure if rich folks trucked with gallows humour, so he would mitigate his joy with a dose of sternness to his boyish countenance.

Following Dienerin to their next destination, Reiner let him lead by a few steps, so he didn't have to work so hard at concealing his grin or the skip to his step. For this trip he didn't try to force conversation, allowing the older man to lead that if he wished.

Upon seeing that their terminus was a luxury airship, Reiner's eyes widened in wonderment. He'd only been on very utilitarian, military transport ships thus far. And that very recently. Something like this he'd only seen at a distance- wondering whether each vessel had been personally designed by his relations. This one surely was, and he couldn't conceal his excitement at the prospect of actually boarding it.

His gasp was audible as he stepped onto the deck of the ship. This was beyond anything he'd ever imagined. It was beautiful, pristine and, without being ostentatious, it also wasn’t basic. Unlike the other two ships he'd boarded, it was something more than spartan. The word that came to mind was 'sleek'.

"Are you sure I can..?" This all felt like a prank. He'd be permitted use of a cabin that had very likely housed the Lord Stefan? Perhaps even the former First Minister of the greatest, most righteous land in the world? This was beyond anything he'd dared to dream. When Dienerin explained the situation, he shook his head. In his mind, there was nothing for which to apologise. He'd had enough feedback that he was an imposter that he'd taken it to heart. He would take his vindication on whatever terms it was offered. How could he do otherwise?

"I won't be a bother. I promise." And he meant it. When the door shut behind Dienerin, the first thing Reiner did was remove his boots. He kept them polished, but this was no place for shoes that had trodden the places these had. In his army green ZDC issue socks he stepped into the room. The rug was soft, and felt divine through the thin fabric that adorned his feet. To think that this room was aboard a mode of travel, when it was larger than his home and with more amenities!

He removed his jacket, his work shirt, his slacks and got down to his skivvies. The whiskey bottled he’d stowed slid free, but fell onto the plush bedding. He resolved that it would augment his experience, and took a swig.

He didn't exactly hop up and down on the bed, but he walked across it more than once. Just as he'd expected, it was a glorious cloud under his feet. Surely it would be even better under his back. He couldn't imagine sleeping, excited as he was. But when he laid down in this dreamy setting, sleep claimed him. Wired as he was, he'd never have expected it, but his wakefulness had never vied against such comforts as these. He didn't know how long he slept, but he had to be woken to ready himself for the memorial. And when he was roused, he was instantly embarrassed.

"Sorry..." Was his first word, as he squinted toward wakefulness.

[Stefan Dornkirk]

The young soldier who had come to awaken the Private looked about his own age, or possibly a little younger. Physically, that's how he looked, the bone deep steadiness and vague exhaustion spoke of years of experience earned in months of constantly being pushed beyond his previous limits.

He introduced himself as Private Kämpfer of the ZADC and then stood quietly while he waited for Reiner to rise. When his charge was up he pointed out the shower facility attached to the cabin where he might refresh himself before the ceremony and lowered his eyes, pretending not very successfully, not to watch while Reiner bathed and dressed. While he did so the airman explained to him the schedule of the event, who would speak in what order, the flower laying where everyone who had lost someone would lay a flower into a pyre before they were all set alight.

The flowers had been grown specially by members of the Kindred Coven, bred specially, a new flower never seen before, so the man had heard, but he did not know how the other Private might react, so he did not mention it. The airman himself did not know how he was feeling about the addition of members of the Covens to the flying ship. They were all licensed, officially, so they weren't breaking the law, and, so far, they were providing food, medical care and other badly needed assistance. It wasn't for him to decide anyway, Minister Dornkirk and his council were there for that, he could just follow orders. Currently his orders were to escort Private Dornkirk and try not to ask if he was related to the Minister.

When the Private Dornkirk was washed and dressed in his uniform the airman led him out of the ship and into a bustling area that had been used by the Windworks to launch ships before the take off and now served as their little airfield. It was more subdued than usual, considering most people were at or preparing for the mourning, but there were still a few people about.

From there he led through the Windworks, which looked half a factory and half a refugee camp and out onto the wide circular courtyard that had been used to impress buyers and was now set up to accommodate the Ceremony with a huge metal plate set into the center for the flowers to be burned in and a dais on which several people would be making speeches. The crowds, such as they were, had already gathered, dressed as somberly as they had available to them. Private Kämpfer led Private Dornkirk to an area a little aside, upon which stood notables and family members of the notables. Here the airman left him, explaining that the family would be with him afterwards.

The Ceremony was starting as the airman stepped away. There was music, several speeches, and anyone who wanted to say something was allowed to come up and do so. Thus the speeches part took the remainder of the morning. Some of them were just peasants saying the names of the children or siblings or spouses they had lost, sometimes one had a little more to say, the more notable men spoke longer, of rebuilding, of never forgetting, of living in the names of those lost. Stefan Dornkirk did not make a speech, but stood aside silently, for others to say what they needed to.

When no one else wanted to speak baskets of flowers were passed around, some taking one, some taking a half dozen, to represent the loved ones they had lost. Once they had the flowers they would step forward to the metal plate and place them, some tossed, some knelt and laid them with utmost care. Most were crying, some wept openly and had to be helped forward to lay the flowers or back into the crowd to stand. Someone passed Reiner a basket for him to take what he would to remember the dead. When all the flowers had been placed a fire was lit, likely from beneath the plate, or possibly by magic. It burned a long time, long beyond when the flowers were all consumed. Eventually it became obvious that the fire would keep burning indefinitely, but by then the crowd was beginning to wander away to handle their grief how they felt was best.

Stefan was surrounded by people for quite some time, and no one seemed to noticed when Eitan Angevin walked over to chat with Reiner, but, eventually, that conversation ended and Reiner was left, again, alone. Stefan watched Eitan walk away and gave himself a moment to observe his cousin. The man did look like a Dornkirk, and the inform brought back a myriad of sense memories to Stefan, even though it was a soldier's uniform and not an airman's. He was in a uniform himself, though it was the uniform he'd adopted as Minister and not the one he'd worn in his own Navy days.

The younger man was turned away, facing the balcony wall that offered views all the way to the ground. He seemed to be trying to light a cigarette but having difficulty with matches. Stefan stepped up close and pulled the lighter he now kept on his person at all times, even in his sleep, from his pocket. He hadn't used it for anything since he'd found it, but this man was a Dornkirk, and it seemed fitting, somehow, so he held up a hand to shield from the wind and offered the fire of his family to the newest member.

[Reiner Dornkirk]

"Thanks..." Reiner rasped, rolling from his belly onto his back and sitting up. With a yawn, he ran his hands through his bed head, pushing the errant locks back and out of his bleary eyes. He untangled the sheets and shook them out, one of his army green socks falling out in the process. He was still wearing its counterpart, and a pair of briefs, but otherwise his fair form was bare.

He may not have been used to these surroundings, but he was accustomed to bunking with other guys and being woken up suddenly, sometimes with purpose sometimes with nonsense. But once Reiner was up, he was up. He wasn't the type to cycle through wakefulness and dozing a few times before actually getting up. Still, it was a relief that the airman had woken him with enough time that he didn't need to rush like mad. He swung his legs around tugged off his other sock, and rolled it up with its twin, then padded over to the shower, sliding his briefs down along the way.

"I'll clean up when I'm done, don't worry." He offered, over his milky pale shoulder, "You just let me know if I should make the bed or strip the sheets for washin'."

Once he'd cleaned, groomed and dressed himself, then packed up his belongings and fixed up the room (As good as his word), he regarded the mirror and tightened his tie, before turning back to Private Kämpfer with a winning smile.

"How do I look?" Once he had the airman's approval, he would gesture for the other man to lead the way. He posed a few questions as Kämpfer briefed him on the day's schedule, but it was all pretty straightforward in Reiner's book. As they disembarked from the luxury yacht, the ZDC private was taken aback at the view of what lay before him. Dienerin hadn't really prepared him for this and, good soldier that Reiner was, once he heard their destination was 'classified' he didn't bring it up again. But now he could see why.

"This is... incredible!" Wide-eyed wonder took in the sights, and he nearly bumped into a stranger, "Sorry..." As he was led into Melchior's meisterwerk, which it seemed had been sublimely augmented by his firstborn. There was so much to take in, but there would be time enough, he reckoned. He didn't expect Lord Stefan to have terribly much time to spend with him, but he was independent. He'd do his own exploring if no one showed him around, but he'd already been given what he took for royal treatment, what with the private escort via luxury yacht and the other private waiting on him like he was a general... Or admiral, he supposed, in Kämpfer's case. By and by, he was deposited and informed that he could observe from there.

"Thanks, Private Kämpfer... See ya around?" He winked and bit his lip, turning away to nervously regard his neighbours. He crossed his arms over his chest to cover his name placard, feeling like a complete imposter... A beggar at the feast. Speaking to no one, he made his way to the back of the area, painfully conscious of being a fish out of water and trying to calm himself with the reminder that now more than ever, everyone was out of their element. From the top to the bottom of their society, no one was comfortable these days. Fuck if he didn't want a smoke, right now, but no one else around him was and it felt rude... Common, so he powered through the craving.

As things commenced, Reiner was able to focus more and let himself feel things he'd been burying for months. Hearing people put words to thoughts he'd diligently been suppressing was enough to turn the Windworks to a waterworks for quite a few people- Reiner included. Part of him wanted to speak, but he knew his place. If Lord Stefan remained mum, then so would his lesser cousin, but Reiner did take a flower. He held the petals to his lips and kissed them, whispering- "Greta Dornkirk. Volker Strauß. I love you, I miss you, I'll avenge you. Bis zum nächsten Leben." He tossed the flower onto the pile growing on the plate, though he'd been toward the end of the queue, and then returned to his spot for the rest of the ceremony.

Afterwards, he had an enlightened exchange with Eitan Angevin. They'd shared a smoke, Eitan had introduced him to his first taste of 'Gelerian schnapps', and Reiner had been shaken to learn that Eitan was recovering from having been born part elf. But, as far as the private could tell, he was doing a bang up job at it.

When Eitan left him, Reiner popped a fresh cigarette into his mouth and rose, downing the rest of his tumbler of schnapps and bringing the empty glass and bottle back over to the bar where they'd gotten it. He felt a bit less steady on his feet than he had when he sat down. He was no stranger to liquor, but he was a stranger to the expensive kind and to standing on solid ground that was floating amidst the clouds. His lighter had run out of fuel, so he asked the barman for matches and ambled away to a spot from which he could see the land below.

"Fucking remarkable." He whispered to himself, as he tried and failed to light one of the matches once, twice and,

"Oh..." He heard the sound of a lighter, and turned to find him face to face with: "Stefan Dornkirk! I mean..." He flushed, but he was already a bit pink with drink, "Your Lordship." He blinked, and froze. He should probably bow, but the lighter was burning and it would be rude to make him waste oil. But he was rich, so it might be insulting to assume he'd be concerned with a pittance like a bit of lighter fluid. But these were also lean times, so even the rich might want for kerosene. By the time he'd worked through this thought process, he decided to accept the light- leaning forward and pulling in the smoke. But once it was lit, he dropped to one knee, lowered his head and repeated.

"Your Lordship, sir." He probably wasn't supposed to speak first, he realized belatedly, but at least he was appropriately situated for beheading, if it came to that.

[Stefan Dornkirk]

By the time the cigarette was was lit Stefan was shaking his head. He would have waved his hand to emphasis that he was requesting a lowering of formalities but before he could slip the lighter back into his inner most pocket the Private was down on one knee. The only time Stefan had ever seen a similar gesture was when a man proposed marriage, or a picture of an ancient knight swearing fealty to his lord. It embarrassed him deeply and set him back into the mindset he'd wrapped around himself when attending upper society social gatherings before he'd been married.

Clearing his throat, sounding remarkably like his manservant (only deeper and not so dry), leading one to wonder who had adopted the mannerism from whom, he said,

"Please, get up." He'd never really been comfortable with the Lordship his father had purchased. Before the blitz he'd been able to rightfully claim that he wasn't a lord in his own right, and now that Melchior was dead his other titles had been much more prevalent. He hadn't actually heard anyone call anyone 'Lord' since the 34th and had been quite comfortable with the idea that the affectation might simply be forgotten.

"I am Stefan Dornkirk, and I believe you are Reiner Dornkirk. I would like to have a conversation with you, if you will." His voice was stiff, far from comfortable, but he tried his best to keep it from being harsh. He would have liked to reach down and pull the man to his feet but he had neither the ease of familiarity nor the excuse of being the man's superior as he might have used with any of his workmen who needed a hand. So he simply stood, awkwardly, until Reiner rose.