Happy Birthday, Baccus and Mrs. Nox
May. 5th, 2012 10:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
star_ocean_fan
Cool Logic
Calm, collected, knowing no fear
Faithful and dutiful to the end
Never asking for more
Across the stars
Watching everything with a cool passion
The thirst for knowledge never-ending
To outrun fate
Is to try and outrun yourself
And cool logic dictates it's the one thing you can't do
A Birthday Treat From Reimi
Everything aboard The Calnus had become quiet. It puzzled Bacchus, this strange silence. Since Meracle's subsequent rescue from a most certain doom, the ship had ceased to be as quiet as it was now. Meracle and Lymle were close in age, and they were both very playful young girls, albeit it in different ways. Meracle had latched onto Edge as well, which for some strange reason alarmed Reimi more than it did the captain of the ship. Lymle seemed intent on harassing Faize as much as she possibly could. That was what they did when they were by themselves. Together, they created a ruckus and a mess that kept Reimi very busy and on the verge of hysterics. Faize and Edge were often conspicuously absent for those moments. To Bacchus, the silence itself was unusual. There should have been some kind of noise.
A quick scan of the ship's upper and lower levels indicated to him that the rest of the crew had converged in the conference room. Further analysis indicated at least one person had started up the item creation process with Welch or that someone at least conversed with the support woman from Earth.
Curious about this development, Bacchus walked towards the conference room. He still heard no sounds coming from the area where the rest of the crew had gathered. He also wondered how come no one had told him about any potential meetings. If there was anything Bacchus liked, it was to be kept informed, and a part of him felt that perhaps he'd failed Edge in his duties, that they were discussing such things at that moment.
It was a momentary, irrational fear on his part, he knew, and Bacchus dismissed the ideas as soon as they entered into his mind. Edge wasn't the kind of person to hide how he felt or what he thought. If he thought Bacchus wasn't performing to the best of his abilities, the young Earthling would say as much. Bacchus felt assured in that knowledge, but what he knew didn't allay his curiosity in the least.
Driven by his curiosity, Bacchus entered the conference. The walk itself was rather short as The Calnus wasn't an overly large ship, and he increased his audio intake to be sure he missed nothing. As he drew closer, he noted a variety of pleasant smells coming from the conference room - freshly baked cookies and cakes, roasted meats and vegetables . . . if he still had a stomach, Bacchus knew it would be rumbling in anticipation. The door to the conference room slid open, and Bacchus felt his jaw drop in stunned surprise.
Long strips of flimsy paper - what Edge and Reimi called streamers - draped across the room, and balloons floated in various locations. A banner hung over Welch's platform, with large, bold, dark green letters. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BACCHUS, the sign read, and a small stack of wrapped packages sat on one side. Edge, Reimi, and the rest of the crew stood in front of them, each wearing a smile.
"Surprise!" they said. Bacchus blinked.
"I'm not sure I understand," he said.
"Today's your birthday, Bacchie," Lymle said. "Reirei says so!"
"My birthday?" Bacchus blinked. "But the Morphus and Earthen calendars . . ."
"Aren't the same?" Edge finished. Bacchus nodded. "We know, but it wasn't too hard to figure out which day on our calendar that it is. From there, we did our planning."
"But why?" Bacchus looked around, still amazed by everything he saw.
"Because it's what we wanted to do," Edge said. "It's how we on Earth celebrate the day we were born." He held out a small recording device. "This is for you . . . It's . . . it's from your wife . . . I had Myuria hook me up . . . I hope you don't mind . . ."
Hesitantly, Bacchus reached for the recorder. He felt honored and touched that Edge would go to such lengths in order to put him in contact with his wife. At the same time, confusion and great swelling of love for his wife filled him, too. He still wouldn't ever understand why she stayed wit him, but he was glad that she had.
* * * *
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Mindsets
Albel growled low and in frustration. So far, in the journey to reach the Creator and put an end to his madness, nothing had gone right. Between the constant . . . bantering or bickering or whatever those silly Earthling wenches called it; to Albel, it was all the same . . . of Maria and Sophia, Cliff's inability to take any given situation seriously long enough, and the incessant droning of Peppita and Roger trying to prove something, either to the men in the group or just to Fayt . . . well, it was enough to drive any Glyphian swordsman insane. The nattering, the And Albel wasn't the most sane of people in the first place. At least the two Aquarians and the other wench traveling with them didn't annoy him quite so much. It didn't mean he liked them more than the others, but they were the ones he knew he'd feel the least likely to kill when he'd finally had enough of the shenanigans.
And it wasn't just the goofiness or whatever they decided to call their behaviours that annoyed Albel in this journey, either. The fact that they'd finally gotten Aquaria's Sacred Orb, the holiest of all relics on their continent, but were still nowhere near finding Luther also aggravated Albel. In his mind, Fayt was dragging his feet when it came to where the Creator had hidden himself. Blair already informed them of Luther's location. It was best to charge forward, meet Luther head on, and take him down. Thinking over every little detail was overrated and unnecessary, in Albel's opinion, and he wanted to tell Fayt as much . . . if he only knew where the young swordsman happened to be. There was one place for sure Albel knew Fayt wasn't - the inn on the west side of Peterny. He only knew that because it's where he was, waiting for the younger man to return.
"Hmph . . . It would figure that fool would make me look for him," Albel muttered to himself. He quickly sheathed the Crimson Scourge. Of course, he didn't figure he'd have to search long or too far for Fayt. There would be only one place he'd find the younger man, and that was in the inventor's workshop next to the inn. Since leaving the Sacred City and arriving in Peterny, that's where Fayt had spent a great deal of his time, when he wasn't putting an end to the arguments arising between Maria and Sophia or the hijinks of Cliff, Roger, and Peppita. From what Albel could discern, it was one of the few places where the younger man found peace and tranquility. Knowing this, Albel promised that he'd at least give Fayt some moments of pleasure as well . . . as soon as he'd spoken his mind, that was. The Creator wouldn't wait for them to arrive, after all.
Albel growled low and in frustration. So far, in the journey to reach the Creator and put an end to his madness, nothing had gone right. Between the constant . . . bantering or bickering or whatever those silly Earthling wenches called it; to Albel, it was all the same . . . of Maria and Sophia, Cliff's inability to take any given situation seriously long enough, and the incessant droning of Peppita and Roger trying to prove something, either to the men in the group or just to Fayt . . . well, it was enough to drive any Glyphian swordsman insane. The nattering, the And Albel wasn't the most sane of people in the first place. At least the two Aquarians and the other wench traveling with them didn't annoy him quite so much. It didn't mean he liked them more than the others, but they were the ones he knew he'd feel the least likely to kill when he'd finally had enough of the shenanigans.
And it wasn't just the goofiness or whatever they decided to call their behaviours that annoyed Albel in this journey, either. The fact that they'd finally gotten Aquaria's Sacred Orb, the holiest of all relics on their continent, but were still nowhere near finding Luther also aggravated Albel. In his mind, Fayt was dragging his feet when it came to where the Creator had hidden himself. Blair already informed them of Luther's location. It was best to charge forward, meet Luther head on, and take him down. Thinking over every little detail was overrated and unnecessary, in Albel's opinion, and he wanted to tell Fayt as much . . . if he only knew where the young swordsman happened to be. There was one place for sure Albel knew Fayt wasn't - the inn on the west side of Peterny. He only knew that because it's where he was, waiting for the younger man to return.
"Hmph . . . It would figure that fool would make me look for him," Albel muttered to himself. He quickly sheathed the Crimson Scourge. Of course, he didn't figure he'd have to search long or too far for Fayt. There would be only one place he'd find the younger man, and that was in the inventor's workshop next to the inn. Since leaving the Sacred City and arriving in Peterny, that's where Fayt had spent a great deal of his time, when he wasn't putting an end to the arguments arising between Maria and Sophia or the hijinks of Cliff, Roger, and Peppita. From what Albel could discern, it was one of the few places where the younger man found peace and tranquility. Knowing this, Albel promised that he'd at least give Fayt some moments of pleasure as well . . . as soon as he'd spoken his mind, that was. The Creator wouldn't wait for them to arrive, after all.
