One Perfect Rose

… Perhaps she was being a little unfairly cruel to this poor Lylatian. Panther had shown no ill-will so far, merely true, if a little sappy, affection. Really, could he be all that bad if he showed no sign of calling anybody to come and have her killed? It always had to be something at the back of her mind, given Panther’s boss and how much he absolutely hated Star Fox, and to that extent, herself for flying in an Arwing alongside them, saving the galaxy again and again. She didn’t trust Panther completely, but, perhaps, for a evening, she’d allow it to slip without comment. There was no promise of another date or even a passing glance, she had no obligation to come with him again.

Though she did, briefly, feel an obligation to stop him as he slid out of her view, making her turn her head in an attempt to follow him and stop whatever nefarious plans he had put into motion, and then feeling rather silly when all he did was stop before her and offer her flowers. A bold move, in Krystal’s opinion, but, perhaps, the correct one. She did love flowers, as cliche as it might have seemed. Cerinia once had so very many. All she did was offer him a little chuckle in response, a soft humming in her throat. Maybe that wasn’t warm enough. Clearly he was doing his best, he deserved at least something polite. A playful roll of her eyes as she shook her head, mumbling “you showboat” under her breath as she extended her paw again. She took one of the buttercups, bright yellow and cheery, and placed it in her hair. Did it clash boldly with her natural colors? Of course it did. Was she intent on wearing it anyways? Of course.  The attention the show garnered did not slip by her notice. She waved, briefly, as she always did to those who recognized her from her feats, and folded her hands in front of her again, returning her attention to Panther. “A good trick, slight of hand magic was always the kind I found most difficult. How easy it comes to others.” A genuine compliment? Perhaps the moon was blue.

Her muttered ribbing was entirely lost; the smile spreading on Panther’s face now was damn near triumphant as her praise swelled in his chest. He’d caught that charmed glitter in her eyes as she tucked one of the flower buds into her deep blue hair. It was a bold accent against her otherwise harmonious bearings, an eccentric touch. But Panther, even as a man of fashion and taste—and certainly in part due to the air of delight that had intoxicated him since she’d given him her first smile—he could feel nothing but endeared to how it looked upon her head.

“Ah, it is only a skill of my trade, Krystal—you would learn it quickly, with the right instruction,” he told her. “It has nobler merits than lawlessness. That, at least, I have proven.”

With that brief display behind them, there was little point to staying on the sidewalk with the restaurant before them beaming with warmly-lit welcome. “But I’ve kept you on this curb long enough, haven’t I?” He strode forward, pushed the glass doors ajar to reveal the swathe of white-clothed tables, wooden chairs and softly chattering guests, and gave her another shallower, but no less reverent bow as he gestured her inside.

“Once. I’d taken an amulet from a Zonessian aristocrat who’d fled his planet during its destruction. It had belong to his wife—and selling it would be the same as selling a wedding ring. A thoughtless mistake I’d never make again.”

“Ha! I turned down contracts from armchair vigilantes on either side.” 

Panther’s paw was warm in her own, warmer than she had expected. Warm and, almost, dare she say it, comfortable to hold, like it was the perfect size to walk with, swing back and forth between them as they went like they were old lovers, instead of this being a first date. Perhaps she was getting too far ahead of herself, this was a first date, after all! She had no obligation to go on another no matter how magical this one turned out to be. If it turned out magical at all, she scolded herself mentally. Get a grip, Krystal, you act as if you’ve never been on a date before! … Which she hadn’t, not a true one. She had loved before, and had lost, but a Lylatian style of dating was all new to her, territory she was shockingly unfamiliar with, and it showed in the slight raise of her eyebrow when Panther expressed his shock at her paying for her own fare. “But… What if I had ordered something excessive, or bought something expensive? It wouldn’t be fair to take advantage of your generosity!” Whoops, that was too kind, dial it back. “Even if a pirate like you is living off the generous lifestyle of others.” That was better. What was not better was his question about her lack of fight on this date. Why had she agreed to come with him? He was studying her now, and she disliked it, she knew he had no mental powers like herself, but still. Some people had a way of reading others without needing to look into their minds themselves, what if he read something in her expression she didn’t want to read? What could she do about this? She twined her fingers with his own, casually, bringing her previously wandering eyes forcibly back to his own and smiling as sunny as she could. She squeezed his hand, once, hoping this dirty, quite literally underhanded trick would make him abandon hope of getting a real answer, and would instead accept the shallow, vapid one. “It’s simply been a long time since I was on a date. That’s all. My best course of action was to give you a chance. So don’t botch it, hmm?”

Her dedication to reminding him of the frigid distance between them was almost admirable, if subtly cruel in how it stung; is it so necessary, dear Krystal? Yet all Panther could really do was laugh; not abrasively, not mockingly, but as if she had told a mildly humorous joke. How can he fault her loyalty to caution? He might’ve been made uneasy by its absence otherwise. And it’s so hard to insist on pressing her when she persisted---or at the very least, the sudden affectionate confidence of her thin, soft hand in his gave him enough pause to wonder if it was so important as to need to know it now. Alright; keep your secrets, darling. At least for now.

“Perish the thought! I gave you my word, didn’t I?” he told her, his fond yellow eyes briefly illuminated by the soft gold light from a window as they passed in front of it. He’d even turned as he walked, so as to face her more completely. “And if you learn anything of me, pirate or no, learn that I take a word given to a woman to heart---one such as you most of all. And so---”

And, as if to make clear the sincerity of his promise, Panther fell swiftly behind her, so that even their hands (so reluctantly) slipped apart from that moment, only to pirouette into step with her at her opposite shoulder just as quickly. In his hand, which was once empty, he now held to her a bouquet of  softly colorful buttercups. It was no master’s magician’s slight of hand, but to amuse her? This, surely, would be a good foot forward to that end.

“---let this,” he said with a sweeping bow to her, tail whirling gracefully along in the motion, as he slowed to a stop in front of the doors to the cafe. “Be the first of many ways I may delightfully surprise you.” 

To abuse her telepathic abilities was something that had tempted her greatly, a long time ago, when she had first entered Lylat. Nobody else had them, nobody else could retaliate if she used them, unlike her family and other Cerinians like herself. If she chose to delve into Panther’s mind, he’d be mostly at her mercy, unless he dared strike her to break her focus. She didn’t know what was in his mind, despite knowing what he felt for her, and had no intent to find out. She had a pretty good guess already, in her own opinion. “If I didn’t want to humor you, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

As a show of trust, she allowed him to keep her hand, her fingers closed tightly together instead of twining with his own. But, her palm rested snugly against his own, and she trusted him not to do anything untoward with the gift of paw he had been so generously given. If he said this area was safe? It was safe, and she could look with her eyes rather than her mind.  The lights and sounds and smells were dazzling, she had to admit, though if she mentioned this to Panther, she expected a flirt about how dazzling she was, instead. She sidled up to his side and made herself at home there, looking around and letting her eyes linger on the shops, instead of her guest. He was a sight in himself. “I did bring pocket change. I wouldn’t want you to have to pay for me when I can pay for myself. Did you have a plan, or are we going to wander?”

Panther gave her a wide, brow-raised look. “You pay? My dear, it’s as if you’ve never had a proper date in your life! Keep your money—you won’t have to spend a unit of it.”

Actually, how much was his payroll this month? He couldn’t recall it being terribly large and yet he could not bring himself to worry at all about what he’d be left with by the end of the night. Or that he should have anything left by the end of the night; the thought faded as she settled in close. No, no, there were far more important matters to concern himself with, such as—such as how best to introduce Krystal to his favorite café. What should he suggest from it’s menu? Something safe, that she would no doubt enjoy? Something exciting, that she would remember? Both? The heavens were the limit—

 —no, he was getting too far ahead of himself. They were in no rush, were they? He could take this time to lead her around, to guide her towards the magnificent, to hear her thoughts. He started forward, his stride casual and lax, along the paved pathway lining the shops before them. The atmosphere seemed to affect her; gradually she relaxed beside him, her exotic bands and jewelry gleaming in the glow of the windows as they passed. Her barbs were steadily easing. An encouraging sign. 

“In fact, there’s a restaurant here—the best on Corneria,” he continued. “That is where I intend to treat you. But that is only the destination—we’re together now, aren’t we?”

Panther grimaced, for both his aches and the unmistakable sound of Fox’s voice. He’d asked a good question, though he’d rather a man of any other affiliation to be the one standing over him in order to ask it. One who did not know his team, preferably. Still, what was the harm in testing?

Panther strained his arms beneath his weight, and they trembled as he pushed to right himself from where he lay, slumped and bleeding and bruised, against the hull of the smoldering wreckage that was now his ship. They gave out on him the moment he’d gained an inch off the sand; he collapsed in the same undignified heap with a grunt of pained frustration. 

“Not particularly well,” he finished bitterly, glowering at the grit piled at the toe of his boot. What a night; he’d been so confident when it began. To interrogate a grunt-level target, fully expecting resistance, fully prepared to evade an ambush should things go tragically ugly, was par for the course in his profession. To be shot down before he’d landed on Titania, however? To emerge from it only by the grace of a passing rival mercenary? Embarrassing. Humiliating.

Finally, he leveled his eyes to meet Fox’s. Fox was a decent man, adversary or no; there was no point in antagonistic needling while Panther was lying at his feet, and he wasn’t about to employ it. 

It was a staff, resting lightly between her back and shoulderblades, carefully nestled where it had always rested, when she had been a true princess of a country, of a nation, of a people, of an entire world. Before Andross ripped it all away from her. At times she wishes she had been there with them, no matter what could have happened to her in turn, but she was here. She was going to make the most of it, and was determined never to forget her own heritage while she did, to the point of leaving her blaster behind and taking her staff instead.  Compacted down to little more than a golden rod with a head as wide as one’s hand, and a rounded bottom, it looked innocent enough. However, Krystal knew that energy lurked inside, deep purple energy thrumming inside of polished gold, the head extending into blades sharp enough to shave with, and magic brewing in it’s core. She hoped she wouldn’t have to use it, though the urge rose when Panther leaned down to kiss her hand, a few little scars curved around the back of it. An old wound, and one that drove a urge to smack him up in her chest. Krystal forced it down and averted her eyes from his own to scan the perimeter again before she relaxed. “I don’t know, Panther.” She was using his name now, though some of the retorts were still present. “I could read your mind and find out. But, that would be rude, and call me mad, but I’m interested in whatever you have planned for us.”

Ah, that was right; Krystal’s strange telepathic abilities. He could not deny (but would not dare admit, despite the subtle flash in his eyes) the pause the mention of it caused him. What she would find regarding his feelings towards her in that moment, he was not so afraid of—he’s made them quite frank to her, and boldly so —but at another time, with other thoughts...

But what does it matter, now? Indeed, he’d found his anxiety dulled, as if by its antidote; the beginning of budding romance was a potent drug indeed. “Mad? Hardly. And far be it from me to betray such a rare and precious show of trust.” Panther leaned subtly into her searching line of vision to flash one more smooth smile at her before setting himself upright again, straightening his collar. “All I ask is that you deign to humor me, and I will reward your curiosity.”

Corneria had never been her home, that place would always stay nestled deep in her heart in a locked box like precious cigars, and at her choosing, be opened and fiddled with, and at the end of the internal argument over the value of keeping it or destroying it? Ultimately put away once more, deciding ‘maybe another day, I’ll smoke it, and get new ones’. But it never happened. The day was never today, or tomorrow, or the day after. The time to switch the home in her heart was never at hand, and the box remained locked with a key only she had. It didn’t mean Corneria had nothing to offer, though, in fact, it had most everything to offer! Including, it seemed, hideouts for wanted criminals, like the deadly Panther Caroso. A womanizer, some may say. A damned good pilot, say others. Cheap-shotting little Casanova, screamed some of her more… Hot-headed, companions, after a battle in the sky in which they came away victorious, but always at extreme cost to their ships. If he wasn’t a deadly mercenary, or so quick with a flirtation in the sky which almost always cost him a shot or two to his now exposed flank… Perhaps he could be useful to the Star Fox team. The big ‘WANTED’ signs all over Corneria usually deterred such notions, though. Not that they seemed to deter her beau (for the evening) from being here! Unfortunately, this was not a part of town she was familiar with, sending her mind as far as she dared to probe for hidden intentions, hidden threats, blades that flashed in the dark that may mince a Star Fox pilot like herself. There were none that she could detect, though the flashing grin of Panther himself made it a little hard for her to focus. Not by leaping hart, but by a natural, instinctual reaction to pop a shot at him even if she wasn’t in her Cloudjumper.  “Caroso,” she said, weighing her options just a touch at the prospect of holding the hand of such a sharply dressed felidae, who she had never seen like this before. Ultimately, she did produce a hand and give it to him, bare and light blue. She had kept some of the jewelry she was known for, the crest across her head, the necklace and even the leg bracelets that clinked now and again. Not out of gaudiness, but formality. She was a bit unaccustomed to Lylatian fashion. And of course, kept across her back? A golden stick. Which she could, if need be, grab and flick her wrist to activate into her staff. Could never be too careful. “I’m not familiar with this particular alleyway of the city. Do be careful not to leave me behind, or else I’m afraid I’ll have to give you a headache when I catch up.”

She was still hesitant; he could see it in her eyes and the glint of the weapon upon her back, could hear it in the tightness of how she’d used his name. He could not take offense; any mercenary would be, lady or no, and any less would make him wonder where her spirit had gone. Of course, the worst was unlikely, he was fairly certain of that—never entirely, as you learned not to be when your life was masked in subterfuge and lawlessness—but to need the blaster at his hip or to force her to draw her—staff, was that what it was?—would be...

Well, he would have failed her, no doubt. But he would prove her fears unfounded, would he not? What was he, if not adept at winning skeptical hearts?

Panther and Corneria had not been well met for years. The last time he’d been able to roam its ports and streets without fear of conflict was as a fresh-faced young man with barely a reputation and even barer possessions. Yet if a man such as himself was sly, if he knew how to speak, if he knew who to speak to and when to be good on his word, there were always cracks through which even a tracked criminal could slip. Those were how Panther kept his most luxurious vices satisfied—making the right friends and keeping the right doors open. And what an important night to slip through one! Now he stood in the heart of the one place he could still go on this planet and, as long as he behaved, parade about as confidently as Corneria’s most agreeable citizens; The Calico Plaza. 

Panther’s chest swelled with a breath as he inhaled the aromas, admiring the plethora of ornate sights; a fountain carved into the shape of a magnificent jewel beetle spread its water-spouting silver wings wide as if to embrace everything in front of it. Nestled into the ebony walls circled around him were glass doors and windows filled with silken clothes, the tantalizing twinkle of curios, neatly set dining tables, and glossy, boasting signs. The landscape around them, when not dotted with young trees and cleanly cut patches of picnic-prone grass, was patterned with walkways of alternating dark and light stones.

But Panther had seen all of these things before many times, even indulged in a few when he’d had the pocket money. The leading lady of evening, the rarest and most enthralling of presences, did not live here, nor, he imagined, would she think to; Krystal had agreed to be at his side that evening. She and her mystical cerulean hue and her sharp eyes and yes, even her barbed verbal jabs would hold his attention above anything this plaza could ever show him. Not out of demand on her part, no, she had never been so brash with him (certainly biting, yes, but not brash); he’d simply be unable to help himself. Indeed, he’d admit gladly to becoming evermore her fool.

And perhaps, he thought with a spark of hope still un-jaded by experience, if he did well, if he impressed her, she might yet join him in foolishness herself.

He’d adopted the middle road between formal and loose in clothes, buttons closing just beneath his collar; he was clean, dark. That’s how he looked when he met her, at the curb of the street before the plaza. The glitter in his eyes at the sight of her was just as earnest as the low warmth in his chest.

He chases the solar dove,”

“If you say so, Panther. You still owe me a date, don’t forget. I will make you fall far more than a thousand feet and fall five for every one thousand of them if you dare disappoint.”

“If I ever fail you so spectacularly—”

@skylightbunny​

“Strategy?”

“I’m inclined to disagree, Panther. I can directly say that flirting with me has caused your defeat. Many times.”

“But you are so unfair to me, Krystal.”

“Perish the thought! A pilot of true class and skill need never sacrifice the quality of his art for his heart, nor his heart for his art.”