#crabcakes

Drifter made a face.

“How’d you even see that?” he whispered.

“I did not. But you clearly were creating a distraction by stumbling against me and the knife that was there a moment ago is now gone.”

He shook his head. “Tell ya just one of my tricks and now you’re seein’ through ‘em all.”

“Not all. But I noticed that one.”

“Well, for the record, I ain’t stealin’ it. I’m using it. I’ll return it before we leave. Besides, steak knives ain’t silverware.”

“How many have you taken thus far that I haven’t noticed.”

“This is steak knife number four. I gave you all my fancy bone and glass knives that don’t show up in scanners. I think we’ll both feel safer knowing I got something sharp too.”

“Hmmm…”

There was a soft tinkling of music and Eris tilted her head.

“Piano,” she said after a moment.

“That the name of the song?” Drifter asked.

“The instrument,” she clarified.

“Big thing with strings and keys?”

“Yes. I wonder where they put it."

"Sound's doin' that whole floaty thing and all the people makes it hard to find.”

"Very."

Both scanned their surroundings with eyes and ears accustomed to picking out danger, not music from crowds.

“Right side,” Eris murmured.

The Drifter adjusted where he was looking. “Hawk lady’s spot.” He nodded in the direction of the terrace.

“Suraya,” Eris smiled. “Is she the one playing? I did not know she had musical competency.”

“Nope. Eliksni I don’t recognize. Four hands is probably useful for that, yeah.”

“But only three fingers on each hand. Piano is a finger-based instrument.”

“I mean, most instruments are. But yeah. They still get two extra thumbs. Not that big of an advantage though, you’re right.”

“Still a demonstration of skill, to learn an alien instrument well enough to play for such a gathering. They must be an accomplished musician.”

“A lot of Eliksni are, actually. Rich culture, when they’re not murdering the fuck out of everything around them.”

“You would know.”

“Nah, I mostly hung with the murderin’ ones. Even when we weren’t murderin’ each other we were still murderin’ or stealin’ or smugglin’. I uh… don’t have a lot of history with nice people.”

“My past with them is less collaborative than yours but similarly violent and lethal. They were very effective at slaughtering guardians on the Moon and we, likewise, offered no quarter. I am glad to have encountered some who are willing to be friends.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Eris! Drifter!” A voice called from across the way.

“Speakin’ of…” the Drifter balanced his plate on top of his champagne glass and lifted a hand in a friendly wave to Eido who was gleefully approaching them.

Both of them smiled warmly at the Scribe of the House of Light.

Eido was one of the people the Drifter had recommended they engage in conversation when he and Eris had gone over their ‘battle plans’ for the evening. Eris was still anxious over Mithrax’ daughter’s boundless excitement but, as requested, she'd mentally prepared herself for several conversational topics in advance and, just as the Drifter had predicted, all Eris needed to do was introduce an idea and then respond with attentive open-ended questions. “Wind her up and watch her go,” was how he had described the technique and Eris was impressed by how well it worked. Eido happily chattered on with gentle prompting. Every once in a while Eris stole a glance back at Drifter, giving him a small, almost imperceptible, grateful smile.

The Drifter barely said anything beyond asking his own occasional question, often one Eris was reasonably certain he already knew the answer to, in order to set Eido off on yet another excited tangent while gently walking the two of them around, one on each of his arms, from the food table to the drinks, to near the empty area in front of the dais, nodding occasionally at other people to acknowledge them. He kept the three of them moving slowly, ensuring anyone who Eris did not want to talk with (which was the bulk of the attendees) could see she was busy but clearly present at the event and participating.

When Eido was finally pulled away by her father, the Drifter swiped two fresh glasses of champagne from a server and handed one to Eris with a grin.

“You were right,” she said after taking a sip.

“Yup. And you just engaged in over an hour and a half of fancy party small talk, Moondust. Well done.”

“It feels a bit manipulative.”

“You kidding me? Crabcakes was having the time of her life nattering away at you. You made her feel special and heard. She's gonna remember this as a kindness and a strong reinforcement, and public acknowledgement, of her friendship with both of us. Not to mention the optics.”

“The optics?”

“Fancy diplomatic bullshit like this is all about puttin’ on a show of how well everyone is gettin’ along. Look around. How many people outside of our fearless leaders are making an effort at inter-species communication?”

Eris scanned the crowd, her eyes seeing their inherent light. He was right. Most groups were keeping to themselves and not mingling.

“Despite it being an attempt to occlude your infamy, you really are worthy of the title companion. You are genuinely good company. I am very grateful for you. And not just here.”

His eyes softened. He wanted to tell her that he'd happily be her companion for the rest of his lives. He wanted to tell her that being here for her meant the world to him and that he loved her… he loved her… he loved her so fucking much and he was hers forever… and he wanted to hold on to her and never let go. But that sounded far too much like the sort of thing someone would say at a different kind of fancy party, the kind antithetical to someone who still called himself the Drifter, symbolizing the kind of permanence Eris had already told him she could not give him even if he somehow, for the first time in his entire existence, may have actually been willing to consider it.

Instead he leaned close and spoke softly in her ear. “If we weren't at a fancy party surrounded by important people we ain't allowed to piss of without causing a diplomatic incident, I'd pull you into a dark corner right now and show you just how good my company can be.”

Eris smirked and leaned in to murmur next to his ear. “I am already well versed in how good your company can be in that capacity, you wicked creature.”

He brushed her cheek with his nose, avoiding her paracausal tears. “Your wicked creature,” he purred.

That… That he could say with full honesty and mean every word.

She clutched his arm tightly through her long satin gloves. “Are you trying to make me grab you and kiss you in front of all these people?”

He grinned, his eyes glittering. “Maybe.”

“Rat…”

“I mean… At no point did I promise not to tease you. Just that I'd behave. If you can't behave yourself that ain't on me. I'm bein’ good.”

“Because stealing steak knives and whispering licentious things in my ear is behaving.”

Drifter shrugged. “It is for me.”

Eris sighed deeply. “You're not wrong.”

“You see? I told you it was them!” a loud distinctive voice with a Russian accent shouted across the courtyard.

The Drifter's eyes widened as he looked at Eris. “Shit. It's both of them, isn't it?”

Eris looked behind him and nodded. “It is.”

“And here you were worried you'd be the only one having awkward conversations tonight,” he said quietly before slipping his arm gently back around her waist and turning with a practiced smile to greet both Osiris and Saint-14.