#ginnefic

"Tell me," says Revali, "how much an apple costs these days."

Link looks up from the Sheikah Slate. "Buying or selling?" he asks. It's a pretty important distinction. "Depends on the season. I can sell them for three rupees when they're in season. Five rupees in winter." By early summer, when the stocks from last year's harvest have run empty, somebody might even pay seven. "I usually cook them first. Then people pay better." 

Though not everyone's as deep-pocketed as that honeymoon couple that were staying in Rito Village before.

"And if you happened to run out of apples"—Revali throws a dubious look at the Sheikah Slate, as if realising how unlikely that situation is to come to pass—"or lost that thing, I suppose... How much would somebody charge you to buy an apple from them?"

Link has to think about that a little harder. "Twelve," he says after a moment

"Twelve?!" Revali all but yelps; then, when Link glances at him, he coughs to cover the crack in his voice. "That is simply extortionate. 'Two reds for a green' - that's what they used to sell them for in Castle Town Market..."

Link must be misunderstanding him somehow. "Forty rupees for a green apple?"

"Two red apples," Revali snipes back, "for one green rupee."

That still doesn't sound right to Link, but he doesn't remember the minutiae of the market place from a hundred years ago, so he'll have to defer to Revali's memory.

"It's daylight robbery," Revali continues to grouse, frowning at the slip of paper he'd had Link pin against Vah Medoh's foot with a rock. The winds up here are so strong, Link's surprised it hasn't yet been snatched away. He had tried reading it himself, but the penmanship is too small for him to make out. "And so is this. Tell that ancient buffoon that I don't care what mathematical contortions he's put these numbers through. He won't get anything out of me."

--

"He's still on this plane of existence, isn't he?" Robbie retorts, when Link relays Revali's answer back to him. "Then he's extant enough to pay off his debts. Research doesn't happen in a vacuum, and progress isn't cheap!"

--

"You only have his word to go on that I owe him anything at all!"

--

"He's had the summary. I've got the receipts to prove it. Plus a century's interest on top-"

--

"Interest? What is he on about, interest?"

Link doesn't know either. "Purah said it's something banks charge."

"Since when is Robbie a bank--"

--

"Well I can't go charging his debts back to the treasury!" Robbie eyes Link speculatively. "Unless you're willing to settle it for him..."

--

"And end up owing you? No. I refuse."

--

[six time loops later -- 

"Not allowed," Purah sing-songed back.

"It's the rules," Zelda piped up from the corner of the room, still sounding half asleep. She didn't look nearly so prim and princess-y with her hair tumbled around her in heavy snarls and her feet propped up against the wall. Hopefully she'd missed the part when Revali had needed to consider his chances against her stepmother. "You have to - hic - choose."

The party had already been dying down for a while by this point; they were among the last left, along with Zelda, who barely counted (she'd been asleep for the last hour), and a gaggle of Impa's friends, who'd retreated with her into her room to discuss musty matters of philosophy, or whatever it was that provoked such a buzz of debate behind closed doors. (Robbie, Purah's flatmate, academic rival, and "worst friend/best enemy", had likewise disappeared, though for a different kind of conference.)

They ought to be dragged out here and face the same indignity, Revali thought, still searching for a loophole that wasn't forthcoming. He would be forced to choose, one way or another.

"Tch." There was only one option. "Marry," he said, leaving just enough of a pause to take in their looks of shock, before continuing, "because spouses can't be compelled to testify against each other in a court of law, and we'll both be in need of the alibi."

Purah threw her head back and cackled. "True to form, you can't give up on the murder."

As if she was one to talk: "Robbie," he shot back.

"Killing." A curl of smoke drifted towards the ceiling. "Definitely killing."

"You've killed half of campus between you," Zelda pointed out. "Is anyone still alive?"

She said it like Revali was responsible, when the whole thing started because Purah just happened to be bored and this was less destructive than letting her build fully-functioning catapults out of the communal toaster. The catapults were works of art. The toasters were never the same again.

"Oh! I've got one for you, Zel..."

Outside, a roaring in the alley died down to a grumbling purr. Revali tilted his head towards the sound, trying to determine whether it was -- but it couldn't be. That guy had been given the night off from princessly bodyguarding duties.

"...Wouldn't have expected that from you!"

Whatever he'd missed, a glance at Zelda's burning-red face confirmed he ought to be glad not to have heard it.

"Maybe we should finish this now," Mipha suggested, the voice of reason -- or perhaps the voice of not wanting to be the one sober enough to hold anyone's hair (or feathers) back in the morning. But speaking up only brought attention her way.

"You've been quiet, Mi- Aren't you curious at all?"

Purah took up Zelda's line of attack: "Nobody's psyche you want to peer into?"

"Not really," said Mipha, too hesitantly for her own good; Purah continued to prod until she could only do her best to put her foot down.

"Last one," she said.

"Make sure to choose wisely~."

Revali and Mipha glanced at each other. Don't ask me, he thought, only for Mipha to say, "Revali-"

He glared. Mipha mouthed an apology.

Then ask Purah - Revali tried to signal it with his line of sight. 'Killing' Purah would be one way to end the game for good; they'd be within their rights to ignore the protestations of the so-recently deceased.

"Fuck, marry, or kill - um, let's see..."

Nobody had locked the door. A rush of cold air swept inside, trailing frosty fingers down the back of Revali's neck, and Mipha looked up in surprise. "Link?"

"Fuck!" Revali swore, lunging for the low table where Purah's stash of 'herb' was in full view; that guy was so straight-laced and boring that the only time Revali had ever seen an expression on his face was when Purah pulled it out in public. Then the realisation of what he'd said slammed into him.

Ignore that.

Zelda tried to sit upright, an inelegant manoeuvre given her previous contortions. "Link! What are you doing here?"

Silently, he pointed at the clock they'd deliberately forgotten to consult at any point, then held out a small object that should have been in Zelda's bag...

"Oh." It was Zelda's phone. "Oh, no - Urbosa's going to kill me - "

Link tossed it her way. His eyes scanned the room and settled on Revali; a frown was in them.

"Revali," Purah said loudly, "what did you just say?"

Mipha clapped her hands together, bracelets rattling. "That's it, game over!" To Revali she mouthed, Really?

"Nooooo," Purah said, "we need to know more about this. Confession of the century. Revali, you want to do what - "

"Pluck off," he snapped.

"That wasn't what you said before."

Making another valiant effort to maintain order, Mipha said, "We agreed this would stay in this room. Even you voted for that rule."

"Linky's in the room," Purah pointed out unhelpfully.

Revali made a grab for his scarf. "I'm leaving," he said, then left, though it was too late for a bus and too dark to fly and his legs never liked to cooperate after a drink.

Link caught up to him before the end of the street, jangling keys in a question.

"No," Revali said. "Absolutely not." He didn't know how much Link had heard, or pieced together. "There is no way -"

--

Revali didn't talk for the rest of the trip. The rush of air from a motorbike wasn't too dissimilar from the wind in his braids during flight. He told himself, firmly, that that was the only enjoyment to be found in this.

It wasn't long before they pulled up outside Revali's place.

Gratitude. Remember gratitude. "Thanks, I guess," he tried, though Link said nothing back, of course.

This was too awkward to bear. Revali turned his back on him and rummaged for a key.

"About before," Link said abruptly, steps clanking away down the metal steps - "Maybe when you're sober."

Revali froze. Before he could confront Link, Epona's engine growled back to life. He could only watch the red light sink into the darkness.

"As if," he muttered, and went inside.

He could never be sure, with Frieren. 

To see the meteor shower twice within a human lifetime would have been rare, before their party slew the Demon King; it had been enough of a surprise to live to see it the first time. Himmel has to wonder just how often Frieren has watched the Era Meteor Shower from the same spot she leads them to now. Once - twice - a hundred times? (Surely she cannot be that old. But who knows? he has never met another elf. Frieren is his only point of reference in the same way she once rewrote his understanding of magic with a single spell.)

Early on in their travels, before Eisen and Frieren had joined their numbers, Heiter had a running joke that he would be the first to die — Himmel the Hero? More like Himmel the Hazard. Himmel the Hard-Headed. Himmel the Health-Risk--

("Health risk?" Frieren had interrupted, the first time Heiter brought this up within her earshot, though any hope that she might be coming to Himmel's defence was swiftly dashed: "You could try being sober, corrupt priest."

Heiter laughed her off, the way he always did when his cup ran closer to brimming.)

It has been such a long time since they were all together like this. Himmel does his best to keep up with the others, despite the ache of his old bones. Frieren had kept her promise after all, returning in time for the Meteor Shower — the least he can do is endure long enough to reach the place she's chosen. 

Another day's travel, Frieren says over their campfire that evening, still wearing that slight smile; they'll definitely reach it in time.

And though Himmel knows, deep down, that this journey is sure to be his last, he's equally sure of this: He can manage just one more day.