#mortequay

Quay's hopes were pretty high after the near-perfect meringues.

It'd taken them two tries to produce such immaculate meringues, the first attempt ruined by broken egg yolks making their way into the whites. Quay had taken a deep breath and, with spare eggs on hand, elected to conduct a second trial, following a much more meticulous procedure -- and, in their mind, the results were absolutely worth the extra effort.

Which led to their disappointment weighing all the more heavily on their heart when they arrived at Huaxu Academy the following morning, and opened the parcel they were carrying to find the treats they'd crafted partially dissolved.

They held their breath. So they'd thinned the chestnut puree too much after all, and the moisture content proved problematic for something fragile like a meringue. They couldn't even remove one from the pan without it threatening to crumble in their hands.

Perhaps a bit too harshly, Quay let their breath out. They scanned their surroundings in case any of the researchers in the laboratory were scrutinizing them too closely. Maybe they could get away with throwing out the entire package before anyone discovered them with this pitiful excuse for a dessert.

And they would have, right then and there, if not for the memory of promising the researchers this particular treat gnawing at the back of their mind. Quay had even continued to hype up the occasion in the days since, reminding the researchers of their commitment to deliver a helping of sweets worthy of anticipation.

Once again, Quay drew a deep breath. Their fingers itched with the temptation to toss the parcel and be done with it -- then, at least, they could stop beating themselves up over it.

But that was an irreversible decision.

Maybe they could salvage these desserts somehow. Maybe they could make it so giving them a chance wasn't such a disastrous idea.

Okay, so maybe the mont blanc wasn't as picture-perfect as they wanted. But, in some way, shape, or form, it was still edible, right? Perhaps just... with a spoon. Yeah, a spoon. It could be eaten out of a bowl, or something. It wasn't like the dissolution of the meringues made the whole thing poisonous -- especially not just overnight.

"Good morning, Quay!"

Quay's ears perked at the approach of a fellow researcher. But before Quay could even begin to turn around and explain themselves, the researcher's words continued.

"Oh, are these the desserts you said you would make?" Their voice rose in anticipation as they noticed the parcel Quay had set on the table before them.

"Well... sort of." Quay tried not to fidget too visibly. "I made really good meringues, but... I think I watered down the chestnut puree too much, and they ended up, uh... melting."

They set their jaw as the researcher peered into the parcel.

"I think they're still edible," Quay added, "but... I can't promise anything more than that."

"Oh, I'm sure if it's something you made, then it will definitely be edible, at least."

Despite Quay's utter lack of confidence, the researcher didn't seem the slightest bit dissuaded (even though the mere sight of the meringues was, by Quay's sole judgment, embarrassing).

"Did Quay bring treats again?"

The sound of an additional voice further elevated Quay's heart rate. At this point, it was only a matter of time before the whole academy gathered to witness Quay's pathetic attempt at mont blanc. They shook their head to dispel the image of the forming crowd, all eyes in the room focused on the package they'd presented. Were they to perish here at the hands of the researchers' ridicule, at least they were satisfied with the learning experience they'd derived from the meringue-making process.

"You brought mont blanc."

This particular voice, even and deep and rumbling like the sound of air over hot coals (and enveloping their heart just as warmly), snapped Quay from their reverie.

Navigating the room with great ease and confidence, Mortefi had already made his way to the table; now he stood next to Quay to examine the parcel, his presence solid and reassuring just beyond their left shoulder.

"I did!" Quay's anxiety further dissipated at the realization that Mortefi had recognized the dessert despite its lamentable state. "The meringues came out okay, but I made the chestnut puree too thin, so they ended up melting a little. I think they're still edible."

"I'm sure they're edible," Mortefi reassured them. Though his attention remained fixed on the package full of partially-crumbling desserts, Quay felt the telltale weight of the tip of his tail resting comfortably against their ankles. "Perhaps just with a spoon."

"Yeah, that's what I thought!"

Before Quay could get a proper look at his expression, Mortefi briefly stepped away from the table (presumably to fetch said spoon). Now, at least, instead of everyone watching the meringues, all eyes in the room were on Mortefi, awaiting his appraisal.

It was only a moment before Mortefi returned carrying a spoon in one hand, his curved talons deftly supporting the utensil, and an empty mug in the other. Now Quay caught a proper glimpse of his fiery eyes glimmering with intrigue.

"You've just made a mug cookie this time around."

Though the lines in Mortefi's countenance remained deep, as always, his voice was light with mirth. With minimal difficulty, he transferred one of the meringues to the mug. Quay watched the motions of his hands as he completed the dessert with the appropriate toppings of whipped cream and powdered sugar, and, finally, brought a morsel to his mouth.

After a moment of contemplation, Mortefi shot Quay an approving glance. "It's delicious."

All of the tension in Quay's body evaporated. So, despite the mishap, their mont blanc wasn't a complete disaster after all.

"Thank you. I'm glad." Mentally, Quay was victoriously pumping the air with their fists.

"It's difficult to find this in Jinzhou." As Mortefi spoke, he transferred the mug to his left hand, affectionately resting the other on Quay's back. Quay allowed themselves to melt into the warm touch (in a more subtle and picturesque manner than a melting meringue, they hoped).

"Yeah, the chestnuts aren't a common flavor here." Quay flicked their tail. "I had to get them imported, and it's expensive even for a small portion."

"Mm." Mortefi made a low, contemplative noise. "Well, I do appreciate you going through the trouble of making this for us. And I don't doubt that everyone here would agree with me."

It was then that Quay realized that they had completely withdrawn their attention from the room around them in favor of focusing on Mortefi. When they turned back to the parcel they'd left on the table, almost all of the meringues had completely disappeared, as if by magic. Satisfaction bubbled within their chest at the sight of the near-empty package.

That makes me happy. Quay took this as a reminder not to judge themselves too harshly, and that their friends at the Academy would likely appreciate whatever sweets they brought them, even if they weren't up to Quay's personal standards.

"I suppose that takes care of afternoon tea for the day," Mortefi mused. "Stay safe if you're going out on an expedition today."

Quay's eyes slid closed as Mortefi raised his hand to caress their right ear, his claws dipping softly into the velvety fur.

Quay leaned into the touch. "I will. Take care of yourself."

“...Mortefi?”

After softly calling out, he waited in the threshold for several seconds. Sure, he was far from a stranger here, but it would still do him well not to startle anybody on his way in. Better yet if someone noticed him first and came to greet him.

Yet there was no response.

So he closed the door and made his way inside, a plethora of possibilities rushing through his head. It could be that there was no one here, and the last person in the building had simply forgotten to lock up—very unlikely, but still a far cry from impossible. It was far more probable that someone was still here and was so focused on their work that they hadn’t noticed him enter.

And that someone was definitely not Xiangli Yao or Baizhi. (Although the former was a notorious early riser, so him arriving even before Quay was another scenario not entirely out of the question. Still, if that was the case, Yao would have responded to his intrusion, would he not?)

If the building was otherwise unoccupied, though, he’d technically be trespassing.

A jolt of anxiety quickening his step, Quay tightly gripped the parcel he was carrying as he rounded a corner at the far end of the foyer. Without even thinking about it, he knew exactly how many steps to take, when to turn to find the door he was seeking. The light within this particular room was on, too, so it must be occupied, Quay reasoned—unless somebody had been uncharacteristically negligent before leaving the night before.

Carefully shifting his grip on the parcel he carried, Quay lifted a hand to tap on the door. Again, no response. Nevertheless, he waited just a few seconds before he nudged it ajar.

Quay scanned the room as he entered—but he didn’t have to search far.

Just beyond reach of the door, in a chair angled awkwardly away from the nearby desk, sat Mortefi—sound asleep, his chin tucked low and his arms folded tightly across his chest, and with his tail curled cozily across his lap. On the desktop next to him rested his neglected tablet and his glasses.

Quay couldn’t properly describe the sensation that blossomed in his heart then—something warm, certainly, but also unsteady, flickering like a candle flame, or perhaps more like a reflection on rough water. He and Mortefi were close, sure, but he still couldn’t help but feel a stab of guilt at stumbling upon Mortefi alone in his laboratory, conked out after what was quite clearly a failed attempt at an all-nighter.

That, and he’d never seen Mortefi asleep before. Meeting Mortefi’s blazing eyes never failed to ignite something in Quay’s heart, so there was something distinctly intriguing about witnessing Mortefi with those eyes instead shut tight, their fire replaced with the tenderness of his eyelashes descending upon his cheeks.

Quay managed to stop his hand just before his fingertips contacted Mortefi’s temple.

He couldn’t even question what he was doing, for fear of his thoughts on the matter being so loud that they snapped Mortefi awake.

So, holding his breath, he redirected his arm so that his hand alighted on the shoulder of Mortefi’s lab coat instead.

“Mortefi, wake up.”

It was a few seconds before Mortefi stirred—at the point when Quay had just resolved to speak up again, but, thankfully, he was able to keep his voice in his throat.

The fire in Mortefi’s eyes reignited weakly, a mere smolder, still bleary with drowsiness. After a moment he started to lift his chin, his movements gaining intention as he gradually came to.

“...Quay?”

Mortefi’s voice scraped the insides of his lungs as he took in his surroundings. When he finally realized what had happened, he pursed his lips and a deep crease formed in his brow. (This was a look with which Quay was much more familiar.)

Scarcely suppressing a sigh, Mortefi unfolded his arms and reached across the desktop for his glasses. “It’s morning, isn’t it?”

At Mortefi’s almost deadpan intonation, seeming to reflect a resignation to his fate, a laugh bubbled in Quay’s throat.

“It is. Here, I brought breakfast. You should eat.”

Quay set the parcel he’d been carrying on the desk before Mortefi and lifted from the package a small hard-sided box with a translucent lid.

Mortefi’s attention fixed to the box, and he blinked a couple of times, evidently only just now perceiving it. “Oh. Thank you. That’s very considerate of you, as always.”

Mortefi retrieved the box from Quay’s grasp, the leathery scales on the pads of his fingers brushing against Quay’s gloves. Yet, rather than give the box anything more than a cursory inspection, Mortefi set it aside at the corner of the desk and then began to pivot in his chair.

Now it was Quay’s turn to stare awkwardly. “...You’re just going to go back to work?”

“Yes,” Mortefi replied immediately, as though the answer was obvious. He stopped and turned back to reach for his tablet instead. “There is still much to be done. I expected to finish it yesterday, but…” During the pause in his words, his lips curled even further back. Again Quay made out the smallest huff leaving Mortefi’s nose. “...clearly, that didn’t happen.”

Quay flicked his tail to stifle the meager annoyance building within his chest. Not that the feeling was particularly volatile; he wasn’t angry with Mortefi, per se. Rather, he couldn’t help but fret over the impact sleep deprivation would have on Mortefi’s well-being, as few things vexed him more than the thought of Mortefi feeling unwell.

“Your health is important, too,” Quay asserted.

Mortefi didn’t look up from his tablet. The screen came to life, casting light onto his glasses. “You’re not wrong.”

The spark of irritation returned. Quay’s tail swung to the other side.

“Can it not wait until later? You should at least take a proper break.”

Mortefi’s talon froze in place where it had come to rest on the tablet screen. At last, his shoulders lifted in a full-on sigh. “Fine. Just a quick one.”

Now Mortefi replaced his tablet on the desk and once again reached for the box. It gave a hushed thunk as he moved it, followed by a click as he unlatched the lid—both readily audible in the otherwise empty laboratory.

Quay felt a smile press into his cheeks. “Thank you.”

Mortefi cast a skeptical glance at Quay, his eyes sharp over the rims of his glasses. One of his eyebrows twitched upwards. “What for? You’re the one who brought me this favor, not the other way around.”

“But you are doing me a favor,” Quay countered, cocking his head playfully, “by taking care of yourself.”

Mortefi simply stared at him, neither particularly amused nor upset.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.” Quay adjusted his utility sash, and shifted his weight in preparation to depart; the sooner he left, the sooner Mortefi could get some food in his stomach and then proceed with his research. “But make sure you get some proper rest after you’re done with work today.”

“As you wish,” Mortefi relented, his voice a soft rumble. His hands settled onto the desktop before him. “In that case, I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Quay nodded. “Tomorrow. I’ll see you then.”

It was then that Quay commanded his legs to move—but his muscles refused to budge.

Nothing was wrong with him; he just… didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

Still Mortefi held his gaze, and it was… mesmerizing. Quay didn’t want to look away.

He chalked it up to the present silence and stillness of the Academy building; with a lack of other stimuli, his senses were honed in on the man before him. And, likewise, Mortefi only watched him intently, the flame in his eyes now much steadier and livelier (though the creases in his eyelids were still deep with fatigue). Quay could swear that time didn’t exist right now.

Quite belatedly Quay realized that he couldn’t recall ever previously looking down at Mortefi before; typically, with Mortefi being significantly taller than he, it was the other way around. It left him with an odd feeling. Between Mortefi’s eye level being lower than his, and the way he’d found Mortefi dozing off in his lab… it was unprecedented, he concluded, for him to see Mortefi quite so…

…Unguarded.

He hesitated to call Mortefi vulnerable, even if only in his mind; the sight of Mortefi in combat was still vivid in his recollection, even though it had already been several weeks since then. The crimson scales gleaming on Mortefi’s right hand, as well as the sharp glimmer in his slit-pupiled eyes, served as an apt reminder of just how readily he could incinerate any enemy that dared raise a weapon to him, leaving naught but ashes.

Thankfully, Quay mused, on Mortefi’s list of enemies, Quay was very much near the bottom—so instead, he enjoyed the privilege of standing this close to Mortefi, basking in his attention in the quiet laboratory.

Still Mortefi only watched him, seemingly reluctant to interrupt his reverie—or, maybe, Quay might permit himself to imagine, Mortefi was just as entranced as he was by the stillness of the moment.

Quay was comfortable. Very comfortable. The way his heart seemed to swell, having long since filled his chest with a pleasant warmth, informed him as much.

It was then that his body seemed to move on its own. His hand found its way to Mortefi’s shoulder, his fingers curving down towards Mortefi’s back. He realized only a second or two beforehand how close Mortefi’s face was to his own—that was when he must have leaned in—and the next thing he knew, his eyes were closed, and Mortefi’s lips were on his.

Soft.

They were soft, and a bit wet, but not much, for the touch was light and tentative, just enough to be properly called a kiss. Still, it was plenty for Quay to revel in Mortefi’s scent, faintly sweet and reminiscent of some distant land he could probably only visit in his fantasies.

And further still, those mere two seconds were instantly seared into his memory—though it took him much longer to realize this, as he somehow managed to turn and leave the laboratory without further incident; Mortefi hadn’t even offered a response, aside from a hushed purr of contentment that Quay felt rather than heard, the air vibrating from within Mortefi’s chest almost directly into Quay’s mouth. And only a few moments after they parted, Mortefi turned his attention to his breakfast—clearly not displeased, as though by their first kiss, such occurrences had already become commonplace for them.

Entering Huaxu Academy for the second time was nowhere near as intimidating as the first. Still, Quay had to give the voice in the corner of his mind—the one reminding him he looked like he had a target painted on his back—a stern reminder to pipe down.

One of these days, he’d learn how to look like he was supposed to be here, but today was not that day.

“Hello there—can I help you?”

Sometimes, as embarrassing as it could be, Quay’s ability to look quite lost no matter the location was actually beneficial; in new places, he seldom had to ask for assistance, because, inevitably, someone would offer it first. He’d hardly been inside for ten seconds, and a researcher—one he couldn’t recall meeting during his previous visit—was already making their way over to him.

Upon meeting his gaze, they paused momentarily. “Ah, it’s you. I remember you from the other day.”

Evidently, the lack of recognition wasn’t mutual.

(Which was probably a good thing, in any case, because then, at least, Quay wouldn’t get singled out for loitering, right? Or even trespassing?)

Quay forced his hands to stop fidgeting. “Oh… you do?”

“Yeah!” Thankfully, they didn’t seem bothered by Quay’s lack of enthusiasm. “Anyway, what was it you needed?”

Quay managed to straighten his back, but failed to steady his voice. “I’m, uh… here to see Mortefi.” 

The researcher nodded. “Ah, Mortefi. He’s back in his lab. At least, he was last time I checked. It’s this way.”

Feeling only marginally more oriented, Quay followed the researcher down a hall extending from the foyer’s rear left corner. Too quickly he grew to miss the natural light coming in from the big windows now far behind him. To distract himself, he counted the doors they passed, wondering which would be the one he sought—

—and he didn’t have to wonder for long, because the next door ahead of them opened, and who should step out but Mortefi, tailed by a pair of researchers.

Quay didn’t know why, when he came here specifically to see Mortefi, he still experienced something like pleasant surprise at the sight of him.

“Ah,” commented Quay’s guide, “looks like he’s busy at the moment.”

Mortefi and the two researchers were evidently in the middle of some conversation; Quay didn’t bother trying to make out individual words, though, instead opting to listen to how Mortefi’s voice rose and fell in his throat, like the air over hot coals being turned.

“Are you in a hurry?”

The guide’s whispered question snagged Quay’s attention. Quay managed to spare them a glance.

“No, it’s okay,” Quay murmured back. “I can wait.”

At some point between sentences, Mortefi cast Quay and the guide each a brief look. His conversation with the pair of researchers, however, proceeded for another minute or two before the researchers took their leave and made their way down the hallway from whence Quay had come. Mortefi then produced his tablet from his pocket and began to manipulate something on the screen. Another thirty seconds or so passed in near-silence before he faced Quay and the guide properly.

Now Mortefi’s full attention was on them, granting them permission to speak.

“Excuse me, Mr. Mortefi,” the guide piped up. “Quay is here to see you.”

Mortefi, still holding his tablet, regarded Quay with an inquisitive gaze. “So it would seem. Thank you.”

With a hushed, yet polite salutation, the guide also took their leave. Quay watched them shuffle away for a second or so.

Quay was suddenly acutely aware of the quiet, yet persistent whirring of machinery echoing in the brightly lit hallway. He must have been holding his breath.

“Apologies for keeping you waiting,” Mortefi finally began. “Give me a description of the item you wanted—if you would.”

Quay felt his brow furrow in puzzlement. He realized belatedly that he should have expected such a start to the conversation, rather than some platitude—though, when did he ever develop the expectation for that?

 “...Item? I’m sorry, I’m…” Quay chose his words carefully. “...I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Mortefi’s eyes narrowed just slightly, the shadows within them deepening. “I believe I told you to approach me with inquiries about Tacetite weapons or device modifications, did I not?”

Quay felt his recollection of the other day click into place in his brain. “Oh.”

Mortefi had indeed departed with… the instruction to find him if Quay wanted something made. Had that been a hard-and-fast rule, or just a request? For his own sake, Quay hoped it was the latter.

“You did, but…” Quay shifted his weight. “I’m not here for that. I just came to stop by and say hi.”

Mortefi’s talon paused on the tablet screen. “To stop by?”

Now Quay blinked, forcing himself to keep breathing. “...Is that unusual?”

Did people only ever visit Mortefi’s lab to make demands of him? Or was Quay specifically not permitted to visit for any other purpose?

Thankfully, before Quay’s train of thought could derail too far, Mortefi’s grip on his tablet relaxed visibly—as did Quay’s lungs along with it.

“Not unusual,” Mortefi conceded, a rumble passing through his voice, “just… unexpected.”

Really? Quay didn’t know what to make of this distinction. Nevertheless, the important part was that he wasn’t in trouble. 

“You may leave disappointed,” Mortefi continued, his eyes still on the tablet screen. “I can’t offer much by way of entertainment, I’m afraid, as I’m quite busy at the moment.” Indeed, he was already turning back towards the door to his lab as he spoke.

“That’s okay,” Quay interjected. “We don’t need to do anything in particular, just…”

He trailed off as he realized he had no idea where he was going with that sentence. His train of thought had failed him once again.

Mortefi, having paused facing the door, pivoted and raised an eyebrow at him. “Just…?”

Quay clenched his jaw shut. The way this was going, trying to pull himself out of this hole would only dig him deeper still. If he was lucky, Mortefi would lose interest in that particular line of reasoning, and either change the subject, or leave him in the hallway to die of embarrassment.

Well, if he perished here, he’d have accomplished his goal of ‘saying hi,’ if nothing else.

“Ah, that’s right.” Mortefi straightened his back. “I suppose, while you’re here, I should give you a proper apology.”

The solemn way he met Quay’s eyes was… concerning? Quay had gotten his hopes up for a few seconds, but maybe the change in subject wasn’t so fortunate after all.

Quay’s ears folded back. “An apology? For what?”

Now Mortefi averted his gaze again. This development stirred Quay’s stomach in a way he didn’t quite understand at the time, but later figured it was due to the rapid shift in the conversation; up until this point, Quay was certain he’d been in a much more vulnerable position than Mortefi. The way Mortefi’s confidence seemed to evaporate almost instantly unsettled him.

“For frightening you the other day.”

Had he not been present for the context, Quay might well have assumed that Mortefi was speaking to the wall.

Quay’s brow fell into a deep furrow as he sorted through his memories, backtracking through his occupational training to the last time he saw Mortefi—two or three days ago, indeed, when they’d crossed paths on that walk up the nearby mountain. Maybe he’d thought Mortefi slightly intimidating a few times, but…

…Frightening? When did that happen?

…

…Oh, wait.

Now that he thought about it, Quay recalled a moment right after that scuffle with the Tacet Discords when Mortefi had apologized for something, but he’d been thoroughly perplexed at the time as to what that something could be. Quay had indeed spent a bit too long staring at the scales on Mortefi’s chest, and surmised that he’d been impolite at the very least, but that would have been something he should apologize for, not Mortefi—hence, his guesses had ended there.

That must have been it. Mortefi had interpreted Quay’s wide-eyed expression as fear. (And indeed, the way Mortefi now turned his left shoulder to Quay, hiding his scales from view, was reminiscent of how he’d previously retreated from Quay’s persistent gaze.)

And perhaps Mortefi was not unreasonable for it, Quay mused. Quay was indeed nervous and apprehensive around all manner of things that would not perturb an average person quite so deeply, so to think that he was afraid of something at any given moment was not a bad guess. And, conversely, it would be perfectly logical for someone to be afraid of a menacing dragon with the power to incinerate even Tacet Discords—but that particular fear was not one Quay possessed—especially not after witnessing how Mortefi fidgeted with a lighter, of all things.

In those two ways in particular, Quay acknowledged, he was certainly illogical.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Quay finally responded, collecting his wits. “You didn’t frighten me.”

Mortefi was silent for many long seconds, during which he started to turn back towards Quay, yet never fully faced him; in the brightly lit hallway, Quay could make out several unidentified emotions swimming through Mortefi’s eyes, one after the other.

“...Is that so?”

Quay spent a minute or so debating what response, if any, would be appropriate. As time dragged on, he feared this conversation would end on that awkward note.

Yes, he had accomplished his goal of ‘saying hi’ to Mortefi. Yet, he wanted to stay longer.

…And do what?

“All right, everybody, slow down.”

As Quay contemplated, an unfamiliar voice rose above the whirring in the background. It was coming from behind him; someone was making their way down the hallway. Instinctively, he pressed himself against the nearest wall and hoped they would simply pass by without further incident.

It became evident when he looked to confirm the newcomers’ identity that this particular outcome was extremely unlikely.

Indeed—newcomers, plural, rather than newcomer, singular: a young woman dressed in red and white, surrounded by a gaggle of children, the oldest of whom was likely six or seven.

Quay blinked.

Then he blinked again.

What were children doing in Huaxu Academy?

An answer soon arrived, in the form of one of the children speeding ahead of the others, making a beeline for a very obvious target they proceeded to declare:

“Mister Mortefiii!”

And, at the child’s gleeful squeal, two or three more broke off from the group and pursued their leader, their collective footsteps thundering against the floor.

“Hang on! Didn’t I just ask you to slow down?”

The young woman’s voice echoed again, with good-natured exasperation, as Quay spun to track the running children—and then to ascertain Mortefi’s reaction.

Quay wasn’t sure what he expected—but whatever it was, it wasn’t Mortefi crouching to meet the oncoming children, his tail giving a lazy sweep across the floor. Sure enough, the group of them stumbled to a halt, certainly well within comfortable conversation distance of him (in fact, Quay thought they were rather in danger of knocking him over); nevertheless, Mortefi showed no indication of distress.

“Now, what did I tell you about running in the laboratory?” Instead, Mortefi’s voice was soft, colored with a pleasant rumble, and his eyes were all but glowing with warmth.

“Oh, sorry,” one of the children lilted.

“Mister Mortefi!” another child squeaked. “Mister Mortefi, did you make it?”

Concurrent with this inquiry, a third child in the gaggle continued to waddle down the hallway, at first merely passing Mortefi; their goal became clear when they reached out with both tiny hands and practically toppled onto Mortefi’s tail.

Mortefi was about to answer the second child’s question when this development caught him off-guard. Still, somehow, he barely flinched, instead giving his tail another languid sweep that gently freed its scutes from the child’s grasp.

“Easy on the tail,” Mortefi advised, the appendage in question now swinging back, with utmost care, to herd the stray child back into Mortefi’s field of vision.

With this distraction taken care of, Mortefi produced from his pocket an item whose identity Quay struggled to discern at first. Whatever it was, its appearance elicited cries of joy from the group of children.

Quay’s ongoing attempts to make sense of the situation were promptly interrupted by a scarcely perceptible tug on the fabric of his pants—one that nevertheless made him jump.

He looked down. One of the children had escaped the attention of both Mortefi and the young woman and was now clinging to one of Quay’s boots.

“Hey, remember? Personal space.”

Thankfully, the young woman noticed and came to his rescue, grasping the child’s free hand and coaxing them away from Quay. The child meekly complied—but not without continuing to stare intensely. Quay might have tried to put even more distance between them were his back not already effectively against the wall.

“Sorry about that.”

The young woman’s voice gave him an excuse to divert his attention. He didn’t dare judge her appearance too closely, because, if she was anything like him, based on her rounded face and bright eyes, he figured people might underestimate her age by a whole ten years.

“Oh,” Quay managed to mumble. “It’s okay.”

Having his clothing grabbed wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience, no—but what was he going to do? Vent his displeasure on a young child who was just exploring like children normally do?

“By the way, I don’t believe I’ve seen you around before.” The young woman cocked her head faintly. “Are you new here?”

Quay’s hands fidgeted. “Oh, no. I don’t work here. I’m just visiting.”

Before the young woman could respond, the little child piped up again, pointing at Quay with one tiny finger. “Miss Chixia, look! He’s got puppy ears!”

Quay wilted at the child’s undying adoration, his ears pressing back against his head.

“Yes, that’s very cool, isn’t it?” The young woman—Chixia—nevertheless acknowledged the observation with a giggle. “Just remember, we ask before touching, okay?”

The child reached out again, flexing their fingers. “I wanna touch!”

Quay withered further. His tail was even beginning to tuck between his legs. “I would really rather you didn’t.”

“Listen, they said ‘no,’ okay?” Chixia grasped the child’s hand a little tighter. “We gotta respect when someone says ‘no.’”

The child withdrew their hand and made a small whining noise. Quay couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for them in spite of himself.

“Anyway, now you know I’m Chixia, but I don’t think I’ve gotten your name yet.”

Chixia’s prompt was a welcome distraction from this predicament. As such, Quay managed to perk up a bit, though he couldn’t resist the urge to cast the occasional downward glance at the child—just to confirm that they were still restrained.

“Oh, it’s… Quay. Spelled like the word that means ‘wharf.’”

“Quay…” Chixia echoed the syllable like she was tasting an unfamiliar food, and then her expression lit up as the comparison, evidently, clicked into place in her mind. “Ah, I see! Like the word that means ‘wharf.’”

Quay only nodded, self-consciousness already burning in the pit of his stomach. He hoped she wouldn’t linger on the subject for too long.

Fortunately for him, she didn’t, though that didn’t mean her next line of thinking was significantly more palatable; instead, she held out one hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Quay stared, deliberating whether it would be appropriate to refuse the gesture. Chixia, though, came in clutch once again; before Quay fully decided, she had already ascertained his degree of hesitation.

“Not a handshake person? That’s okay.” Chixia renewed her grasp on the small child, who seemed to have settled down for the time being. “You said you were visiting, right? Where from?”

“Here.” Quay flexed one ear. “Well, technically. I just moved to Jinzhou.”

“Ah, is that so? From where, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Quay had only just begun an inward debate on how to respond when a commotion from the main group of children drew his attention. It didn’t take a detective to deduce from their cries that they were very enthusiastic about something. That “something” came into view as one of the children promptly hoisted it above their head: a fairly large toy, shaped like a cartoonish dragon’s head, with what appeared to be wheels attached.

It was a simple-looking thing, Quay thought, but that did nothing to discourage the children. Their excitement for the toy seemed to outweigh their excitement for Mortefi; the child carrying the toy immediately whirled around and raced back towards the exit, with all of the other children in tow—even the one clinging to Chixia.

“Whoop, gotta go!” Cued by the child’s escape, Chixia started to break off in pursuit. “See you later! And see you next time, Quay!”

And as the children’s footsteps disappeared around the corner, the ambient whirring noise settled back into place into Quay’s ears.

Mortefi gave a rough sigh. “At least they knew to take it outside this time.”

All right, time to process what just happened.

Clearly, this was not the first time Mortefi had hosted the gaggle of children in his lab; they knew him by name, and their inquiries, as well as Mortefi’s comments, seemed to refer to previous conversations of a similar nature. Mortefi’s composure throughout the entire encounter suggested that nothing about it was too far out of the ordinary for him. As for Chixia, Quay hadn’t managed to gather much about her, except for the fact that she was well-acquainted with the procedure of guiding the children along—utter chaos aside (in her defense, they were young children).

As for the purpose of their visit…

…If Quay understood correctly, Mortefi had presented them with a toy of his own making? The children had asked if he’d “made it,” and it did seem to bear some likeness to Mortefi himself.

So… Mortefi made toys for children? On a regular basis?

Quay found it difficult to imagine, but he supposed there was ample evidence for such a conclusion—especially considering Mortefi could, apparently, also build weapons and repair electronics.

“Back to work,” Mortefi muttered.

Indeed, so much for being busy.

Mortefi, with an odd combination of simmering exasperation and renewed resolve, finally committed to opening the door to his laboratory.

“Uh…” Quay made a valiant attempt at getting Mortefi’s attention; however, with his utter indecision at what exactly to say, his voice came out less than flattering.

Mortefi paused in the threshold. “Yes, what is it?”

Quay steadied himself with a breath.

“Would it be okay for me to come back sometime in the future?”

Mortefi considered this question for perhaps a second. If Quay wasn’t imagining it, he thought he saw Mortefi give a tiny shrug of quasi-approval, like the kind usually observed in someone who just sampled a new food and didn’t find the taste at all disagreeable. Of course, the minuscule movement of Mortefi’s shoulders and his contemplative glance at the floor could have both been a mere illusion.

“I have no qualms with that.” A rattle of the door’s handle punctuated Mortefi’s words as he proceeded into the laboratory. “And you aren’t prohibited from occupying the Academy, so long as your conduct remains appropriate.”

“Ah, good to know. Thank you.” The response left Quay’s mouth of its own accord—perhaps a halfway irrelevant platitude, but an acknowledgment regardless.

In all honesty, he was too busy measuring the scope of his victory to offer anything more articulate. It would have been unrealistic, he assured himself, to expect any degree of visible enthusiasm from Mortefi in this situation; still, Quay considered this neutral to vaguely positive response an indicator of his success, if a small one.

The door eclipsed the brightly lit interior of Mortefi’s laboratory, the tip of Mortefi’s tail gave a final languid sweep across the floor, and with a conclusive ka-chunk, Quay was back in the hallway, accompanied only by the whirring noise in the background.

Mortefi’s lab, Chixia, the gaggle of children, and, of course, Mortefi himself… there was still much to learn about Huaxu Academy, it seemed.