Q&A:

Why are you and Jaws always at each other's throat?

Æon: “We cuss each other out because it lets us know we can still trust each other. The day I call that old man Jaws to his face is the day he knows I've gone soft, and he can't trust me on the battlefield. He knows I'll do what I need to, even if that means cutting a blazing line of oblivion each in front of his face; He won't move an inch. Likewise, the sound of his gunfire is my marching tune. As long as I hear it, I know I can charge forward without a care in the world, but the moment it stops, so do I.”

What's the most personal thing you know about him?

Æon: “I've only ever seen him drunk once. It was the morning after we'd lost a big battle. He'd been drinking all night, and I made the mistake of asking him about his family, and he told me about how his brother got killed. As soon as he sobered up, he gave me a black eye for that. I deserved it.”

Do you two ever get along?

Æon: “Hell yeah, we do! After every fight, we hit the shower together and then the bar. That mountain of a man could drink me under the table 5 times over, but humors me and takes it slow. He’ll full-body throw me at my bunk when I'm done drinking so he can go have fun on his own. Most men wouldn't even bother taking me to my own bed, let alone leaving me there…”

What’s with the chest wraps?

Æon: “Jaw is one of three or four people who knows what is under them. During a demon strike, I was attacked and the demon took its claws to my chest, nearly taking the rib cage with the flesh. It is a large and unsightly scar. I’m not proud of it, because I got it when I froze in the face of danger, and nearly died because of it.”

What was your family like?

Æon: “They were normal I guess. Farmers, honest folk. We lost everything in an attack… some of us more than others. They lost their lives and I lost my world and full lung capacity. Worst top surgery ever! Ha ha…”

Where’d you get that scar?

Æon: “The one on my hip was from my first battle, before I found my partner Nameless. The guy next to me started panicking and then just exploded, completely unprompted. Tore a hole in my side, but I got the fancy sword he’d been carrying.”

What do you carry while traveling between jobs?

Æon: “I walk and hitchhike most of the time, so I travel light. In my pack I've got two blankets, a collapsible cot frame, a tarp and rope for rainy days, a first aid kit, alcohol for cleaning and cold nights, a sewing kit, two thermoses of water, and usually a week's worth of food. I’ve also got part of a fishing net to carry the spoils of a fight. Some weirdo’s will pay well for a severed demon limb.”

Do you keep any mementos of your family?

Æon: “I kept my Pa’s knife, Ma’s sewing kit, and the pack Grammie made for Grand Da.”

Scenes

Doctor’s Orders

The demon is standing in front of them, towering and solid, yet wavering like a mirage at the edge of the fields. There's something underneath it, blood on its claws, blood on its face. It's looking at Æon.

Æon can't move. They're frozen in place as the demon slowly approaches and reaches for them through their dreams. They can't breathe, and it hurts.

All of a sudden, they are gasping for burning breaths of pain and staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Tears pour from their eyes and a strangled cry of fear and pain is all they can muster to let whoever is nearby know they are awake and alive.

The ceiling is tiled in white, with fluorescent lighting. They can hear a light fan. The cool air is comfortable. The bed is comfortable, at least somewhat. It's clearly clean, being a stark hospital white. The light beep of a monitor can be heard from the right, and beside that monitor is an IV drip currently connected to their arm. There aren't any other patients to the left or right, just two more beds and a large door with a proportional latch lock. The light clacking of keys can be heard from the front, but you can't see where it's coming from, not unless you sit up.

Æon gasps for air. Was it always this hard to breathe? The clean environment is reassuring even though they've never seen anywhere this free of sand and dirt. The more they look at it, the more unsettling it becomes. Adrenaline rises in their body, and pain be damned, they force themselves into an upright position to look around for their captor or savior.

Clacking away at a computer is a very tall woman. Her long jacket is also white, like a lab coat in leather. Her unkempt blond hair is kept in a high ponytail, she's leaning over the table intensely focused. She hears Æon's movement, and whirls around her eyes gleaming. Emblazoned on the chest of her white jacket is a large red health cross. "Ah, you're awa- *lie back down!*" Her excitement turns to a sort of disappointed anger. "What do you think you're doing!? You are in no state to be sitting like that." She frowns, then sighs. It's clear she's dealt with stuff like this a lot.

Short quick breaths make it sound like they’re having a panic attack, but Æon is just struggling to get a good breath in. They are panicking a little as well. As the woman turns and shouts at them they flinch and their instinct is to run, but Æon just falls over in the bed, the after effects of anemia giving them vertigo. Wide and scared green eyes watch the doctor with a mix of awe and fear.

“Where… s’here…?” they force out through a recently collapsed and re-inflated lung.

She looks at them, and is suddenly filled with guilt.

"Ah. . shi- I'm sorry." She looks down, disappointed in herself.

"Please try to relax. . I know I'm probably not helping much."

She recognizes the question.

"Ah." She looks back up at them, somewhat apologetically. "You're in my truck right now. It's a mobile treatment center.”

Æon’s eyes trace the contours of the space, slowly relaxing. Nothing here feels familiar, but it does feel a lot safer than the family's stone and tarp house. That demon had torn through their cozy hovel lille paper… and they had done the same to Æon. Their chest and shoulders ache and throb, the sudden motions having aggravated the wounds under tight bandages. They bring one shaking hand up to their chest, feeling the barrier keeping in a radiating heat that comes off the wound.

She cringes at that.

"P-please don't touch that? We *really* don't want to aggravate it." She's kind of walking on eggshells around them.

Æon stares at the bandages dumbly and drops their hand, rolling back onto the pillow.

“How…?” *How did you save me?*

She thinks of how to answer that.

"I am a Doctor." She answers simply.

"I did what I could. I . . I'm sorry about your lungs. And . . .for everything else I couldn't save properly.”

“S’fine… didn’t… need ‘em… he he-hack!” Æon tries to laugh but it tickles their lungs and throws them into a coughing fit. It burns and makes breathing more painful, so Æon buries their face in the pillow, trying to regulate their breath enough to stop.

She looks a little worried, and hurries over to their side.

“Ah. Uh. Would you like some painkillers? I don’t usually give them to recovering patients, but your injuries seem to be a lot more painful than normal.” She explains.

Æon gasps and nods, a small wine escaping them. It really does hurt to nearly lose a fourth of one’s body. They calm down and try to hold very still as they watch the doctor. They are taking this very well for a nineteen year old, but this is the outer reaches of the wastelands, the edge of life. This is certainly not the first time they have experienced loss.

“Please…” They ask quietly.

She feels extremely guilty for not using it in the first place but. . It’s the wastes. Gotta conserve what you can. “You okay with needles?” She asks nervously. “Just a nod or shake. You don’t gotta keep talking.”

Their expression tightens at the mention of needles, and an intense debate takes place behind a mask of bravery. After a moment Æon slowly nods and closes their eyes. Anything but dark water and needles is fine, but those are the two things that scare them the most. Demons too now, but that is something that can be faced head on and killed once they are better.

She notices this. Salves? Ingestion? "Alright. Can you open your mouth?" She grabs something from the upper shelf.

Confused and with needles still on the mind they do so. Æon’s eyes remain closed…

"Now please. Swallow this as soon as it hits your tongue." She pours a few drops of something into their mouth.

They do. As the tasteless substance enters their mouth, Æon opens their eyes. They look at the nameless doctor with confusion, unsure if this takes the place of or precedes the needle.

Soon, a warm feeling flows through their body, as the pain melts away.

"There . . . I won't give you much more though. It's really rare, so I can't waste much of it. And I don't want you to become reliant on it too!" she stutters her way through this sentiment.

Æon barely hears her as relief washes over them like a sandstorm, clouding their find with a welcome fuzziness. They nod as their eyes droop and they begin to slip out of consciousness. The pain had been keeping them awake, so without that the fatigue begins to take over.

“Thanks… Doc…?” They look confused and offer a calloused hand.

“Æon… s’me…”

Ah. Right. Names. "I'm Aleks." She smiles, gently shaking their hands. "That's a hell of a name." The gentle beep of the heart monitor can still be heard.

"M'h...." They nod.

"Thanks... Aleks…”Æon collapses into a deep sleep of fever dreams mixed with burn hallucinations.

Welp. Back to work. She goes back to updating their files, and updating her research.

"Sleep well Æon." She says gently.

When next Æon woke they were feeling much better and insisted on sitting up in the cot. Getting used to their new state of being and regulating how much activity was the difference between therapy and overdoing it was going to be hard for them.

“I feel fine Doc… really. Barely breathless.” They say softly, still adjusting to the necessary volume.

“Pain is… good too.”

"Good, good." She writes in a digital notebook.

"I'm glad you're feeling better." She looks up, smiling at them brightly. "We still need to do some physiotherapy.”

“Exercise… I can do that.” They move to stand up.

She gently helps them up, and gets them over to her open space set up for just this purpose. The truck rustles slightly. "Remember, don't be afraid to ask for help. We need to take this slow to make sure you recover properly.”

“I'll be fine.” Æon uneasily stands and walks around, the only injury having been on the upper half of their body. Moving isn't the issue, though, it's that Æon cannot get used to not being able to move as much as before. After a certain point, their breathing becomes shallow and labored as they struggle to take deep enough breaths to provide the oxygen their body needs for the physical output they exert.

“I feel… like a ger… geriatric bag… of bones… in the desert!” They bend over, hands on their knees.

“That’s certainly a colorful way to put it.” She giggles slightly, offering them a hand. “Don’t worry. We just need to get you used to the new capacity, and exert it to make it better at doing its thing.”

They take the offered hand and sit down with a grunt of discomfort.

“I need… to… go get that… demon… I refuse… to life in fear.” Their hands shake.

“So your plan is to die?” She asks, with full piss and vinegar.

"Because if you don't wait and *heal* then that's what will happen.”

They shake their head.

“I would… like this. I’ll get… get stronger… I have to.” Æon looks at the floor sternly.

“I’m gonna… kill that bastard.”

"Do you have too? I'm not sure if it's even still *alive*." She's clearly exasperated. "God what is it with you wastelanders and *needing to get revenge* or some shit.”

Æon looks up at her with a curious and suspicious expression.

“Dr Aleks… have you ever… lost some… one. Been unable… to fix… something?”

"Of course. I'm a doctor." She scoffs.

"Especially in the wastes, you need to get used to losing patients. And that's not counting . . .my life before this career choice.”

“Then you should… understand.” They snap.

“We wastelanders… get revenge… payback… because there's no… nothing else out here. If you can't… fix it… you make sure… it doesn't break… again. If you… lose something, you make… sure you don't… lose… anything else the same… way. No graves… in the wastes… because we can… cannot spare… the resources to mourn.” Æon gasps after that exertion of breath, glad they’re already sitting.

She frowns. It's clear she . . . dislikes this philosophy. "Do you know why this world is like this?”

"Because none of these fools can even make the choice to share. We all just fight and fight over scraps, ignoring the fact that if we worked together we'd be able to create a world that's better for us all.”

“Does… it… matter?” Æon pants.

“Not my… fault… just my… life.” they sigh.

She sighs as well. "It isn't your fault, no. I understand this want for revenge. But. . . I ask you to put yourself above it. Not to lose yourself in it.”

They shake their head.

“If I die… there’s no one… to get my revenge. I’ll get strong… and be careful… its my goal, not… my death.” They have a determined look in their eyes, that of someone dedicated to improving their situation.

"Then here's a prescription for you. Get people to work with." She sighs. She needs a smoke.

"Everybody needs somebody to pick them up sometimes. And. . I believe the soul is helped when you pick somebody else up." She smirks.

Æon looks up at her. They are in the wastes, near the ruins of Æon’s home, the only land they have ever known. The nearest thing resembling civilization is the battlefront, two day’s travel west.

“Not sure… that’ll work out… Doc. There’s only… you and me as… far as the eye sees. Plus… Pa always said… humans are… cut-throat assholes… when resources… are scarce.”

Good thing she isn't exactly that.

"There are still good people. Besides, if you'd like, you can travel with me for a bit." She doesn't want to hold them back or anything.

“If you’re offering.” They shrug. Æon does think Dr. Aleks is strange for their altruism, but wherever Pa flew into a ranting rage about how horrible people could be Gramie did say some folk were nice, so it’s not too strange.

“I need… to take care of the… mess though.” They look in the direction of the unseen remains of their house and farm.

"In what way?" She's confused as to what purpose going back home would take.

“Gotta… clean up… gather whatever is… salvageable. Waste not want not in… the wastes. Hehehe.” Æon laughs softly.

“That and… my parents' personal… effects.” they say on a more somber note. “Their wedding bands… should help cover… your fee.”

"Fee?" She asks, confused. "I don't need anything for this. I don't do this for money. Though donations are appreciated." She giggles slightly (hopefully) clearly joking.

Æon gets the joke but still shakes their head.

“Gotta… pay it forward.” They gesture to the truck and medical equipment.

“This can’t be… cheap, and I… have no need of the rings. Better… sell them and keep in touch.” They give Aleks an honest smile.

"I see. . . you're a good person. That means you owe me nothing, except being true to yourself. I would appreciate the help." She has some more thinking.

"If you'd like, you may learn to help me maintain it?" A thought comes across her mind like a flash of lighting. 'I could use a nurse'. Where did that come from? Ah she needs to respond.

"If that is the case, then I'll accept it.”

They shake their head again.

“You don’t like… our revenge. I can't live… freely without it. Thank you, but… no.”

She looks guilty. "I see. . . I can't force you to do anything.”

"I'd still like to remain in touch. Or try to.”

“I’ll try Doc.”

Æon collected what was salvageable from the farm, covered the well for whatever unfortunate soul may someday stumble across the ruins, and left with Dr. Aleks. They stayed with her until they were strong enough to defend themself and set out to find work as a mercenary.

Shot Through

Months later, Æon knocks on the door to a now familiar triage truck. Their pack rests next to them, drug all the way since carrying it on their back would have been worse for the dripping hole in the side of the body. A shining blue sword is held in one hand while the other presses a blanket over the injury. They wait patiently and sheepishly for Dr. Aleks to answer the door.

A slot on the door opens. “Excuse me, do you n- *Kid?!*” Surprise, hope, and joy fill her voice. Then she looks down at the wounds. “Not again.” She sighs, like a disappointed parent. The slot closed, but you can still hear the face palm. The door opens slightly after, and they are ushered inside.

“Hey, Doc. Sorry to surprise you like this.” They enter the truck and carefully set Nameless aside with their pack.

“Had a bit of an accident in the raid last night. I couldn’t stop it so I thought I’d come give you some business.”

"It's fine, I'd rather me than some other random quack." If you care to notice, a lot of this place has been shifted around. There are only two patient beds, and where the shipping container originally ended there is now an actual wall. It's also been expanded somewhat, with some new tech here and there. She fusses over Æon, beginning the process of dressing their wounds after instructing them to sit on the bed.

“Nice to see things are going well for you.” They sit down and hold very still as Dr. Aleks addresses the gunshot. It didn’t hit anything vital, but is far too close to some crucial arteries and organs for comfort. Æon is clearly a bit woozy, but they appear to be doing far better than when the two last parted ways.

"so. You're doing better. I hope." She worriedly tries to make conversation, distracting them from her actions. She mumbles to herself: "Oh. Yep. That's deeeep.”

"Lets get you onto the bed so I can start prepping for surgery. Can I do that?”

“Yeah, whatever ya need.” they follow her directions and lay down, removing the lightly damaged leather jacket, trailing scarf, and the chest wrapping. Once cleaned, it doesn’t look too bad.

She puts up the screen, then hands them a small phial of something. "This is going to taste bad. Please drink it all.”

“Can’t be worse than the drinks the old man orders at the bar.” They laugh and choke it down with a sputter.

“God's no! This shit’s way worse.” Æon wines, but fishies it all.

“it’s supposed to be.” She sighs. The painkiller activates within their system. She gives it a few seconds. Then begins to work. “Can you feel this?

“Keee! Yeah… a bit. It’s fading though. Wow, could I get some of that stuff? It’s rancid but that would be so useful.” Æon half jokes as they relax, eyes closed so they can’t see what happens.

“Good.” She begins carefully removing the bullet. “And I specifically designed it to taste bad so you don’t want it.” She frowns.

“I might have more of it, but I still don’t have much.”

“I’m kidding. Mostly.” They sigh.

“Gods, between you, the old dude, and Boss, it’s like my parents never left.”

She hears that. God she really does need a fucking smoke. Is she. Crying?

“O-oh.” Shit how does she respond to that?

“Well, you remind me of me when I was younger. So, that makes sense.” She offers a shaky smirk. It’s clear that had an effect on her.

Eyes still closed they turn to face her.

“Sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, and if you ever meet them please don’t tell. The old guy would never let forget it and Boss might actually get offended. They’re both such wussies for such big men.” Æon smirks cheekily.

“Heh. That’d be funny.” She thinks. She should be honest. “It didn’t make me uncomfortable. It actually made me happy.” She says sheepishly.

“Don’t know why it would. I’m a certified pain in the ass.” They say almost proudly.

“That’s… actually kind of *part* of the reason I got shot.” They offer less proudly.

She frowns at the joke. “Speaking about that. Please stop getting shot *quite* so much. It makes me worried. And I don’t know. You’re not *quite* so much a pain as you say.”

“If the old man can clear the field sooner than next year, I wouldn’t have so much trouble. He chewed me out plenty for this one, even took his time carrying me off the field to lecture me. It shouldn’t happen again, but only when I’m working with him or Boss.” They pout.

She worriedly looks. “Why is that man even still working if he can’t do his job.” She sighs.

“He can. Like I said, it was at least *partly* my fault. I ran out before the signal.” Æon sighs heavily.

“He’s trustworthy, I’ll vouch for that.”

“Ok. Ok. Good.” She nods, satisfied in that answer. “Please, stay safe. I’m putting my faith into you to stay safe. And. . . If you ever need backup. Call me.”

“Yeah? Cause I bring you *sooo* much business?” They joke.

“I’ll be fine Doc. Got my partner and the Boss looking out for me. The old dude too, if we’re getting payed.” Æon gestures vaguely in the direction of Nameless.

“I mean it. I’m not just some . . . Quack. I can handle myself.” She frowns. Then that frown turns into a smile. “And no. It’s cause I actually like you kid.” She ruffles their hair affectionately.

Æon laughs.

“Bold confessions when your forceps are in my gut. Plus I’m pretty sure you’re too old for me Doc.” They joke and try to flatten their already fluffy, messy hair. The top of the auburn strands have been bleached gold after only a few months in the relentless sun. It’s good camouflage.

She laughs with them. “I’m pretty sure kid disqualified it in *that* context.” It’s clear She appreciates the joke.

“Good.” Æon grins and lets out a bored sigh, eyes still shut tight.

“How’s it looking by the way? Do I get to keep the side of my body?”

"You're fine, for now at least. I removed the bullet, now I'm patching up this wound. Mind if I give you a full checkup?" She says, keeping a relaxed voice.

“Yeah fine.” They shrug and dare to look.

Theres a screen between them and the wound.

*When was that put up? Was it there the whole time?* Æon relaxes.

“You expecting to find something else? Maybe that rock I ate last week?” They joke.

"No, I just know that if you don't trust your medic with this they probably didn't do a good job. Or. Gods forbid *do you have a medic*?" She asks worriedly.

“Tehee.”

"Please tell me you do!”

"I will neither confirm nor deign the presence of a medic" They hide behind the curtain.

"Welp. If you don't, you do now." She sighs.

“Really?” Æon looks back at her.

“You don't need to…”

"I want too." It's clear she legitimately wants to. "Somebody needs to patch you up when you get shot. Which happens a lot. *Apparently*.”

“It doesn't happen that much…” they grumble and pout.

“Im just getting used to using Nameless and actually having people I can trust.”

"If it happens enough for you to joke, it happens too much." She jokes. "How *is* that sword treating you?”

*Nameless vibrates*

"He says he treats me 'like a god damn prince'." Æon translates.

"I say he treats me pretty good. It's kind of nice to gain a reputation as the nameless swordsman of oblivion.”

"Namless swordsman of oblivion. Yeah. Cool title. Still going to call you Kid." She giggles.

"I thought as much." They fakes a grumble.

"That old shit calls me Twink, and Boss calls me boy. I guess calling people by their given name is kind of a special thing, huh Doc?" They grin.

"You sure? I can call you by your name if you want." She giggles. "Æon? How does that sound?”

"Mmmmmm.... no, Kid is fine." They turn their head to look away.

"I'll be honest it makes me trust you a little less. That would be like me calling the old dude Jaw. I think if I did that he'd refused to work with me again.”

She full on laughs. "Yeah. Feels off somehow." She snaps her fingers. "Wait, is his name Jaw?”

"Yup. Big dude with a bigger gun that's as tall as I am. You know him?”

Hmmm. Maybeeee? Probably not. "Might have patched him up one time or the other.”

"Cool. Nice to know you get around and I'm not your only patient." Æon chuckles.

"I mean, I have more than one bed for a *reason*." She giggles. She enjoys this back and forth.

*Æon likes playing into it as well. There's only 4 people in the world they're comfortable being casual with, and the confined spaces of the medical truck they called home for a few weeks is the closest thing they have to nostalgia.*

“Really? And here. I thought you finally found a date. Darn it, guess I'd better return that bottle of alcohol in my bag.” they tease.

"God. A date. Could you *imagine?*" She laughs to mask the pain. "Yeah, It's tough to meet somebody out here, so don't expect Momma to find girl anytime soon, will ya? Might as well crack that booze before it goes bad.”

"Well, as long as I've got my Doctor's approval, I don't see anything wrong with having drink tonight." They give Dr. Aleks a wide, childish grin.

"Now now. In moderation." She chuckles. "I think I've got something nice in storage. Beside the rubbing alcohol, of course." A wink, smirk, and finger gun all in one. "And yes, you *should* be fine.”

"Great! No problem about moderation, I found out I'm a severe lightweight. One drink is more than enough for me. Next question, am I good to get up?”

"Give it a minute." She stretches, sanatizing them, and then removing the curtain. They now have bandages on the wound.

"Thanks Doc, great work as always."

*Æon sits up and carefully reapplies their chest wrappings. More of a safety blanket than a necessity, it's something they picked up as a habit. Every time they come to visit Aleks, Æon will stick around for three to four days before heading out for their next job.*

They pull a dusty bottle out of their pack.

"Won this off a bet with some of Boss's crew. They'll probably never play with me again after that, but more's the better. Sorry lot of jackasses.”

"Thanks for being a good patient. And what'd you play to win this thing?" She takes the bottle, dusting off the label.

Æon pauses and hands over the bottle.

"You probably don't want to know.”

"Ah. Maybe not." She thinks. "I've got some Cards around here *somewhere*? We could play that?”

"Sure, but I don't have anything else to trade with. Unless you're interested in some of these." They rummage around through the net attached to the side of their pack filled with concealed objects. There's much clanking sounds and Æon pulls out something that looks like shrapnel.

"Yeah. No. We don't gotta trade or bet. We can just hang out." She gets up, shuffling around before pulling a pack of cards from a cabnite. "Aha! Here they are!”

"Okay." They shrug and put the demon bits away.

"I don't think I've ever played a zero stakes game. Does it play by the normal rules?”

“Yep. It’s just practice, so you can be a lot more ballsy.” She smirks, dealing the cards.

"That sounds like a scam." They grab some (beakers) glasses out of the cabinet and join her at the small table.

She giggles at the beakers. “I have actual cups, but those work just fine. And would I really scam you?” She uncorks the booze. “Here, let me see if it’s poison first.”She pours it, then takes a sip.

"I know, but I like these. They fit your aesthetic." Æon grins.

*The label has long since worn off the bottle but the seal was tight and unbroken. The liquid is rich and pungent, with a sweet, burning aftertaste.*

“Ah. That’s. That’s some goooood stuff.” She shudders. “Great find kid.” She snickers, giving a thumbs up.

“And yeah. I guess they do.” Memories flash across her vision. A miriad of images from her past. Shackles. Flames. Plague. Her vision begins to swim, before it stabilizes on the person in front of her. She has a present. More importantly, they(Æon) have a future. *Across the table Æon flips their cards up, show off their lack of a poker face, and takes a sip of the drink. The small adult sputters at the flavor.*

"You know what, keep the bottle after this. As part of you fee." They smile.

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to. I’ve got some soda around here somewhere.” She laughs internally at that lack of poker face, confused as to *how* this kid managed a win. “Alcoholic soda, If you fancy.” She always keeps them stocked after their first meeting. Same place too.

"Only if you're insisting." They jump up to retrieve one.

“Yeah yeah.”

Æon grabs one and comes back to look at their cards again.

"Alright Doc, house rules?”

A Drinking Bastard

The first time the two met was during a large-scale mercenary enlistment. After the battle, those that were left all gathered together to drink it out at the bar. It was a large party, and everyone was celebrating, but Æon said they did not drink, and opted to leave early. When pressure to drink and ask why:

“I'm too pretty to be drinking with these low life scum.” Æon flourished and flipped off the room as they left. Boos and fuck offs filled the bar as they went, some of the jeerers with a strange look in their eyes. Jaw could see this, and he didn't like it.

After most of the drinking party had dispersed, Jaw took a bottle to where Æon's cot was. The kid was rolled up in a thin blanket and shivering. As he approached, a long, blue blade was suddenly shoved in his face as Æon sat up in bed.

“The hell you want old man?” They growled, clearly having expected someone to follow them.

He holds up the bottle, unopened.

“Cold night, this will warm you up.”

“Fuck off.”

He tossed the bottle into their lap. “I have no interest in twinks.” he growled back, miffed that his goodwill was being refused, but understanding why.

Æon did not break eye contact with him until he had walked away a good distance then they grabbed the bottle, tucked it under the blanket, and curled up again.

“The next day, Æon shoved the half-empty bottle into Jaw's hands.

“Thanks.” they muttered and walked away.

The two would not see each other again for several months, but ever after, Æon would only drink if Jaw was present.

Marching Tune:

They say you never hear the shot that takes you out, but Æon had. It didn't register in their mind that that's what had happened until they were face down in the sand, and the burning sensation was spreading throughout their gut. They had fortunately fallen in such a position that they were able to just barely see the glint of sunlight off of the snipers scope.

<Come on, stand up and get him!> Nameless thrummed in their hand, goading them to stand up and fight.

“Nope, I'm not moving.” Æon held perfectly still, barely daring to breathe.

<What? Why not? Come on is just one good swing, and they're done for!>

“I don't trust them to miss again.” Æon did not even risk tightening his grip around the over-excited sword.

It felt like an eternity passed before the next gunshot rang out across the battlefield. Æon flinched involuntarily before they registered that they had heard that shot as well. In the distance came the soft thud of a body falling out of a blind.

Æon breathed out a shaky breath of relief and spent another minute laying in the dust, trying to collect themselves. Sound of footsteps coming up behind them was followed by the gentle prodding of a steel-toed boot against their back.

“You alive, Twink?” Jaw's familiar voice.

“Fuck you old man.” If he wasn't such an infuriated companion, Æon might have laughed in relief.

“You're welcome.” their savior grumbled and began to advance across the now cleared field.

Æon pushed themselves up to follow and immediately pitched to the side, nearly falling on to Nameless.

“Oh shit…” They breathed heavily and looked down at where the bullet had pierced them. It was non-lethal, clearly nothing vital had been hit, but they've been laying in the dirt too long and had lost a lot of blood. Anemia was already setting in and Æon wondered if this was it. There's no way they'd make it off the battlefield and to triage, let alone be able to continue the fight.

Then Jaw picked them up by the scruff of their scarf and began duffle-baging them back to camp.

“Ow! Shit, what the fuck man?” Æon shouted in his ear, slung over the man's shoulder.

“Useless Twink.” was all he muttered as he headed back towards the triage tent.

“I'm not fucking useless.” Æon grumbled, a bit delirious. “If you'd taken out that sniper before I charged, we wouldn't be having this problem.”

“Then don't fucking charge until I've had a chance to clear the field. If I'm not shooting, you better drop low and don't move an inch.”

Æon didn't even have the strength to argue.

A Pair of Mugs:

Some rookies to the battlefield once picked a fight with Æon after a particularly successful battle. They had heard Jaw call them a twink, and began jeering and propositioning. Standing for none of this, Æon pulled out Nameless and began running them down, swearing that if they said another word they were going to see first-hand what oblivion looked like. The barkeep, in desperation not to see their establishment destroyed by the obliviating sword, approached Jaw in a panic.

“Sir, please control your partner!”

The big man spit his drink out.

“Partner? The hell do you take me for!”

“The fuck!?” Æon screamed from across the bar, a hapless young mercenary tucked under their arm. “Partner, my ass! That old man's the only good guy in this bar. I can't drink with the rest of you ‘cause you're all assholes and idiots!” They emphasize their words by tossing the young mercenary out the door with a swift kick to the behind, before rejoining Jaw at the bar.

“Fuck, if there were some hot guys or pretty girls around, I for sure wouldn’t be drinking with your ugly mug.”

No one has the confidence to mention the mercenaries they’d just thrown out were fairly young and nice looking. Jaw just smiles and rubs Æon’s hair, eliciting another string of half-drunken slurs.

Pour One Out for Partners:

Æon was late to the fight. They weren't the only one of course, they were part of a detachment that had fallen behind. When the detachment finally arrived at the battlefield, the fight was already over. The rest of their group sat around in tents and blown apart building ruins, utterly dejected. It had not gone well, and as Æon wandered around trying to figure out what they should do next. they heard someone discussing the casualties. More specifically, what caught their attention was the mention that someone had taken out the ‘big guy’. Æon rudely pushed aside the tarp flap of the tent and stuck their head in.

“What big guy?”

“Oh geez! I think his name was Jay… John or something like that. He wasn't much of a talker, but the older guys recognized him.”

Æon's heart sank, but their expression did not change.

“Well… shit. Where was he?”

The rookies gave them directions to where Jaw had been posted up.

Arriving at the site, Æon would have preferred to see his bloodied body. But instead there was only his empty cloak, a pile of gear, and a light dusting of Ashes already being carried away by the wind.

“Well shit.”

The job a bust, and another familiar face gone forever, Æon set about scavenging the man's remains. He collected his gear, his guns and ammo, wrapped them all up in some of his cloaks, and attached them to his own pack. The man's big gun, his partner on the battlefield, was far too heavy for the Æon to carry. It was as tall as they were, and twice as heavy, so the most they could do was wrestle the thing into an upright position. It looked lonely standing there by itself in the dust so Æon pulled the man’s cloak out of the pack, and wrapped it around the top of the barrel, just below the suppressor, letting the cloth flap in the gentle breeze like a flag at half-mast.

The laborious work done, Æon sat down in the sand with their back to the gun, a totem marking the place where Jaw had fallen, and pulled out the bottle of alcohol they had promised to bring.

Æon wrenches the cork out of the top and throws it as far away as they can with all their might, then upends the bottle directly into their mouth. Jaw had always warned them that they were a lightweight, and should never drink more than they could handle. But he wasn't here to stop them now. They down half the bottle in a single go before the burning liquid leaves them in a fit of coughing.

<You… you good buddy?> Hummed Nameless, very concerned for their wielder.

“I'm fine.” They sputter. Æon took a smaller sip from the bottle this time and cradled the lukewarm glass in one hand.

“Fuck. Shit fucking damn it!” Their knuckles go white as they tighten their hand around the bottle, as if willing it to shatter. It stubbornly does not, so Æon takes another revenge gulp of the liquid inside.

<You're not looking too good.> Nameless hums obviously.

“Makes sense, I feel like shit.” Æon sighs. He looked into the bottle and gives a sniff as the alcohol began to make them tear up. Their head is already fuzzy.

“Damn it, you idiot, stupid old man. Why do you have to go and get yourself killed like that? Didn't even have the decency to wait for me. What am I going to tell XX? I didn't even get to see what bastard took you out, who am I supposed to take revenge on for you? You better not come back and fucking haunt me. This is your own damn fault!” Another swig.

“Fuck you, Jaw…”

Long after the sun has set Æon, finally, lets the empty bottle fall from their grasp. It rolls across the sand and clinks against the base of the gun, still propped upright. Æon flops backwards and lets their head rest near the bottle, staring up the shaft of the gun to where the stars are beginning to grace them with their presence.

“Look at that.” They point up at the stars.

“There's that constellation… and another one… Man, they sure are spinning fast tonight. Is it a meteor shower? Look Jaw, the sky is dancing!” They giggle, head swimming, stomach churning. Drinking all that alcohol before they'd had a chance to eat anything was a bad idea. At least if they get sick, they won't be wasting a day's rations.

<You look like hell.> Nameless vibrates in their mind. Æon puts a hand to either side of their head.

“Don't do that. You're making it worse.” they wine.

<Tough luck, just don't throw up yet. I've got something to tell you.>

“Make it quick.” Æon struggles to sit up and reaches over to their pack, pulling out one of the blankets. The night may feel warm, but it's going to get cold fast.

<Alright, alright, just listen up. You might feel a lot worse after I finish talking, so snuggle in.>

They do.

<All good? Great, now listen up. Do you know where reflections come from?>

“The fuck is that?”

<Me. I'm a reflection, that crystal shard you picked up and then I came out, and boom! We’re partners!>

“Yeah, no… I don't know.” Æon wonders what the sword is talking about.

“The stars I guess. You look like you come from the sky.”

“Aww, shit, buddy really. You flatter me, but that's not the point. No, we don't come from the sky or the stars. We come from people just like you who lived in different worlds and fought a similar battle. Personally, I was the nameless hero, fighting on the front lines with my beautiful blade that had no name. Because people remembered me as the nameless hero I got to become a reflection, and fight alongside other nameless heroes like yourself. You've done good for our legacy, kid.>

“Is there a point to this?” Æon fights a growing wave of nausea as their head swims and their burn spikes.

<Yeah there is. Previous world's buddy. This isn't the first time we've done this. This isn't the first time you've done this.>

They're not making any sense. Æon groans and ducks under the covers, willing themselves not to be sick.

<To be blunt, you have been reincarnated 9 times already. Same as your buddy. This world is coming to an end, I can feel it, which means you guys will be reincarnated again. Your friend Jaw's already gone on to the next one world, and he's probably waiting for you over there. What I'm saying is this isn't the end. You're gonna see him again, but don't count on him looking the same.>

“... Okay.” Somehow that does make them feel better. But it also makes them feel really sick. They throw aside the blanket and crawl a little ways away to throw up in a place where they can easily cover it with sand and not have to smell it all night.

<Oh geez! Don't ever drink like this again, m’kay?>

Æon breathes out a sigh and looks back up at the stars that are finally beginning to stabilize in their orbits.