white noise.

A fucking disaster. 

That’s what this is– it’s always a worst case scenario to run into someone from your past, but this particular guy from that particular incident? Disastrous. Cipher 4 is immediately rattled when she sees him at the entrance, and things only get worse when she realizes that he’s her contact. 

Her first instinct is to get the fuck out of there, but that would be suspicious. Trying to hide her face or disguise her voice would be suspicious, too– and the guy’s a bounty hunter, a damn good one, he’s not just going to let that slide, is he? 

Confidence. That’s the key. It’s carried her through plenty of situations in the past, and it’ll get her through this one as well. Her current cover isn’t anything like the one he’s met, and it’s been four years– there’s no way that incident was as big of a deal to him as it was to her, anyway. It hadn’t been his career on the line, or his first big fuck up. Chances are low he’ll recognize her. 

“Excuse me, ah, sir?” Muna the personal assistant nudges her way through the crowd, and practically into the bounty hunter’s arms for lack of personal space, “That’s a beautiful flower, reminds me of my mother. May I take a closer look?” 

He was this close to pushing her away until she recited the code phrase. Then he remembers the point of coming all the way out here. “If that’s the case, then here.” He plucks the flower out from his pocket with his index and middle finger. The flower is presented to the client as they discussed beforehand. “Take it. It’s yours.”

Now he waits for the ‘no, I can’t take it. Blah blah blah. Can we go somewhere where I can get a better look at the flower? Blah.’ They move somewhere they can talk and hammer out the details of the job, and boom. Profit. 

In midst of waiting for her to take her cue, his head buzzes. Déjà vu is the closest thing he can compare it to. The familiarity in the situation almost suffocates him. The flower drops from his hand, but he quickly catches it with his other hand.

The smile Aerith offers is not a smile, but a baring of teeth―tight, uncomfortable. He’s thinking back to the last time he saw this man, how after he’d gone and the Master Guardians had learned of Aerith sheltering him, Ziris would not let him rest without reminding him of the danger he’d put them all in. He cocks his head, jaw tightening, the sound of grinding bone resonating in the back of his skull.

“I was about to sleep, but now it looks like I’ve got other plans. What are you doing here?

And don’t waste your time or mine by lying to me. You’ll be relieved to hear I don’t exactly have the means of getting you into any kind of trouble. Everyone is gone; it’s just me.” Of course, he supposes the local authorities are an option theoretically, but what use are they really? Not once can he remember a time they came to the aid of the Temple. All he has is stale, half-forgotten training and a branch, the latter of which he lets fall to the floor as he stands once again. Aerith doesn’t want to pose himself as a threat, wants to make this as painless as possible. The sooner he can get Vestir out of here, the better.

The way the caretaker knows Vestir is going to lie is nothing less than fascinating. And accurate. Vestir doesn’t have any convincing lie to give, but he is very much willing to take a chance on poorly lying his way out of this. There’s something terribly naive with how the caretaker admits that nobody else is present at the temple. Vestir knew this fact before coming; he just assumed everybody was gone. Assumptions tend to backfire apparently. It’ll be terrible if the caretaker’s assumption that Vestir won’t hurt him backfires too.

Luckily, Vestir isn’t in the mood to do anything but check on his money.

“Okay well.” He nods to buy himself time and think of something clever to say. By the fifth or sixth nod, he resigns because he has nothing. He sucks the air between his teeth. Hmm, fuck it. “I left something here.

It’s probably in your best interest to know as little as possible. I doubt you wanna get involved in all of my...” Words are not his friend today. His mind goes blank again.

Vestir Kano: AT A GLANCE

Judge if you want, we are all going to die.

Master Inyri has had him working unaided for days now—restoring the Temple’s central gardens and making ready the main prayer hall for the looming holy day, for the largest pilgrimage they will see all year. (Arguably, it’s a lot to expect from someone who is no longer practicing, but he owes them as much.) Of course, the Guardians and Disciples are amidst preparations of their own, having retreated into the heart of the Temple for days of near-constant prayer and mediation—leaving these parts dead silent, empty save for Aerith himself.

He needs nothing more than some rest before his night rounds, as soon as he enters the room, making straight for the mess of quilts on the floor that serve as his bed. It’s only as he kneels there, unraveling the scarf from his neck that he notices—

His first instinct is to all but jump out of his skin, narrowly managing to avoid a startled cry. His second: to activate his comlink, to call for Master Inyri, Master Ziris, anyone. But at a time like this, they’re as good as worlds away. Aerith mutters something under his breath, words not meant for holy places. Instead reaches for the crude “weapon” leaned into the corner—a gnarled branch from the ancient tree in the courtyard. His tired eyes narrow on the intruder (vague recognition) before they widen (realization).

“What—”

His fingers tighten around the branch not as a threat, not even as a warning, but rather a comfort to himself. Aerith stays crouched to the floor, sitting back on his heel. His stare is fixed on the other, unblinking, distrustful.

“The rites don’t begin for another three days.” The words come out small, unsteady. Truthfully, he’s not sure why they come out at all. Vestir couldn’t care less about the rites. And Aerith knows better than that this time.

Vestir has his hands up at first-- It’s a natural inclination whenever someone points anything at him, a blaster, a blade, even a branch. His hands slap against his thighs when they drop down by his sides. Well hey. He knows that voice, and the face that comes with it. The name... The name eludes him. Though he does recall it rhyming a very common word. Aedi? Maybe he doesn’t remember Vestir’s name either. 

 “Huh, I could’ve sworn it was tomorrow. Last time I came, it was earlier in the month from what I remember,” Vestir lies, but he lies with confidence. He has no doubt in his mind Aendalorian with the stick doesn’t believe a single word he breathes out. But the confidence stems from the fact that if the caretaker wanted Vestir to be caught, he wouldn’t have spoken in a hushed voice. 

Vestir lifts his chin as he speaks. “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep instead of pointing sticks at people?” He brings attention to the weapon with his pointed look. There is... Nothing for him to use as a weapon around in the room. The bright side of the situation is that the things that can’t be wielded can still be thrown. At some point, he’ll make a grab for the stick and things should fall into place by then. Or maybe Aesith will be cool this time around too. 

Footsteps.

Hell. Vestir was standing on books and miscellaneous items stacked on top of a chair. None of this screamed safe. In his defense, there used to be other furniture in the room that made it easier to reach the loose panel in the ceiling. He didn’t think the temple dwellers would be keen to renovate at all, let alone within four years. 

He quickly slid the panel back into place. An ill feeling settled in his stomach. Not because of the threat of being discovered but because he had yet to find his money. There wasn’t enough time for him to locate the bag he placed up there. It took him all this time just to set up this little ‘step ladder’ so to speak. He jumped down, landing lightly on his feet. The items were placed randomly in places that looked close enough.

As for himself... He stood flat against the wall, right behind the door. The plan? By the time the footsteps disappeared somewhere else, he’d slip out and return another time. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was the only one he had.