Chapter 6 - A little more conversation, a little less action

Posted on https://books.clockworkcaracal.com/dragons-heart/old-beginnings/ch6 - if you aren't there, this is a pirated copy!

Cyan woke slowly, stretching out with the luxury of having actually gotten enough sleep. Fixing that chewed-up wing had taken even longer than he'd anticipated, but he'd just dumped the repaired bird in the shop as soon as it was done and gone straight back upstairs and to bed.

A nap, a dinner, and a full night's sleep later, he was wide awake at... He raised his arm, checking his wrist for the time. Just past eight o'clock, which he'd normally think was ridiculously early. The shop wasn't even open yet, he realized in surprise; Minmax opened up at ten.

While Cyan could go downstairs and start his own work early, the thought of having a small window of actual free time was appealing. Still lying in bed, he looked up at the ceiling and let his mind wander, considering what people with free time might do at eight o'clock. Mornings meant breakfast, usually; he could go out and have a nice breakfast somewhere. Maybe sit down in a cafe with a fancy pastry and an equally fancy coffee....

"Shit." He grabbed his pillow and pulled it down over his head as the disastrous exchange at the coffee shop abruptly decided to resurface. Horrible awkwardness aside, there was one question about the whole thing that was still haunting him, which he'd spent entirely too much thinking about lately and still didn't have an answer for.

Why the hell did he even care what Fang thought?

So far as the other man - other elf, as it turned out - seemed to know, Cyan was a complete stranger who he just kept running into. Because Cyan had a shop in the area.

And so far as Cyan knew, Fang was a handsome, charming, impulsive... and completely unreliable flake of an ex-boyfriend. Who just walked out on their partner without even a goodbye - and in the middle of a war of all times? Sure, maybe he'd changed since then, but that didn't do anything for the fact that apparently he had survived the damn war and never once came looking for him.

Cyan had looked for years.

"I hate you," he muttered, the sound muffled by the pillow, which he promptly threw down onto the floor. "Get over it, Cyan. It's been half a century. He's not that great."

Cyan didn't sound convincing, even to himself.

The thought occurred to him that maybe Minmax had been right - although maybe not the way they'd been thinking. Maybe the problem was that Cyan needed to get out more. Meet other people who weren't business associates, or clients, or potentially-business-associates-or-clients.

Going out to get breakfast at a cafe would be a great start.

Cyan kicked off his blankets, swinging out of bed and checking the charge status on his arm and legs. They were still over halfway full - he'd been charging them while working the night before, so that was expected. A bit more, even, which he guessed meant he'd slept really soundly.

No wonder he felt so well-rested. Relationship angst be damned; he was going to enjoy himself this morning, and then he'd get back to work on those drones.

Humming with determined cheer, he put together a quick outfit and brushed his hair, studying his reflection critically in the tarnished bathroom mirror before deeming himself acceptable to go out and promptly doing so.

The Muddy Pause was usually his preferred choice, but as he realized he'd started automatically heading there, he slowed. Did he really want to risk running into Fang yet again?

...The question didn't come with a convenient answer, so he decided to be cautious - if that was the right word - and go somewhere else. It would be a nice change, too. Maybe he'd meet new people, right? Right.

Solar Espresso was really nice, actually. Cyan sipped his coffee, looking out the window from his small table in the corner. It was a couple blocks further away, but the pastries were good, the coffee was delicious, and the cafe itself was that comfortable level of activity where there were enough people you didn't feel like anyone would notice you, but not so many that it felt crowded.

The music choice could be better, but it was, at least, "safe": chill, wordless, electro-jazz covers of the previous year's pop hits. The kind of music which Cyan was sure would drive him over the edge if he had to listen to it in his workspace or shop on a regular basis, but as a sort of ambient background noise, it was fine.

It would make a nice place to take someone on a first date, he mused. There wasn't much that would elicit strong opinions, leaving the datees free to form opinions about other, more important things. Like each other.

Not like his first date with Derek-- well, Fang. Cyan made a face and took another sip of coffee. It didn't make much sense to think of him as Fang when remembering things that happened effectively a lifetime ago. Even if it hadn't been over fifty years, the difference between the world then and the world now was more than enough to put a stark boundary between the two.

Cyan looked down at his prosthetic hand, splaying out his fingers as he studied the back of it. Like many of the other elves who survived, he'd been through hell - multiple hells, if he was being honest - in order to make it out the other side. But that had also been decades ago, with plenty of time to come to terms with what had happened and move on.

...Mostly.

That was what frustrated him the most about the whole thing, he realized. If he could work through his whole extended family giving him an ultimatum of "join us or die" and dropping a building on him, why was the sudden reappearance of his long-gone boyfriend throwing him so badly? All he'd done was disappear.

"Hey! Looks like you could use some company."

Cyan looked up at the source of the cheerful greeting. Another one of his long-term clients - Luna, self-proclaimed moon witch ("like a sandwich, but spookier", as she liked to explain it) - was standing next to his corner table with a broad smile.

"Good morning, Luna."

"It sure is." She pulled out a chair and sat down, putting her paper cup down on the table. "Don't think I've seen you here before. What d'you think?"

"It's nice," Cyan answered after a brief pause. "Good coffee."

"Yeah!" She grinned. "I come by every morning, and you know it's for the coffee because it sure as hell isn't the ambiance."

"Ha." He smirked back. "Too light and fluffy for you?"

"Like you said, it's nice." Luna drawled out the word, turning the mild compliment into just shy of a derogative. "But they make damn good coffee."

"I usually stop by Muddy Pause when I'm getting something out," Cyan admitted, "but I figured I'd go for a change today."

"Yeah?" Luna leaned an elbow on the table, resting her chin on her hand. "Let me guess. It's got nothing to do with why you were sitting in here all alone, looking like somebody stole your wallet."

Cyan blinked at her. "... Looking like what?"

"You know, all mopey and shit. But not as bad as somebody drop-kicking your puppy."

He winced. "I don't even have a puppy and I still regret hearing that metaphor."

"Misery loves company, you know how it is," Luna replied cheerfully. "Which is why I came over. You had the misery, I had the company. So what drove you away from your home turf?"

"Nothing drove me away...." Even though it was the truth, Cyan couldn't quite make it sound convincing.

"Mmhm."

"I just didn't feel like going there."

"Sure."

"I thought you were supposed to be cheering me up," he grumbled.

"Nahh." Luna laughed. "What gave you that idea? I'm just here to get those gloomy thoughts out of your head, so they can live free and in the wild where they belong."

"Oh, good," he replied, dry. "Thanks."

"Any time. Sooo?"

"Maybe I just wanted to go someplace people wouldn't recognize me to sulk in peace."

"Ohh, that's a good one." She pointed at him approvingly. "I need to remember that the next time I feel like brooding."

"Can't be a vampire without some good brooding," Cyan agreed, managing to keep a straight face.

"And a cozy vampire, even more! What better way to brood than in the shadowy depths of a plush armchair in front of a warm fireplace on a snowy day? Winter's coming, I need to be prepared."

"What, you managed to get a fireplace? Aren't those illegal down here?"

"Not a real one." Luna pouted. "But I have a nice radiator and some fake flames, it's pretty close. And hey, you're welcome to come brood in my armchair in peace any time, okay?"

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." Not that Cyan was actually considering taking her up on the offer.

"Hmm." Luna eyed him, then shrugged and picked up her coffee. "Well, I'll see you around. Right?"

"Yeah, I'll see you later."

"Have fun sulking in peace." She grinned, waving a hand in a lazy good-bye as she headed for the door.

Cyan sipped his coffee again, discovered it was almost empty, and finished it off instead before leaning back with a sigh. Oddly enough, the verbal dance around Luna's nosy inquiries had him feeling better. Not great, but better.

Maybe letting his admittedly depressing thoughts live "free and in the wild," as Luna put it, instead of circling around inside his own head, would be a good idea after all.

If only he had someone to talk to.

Cyan grimaced, placing his coffee mug gently back down on the saucer. Minmax was absolutely right: he needed to spend less time working with robots and talking to himself alone in his room, and spend more time outside and talking to people. He'd need to figure out a plan for when, and where, and how... or at least for when. It'd been embarrassingly long since he'd actually had a social life, he was starting to realize - he'd basically have to rediscover society from scratch.

Well, it wouldn't be the first time. When you live for long enough, falling out of touch with contemporary culture for a few decades just happens.

Feeling pretty confident in that justification, he stood up and dropped off his dishes at the counter. Before leaving, though, and after a brief moment of thought, he stopped back at the register and ordered another couple of pastries. Minmax was shoving food at Cyan often enough; it was about time to flip that table around. Thanking the cashier with a smile, he took the bag and stepped back out.

It was still a beautiful autumnal morning - the air just crisply cold enough to give the illusion of freshness, even through the constant urban smells of hot metal and motor oils. The portions of sky overhead were a clear, brilliant blue, without a single visible cloud. Cyan paused on the curb of an intersection, gazing up at the blue and taking a moment to enjoy the simplicity of just existing.

It was almost enough to make him want to get up early more often. Almost.

Cyan allowed himself a small, amused smile as he started moving again, drifting across the street with the rest of the pedestrian traffic. No amount of beautiful mornings would ever cure him of being a night owl - and he'd seen quite a few of them. But it was still nice to enjoy another one, every now and then.

Even taking his time on the walk, it wasn't even half past nine by the time he got back to the shop. Humming absently to himself, Cyan dropped the pastry bag on the counter and headed for the back room. The issue of socializing could wait for another time. Today, he was going to actually work on restocking.

Three fixed drones later, Cyan hummed absently along with his music as he worked on the fourth - and last, from the parts he had available. He'd patched the casing together from salvaged portions of other drones with the same or similar models, sealing the few remaining cracks, and was carefully sanding the patches smooth with a fine sandpaper. Finish work, while not his favorite, was relaxing, which was a nice capstone to the work session. In fact, the whole day had been remarkably pleasant so far.

"Maybe I should start waking up earlier," he remarked to the unfinished drone.

"Yo!"

Cyan jumped at the sudden loud voice, hastily pulling out his earphones as he turned to the door.

Minmax was standing there, of course, leaning comfortably against the doorframe like they'd been there a while.

"Don't scare me like that," Cyan grumbled, sticking his left hand in his pocket and toggling off the music stream.

"Wouldn't be able to if you kept the volume down," they countered cheerfully. "You planning on eating lunch today?"

"Lunch?" Cyan glanced at the time; it was almost one o'clock. Earlier than he usually ate - but then again, he'd been up earlier than usual. "Yeah, I should. Thanks for the reminder."

"I figured you'd need it. Besides." They disappeared briefly into the front room, then returned a moment later with a large take-out bag and an even bigger grin. "I'm on break, and it's my treat."

Cyan raised his eyebrows, feeling taken aback. "You bought me lunch?"

"Hey, you got me pastries, I had to return the favor."

"Oh come on, M." Cyan huffed in amused exasperation. "You're buying me food all the time. If anyone was returning a favor, it was me."

"Yeah, yeah. Look at it this way; you pay me, I buy you food, it's just like buying the food yourself. Am I right?"

Cyan coughed, trying not to laugh. "No. But I'll eat it anyway."

"Damn right you will." They nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer. "Come on out, I know you hate eating back there."

"Getting crumbs in my tools is annoying," he agreed, putting the sandpaper down and heading out into the front. "So, what did you get?"

"For you? A delicious chicken sandwich. Fries. Iced tea." They started pulling things out of the bag, laying them out on the counter as Cyan pulled up a stool. "Oh yeah, some potato salad to split, they had a deal."

"I can't remember the last time I had potato salad," Cyan admitted.

"That's 'cause you're an antique."

Cyan rolled his eyes, refusing to rise to the bait any more than that. "It sounds great, thanks."

"Yeah, food always taste better when it's free."

"Which is why you'd better enjoy it," Cyan countered with a smirk. "Since you just explained how I'm the one buying it."

"Oh damn!" Minmax laughed loudly. "That's more like it."

"More like what?" Cyan started unwrapping his sandwich; it didn't seem like it'd gotten too soggy, and it was even still warm.

"You know." Minmax grabbed one of Cyan's fries, ignoring the look they got for it. "My day's just not complete without getting at least one snarky comeback outta you."

"Gee, thanks."

"No problem." They grinned, pretending like Cyan hadn't been immensely sarcastic. "Break's over at two, so eat fast."

"And now you rush me? This is why I don't eat lunch with you," Cyan grumbled, but he couldn't help an amused smiling.

"Hey, you're the one with an appointment," Minmax countered cheerfully and took a big bite of their burger.

"I do?" Cyan paused, then called up his schedule for the day on his wrist display. Sure enough, two o'clock in the afternoon, maintenance check-up for Devon. "Shit, I do."

Minmax started to laugh, the reaction quickly turning into coughs as they tried not to choke on their own lunch, while Cyan hastily dug into his own.

By five of two, both of them had finished eating and Cyan - after losing an argument with Minmax about who was going to keep the extra potato salad - had cleaned up the trash and put the leftovers in his fridge. Minmax flipped the sign out front to OPEN, unlocking the door, and Cyan settled himself on a stool to wait.

Not that he had long to wait. Less than a minute after reopening, a skinny woman in large sunglasses and a baggy coat slipped in the door.

"Good afternoon," Cyan greeted her cheerfully, hopping off the stool. "It's been a while. How are you doing?"

The woman - his client, Devon - glanced around as if verifying the shop was empty, gave Minmax a tiny nod, and then took off her sunglasses as she approached the counter. "I'm all right." She shrugged, tucking her sunglasses in a pocket. "Nothing of note."

"Do you want to sit down for it today?" He tilted a head towards the chairs.

"No," she shook her head hurriedly, "that's okay. The usual is fine."

The usual, in this case, was his workroom in the back of the shop, safe from the eyes of other customers, passers-by, or anyone else. Not very comfortable, but he could appreciate the paranoia.

"Whenever you're ready, then." Cyan waved her around the counter, holding the back room open as she quickly made her way over.

Devon, no-last-names-please, was the first and only prosthetics client of his that he was one hundred percent certain was not a lancer. Many of them definitely were. Some of them, he had no proof but a lot of suspicions. But Devon was from upper society - a classic poor-little-rich-girl, but one who'd grown up without growing out of it. Not exactly the kind of person who you'd expect to own black-market magitech.

Except for the fact that legal robotic prosthetics still hadn't really figured out things like fine motor control, or the full range of sensory feedback someone like a pianist would want from their fingers. And Devon had been a promising pianist, from what Cyan had pieced together, until she'd had an accident which took half her left hand, destroying her career.

Cyan hadn't been able to give her back a career (not without getting them both arrested), but he'd been able to give her back the music.

"One of these days, I'll get a chair back here," he apologized as he closed the door.

"That's fine, I don't mind standing." Devon rolled up her sleeve, holding out her left arm with the fingers outstretched.

"Maybe not," Cyan allowed, taking down a couple of small tools from beneath the work table, "but after three years, you'd think I would have actually done it by now. How has it been working for you?"

"Perfectly, thank you." She didn't smile, but she sounded happy enough about it. "Aside from the usual aches, it's still almost like having a real hand."

"That's good to hear." He did smile back. "I'm going to hook up the readout now, so hold still."

Devon nodded, falling silent again.

Cyan carefully worked off the caps at the base of each finger joint, placing them on the nearby table. That done and the internals revealed, he clipped a connector to each, tapping the button to activate them, then took a moment to verify that they were linked up to the display correctly and reading out the signal data.

"All right, wiggle your fingers for me."

She did, obediently going through the whole set of finger exercises he'd taught her, while he watched the multicolored lines zigzagging across the display that represented the electronic signals and motor responses.

"Everything looks good," he confirmed, then reached his own right hand out, hovering it next to hers. "One more time."

This time, he only half paid attention to the screen, keeping his focus more on feeling the magic he'd woven into the fingers themselves. Everything felt in order there, as well, although he caught himself frowning slightly at one of the sensory spells feeling a little frayed and off-kilter.

"Is there a problem?" Devon asked. "It feels all right to me...."

"No, no problems." Cyan traced a finger along the worn threads of magic, refreshing them and tugging them gently back into place. "Just a little maintenance work to keep it in good shape. The joints look good, you've been doing a good job."

"Thank you." She smiled a little, holding still again as he took the readout clips back off. "Are you done already?"

"Except for putting the caps back on," Cyan agreed. "And then you'll be set for another six months."

"Thank you, again. Oh, and here," she fished around in a pocket with her other hand before pulling out a small data card. "It's a recording. I thought you might like it."

"I appreciate it." Cyan gave a friendly smile, pocketing the card as he snapped back on the third piece of casing. "There you go."

Cyan walked Devon out, leaving her with a have a good day as she huddled beneath her conspicuous disguise and hurried down the street.

"I'm going to get back to work on restocking," he remarked to Minmax.

They gave him a thumbs up without looking up from their phone screen. "You gonna be in there when I close up?"

"Hmm. Probably." Cyan headed around the counter for the back, casting another look at the under-stocked shelves. "I have a lot to catch up on."

"I'll yell over the music if I need you."

Chuckling, Cyan closed the door, putting his earphones back in - then paused, taking out the recording Devon had left with him and after a moment's consideration, swapped it in for his own music collection.

"I know it's been a while." Devon's voice came over the earpieces, sounding much more relaxed than when she was at his shop. "Years now, probably? But I remembered, when you were first working on my hand, you said you like Chopin. So, um, I've been putting this together for you. All the etudes written by Chopin. I hope you like them."

Smiling to himself, Cyan pulled out his tools and the last drone, and as the recording switched to a spirited piano solo, he went back to work.