Adonai was woken, as usual, by the sudden lack of warmth next to him in the bed. Through half closed eyes, he watched Helen get dressed for the day, noting that she took a shirt from his drawer instead of her own. The corner of his mouth twisted in a smile as he rested his head on the pillow, watching her hurry out, still thinking him asleep. It was another half an hour, give or take a little, before he himself got up.

Looking in his shirt draw, he couldn’t help but notice there were not many left. They did not often come back from Helens clinic in a particularly wearable state. Sometimes they were good enough for ‘experiment shirts’ - that is to say what he wore when he was working on something liable to explode in his face and ruin his clothes. Still, they often ended up becoming too encrusted with blood to wear again, at least whenever Helen was working her clinic. Pulling a nondescript one from the draw and putting it on, he made a mental note to stop by the tailor on the way to the pub.

Before leaving his room, he buckled on his weapon belt, on which was slung his sword and steam revolver - both custom made by him, and both never absent from his side outside of this room, an unintended aspect of his fathers legacy. This was not the only thing he left the room with though. A small notebook, filled with blank paper and various technical doodles in equal measure, went in one pocket. Also attached to his belt was a pouch containing a half assembled clockwork along with extra parts - a small project to keep him occupied while he waited for his wife to finish cutting people up. A set of fine tools also went on his belt, some of them capable of being used as lockpicks, all of them invaluable to his line of work. Finally he tied his hair back and slipped a pair of glasses onto his nose - not necessary for his sight, but the lens altering assembly on the left hand rim both marking him as an inventor and providing a more socially acceptable alternative to the variable magnification goggles he sometimes wore; goggles that made him look like he was about to blow something up. Usually because when he was wearing them, something [i]was[/i] going to blow up. Sometimes even intentionally.

When he left his docked airship, [i]Zephyr’s Machine[/i], he was the very picture of a modern western gentleman inventor, the tails of a fine longcoat (the kind he wore when there was minimal chance of explosions nearby) swishing through the air behind him. By the time he reached the Pub, he was also carrying a small satchel containing six new shirts. He had to restock his supply every time they stayed at a city for any length of time, and it wasn’t entirely Helen’s fault either. At the pub, he found an empty table and sat down to wait for his wife, quickly filling the small table with carefully laid out cogs and glass components. When he had first begun this particular habit, some of the less intelligent thugs that frequented the Pub had thought it might be funny to mess with his components. That had stopped fairly quickly when they realised that he often carried vials of a chemical that would cause their skin to itch for hours on contact. The few stubborn ones and the occasional too tough newcomer had stopped bothering him once word got around that his wife was the person that patched them up after a barfight.

When the time came for Helen to arrive at the Pub for breakfast, he got up to wait just outside the door, confident in the knowledge that no-one would dare touch his work. He was just considering going back inside out of the cold when she arrived. [color=00aeef]“You’re la-”[/color] He began before being cut off, his mouth suddenly quite occupied with a kiss, his arms wrapping gently but firmly about Helens thin waist.

[color=00aeef] “Ready and waiting.”[/color] He said with a wink, replying to her question, the corner of his mouth curling into smile while his hands motioned for her to enter the building ahead of him.

Helen felt the sting of her movement, her feet forced on their tiptoes and mouth closed over his. It sent sparks down her spine to feel him so close as her hands naturally resumed their roaming touch, each able to tell the firm muscle and structure she adored about him. Even after all this time, his touch still made her heart pound until it bruised her insides. Her hands sought balance as they took a hold of him, braced against his firm foundation for some lengthy moments. Slowly her feet flattened out and thumped lightly upon the cobblestone walkways, sending a vibration through her whole frame. It was likely Adonai could feel her heat influenced by Ignis. After all, it was a common way to travel for the spirit and the fact it had been happening over years didn’t faze him anymore now. 

His lips made hers tingle when she pulled back. Her breath shallow, stolen a bit, after the kiss ended. It was then she noted the package in his hand. She smirked, realizing the contents, shirts, and couldn’t help looking at the state of her current one. It was slightly better compared to her past borrowed ‘inspiration’, shredded when the bandages ran out and the blood still gushed until she could clamp it, and appeared with a little washing to be useable again. At least for one of her dear’s experimental shirts. 

Those things often were charred or singed in one way or another, often discarded into the furnace.  

When she pulled a bit from Adonai, relentantly, her emotions turned in that familiar way. Even after this long the man still made her heart race, her blood hum, and head more than just dizzy when he smiled. It made the sudden impulse worth it. His smile was genuine and kind, filling his face with a warmth she loved and adding to his charm. A fresh need to kiss him urged into her heart but she resisted. Her middle, distinctively needy, gurgled for food bring a sourness to the conflict between eating breakfast or having Adonai.

It was a tough choice, that was sure. 

Even now the idea brought a great deal of heat, outside Ignis’ influence and caused the dragon to regulate it into normal levels. A slight perk she was glad with as she didn’t ask the spirit’s thoughts on this matter. Part of her felt he knew why her temperature rose.   

Nodding her head and stepping forward, she heard a sound begin in her mind. It was a deep, raspy rattle which started out low then began to grow. It started to fill her ears and caused her to lessen her smile a bit, twisting into a frown. She knew that noise rather well after all. Mainly as it belonged to Sira, the cat spirit and made from pure light. It seemed he was enjoying Adonai’s addition to her own reservoir of memories, taking it onto himself to ensure he could sample the wares before their due time. 

She let out a small sigh, then scolded the cat. [i]Sira, naughty cat. Git out of there![/i]

The low rumble of Sira’s increased pleasure was all she received for an answer. 

[color=f49ac2]“Silly beast,”[/color] Helen muttered under her breath, moved toward the door with her hand reaching out to take her husband and gently rested her arms around his. She always made a point to ensure all those within the pub knew exactly who she loved. Including those rancid, lowlives who forgot she treated their festering wounds after a local bar fight. 

She looked at Adonai, her eyes steady when her voice spoke, [color=f49ac2]“No trouble today, luv?”[/color] 

[color=00aeef] “Just another day dearest.”[/color] he replied, still slightly tingly from her touch. He had married her a year ago, and their relationship went further back even than that, but the pleasure of her company had still not dimmed. Something he would be happy to have continue until the day he died. He was sure there was something going on in the pub, but then there always was. It was none of his business, and he didn’t care, so long as no-one got thrown into his table. His association with the Guild was distant at best and entirely through Helen, herself bandless. Which meant no-one told him anything about Guild politics. Just the way he liked it. He had enough politics in his family without the altogether far too well armed Guild bands also expecting him to be involved in their politics. He was just that expensive Airship captain people hired when they needed to get somewhere fast.

He was glad of Helen’s arm around his as they entered the Pub, to show the whole world that she was his (though in practice he was hers). As they entered he guided them towards the table on which his latest project was set up - a project he had yet to inform Helen of the intent of. [color=00aeef]“Breakfast is already ordered, as usual. Should be here in no time.”[/color] They had long ago come to the agreement that he didn’t need to ask how her work had been until after they’d eaten. After all, some of the descriptions Helen could give were quite graphic, and thoroughly appetite destroying for all but the most jaded of individuals.

Helen’s eyes glanced over the scene. Her eyes noted the key figures she had either treated or heard about. Though the information gained varied between individual as she had treated several on numerous occasions, their conditions being serious or mild, had earned her most the bands’ respect and the gratitude of individuals. However some stuck to the stigma of those outside their own bands, bandless in particular, were untrustworthy. Even when she treated many of their less fortunate victims. 

The notion of such old traditions and crippling ideas disgusted her in more ways than one,. It was namely because they seemed so similar to the Varisie’s views on women’s roles, irritating her to no end.    


Instinctively, she started to skim the scene. Her eyes set on the first table that held people she knew, her line of sight settling on Alan ‘Kite’ Ryner’s. She had to take a second glance when she noted a dark haired woman and wearing some strange clothing, something that made Helen think of the silk night robes she slipped in during the night. It wasn’t hard to spot the elegant embroidery on the clothes but she had trouble placing the location, geography and different cultures being a slight weakness. The main reason her Adonai did the piloting across longer distances. It seemed they were engaged in some conversation, drawing her curious interest.  When the mask appeared, she tightened her grip, watching its face spinning around in place before it settled on a far table. 

Naturally her eyes snapped into that direction to see Eli, the man she dubbed the walking miracle, sitting with what was clearly a spirit of his. A woman, a spirit clearly, dressed in feathery decorations themed red and gold, sat beside him. [i]What made the husky, miracle want to pull out his spirit now?[/i] She thought and shifted her attention to look him in the eye, hopefully the man was wise and avoided them, then regretted it.

The man was a bloody mess, she grimaced at spotting the wounds. Deciding to deal with the man later, she let out a sharp intake of breath and let Adonai finish leading her to their table. Her head avoided the earlier sight until she ready to deal with it. He wouldn’t like it, that was for certain. Her mind lingered on those harsh thoughts a bit longer until they reached their seats. 

She had just detached herself when she noticed them, stopping dead in her tracks. Helen’s sharp eyes twisted about to her husband, ignoring the chair and glass samples of the chemicals for a moment, her voice deceitfully kind and overly sweet. [color=f49ac2]“Adonai? I don’t recall you mentioning you were working on another project...dearest.”     [/color]

Adonai knew that tone - that was the tone Helen used to inform him that he had better tell her exactly what was going on or else. He couldn’t tell her what this was though. Partly because he didn’t really know yet himself, and partly because it would ruin the surprise. He gently squeezed her hand and spoke reassuringly. [color=00aeef]“Its just a clockwork my love… Absolutely no chance of exploding whatsoever. If it were dangerous I wouldn’t leave it were just anyone could poke it.”[/color] With that he bent down a little to kiss her cheek, before stepping forward and pulling out a chair for her. [color=00aeef]“I’ll show you how it works so far if you like.”[/color]

Helen suspiciously eyed him, studying his eyes and steady chin for a awkward spell. She ignored the outheld chair, her hand clasped within his, wandering through the reasons he could have to keep this project from her. However what he said made sense and in the end, having seen the results, the woman gave into reason. Adonai after all knew how dangerous his projects were which only added to her desire to not start a fight. She hated bickering though the end results were often worth the heated discussion, her lips pulled into a fresh smile. Accepting his answer, she took her seat and leaned over his work. [color=f49ac2]“I’d like that Adonai, very much.”[/color]