"You always kept up with us, you know." Jurgen was out of uniform, walking slightly ahead of Marci as he spoke.
"Despite being..." he trailed off and she glared.
"Younger." Marci let out a snort and rolled her eyes. If there was a smile, he did not show it. She had learned that he was good at controlling his face, to whatever end he wished.
"Well, I should hope so," she replied after a moment,
"You don't look very quick." There were times when she still wasn't quite sure of her Kerreman. It was hardwired into her as the first language she'd learned, even though she did not explicitly remember it. Yet, she'd spent nearly five years at the refuge communicating in Avincian and Torragonese.
They'd made their way to one of the open-air biergartens along Tendel Road in the Merchants' Quarter and were promptly seated. They ordered a nice pretzel each, in the Rovarian style, and a great stein of the house helles. Then, it was time to speak in earnest.
"So, be honest: how are you, Marci?"She shrugged.
"You look like you've just eaten a chili pepper when you say my name."He returned the gesture.
"My head still automatically tells me you're Nina. I have to override it.""You'll adjust, in time, as I did."He nodded.
"Now, no avoiding the question, sister." It was jarring to hear him call her that: this man whom she hardly knew. She sensed he was a creature apart from Manfred, but there was a bit of his kindness in there. He thanked the waitress as she delivered their order and winked. She rolled her eyes and giggled before walking away.
Okay, Marci admitted to herself,
Maybe quite a bit more than just his kindness. Jurgen's face was quickly serious again, however, even grave.
"Well, perhaps it is I who should be asking you first," she decided.
"You knew him far better than I."Her older brother's eyes searched her face, and Marci made a point of not shrinking away. There was something stern and authoritative about that gaze, despite his generally open manner. Abruptly, he tore off a piece of his pretzel, shoved it in his mouth and chewed. He washed it down with a hearty gulp of beer.
"I am in mourning," he admitted, with a diffident shrug.
"He was my little brother. I was supposed to protect him and I failed." He glanced away.
"Like I failed you."He
had failed her. Otto and Manfred had been mere boys, but Jurgen, the oldest, could have said something when that witch of a woman had wanted her sent to a tethered refuge. It would have
meant something.
"You weren't there," she added neutrally.
"What could you have done?"He twisted back to face her and pursed his lips.
"I could've been there," he replied in annoyance.
"I could've demanded a stop to these stupid errands your Zenos send you on." He shook his head angrily as she started on her food.
"You know they did it when I was there too, right?" Marci regarded him soberly, chewing and swallowing. One of those 'stupid errands' had saved her from rotting in a tethered refuge for the rest of her short life. It had given her a new family of sorts, and a treatment for the tethering. She had never, thank Oraff, lost her ability to walk and, now, never would. She might live a normal, fulfilling life.
"And yes, I know that you were found and rescued thanks to one of those," he added, as if he knew her thoughts. He was a chemical mage of some ability.
Did he? He downed another gulp.
"But could they not send Zenos instead of risking the lives of students?" He shook his head again, thumping the stein down on the table.
"It's all very disreputable. You know, from my perspective, I have both gained a loved one and lost one because of these." He glanced off to the side, jaw clenched, and swallowed as if the act was painful.
"Did he leave you a letter?" Marceline asked calmly, reaching into the bag hanging from the back of her chair. Jurgen arched an eyebrow.
"Well, there was one addressed to me, though it was written some time ago: the one that left me Fritz and Kurbis." She paused.
"Like a sort of will?"He nodded, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.
"It is the sort that every military man always has ready." There was something in his tone that seemed to say, 'you wouldn't understand'.
With a deft maneuver, Marceline's fingers switched what they were gripping.
"I received something similar," she replied, pulling out a folded letter.
"Though no animals to take care of.""A shame," Jurgen remarked.
"I find women are often better at that sort of thing.""Perhaps," Marci allowed, not letting the slightly irksome nature of the assumption show,
"But I'm so busy nowadays with Zeno Bucks that I'd scarce have time." Indeed, she'd hardly had time for little Domino, the baby ground octopus that Fiske had gifted her. He was a cute, goobery little fella, and she really should have.
"Ah, yes: your coffee thing with that... Virangish girl." He mostly kept the disgust from his voice.
"I'll admit to not having tried any yet, but it's a good idea - serves a need." He raised his glass.
"You may yet end up the wealthiest of us all, little sister."Marceline glanced down and blushed, but raised her glass in thanks, taking a perfunctory sip.
"I should hope for Dami's blessing."Jurgen tilted his head and smirked.
"Eh. You're far more of the Reshta type: a gambler, but a smart one, at least.""I never take a bet I can't win.""I know."So it was that they sat there in a biergarten: a brother and sister who hardly knew each other, each mourning the loss of a third in their own, separate ways. That Marceline had entirely dodged answering his question was not lost upon Jurgen, for he was no fool, but she was well enough, a disreputable Huulisch suitor aside. That Jurgen was not someone she would ever be especially close with was not lost upon Marci, but he was not a bad man and maybe even a good one, in his own way. Still, when they parted ways some twenty minutes later, each left with their greater concerns allayed and their secrets intact.
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