Chapter Text
Europa was a land of chaos before the Other. The wastelands were the most obvious display of this chaos. Abominations of science, some biological, some mechanical, and some a mixture of both, claimed the wastes for their own. These abominations had either outlived their creators or escaped them. Most were mindless wandering beasts. Others were simply too abominable in appearance to be allowed on the other side of the walls the Europans built to keep out the abominations of the waste. Traveling between the towns and cities in those days was not for the faint of heart.
Europa after the Other is still a wasteland. But a different kind of wasteland. All the monsters in this waste are dead. Instead, there are only empty husks. A reminder that once there had been people here and they had built incredible things. There are people in Europa no longer and soon the wastes will consume even the walls of Mechanicsburg. Where thousands of armies failed, mother nature will succeed.
The last memory of the Europa that once was is a single time window hovering in a secure bunker. It shows a glimpse into the world that was, a world that perhaps might still be. The window centers resolutely on one man. What will the people of the rest of the world think when they find their way to Europa? When they crack open the bunker and make their way past the death traps, to find a small window in time and space locked resolutely on the life of one young man?
----
Gil woke up in his own bed, in his own dorm in Paris. Still, he spent a good three minutes staring up at the ceiling in confusion. He can not, for the life of him, fathom how he got there. He remembers vaguely, Tarvek holding him; remembers falling through his front door. But everything else is fuzzy. He remembers also, a woman with green hair leaning over him telling him a story in words GIl does not know; remembers his father pressing a kiss to Gil’s forehead, though he has never done such a thing. It is possible that his memory of Tarvek putting him to bed is part of the same dream.
Gil would sooner kiss Bang then he’d admit that Tarvek was a common enough feature of his dreams. He’d spent years wondering what he was doing, what he looked like all grown up. If he had changed at all. Gil knew the truth now, and his imagined Tarvek bled together with the reality in a confusing mix of Gil’s deepest desires and greatest fears. It was entirely possible that he dreamt Tarvek putting him to bed.
Gil though is mostly undressed, and he rolls over to find a glass of water on his nightstand. It's the kind of forethought that Gil lacked on a good day and would never manage drunk. He glared at the glass of water in suspicion. The only reasonable explanation is that Tarvek put it there. Gil's first thought is poison. But they'd already had a discussion about Tarvek poisoning him, besides it was too obvious. Hesitatingly, Gil sipped at the glass. When he didn't die or barf or start changing colors he downed the rest of it.
Then Gil rolled back over and went back to staring at the ceiling. His head didn't hurt nearly as much as he'd thought it would. Theo's concoctions usually left him with a pounding headache. It left Gil with enough brainpower to contemplate the enigma that was Tarvek Sturmvoraus, and the temptation that was Tarvek Sturmvoraus attempting to be Gil's friend again. Gil knew better than to trust Tarvek, but part of him still remembered what it felt like for someone to have your back. Gil wanted that feeling back more than anything, and stupidly he wanted it with Tarvek.
He can't have it though, and the more Tarvek reached out, the surer of that Gil was. Tarvek was up to something and whatever it was, it required Gil's trust. So, to thwart Tarvek, Gil just needed to keep not trusting him. He can do that. Satisfied with that decision Gil hauled himself out of bed. His stomach rolled at the motion, but his head didn’t swim and the nausea was firmly in the realm of queasy rather than eminent. All in all, rather manageable symptoms.
Standing revealed that not only had Tarvek neatly folded Gil’s dirty clothes onto a chair, but he’d laid out an outfit for Gil to put on. Gil frowned at the clothes hanging on the outside of his dresser as if that would make them go away. It did not. Neither did rubbing his eyes really hard. Eventually, Gil sighed and added the clothes to his mental list of weird things Tarvek had done. Then he decided that he wasn’t going to think about his traitorous ex-best friend at all and was instead going to focus on anything else.
Thankfully, he had Colette’s invitation to think about. That was tonight and Gil should be ready for it. He’d need to balance his drunkard act and his sparkiness in a way that made him worth keeping in the group. Gil had a dossier somewhere on Colette’s little club of intellectuals. The Baron liked to be prepared for every eventuality and that meant preparing Gil for every eventuality.
Gil was distracted briefly by his thoughts turning to his father. The Baron would be expecting a letter soon, updating him on how classes were going and if Gil had made any worthwhile connections. Admittance to Colette’s inner circle would count as a worthwhile connection, hopefully the Baron wouldn’t be too upset that it came via a perceived friendship with Tarvek. Gil knew exactly what his father thought of Tarvek and none of it was good.
He was so busy finding the best way to word his letter he didn’t realise he’d put on the outfit Tarvek had laid out until he was opening the door to the bakery. It was too late; he’d already been seen wearing it, there was no point in going home to change. At the very least the outfit, while being far better coordinated than anything Gil would’ve assembled himself, wasn’t overly ostentatious. If he could manage to lose the coat by nine.
The best way to ruin one’s outfit, Gil knew, was simply to spend the day in the lab. So, armed with enough baked goods for breakfast and lunch, Gil made his way to the university laboratories. Technically, freshman did not have unrestricted access to university lab space, but there were exceptions for sparks. Not giving a spark adequate lab space and materials to work with was asking for explosions and a half baked attempt to take over the city.
Gil did have to sit down and fill out five different forms in triplicate before he got access to the labs though. No amount of shouting or threats made to the bored administrator allowed Gil into the labs without filling out the forms. When Gil tried to go in on his own she expertly applied a stapler to the back of his head. Subdued, Gil sat and filled out all the forms. They were mostly liability waivers saying he was responsible for any destruction that occurred to him, the labs, school property, or anyone else present in the laboratory space.
Filling out the forms gave Gil a brief, horrible, flash to what his future running the Empire would be like. Then he remembered that there was absolutely no way his control obsessed father would actually willingly cede control of the empire. He’d learn to live as long as Albia first. That, of course, didn’t mean he wouldn’t shunt a great deal of work and thus paperwork onto Gil, but it did mean that the bulk of the responsibility would still be on his father.
As soon as he finished with the forms, Gil dismissed the thought in favor of science. He spent a few hours happily constructing a multitool, something that could solder, weld, unscrew, pry open, drill and tighten bolts. It was tricky to get a condensed power source with alternating outputs built into it, and he blew up the first three prototypes, but eventually he created something that was stable. He was wondering what he should build with his new tool when someone else entered the lab.
“Hello.” said the newcomer.
Gil blinked at him for a moment, his fugue dying but still present. He smiled though, and the other man smiled back so it probably wasn’t too maniacal.
“Hello,” Gil tried and then remembered his manners, “Gilgamesh Holzfaller.”
“David Roche.”
Gil maybe shook Roche’s hand a little too hard. The other man didn’t seem too bothered by it.
“What are you working on?” asked Roche curiously.
Gil lit up as the fugue that had mostly vanished rose up within him again. He brandished the multitool and began to explain its functions. Primarily, through demonstration. He used each of the tools options to disassemble his lab bench. He’d only gone so far as to disconnect the gas lines, when Roche dropped down into a fugue as well. Gil was only momentarily startled at the discovery that the other boy was a spark. Then he dipped back down into that place where everything just makes sense.
At first it was fun, they bounced ideas off each other, they built a better multitool. Then Gil started making leaps and bounds in ideas that even in full fugue Roche couldn’t quite follow. After a while, Gil stopped asking him for input and just started directing him around. Roche didn’t seem bothered by the fact he’d been unceremoniously regulated to minion. Even if he did, Gil doubted he’d even notice as deep in the madness place as he was.
Gil doesn’t know how long it lasts, but suddenly whatever they’re building explodes. Gil is suddenly slammed back into sanity in a confused state of alarm. Roche, for his part, is already slamming his hand against the button for the fire suppressors. Soon the room, including the two men, was covered in foam. The air hangs in heavy silence then Roche arranges the foam around his face to form a beard.
“Ah, you see gentleman that is what happens when you don’t check your resistors for corrosion prior to creating a circuit. To make a good machine one must first have good materials.” Roche said stroking his foam beard in a very good impression of Gil’s Electrical Circuitry professor.
Gil laughed. Roche soon joined in, dislodging his foam beard. The hilarity was soon dispersed by the arrival of the cleaner clanks, buzzing into the room and shoo-ing them out. The cleaner clanks were perhaps the best part of the university labs. The majority of the students at the university were nobility of some sort. Not the kind of people who so much as considered that they should clean up after themselves. Something the school on Castle Wulfenbach attempted to teach out of its students. Gil had always been responsible for cleaning up his lab spaces. Most students though hadn’t been subjected to the Baron’s ideals of responsibility. They had servants to pick up after them.
Gil at least, got to thrill in the convenience that was having someone else to clean up after your mess, without the guilt of that person being inconvenienced by said mess. Roche seemed equally cheered when the clanks appeared, but then again he seemed to be a generally cheery fellow. He also revealed himself to be a practical and quick thinking one when, upon exiting the laboratory, he revealed he had rescued Gil’s basket of food.
“What do you say to a spot of lunch?” Roche asked proferrign the basket.
“That I’m incredibly thankful you thought to save the food?” Gil answered.
Roche grinned at that, “Food is always the priority.” Then he looked down at his foamy torso, “Though perhaps we should clean up first.”
It was only when Gil was rinsing foam off himself that he remembered his original goal in going to the lab that day. He looked down at the waistcoat he was rinsing off and frowned. It was dark blue with silver edging and made from crushed velvet. The foam had clung rather resolutely to the texture, but now that it was cleared off, the material only looked a bit worse for wear. Gil supposed the material made it one of the nicer waistcoats he owned. The majority he had were cotton or linen, he burned through clothing at an alarming rate and the requisitions department aboard Castle Wulfenbach had taken to providing him with the cheapest clothing they could without making Gil look like a vagabond.
Gil didn’t mind the cheap simple clothing. He destroyed most of his clothes before he could develop an emotional attachment to them. These days, he was mostly happy that his clothes actually fit. Yet, fingering the damp waistcoat, Gil felt a surge of relief that it hadn’t been damaged by the foam. His coat had developed an odd discoloration down the back, and would have to be cleaned properly before he could wear it again. Ruining the coat had been the goal of this endeavor; to ruin the outfit Tarvek had picked out for him and Gil had accidently put on. So why was he so relieved the waistcoat had been salvageable?
Gil scoffed at himself and put the damp waistcoat back on. He was being ridiculous. Roche would be waiting for him outside the lavatory, there was no point dilly dallying over a waistcoat. Gil slung the ruined coat over his shoulder and stormed out into the hall and promptly almost barrelled straight through someone. Gil came to an abrupt halt and found himself face to chest with someone. That was a new experience, the only person who ever seemed to loom over Gil was his father, but this fellow was managing it.
“Hoi there!” said the looming fellow in a shockingly jovial voice, “Careful.”
Gil peered up and up into the face of a hairy man who was smilingly brightly down at him through his thick curly beard. The fellow had to be approaching seven feet tall and was built thickly. He resembled a bear, if bears wore bright blue coats with colorful embroidery. His size made Gil think construct, but there was nothing otherwise telling about the fellow, no mismatched parts or visible stitching. Gil was instantly curious.
“Hello, sorry about that.” Gil said and offered a hand, “Gilgamesh Holzfaller.”
The man shook Gil’s hand almost painfully enthusiastically, “Jagir Alinejad.”
“What brings you to the labs Monsieur Alinejad?” Gil asked taking his aching hand back, wondering what a fellow like Jagir Alinejad specialized in.
“Gathering a friend. He tends to get caught up and lose track of the time, which is usually good fun, but today we have somewhere to be and it’s terribly rude to keep a lady waiting.” Alinejad said.
Gil remembered abruptly, that he also had somewhere to be as well and dug his watch out of his pocket. Thankfully, he had shoved it in his pants pocket that morning, so it survived the lab accident. He checked the time. It was a quarter past eight. That couldn’t be right. He and Roche had stopped for lunch. Gil raised the watch to his ear. The watch ticked methodically, he’d remembered to wind it. Gil shook it as if that would somehow change the time. It did not.
“Ah there you are!” Alinejad called distracting Gil from his temporal frustration.
Gil looked up to find Roche trotting down the hallway in a fresh new shirt and coat, the food basket swinging on his arm. Roche waved at them as he made his way over. When he’d got within ten paces, Alinejad strode forward to meet him. Alijenad scooped up the smaller man into a crushing hug.
“Hail friend, it has been a long summer since I have beheld your face.” Alijenad said after releasing Roche.
Roche tottered slightly when Alijened put him down, wincing at what had probably been a bone crushing embrace. But he mustered up a smile.
“Zaman! Good to see you. Care to join us in the lab?” Roche asked.
Alijenad laughed, “I would like nothing more, but we have agreed to meet with the Lady Voltaire and her motley crew this eve, and I would not wish to be late.”
“We don’t need to be there till nine,” Roche said dismissively, “Plenty of time to revolutionize engineering!”
“It is past eight, David.” Alijenad said with the exasperated tone of someone used to dealing with sparks.
“What?” Roche said with the same disbelief Gil had felt at checking his watch.
Roche had a watch that was strapped conveniently to his wrist. Gil was hit with a sudden bout of jealousy. Roche made a comical face of disbelief at the watch and tapped it. Then he looked back up at his audience.
“So, it has.” He turned to Gil, “Well I guess it’s too late for lunch then.”
“Yes, I suppose it’s dinner now.”
Roche proffered the basket, “and I’ll have to pass, we promised to meet some friends.”
Gil pushed the basket back towards him, “Actually I believe we have the same appointment.”
Roche looked thoughtful, but Alijenad turned to him in surprise.
“9pm at the Le Chat Vert? Collette Voltaire invited me.” Gil offered a little awkwardly.
“Well this has been a truly auspicious meeting then!” Alijenad declared his joviality returned, “Welcome friend Gilgamesh!”
Alijenad punctuated that statement with a hearty slap on the back, the force of it stung. Roche winced in sympathy at the sound it made. Gil congratulated himself at keeping his feet. Alijenad then led the way out of the depths of the lab, Gil followed with a tinge of excitement. He had never been particularly good at making friends. The whole mess with Tarvek was evidence of that. Yet, since arriving in Paris, Gil had more or less blundered his way into three friends. Four if you counted Colette, but even if that hadn’t been a strategic meeting between the favorite child of the Master of Paris and the Baron’s son, it was one facilitated by Tarvek. That wasn’t the same as Gil literally falling onto Wooster or bumping into Roche and Alijenad. The whole experience was surreal.
Alijenad and Roche chatted amiably with Gil as they made their way to the pub. They were both older than Gil and asked after his class schedule and made comments on the course content and professors. Roche offered commentary on which professors were resentful of sparks, and which were sticklers for things like citations and being on time to class. It was useful stuff, Gil wanted to take notes. He might’ve even actually taken notes, except his hands were busy devesting the basket of its contents. Gil and Roche ate with the veracity of sparks fresh out of a fugue, and Roche fended Alijenad’s greedy hands away.
Gil had initially offered to share the contents of the basket with Alijenad as well. Roche though had vetoed that idea and followed it up with an exhaustive but hilarious list of the times Alijenad had ingested and improbably large amount of food. Alijenad took the tirade with the same good humor it seemed he took all things. In this way they made the long walk to Le Chat Vert vanish in what felt like minutes, but was closer to half an hour.
Le Chat Vert’s exterior was painted with an acidic green color that made it stand out amongst the stone of the surrounding buildings. A collection of tables and chairs had been set out in front of the building and a group of people who were clearly also students already filled them. The mini terrace was separated from the street by an electrical barrier. As Gil watched a drunk student careened into the fence only to jolt back. A burn mark streaked down his orange coat. The coat was covered in such marks, and the singed black streaks made the coat resemble the pelt of a tiger.
Alijenad led the way around the electrical barrier and into the pub itself. The interior of the pub was thankfully not as garishly colored at its exterior. It resembled the other pubs Gil had wandered into since arriving in the city. It was crowded with wooden tables that all looked as if they’d survived a spark breakthrough. A collection of wooden chairs in various states of decay, clearly made from different types of woods and even different carpenters were crammed around the tables.
The far end of the pub was dominated by the long wooden bar that was clearly where the furniture budget had been dedicated. The bar looked as if it might be spark work. While its general shape was that of a large rectangle made of heavy hard wood, pipes and wiring swirled around it and the top and sides were covered with nozzles, dials, and even ovens. It had the slightly nauseating appearance of a mad boy's design. The oddest part of the pub, wasthe fact that students didn’t sit at the bar. They crowded around all sides of it, approaching with empty plates and glasses and leaving with full ones. Gil searched the crowd, but he couldn’t see anyone who looked like they worked there.
“Magnificent isn’t it?” said Roche at GIl’s side as they navigated through the tables, the crowd parting easily before Alijenad, “It’s sparkwork, the whole pub is self serve.”
“Really, that’s fascinating!” Gil said excited.
He was only stopped from rushing over to examine the bar by Alijenad grabbing hold of his shoulder.
“I have spotted our companions.”
Gil redirected his attention first to Alijenad and then to where he was pointing. Sure enough, Gil recognized Colette sitting at a round table. Next to her was a young woman in a practical suit dress. She was gesturing rather animatedly with a pamphlet. Colette appeared to be listening intently. Their third companion though, a man in an outfit that could only be described as sombre, looked bored by the interaction. There was no sign of Tarvek. Gil scanned the rest of the bar, but didn’t see any sign of Tarvek’s red hair.
Alijenad practically bounced his way over to the table with Gil and Roche following in his wake. Alijenad broke through the woman’s ranting with his greeting. His deep voice cutting easily through the noise of the pub.
“Greetings friends!”
The women turned to look at Alinejad, but the man simply nodded his head in idle greeting. First Colette and then the woman received enthusiastic hugs from Alijenad. The man instead was greeted with a hearty shoulder thumping, which he took with the same bored expression he’d been wearing when they arrived. Roche rather more reservedly offered a simple Hullo.
“I see you two managed to find Gil, thank you.” Colette said when it came time for Gil to say hello.
“Gil, I’d like you to meet Lady Lisette Perrault who is studying virology, and Knyaz Gunder Vili of Stockholm who is studying history. Lisette, Knyaz this is Gilgamesh Holzfaller who is studying engineering and medicine.”
“Nice to meet you.” Lisette said.
Knyaz nodded at him.
“I see you’ve already met David and Zaman.”
“Ah, yes. Roche and I did some work in the lab,” Gil said sitting down in the seat Colette offered him, it put him next to Alijenad and an empty chair.
“Oh?” Colette asked.
Thankful for a familiar conversation topic Gil launched into an explanation of the days work. Roche added in comments and explanations when Gil’s description got too advanced for everyone at the table to follow. They just reached the bit about the foam when a familiar voice broke through.
“Am I late? I could have sworn you said nine.”
Gil paused and looked up to see Tarvek standing next to the table. He was wearing a bright blue coat and a metallic grey waistcoat. He was examining his watch. Gil abruptly remembered that he’d put on the clothes Tarvek had picked out for him and looked down at his waistcoat. It was the same shade of blue as Tarvek’s coat. He glanced at the ruined coat slung over the chair, it too matched Tarvek’s outfit. He frowned annoyed.
“You’re right on time. The rest of us were early.” Colette said standing to greet him.
To both Gil’s and, judging by the expression on his face, Tarvek’s surprise Colette greeted him with a hug. Tarvek wrapped his arms back around her hesitatingly. When Colette pulled back she turned to face the table.
“Everyone this is Prince Tarvek Sturmvarous.”
Then Colette went around the table introducing everyone again. Tarvek got an eyebrow raise along with a nod from Vili, and Alijenad didn’t stand to greet him, but gave Tarvek a resounding back slap that sent Tarvek careening into the back of Gil’s chair. Tarvek made a mad grab for stability and ended up with one hand gripped tightly around Gil’s shoulder. The other hand had grabbed the empty chair and sent it toppling. Tarvek followed it down, which left him in a strange bent position with his feet out from under him, but his torso staying more or less vertical, via the strength of his grip on Gil’s shoulder.
Colette burst into laughter at the display and Roche smothered a chuckle behind his hand. Lisette looked mildly horrified and Villi looked as if this was the most ordinary thing that had ever happened. Alijenad for his part, was horrified and surged to his feet. He hauled Tarvek up one handed, and picked up the chair with the other. Tarvek dangling from Alijenad’s grip by the collar of the coat looked rather gobsmacked at the manhandling. That got a chuckle out of Gil, and felt like decent enough vengeance for the bruises he could feel forming on his shoulder in the shape of Tarvek’s fingers.
Alijenad deposited Tarvek in the chair like an unruly kitten. Tarvek fixed his coat rather determinedly, trying to pretend the previous scene hadn’t happened.
“Well everyone is here now.” Colette declared clapping her hands once Alijenad had sat back down, “We can officially call this meeting to order. Welcome to the Gaurdians of Paris, this is our first official meeting of the year.”
“I thought this was a study group?” Gil said.
“Ostensibly,” Colette explained, “we do get together and study, but we also deal with issues Papa directs our way.”
“Issues?” Gil asked more confused.
“Mostly professors complaining about not getting tenure or their funding getting cut. Occasionally students upset over their grades, or assignment parameters. Sometimes we handle abominations that get loose, or occasionally petty crime and the like.” Roche explained, “We get extra credit for most of it though, which is pretty great.”
“Huh, well that actually sounds fun.” Gil replied. After all, wasn’t that what the Heterodyne boys had done?
Next to him Tarvek snorted.
“I’m glad you think so.” Colette said before continuing, “Meetings will continue to be Wensdays at seven, unless someone has a conflict.”
There were head shakes and no’s from the group, “Excellent, today’s meeting is to celebrate the start of term and the newest additions to our group. First rounds on me.”
Alijenad let out a whoop and the group rose to their feet. Gil bounced up as well, finally a chance to see the self serving bar in action. He followed along behind the rest of the group, Alijenad took the lead again parting the crowd easily for the rest of them. Tarvek hung to the back of the group as well, brushing shoulders with Gil occasionally. Gil determined to ignore him, he wasn’t going to let Tarvek ruin this for him.
It didn’t take long for them to reach the bar with Alijened’s bulk making way for them. On closer inspection Gil could see the little slots where one could insert money. From there you activated a series of dials and levers and the bar would produce either drinks or food. The food available was rather limited, chips, pretzels, cheese, crackers and assorted nuts as well as popped corn could be ordered. The drink selection was rather more varied, and he could see students inserting money into the slots for multiple nozzles to create cocktails. Nothing as wild as Theo’s concoctions, as no one seemed to be actively distilling anything themselves, but still interesting variations that mostly came in dangerously bright colors.
The crowd around the bar was not as easily cowed by Alijened’s bulk. Instead one had to force oneself to a spot on the bar they wanted and apply elbows to get through. Colette who had promised the first round shoved her way forward with rather alarming enthusiasm. Though a few students who recognized her quickly got out of the way. Whether this was recognition was for Colette’s parentage, or the merciless way she applied elbows to the soft parts of people’s bodies was unclear.
The rest of the group save Villi shouted orders after her. Alijenad followed behind her armed with a tray upon which Colette stacked drinks and snacks. Rather than buying enough for the table, Colette simply bought until she could no longer fit things onto the tray without risking it all tumbling onto the ground. Then Alijenad led the way back to the table and placed the tray in the center. Everyone settled back into their seats, and descended upon the tray. Gil figured if he didn’t grab a drink quickly he wouldn’t get one, so he snatched at the closest glass and plate.
He came back with a cup of sickly green liquid with a spoon holding a sugar cube balanced delicately on its rim and a plate of pretzels.
Tarvek seemed less inclined to join in the madness, and simply waited for what was left. He ended up with a glass of light beer and a bowl of nuts. He frowned at the beer but took a swig anyway. Gil waited for the look of disgust, He still remembered his first beer. He’d practically spewed it back out onto Slepiner. Tarvek instead of looking disgusted, looked mildly intrigued and took another sip. Gil wondered when the prince had had the chance to acquire a taste for a drink as pedestrian as beer.
Gil turned back to his glass instead. He supposed the sugar went into the drink, so he dumped the cube in and stirred before taking a swig. It tasted terrible, both sweet and bitter at the same time. It wasn’t however, anywhere near as disgusting as some of Theo’s earliest concoctions, the ones where his only goal was to maximize alcohol content, so Gil thought it was alright. He glanced back at Tarvek who was giving Gil the look of disgust that Gil had expected him to give the beer. He smirked back at him. Tarvek instead of being further offended as Gil had intended instead laughed so softly Gil saw rather than heard it, before shaking his head and turning his attention back to the table.
Colette was telling a ridiculous story about some fellow named Othar who fancied himself a hero. He’d managed to get the Professor of Fluid Dynamics and Viscosis Categorization arrested. Apparently the professor was a very good teacher and well loved on campus, but was also sourcing many of his fluids directly from the Parisian population. Of course, the professor had responded to the arrest by unleashing a series of slime monsters. The aforementioned Othar had managed to defeat most of them, but some apparently had escaped to make a new home in the city’s sewer system. Sometimes, they still came back up the drains. The general response of the table was that Othar was the worst, and there would be no slime monsters and better grades in Fluid Dynamics if Othar had just kept his nose out of things.
Gil thought this Othar fellow rather had the right end of the stick. No amount of teaching qualifications erased using civilians as unwitting test subjects, and the slime monsters were hardly Othar’s fault. The name did sound oddly familiar, though Gil couldn’t place it. He’d have to go through his briefings again to find it. Tarvek for his part made horrified noises at all of Colette’s indulgent descriptions of viscosity. Something that added to the overall hilarity of the story.
After that it was Alijened’s turn to fetch drinks, and he came back hoisting two trays. Gil began to wonder if there was some sort of ranking system that determined how much someone was supposed to buy during a round. Gil had been provided with plenty of spending money, but it wasn’t infinite. And he wasn’t entirely sure if his father would send more if he asked. Probably not, the Baron valued self reliance and practicality highly. If he found out that Gil was spending all his money in pubs he’d be disappointed, not furious like he’d probably be if Gil gambled it all away, but perhaps upset enough to simply recall Gil to the Castle instead.
Gil took another glass of the green liquid in the hopes it would inspire another disgusted look from Tarvek, and tried not to feel disappointed when Tarvek’s attention was instead snagged on Lady Perrault who was telling a story about a lab accident like it was a truly horrifying ghost story. To be fair Lady Perrault studied plagues, so lab accidents could be truly horrifying. Annoyed and annoyed at himself for being annoyed Gil directed his attention to Alijenad who was telling a disinterested looking Villi about a trip he’d taken to Alexandria. Alijenad seemed to be particularly fascinated with the ancient egyptian’s approach to sparkwork and kept prodding Villi for his historical input.
Villi did answer all of Alijened’s questions and was rather more verbose than Gil had expected. Though he said everything in the same flat monotone that made even an in depth description of the mummification process sound as dull as someone reciting a requisitions list. Alijenad seemed unbothered by this though and continued on as if Villi had expressed a profuse fascination with the subject. Gil didn’t know much about the topic and was rather hesitant to ask questions in case Villi really was bored and was only waiting for Alijenad to wear himself out.
Gil listened to the varying conversations and provided input when asked, but found he didn’t quite want to volunteer comments. When he did, he got the distinct feeling he’d said something wrong. To smother the squirming feeling this created in his stomach Gil downed more drinks, sometimes more of the sickly sweet green liquid and sometimes absurd cocktails Colette had assembled then shoved in his direction. After the first round Tarvek somehow managed to acquire for himself a bottle of red wine and drank that instead of the other drinks. His attention stayed for the most part on Lady Perrault.
By the end of the night Gil was very drunk and very annoyed at Lady Perrault, though he couldn’t seem to remember why. Whatever reason it had started, it had developed into a vigorous debate over the best methods of preventing infection that had drawn in two neighboring tables. It ended with one of the newcomers making a point about hygiene while tossing a table before abruptly passing out. That seemed to kill the mood and Lady Perrault and Gil returned to the table with red faces, and clothes rather the worse for wear.
That seemed to be some sort of signal that the night was over and they spilled out onto the street. The exercise had rejuvenated Gil and he felt rather more sober then he had when it started. Which was enough to realise that he’d made a bit of a fool of himself. The others didn’t seem bothered, Alijened had given him a bone crushing hug and Colette had kissed his cheek. Still, Gil was feeling rather embarrassed as he made his way home. He walked for a while with Roche and Tarvek. Then Roche split off with a clap on the shoulder for Tarvek and a promise of more shared lab time to Gil.
That left Gil and Tarvek alone as they meandered down the street. Though Gil had enough presence of mind to sense a plot. There was no way Tarvek was living in student housing. Not with his family owning a mansion that was large enough to be a palace in the most fashionable part of the city. He cast a glance at Tarvek once Roche was out of sight only to find him looking at Gil. The expression on Tarvek’s face was almost wistful and it made Gil’s intestines, already twisted up in embarrassment, flip over.
“What?” He asked, the embarrassment twisting his words into hostility.
Tarvek turned away. Then after a moment answered, “What do you think of the Gaurdians of Paris?”
Gil frowned. That was clearly not what Tarvek really wanted to ask.
“They seem like a nice bunch, they’re certainly smart.” Gil hedged.
“Yes. All sparks save for Colette and perhaps Villi.” Tarvek supplied.
Gil hadn’t known that. He knew Roche was a spark of course, and Lady Perrault’s voice had held the spark as they debated. He was surprised about Alijenad though. The fellow did not fit the stereotypes that Gil usually expected from sparks, he was so easy going.
“And?” prodded Gil.
Tarvek slid his hands into the pockets of his coat still not looking at Gil, “Nothing.”
Gil snorted, “Sure. You followed me home for this.”
Tarvek’s gait stuttered slightly, though he covered it quickly, “I’m not following you home. We are simply going in the same direction.”
“Uh huh.” Gil was unconvinced.
They continued on in silence, though Tarvek stayed tensed. Eventually they came upon Gil’s dorm. They stopped outside it. Gil was hesitant to enter before Tarvek said whatever it was he clearly wanted to say. It was curiosity mostly, that stuck his feet to the sidewalk. Tarvek stood there too, and for a whole minute, Gil counted it, they stood there in silence, not looking at each other. Then Gil gave up and started heading in, he’d gotten the door open when Tarvek finally spoke.
“Wait.”
Gil turned back to him, holding the door open with his body. Tarvek stood there chewing his lip. Gil counted up another thirty seconds before Tarvek spoka again.
“Why?”
Gil sighed in exasperation, “Why what?”
Tarvek seemed to mentally dig in his feet before he continued, “Why did you tell the Baron where we hid my notes?”
Gil was tempted to say something vicious and slam the door in Tarvek’s face. The question hurt to hear. Tarvek should know why. He shouldn’t have to ask. The act of asking was only tearing open an old wound. It was the we that stopped him. Where we hid the notes . Tarvek was implicating him in his actions, but it was true. The hiding spot had been Gil’s idea. He’d never planned on telling the Baron.
“Why did you pretend to be my friend?” Gil spit instead, the truth dragged out of him by that ‘we’.
Tarvek looked confused, which would have been hilarious if it didn’t hurt so much.
“Pretend? What the blazes are you talking about?”
That was about all Gil could take for one night though so instead he yelled, “Oh, shove it!” and slammed the door.
He could hear Tarvek’s shouted “Gil” through the door, but he stomped loudly into the apartment instead. He probably woke Wooster doing so, but frankly Gil didn’t care. He slammed the door to his bedroom shut, to vent some of his anger. When the apartment hung in silence in response the anger drained out of him. Gil flung himself face down in his bed and did something he promised he’d never do again. He cried over Tarvek Sturmvoraus.