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At a café in one of the busier parts of the marketplace in Alba Cavanich, Mòrag finds Zeke skulking about.
Skulking may be too strong of a word, though. Perhaps sneaking, then. He’s standing half-hidden behind a pillar, watching… someone. Mòrag clears her throat behind him, and Zeke jumps.
“—Oi! Oh, it’s just you. Don’t sneak up on a guy like that!” Then, Zeke quickly makes a shushing gesture and motions to where he’d just been staring. “Check it out.”
It’s Mikhail, sitting alone at a small table meant for two with a cup of coffee that isn’t even hot anymore. He looks… listless, almost. Just as Mòrag is about to ask Zeke why he’s watching him do absolutely nothing, a woman passes by and Mikhail visibly perks up. He waves to the woman.
“Hey, babe— yeah, you, with the smokin’ eyes. You got a moment? How about joining me for a drink?”
“Bugger off, creep.”
“C’mon, don’t be like that! Haha!”
Zeke shakes his head. “He’s been at it the entire afternoon. One after the other— they just keep smacking him down. A man can’t help but sympathize…! Even if he’s going about it completely the wrong way.”
Mòrag squints in clear disapproval. “His behavior is… uncouth, to say the least. Can you blame the women for turning him down?”
“Nah! Not at all.”
“Exactly. So I’m putting a stop to this now.” Mòrag frowns at Mikhail. He’s gone back to idly staring at his cooling coffee, although he looks no worse than he was before the most recent woman had turned him down, like a Blant that has reburied itself into the mud, patiently waiting for its next prey to stray near it.
Zeke grabs her arm before she can march out there and arrest him, or beat him up, or whatever she was planning to do.
“Hold on— let me handle this one. I’ve got it.”
“You’ve… got it,” Mòrag repeats, skepticism written all over.
“Yeah! Lemme have a chat with him. Man to man.”
Mòrag stares at him for a long time. “If I discover you enabling any of his misconduct… remember, Zeke, I have two swords. I’m capable of stabbing both of you at the same time.”
With that promise of an ominous threat delivered, Mòrag leaves. Another woman passes, on course to walk by Mikhail— Zeke acts quickly, brushing past the woman and plopping himself down in the seat across Mikhail (and noisily scraping the chair in the process).
“Hey there! This spot open?”
Mikhail, startled by Zeke’s sudden entrance, stutters and fumbles as the woman walks by. She turns her nose up at him and continues on her way. He groans and runs a hand through his hair.
“Hey, what’s your deal? Didn’t you see me about to work my magic there? Great timing, just great.”
“You haven’t seen magic until you’ve seen the incredible might of my oozing charisma!”
“Yeaaaah… listen, buddy, I’d love to play along, but I’m a little busy here. So do me a favor and just let me do my thing, alright?”
Zeke’s eye darkens, but only somewhat. “You’ve got some nerve, acting so high and mighty after all those verbal slappings you’ve been getting.”
Oof. That seems to get him. Mikhail awkwardly rubs the back of his neck and looks around them, looking for any kind of distraction, but gives up with a sigh and tosses up his hands.
“Alright, fine. So I’ve been having an unlucky streak today when it comes to the ladies. What about it?”
“What’s your angle, Mikhail?” Zeke leans forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the table. “What’re you really after?”
Mikhail shrugs, unconcerned. “I just like talking to women. Even if they can be… a little testy at times, heh.”
“Huh. Didn’t take you to be some kinda masochist.”
“What can I say? I can appreciate an uphill climb. It builds character, that’s what I think.”
Zeke narrows his eyes. None of them, except Rex, truly trusts him just yet. Who could really forgive him after the atrocities he had helped facilitate? Sometimes, he catches Brighid quietly seething at Mikhail with such an intensity that Zeke’s surprised he hasn’t been incinerated yet, and Nia pointedly tries to avoid him at most times, and Tora does his best to keep Poppi away from him.
But it isn’t about forgiving. Sort of. At least, that’s what Rex would say, and Zeke has the utmost faith in that kid.
So if the Driver of the Aegis can look past bygones and let Mikhail tag along, then so be it. Still, it wouldn’t do them any good to let down their guards entirely just yet.
Mikhail had gone back to fixing his hair and scanning the area for any other women, but he isn’t entirely ignoring Zeke. Not yet.
“You don’t know how lucky you are, man. That Blade you’ve got? I’d kill for a cute girl to be that devoted to me.”
Zeke crosses his arms, frowning. “Yeah, I bet you would.”
“Whoa, not literally! I’m way past that kinda stuff. Seriously, I could’ve stabbed any of you in the back while you’ve been sleeping. … Aaand that came out way creepier than I thought.” Mikhail coughs. “You guys are alright, I mean.”
“You’ve got to work on your phrasing, mate.”
“You think so? Huh, maybe that’s why girls haven’t been responding to me…”
“Ever consider just giving up on that front?”
“Like hell I would!”
Mikhail takes a swig of his cold coffee, grimaces, and sets the cup down so hard that some of it sloshes out onto his hand. His grimace smooths into a neutral frown as he thinks something over, his lookout for women to annoy forgotten for now.
“Y’know, it’s been kinda weird traveling with you guys. I keep getting these flashes of déjà vu.”
“Yeah, you mentioned you were at Addam’s camp when you were a kid.”
“Mythra doesn’t even remember me. Heh, can’t say I blame her. Who would’ve expected that little runt at the camp to grow up into this tall drink right here?” Mikhail motions to himself. Zeke rolls his eyes. “And Brighid… eh, well, I never talked to her much. She was always in and outta the camp, like she couldn’t make up her damn mind about where she was supposed to be. It’s good to see her with a Driver who cares so much about her.”
“See, what I don’t get is how you became like this,” Zeke says, suddenly serious. “You knew Addam. Addam. The great hero, Addam! How could you go against everything he fought for?”
“Hmm, well…” Mikhail scratches his neck. “It’s simple. I idolized Addam, but I idolized Jin even more. And Addam wasn’t around after the war.”
“Taking lives is the lowest thing a man can do.”
Mikhail shrugs. “I’ve only got upwards to go from here, then. I hated humans for such a long time, you know. For what they did to the world, for what they did to me— hey, come to think of it, you’ve got one too, yeah?”
“A what?”
He leans forward in his seat, raising his eyebrows. Mikhail lowers his voice.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
Zeke opens his mouth, then closes it. He looks around them. The café is more or less empty now, and the lone staff member who had been at the counter had gone back into the kitchen.
He sighs and shifts in his seat.
“I guess, you bloody weirdo.”
And Zeke begins to undo his lowest belt.
Mikhail sputters and nearly falls out of his chair.
“That’s not— what— wait, hold on!!”
“What! Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind already!”
“I wasn’t talking about that, you moron!”
“Are you sure?!”
Mikhail pounds at his chest with his fist. “Your Core Crystal! Your Core Crystal, for the love of—“
“Ahhh… hah.” Zeke, completely unflustered and unbothered by the misunderstanding, merely nods and pulls his coat aside to reveal the shard embedded in his chest. But the damage has been done, and Mikhail can’t even look straight at Zeke anymore.
“Ughhh… just my luck, I’ve got a dude trying to flash me instead of some pretty girl.”
“You’d be lucky to even catch a glimpse of the Zekenator’s Mighty Magnum—“
“I don’t wanna hear your name for it!” Mikhail groans and covers his face with his hands. Zeke roars with laughter, slapping at the table and kicking Mikhail’s legs underneath.
“Chatting with you isn’t half bad at all, mate!”
Why, oh why, does it have to be Zeke instead of someone like… Patroka. Or Mòrag. Or any of the other women in the group. Not that any of them seem to like him, but still. Mikhail looks through his fingers at Zeke and his stupid cocky grin, and sighs.
… Okay, so maybe the sentiment isn’t completely unreciprocated, but he’d like to think he has standards, too.
“Right, so you were asking about this?” Zeke catches his breath and taps the crystal in his chest. “Yeah, this saved my life. I wouldn’t be sitting here right now if Pandy hadn’t stuck with me all the way through.”
How ironic, that Zeke’s life was saved by becoming a Blade Eater while Mikhail’s had essentially ended. He bitterly chuckles and takes another sip of his cold coffee. That Indoline piece of trash.
“You don’t mind?”
“Nah. I’m just glad I’m alive.”
“Huh.”
“Sounds like you’ve had the wrong attitude about it, though.”
Mikhail considers this for a moment. He thinks back to Addam, and Lora, and Haze, all the other good people of the camp. And now, to Rex and the funny Nopon kid and Nia and all these other weirdos. It’s really not so bad, after all.
“Yeah. Maybe I have.”
“It’s not someone else’s job to make life worth living, mate. That’s up to you.” Zeke waves a hand, then tilts his mouth into a lopsided smile. “I’ll buy us some fresh drinks. That coffee you’ve been nursing looks gross as hell.”
“Heh, sure. I prefer my coffee black.”
“Got it! Alright, it’s settled. Anytime I see you bothering some poor girl, you’re drinking with the Zekenator instead!” Zeke is already jogging off to the counter, and he rings the bell persistently to get the attention of that barista still in the kitchen. Mikhail kicks his feet up on Zeke’s vacant seat and watches him, rubbing his chin.
It’s no date with a pretty girl, but Zeke is alright too.