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Sandrone felt a certain nostalgia returning to Fontaine.
It was a mixed feeling, really. She was born in this nation, but so too had she almost met her end in it. Without Fontaine she never would have discovered her love for machinery, nor would she have discovered how utterly short-sighted people were when it came to the applications of said machines. Her highest highs and lowest lows were all experienced her. From discovering scientific breakthroughs to suffering the wrath of the Tribunal to having her whole world flipped on its head…
At one point she had even experienced love.
…or something near to it, anyway. But that was a lifetime ago, and this was the here and now.
Presently she was in a cozy little café right off one of the city’s main thoroughfares. It must have been new, since she didn’t recall it being here last time she was in the city. In any case they had excellent dark-roasted coffee, and their bread was made fresh and warm.
As she ate quietly she went over the plan again in her head. Arlecchino would be front and center this act, luring everyone’s attention with her… well, Arlecchino-ness. Sandrone hadn’t really caught the details — nor did she care to ask — but she had full faith in her colleague’s insanity, and general desire to enact chaos where she went.
And while she was having all that fun, it rested on Sandrone’s shoulders to infiltrate the Palais de Justice and secure the gnosis, acting quickly while all the key players were occupied. To do this she would have to rewire some of the automatons in the city to follow her commands, but that was child’s play, really.
It helped a great deal that enough time had passed such that no one in the city seemed to recognize her face. Which was excellent news, as her face was at one point connected to several cases of murder, arson, and other assorted crimes. As always Katheryne was a huge help in this regard, as through her and the Adventurer’s Guild Sandrone had enough influence to get the Steambird to stop publishing articles on her.
Honestly it was a blessing, because the last thing she wanted to do was run into someone who knew she was. Especially if it was someone like—
“Madame la Présidente?” the shopkeeper squawked, eyes wide. “B-Bonjour! What brings you here?”
“What, are goddesses not allowed to enjoy a cup of coffee?”
Sandrone froze. Surreptitiously, she reached below the counter and retrieved the firearm that had been strapped to her leg beneath her skirt. She held it under the table but at the ready, her nerves shouting in alarm.
Because she knew that voice.
“Please,” the shopkeeper said, “allow me to wipe down a table for you. I can—“
“Calme-toi, there’s no need. I already know where I want to sit.”
And then she turned the corner and took a seat right in front of Sandrone.
Mismatched eyes, hair like ocean spray, long teardrop eyelashes. Not to mention the smug grin plastered on her face, just as irritating as ever. She adjusted her hat and then propped her elbows on the table, taking in a deep breath through her nose.
“Mm, that smells good,” Furina said, eyeing Sandrone’s coffee. “Mind if I take a sip?”
“If you wish,” the shopkeeper said, “I can get you—“
“Ta gueule,” she said sharply, not even bothering to turn her head. “Do not interrupt us any further.”
He opened his mouth as if to protest, but quickly thought better and scurried away. A good thing, too. Sandrone knew by her tone that she wouldn’t have been lenient otherwise.
Sandrone, by the way, was keeping her mouth shut. She eyed the door, trying to calculate if she could buy enough time to escape by surprising the other woman with a shot to the chest. Or maybe the legs would slow her down more? No, of course not… she could easily dissolve her form into water back. Had she so quickly forgotten that? After all, that was one of the main reasons she couldn’t escape her back when—
“I know I’m very lovely to look at,” Furina teased, “but please try not to stare at me all day. Can I try your coffee or not?”
Sandrone clenched her jaw. “Do whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” she asked, batting her eyelashes. “Should I take that as an open invitation, ma chérie? Because there are quite a few things I’d like to do with you…”
“Dégueulasse. Just drink the damn coffee. I hope you burn your tongue on it.”
Furina laughed, then took Sandrone’s cup and brought it to her lips. As she sipped she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear with a gloved hand.
“Mm, I see you still like yours bitter.” She produced a handkerchief from her coat and wiped her mouth. “Glad to see some things haven’t changed.”
“Is this a distraction?” Sandrone asked. “Do you have guards waiting for me outside?”
Furina pressed a hand to her heart, feigning offense. “Oh please, that would be so predictable. And besides, the whole point is that I wanted to have a private conversation. Just me, you, and the gun under the table.”
Damn it, Sandrone thought, tightening her grip on the weapon. There goes the element of surprise…
“Hah, judging by your expression I was right then?” Furina briefly ducked her head under the table, then laughed. “Now that’s predictable. You didn’t have any other tricks up your sleeve? I don’t even think that man behind the counter is one of your puppets.”
“I wasn’t preparing to run into you of all people in a café like this…”
Furina shrugged, a self-satisfied smile on her face. “Well you should have, ma chérie. I am always prepared to grace you with my presence, be it night or day, rain or snow. Although if we’re meeting at night I’d prefer you come to me. My mattress in the Palais de Justice is a lot softer than your hotel room’s.”
It occurred to Sandrone that Furina’s personal chambers were where she likely kept the gnosis, and for that reason and that reason alone that she didn’t immediately state her refusal. Unfortunately, her hesitation only seemed to fuel Furina’s brattiness.
“Oh you’re thinking about it, huh?” She teased her bottom lip with a finger. “I see you miss me in one sense, at least.”
Sandrone sneered. “You know what? I’ll give you this — I did find you a lot more tolerable when your mouth was busy.”
“If you want me to get under the table, you can just ask…”
“Ugh, enough!” She huffed. “What’s your goal here? Are you trying to get information out of me?”
Furina took another sip of Sandrone’s coffee, then cleared her throat. “The mélusine have told me all I need to know, and I can piece together the rest. I’m something of a genius, you know?”
“I’m sure…”
“And I’m not the only genius at this table, either.” Furina let out a long, romantic sigh. “I look forward to seeing that beautiful mind of yours at work again, ma chérie. I should perhaps I should call you Marionette? I hear that’s what you go by these days.”
She stifled a laugh with her handkerchief.
“A little on the nose, don’t you think?”
“Go ahead, judge my title,” Sandrone said, rolling her eyes. “Just like you judged everything else about my life.”
“Oh, come now. It was nothing personal — I am the Goddess of Justice, after all.”
“And what a shame, too. If only we still had Egeria…”
“Ouch.” Furina traced a finger down her cheek, mimicking the path of a teardrop. “I see your sharp tongue hasn’t changed either. But that’s good. I was rather fond of your tongue.”
Sandrone glared at her. “Are you just here to taunt me? Is that it?”
“Well if I can get you fired up, then that’s all the better. It just means this little game of ours will become all the more interesting.” She put a finger to her chin. “I’d like to avoid spoiling the plot in advance, but I am curious just how exactly you plan to steal my gnosis. Brute force? Subterfuge? Oh, the possibilities are endless!”
A giddy excitement swept over her, and the familiarity of it all sent Sandrone a shock of nostalgia.
“You’re treating this like a game?” she asked.
“Well, of course! And since you’re one of the key players, I just know it’ll be interesting. It’ll be like old times, right? Either you succeed and take the gnosis, or I succeed and drag you before the Tribunal. Personally, I’m fine with either outcome as long as you keep me entertained in the process.”
“…You’re as crazy as I remember.”
“And you love that about me,” she said winking. “Now, while I would love to chat with you all day, I do unfortunately have trials to oversee. May I see your hand? Not the one with the gun, preferably.”
Hesitantly Sandrone obliged, proffering her free hand with a wary look.
Furina took off her glove, then lightly took Sandrone’s hand into her own, caressing the palm with her thumb. Such a soft, familiar sensation. Then she brought her face close.
And gave Sandrone’s hand a kiss, teardrop-lashes fluttering as she did so.
Despite herself, despite everything, heat rose to Sandrone’s cheeks. Memories bubbled to the surface of her mind, and somewhere deep in her clockwork heart an old flame, near-extinguished, began to smolder once more.
“What are you—“
“Well then,” Furina said, letting go and excusing herself from the table. “Please enjoy the rest of your breakfast, ma chérie. May we meet again soon.”
As she disappeared around the corner, Sandrone heard her voice call out to the shopkeeper.
“Send the bill for her meal to the Palais de Justice. And make her another cup, while you’re at it. Something sweeter, this time.”
“Y-Yes, Madame la Présidente!”
With that she left, leaving Sandrone alone with her food and drink.
And an almost painful nostalgia.