Chapter Text
“Captain!” Pattadol says, her voice feigning a casual tone.
Mithrun nods, and steps back to let the group usher inside.
As much as he’d retired being a captain, it hasn’t been long since Mithrun’s seen his former Canary squad members.
He sees Pattadol often enough, given her diplomat position in Melini, and often in his quest to monitor the remaining monsters, canaries get sent to do the same job… and the times Mithrun has had some say in things, he’s requested the criminals he’s familiar with.
Though, today had nothing to do with monsters, or diplomacy – they were here to have some noodles. After all, it was their suggestion he give making them a try.
Fleki hums, “It smells so good!”
“Maybe it’s the food,” Mithrun says blandly. He had to do a lot of prep in advanced to ensure it would be done around the time they’d arrived. Before anyone can respond;
“I brought a gift!” Pattadol smiles. Her fairy flies up in the air, holding something in it’s arms triumphantly. “Since you decided against getting an actual dog, I thought this could be a consolation!”
The fairy places a small, wooden thing in Mithrun’s hand.
Bringing it up to his eye, it’s obvious it’s been carved with care to look like a dog, with a lighter wood representing the underside, and a darker the outer side. Two pinpricks of paint have been dotted in to form the dog’s eyes, and it has a smooth polished finish.
Seeing Mithrun’s close inspection, Pattadol puts her hands on her hips like she’s proud of herself, even though she surely bought it at a market someplace. Lycion’s mouth widens, neither in a smile nor a frown, but instead signaling something akin to forcing himself to swallow a thought before it escapes out his lips.
“Thank you,” Mithrun says, pinching it in his hand, unsure of what to do with it.
The group meanders through Mithrun’s house while he heads for the kitchen. Their voices interrupt one another with quips and observations about his living space, and he stays quiet, waiting for them to settle on things they’re actually interested in hearing a response on.
In the meanwhile he places the small wooden dog in the middle of the table he plans to have them all eat at, as if it were a comically small centerpiece.
“Do you like it here, Captain?” Otta says.
Fleki snorts, which is her way of saying ‘remember who you’re talking to, he probably doesn’t have an opinion’.
“Something like that,” Mithrun says. “A lot of the people here make things easier for me. The king has a hobby of keeping up with where monsters have sprung up, there’s a dwarf who’s helped me learn how to make noodles, I could go on.”
Mithrun starts serving the food, causing them to one by one take spots at the table.
He didn’t gather the chairs into their intended spots before they arrived, but the group easily deduce this, and carry chairs from elsewhere without missing a beat.
“I know that’d be true in the North as well. So perhaps there is something keeping me here,” Mithrun continues, bringing two of the six plates over to the table. “Even if I don’t know what that ‘something’ is.”
“I think that’s great Captain!!” Pattadol says, her eyes shining bright.
“Maybe you just ‘want’ to be here,” Cithis says.
Pattadol shoots her a look.
“What? It sounds like what he described, I’m not saying I’m right.”
“Hm,” Mithrun says, having served everyone, able to sit down to eat as well.
The group expects Mithrun to say more, but instead he just starts eating. Chewing, all the while his eye flicks around to look at everyone.
They take what they assume is a hint, and start eating.
“Whoooaa!!” Fleki says.
“This is delicious,” Lycion smiles.
The rest agree, and Mithrun thanks them quietly.
“Regarding earlier,” Mithrun says, having just finished his meal, he wordlessly taps his plate – teleporting it neatly onto a kitchen counter behind them with such a casual air that they all believe he does this regularly. “I don’t think I can know if what I’m speaking to is a desire, but I don’t care whether or not it is.”
“But,” Fleki starts, “Isn’t you not caring whether or not it’s a desire… part of the whole everything.”
Pattadol looks at her like she’s spoken a foreign language.
“What I think Fleki is saying is that not caring if it’s a desire itself stems from not having desires,” Lycion says, and Pattadol looks less confused.
“Maybe,” Mithrun feels himself make some sort of face. “But I think I’m alright with that.”
He stares into space, and they expect this to be another lull in the conversation, but then he continues.
“I’m able to live by myself now. I have to live by a routine, and oftentimes I have to imagine what my past self would have done, but I’m still able to live by myself. I used to not be able to,” He says. “So, yeah. I guess you could say I don’t desire to desire things, but I’ve decided to live regardless. That has to be worth something.”
“I can drink to that,” Otta smiles.
“Oh right,” Mithrun says. “I meant to pour wine with the food.”
“Better late than never,” Cithis says.
After a moment, the plates are piled (not teleported this time), and replaced with glasses of wine. They toast in celebration of Mithrun’s resolve.
“I need help with things every once in awhile, but I don’t think it negates my point,” Mithrun’s eye widens. “Oh actually, I meant to ask you all.”
They look at him curiously.
“Kabru is visiting me tomorrow and-”
“You kept in contact with him?” Pattadol stands up abruptly, causing her chair to scoot back. “He literally kidnapped you?!”
“Yeah,” Mithrun says. “Anyways. He’s visiting tomorrow, and I’d like some advice on conversation topics and the likes.”
Cithis’s eyebrows raise, before settling back into her usual sly expression. “Did you ask someone else for conversation topics in preparation for tonight?”
“No.”
The criminals all seem to meet eachother’s eyes.
“So what’s different then about this Kabru?” Lycion asks.
“I hadn’t thought about that. I just-” He stops short, surprised by the word stuck in his throat.
He mulls over it for a quiet moment. Constructing different combinations of words, trying to make some version that feels true.
“I just don’t want there to be a lull in the conversation,” He says finally.
Silence.
“So… then you DO want the conversation to be interesting?” Fleki says.
“I guess,” Mithrun shrugs, in the nonchalant way they’re accustomed to.
Fleki snickers, “You and Otta will have a lot to talk about.”
“We don’t know if the Captain likes him like that Fleks,” Lycion says.
“And so what if he does?” Otta says, making Fleki roar in laughter.
The conversation escalates into a jumble of unidentifiable tangled words.
Cithis looks to Mithrun, “We haven’t answered the Captain’s question,” she says.
“Right,” Otta says. “Of course we’ll help.”
Fleki elbows her, chuckling, making Otta elbow her right back. Pattadol glares in a way that makes them both mind their business.
“Thank you,” Mithrun says.
And that’s how the rest of the night is spent. The group debating the quality of potential conversation topics, one by one writing them down into a list.
Mithrun doesn’t pay close attention to what they’re saying, given he knows he’ll be able to see the fruits of this labor on the finished list.
He instead pours wine when someone requests it, and listens only vaguely to the laughs, agreements, and arguments they have as he washes dishes as is part of his nightly routine.
By the time they decide to leave, the page is full.
“Thank you for having us over Captain,” Pattadol says.
“Congratulations on all your progress,” Cithis smiles.
“Yeah, congrats!” Lycion says.
“Thank you,” Mithrun says evenly.
They exchange a few more pleasantries, and then Mithrun is alone.
He goes through his routine in his head.
Is the door locked? Yes.
Are the dishes cleaned? Mostly. He takes the few glasses still strewn around, and cleans them without much fuss.
Then it’s body maintenance; going to the bathroom, washing up, getting changed into pajamas.
After that, it’s just a matter of changing the lights to something more befitting of nighttime, and going to sleep. But Mithrun can’t get his mind off of what he’ll wear tomorrow.
Typically that’s in the morning portion of his routine, but he can’t help but think of it.
He rationalizes he won’t sleep if he’s distracted, so he shifts through his clothes.
When he thinks of Kabru, he thinks of blue – so blue it is. But everything seems off.
Too casual.
Too formal.
Hm.
Out of the corner of his eye… does he really still have that?
He shakes it out of the folded form it’s certainly remained in for something like half a century. Some piece of it falls to the floor, but yes – it’s the garment he thought it was.
It was sold as a dress, but Mithrun has only ever worn it with pants given it’s short and he doesn’t like showing skin. It’s an elegant velvety cerulean, big poofy juliet sleeves, with a high neckline.
He’ll wear it, he decides. Deciding what pants will match can wait until tomorrow.
But what was that that fell off the garment? Did something break off?
He grabs it off the ground. It’s a long stretch of fabric, anyone else would assume it’s a belt – but Mithrun is taken aback.
It’s a ribbon, in the same cerulean.
He used to have a vast collection, since he often accessorized his hair with ribbon. Either by weaving ribbon into it when he braided it, wearing it as a headband, or tying the end of a style with it.
Needless to say, he stopped doing that. He’s had no desire to do anything in particular with his hair.
But… he must still remember how to braid it like he used to… right?
He sits on his bed, and brushes out his hair.
He used to do this looking in the mirror, but he doesn’t have any mirrors at this house. Metalic objects? Sure, however... no one’s doing their hair looking into a spoon.
Mirrors were one of the things he’s historically had a hard time being around after the demon, and it’s one of the few he hasn’t had to confront out of necessity.
It’s inconvenient to live without scissors, kitchen utensils, etc, so Mithrun has learned how to coexist with them. But a mirror? He can do without. Even if he could set aside the more dramatic associations, he doesn’t like to think about how he looks these days.
So, sitting on his bed, he brushes his hair until he can’t feel any knots in it. Next he parts off a thin section towards the front right side of his face, and then splits that even further into three smaller sections.
He braids until he reaches the tips of his hair, and puts the end of the braided section between his teeth to work on the other side – a habit he hasn’t forgotten.
The other side goes about the same. When he brings the two sides together at the back of his head, he grabs the ribbon and tries his best to tie it as he remembered.
Mithrun takes a deep breath. He can’t know how it looks for sure, but he can feel a lot of mistakes. He clearly parted one side bigger than the other, and he can feel lots of stray strands escaping the braid to rocket off into different directions. The ribbon he tied into a bow is somehow upside down, with the loops on the underside, and the ends sprouting upwards.
Well, he tried. He’s been trying to learn that that’s worth something.