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Columbina's skin was faintly flushed, glistening with a crystalline sheen under the warm lamplight.
Sandrone cradled Columbina's head, leaning in to exchange a kiss tinged with the taste of sweat.
"Sandrone..." Columbina's gaze was somewhat dazed, and the words that escaped her were even more muddled:
"I've heard some sergeants say that you can tell a person's true character best after they've been drinking."
Sandrone felt a surge of irritation. This woman had come onto her first, yet now she was saying something like that, as if trying to shift all the blame onto her. She abruptly pulled away, withdrawing from that ambiguous atmosphere. She straightened up, smoothing out her skirt.
Damn, what a total jerk move.
So what? Columbina had asked for it.
The sudden absence left Columbina with a tangible sense of emptiness. She stayed where she was, her head drooping, unconsciously pursing her lips. She had just spoken those words, and they fit her expectations exactly.
Columbina simply didn't understand—
Just how had things developed to this point?
It had all started with a single bottle of alcohol.
---"Can I have some alcohol?"---
Rosalyne glanced at her sideways, then turned back, a smile on her face as she asked:
"What's a child doing drinking?"
"I'm not a child."
Columbina wasn't wrong. She had lived for several hundred years, yet Rosalyne still treated her like a child. Even as she said it, Columbina didn't have much confidence. Compared to Rosalyne, she seemed to be missing something. Was it the "prologue"? It felt like much more than that; Columbina sensed an emptiness far larger, something she couldn't quite grasp.
Rosalyne didn't waste words, staring her in the eye and reiterating firmly:
"Regardless, the point is, you cannot drink."
This unequivocal prohibition only made Columbina more curious. She pondered that alcohol was probably this kind of thing: the exact opposite of coffee. Coffee smelled fragrant but tasted bitter; alcohol smelled foul but tasted good going down. Coffee made one alert; alcohol made one intoxicated. This feeling of courting madness and being impossible to grasp was somewhat like the moon.
She thought about alcohol for a long time, but never found the right opportunity. She couldn't drink in front of Rosalyne. What about in front of Arlecchino? Arlecchino was always in contact with Rosalyne, they would certainly share information; if she drank in front of her, she'd definitely be found out. After mulling it over, the only option left was Sandrone. The moment the thought arose, Sandrone came to mind. But she wasn't sure—Sandrone was a puppet, could puppets drink? She remembered The Doctor igniting some alcohol in front of her once; according to him, the flame was very beautiful, blue. Sandrone was warm; did engine oil or alcohol power her system? Her eyes, according to others, were also blue.
She didn't know if Sandrone would hate alcohol intensely, or if she would scold her because of it.
Often, soldiers would drink, sing loudly, dance, and then collapse drunk. They seemed to have quite a fondness for that stuff. Rosalyne frequently drank; afterward, her eyes would be red, her hair a mess, and she'd sink into a mood, wanting to talk about her troubles, going on for hours, followed by either a fury or a deep silence.
That pungent, fermented smell was so strange that Columbina usually kept her distance.
But she was truly curious.
What was drinking like? It seemed it might bring joy, probably, compared to just being bottled up.
She still decided to seek out Sandrone. Even if they couldn't sample it together, at the very least, Sandrone wouldn't inform on her.
---"So you want to drink with me?"---
Sandrone's eyebrows arched high.
"Yes. Can you drink?"
"Why does it matter to you if I can or not," Sandrone crossed her arms. "Even if I could, why would I drink with you?"
"Mmm, it's me who will be drinking, Sandrone. If you don't want to drink, just watching me is fine."
"Then why can't you just drink in your own room?!"
Columbina lowered her head. Though she had wings, she looked just like a dejected little puppy. She truly seemed not to have considered the option of drinking alone.
Sandrone waved a hand dismissively and sighed. "Forget it. Leaving you to drink alone in a room, you'd... well..."
She paused, took the glass bottle wrapped in newspaper from Columbina's hands, and stepped aside to let her in. "Come in. Just remember, I'm only worried about you getting drunk with no one to look after you. It'd be embarrassing."
As usual, Sandrone's room was filled with a faint, pleasant scent. It was a rest day afternoon, and she hadn't brewed any coffee, meaning the smell of the alcohol could be somewhat prominent.
"Honestly, what were you thinking..." Sandrone placed the bottle on the tablecloth with its blue checkered pattern.
"Suddenly wanting to drink, and specifically bypassing Rosalyne and Arlecchino, to avoid a scolding?"
Columbina pursed her lips. She had only recently become more familiar with Sandrone and discovered this person was different from what she'd imagined, surprisingly astute in social matters. Sandrone seemed highly knowledgeable in the ways of human interaction, even if she hardly ever put it into practice.
"Yes," she answered honestly, pulling over a chair and sitting down.
"Last time I told you, you can't just sit in a chair without the protagonist's permission." Sandrone pulled out a chair, sat down naturally, and casually smoothed the folds of her skirt.
"You already invited me in when you were at the door."
"That doesn't count... never mind. Let's see this alcohol you brought."
Columbina stood up again, pinched a fold of the newspaper, and tore it open.
"Good heavens, Columbina, Fire-Water?" Sandrone exclaimed the moment she saw the label.
"Is there a problem? I saw the soldiers love drinking this."
"So should I say, our valiant Commander Columbina, takes a whole bottle of Fire-Water and chugs it straight?"
"If you don't want to drink," Columbina folded her hands together, sat upright, and her words carried a sudden air of resolution,
"then I will do just that."
---"Don't be ridiculous, Columbina!"---
Sandrone found it completely absurd. This person came to her to drink, and after all that fuss, was now saying she'd drink alone?
She stopped Columbina's reckless notion and got up to find some glasses. Sandrone didn't drink much usually, but she had collected some glasses—all gifts from others. Finding ones suitable for immediate use required searching. She rummaged through cabinets and finally found the right ones at the bottom of a red-lacquered cabinet in the inner room.
They were two very small glasses, only holding about fifty milliliters each—a small amount to prevent them both from getting drunk.
Columbina stared at the clear liquid in the glass, her brow furrowed the entire time.
"What, now that the drink's in front of you, you're finally scared?" Sandrone teased, seeing her expression.
"Scared you'll fall over drunk, Sandrone." Columbina looked up, her blindfold facing Sandrone's smile.
"Ha! You should be worried about yourself!"
Despite her words, Sandrone actually felt a bit worried inside. Something had gone wrong the last time she drank—with Rosalyne, drinking chilled whiskey. Whether it was the high proof or the ice, she had felt fuzzy, her face hot, and found it hard to think clearly. After she sobered up, she'd run a diagnostic and gotten some results.
It wasn't exactly a problem... it was just that, it seemed Alain had considered this issue when making her and programmed a physiological subroutine to simulate intoxication.
Sandrone hadn't disabled this module.
She thought that getting drunk wasn't a bad thing. At least in a society with such a prevalent drinking culture, not being able to get drunk would be the problem.
Was it really not a problem? Sandrone gazed at the liquid in her glass, stealing a bit of her peripheral vision to sneak a peek at the other person's movements.
Columbina held the glass, lowered her head, and brought her nose to the rim to sniff.
She frowned slightly, hesitated, and then suddenly—
Sandrone hurriedly averted her gaze. Columbina had, against all precedent, actually opened one eye just to see her expression.
She raised the glass, brought it steadily to her lips, and downed it in one gulp.
---"Honestly, Columbina, why did you suddenly want to drink?"---
Five glasses down, about a shot's worth in total, and Sandrone felt a bit light.
Columbina's condition was worse; her wings were drooping, and she looked very uncomfortable.
"I thought it would make me happy, like those soldiers."
"You've only had two glasses."
"I feel dizzy."
Columbina suddenly slumped onto the table in defeat.
"I feel awful, Sandrone."
Sandrone's body moved faster than her mind. By the time she realized it, she was already bent over in front of Columbina, one hand gently placed on Columbina's back. She kept her face stern, trying hard not to look too worried.
"What's wrong, Columbina?"
Columbina didn't stir. Sandrone patted her, her voice softening.
"If you feel sick, you don't have to get up, but you need to talk to me, or I won't know what to do."
Columbina didn't move, nor did she make a sound. Alarm bells blared in Sandrone's head. A patch of red ignited up Columbina's neck, spreading to light up the back of her ears; this looked decidedly bad.
She had wanted to do something, at least figure out exactly where Columbina felt unwell. The moment she crouched down, Columbina lifted her head, her face flushed bright red, her teary eyes staring at her.
"You..."
"Sandrone," she said, "can I hug you?"
---"Can I have a kiss?"---
They were embracing in an awkward posture. Columbina sat upright on the chair, her hands clasped around Sandrone's waist. Sandrone's body leaned towards her right shoulder, her entire head extended outwards. She could hear the sound of a mechanical heart beating.
And then came that sentence. Sandrone froze.
"Wha... what did you say?"
She wanted to break free from the embrace, flailing her arms, trying to push herself up against the chair back, but Columbina held her firmly in place.
"Let me kiss you, or you can kiss me. Either is fine."
She said it so earnestly, so lightly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
"What on earth..."
Sandrone heard a muffled murmur against her chest:
"Say yes, Sandrone. Say yes and I'll let go."
"Your, um... here..." her voice came through a layer of fabric, "is pressing on me a bit; it's getting hard to breathe."
Columbina's tone was so pitiful, faintly drifting into Sandrone's ears.
Sandrone's face immediately burned hot.
"You have some nerve feeling aggrieved."
She tried to pull free but was locked in tighter. Columbina's face was buried in her chest, the tip of her nose pressing just below her collarbone, her breaths shallow and warm.
"Columbina? Stop pretending to be drunk!"
Columbina didn't speak. After a moment of stalemate, Sandrone felt a gentle tug on her sleeve.
"Let go," she said, her voice dry. "Let go and I'll agree."
Columbina let go.
Sandrone braced herself on the chair back, pushing herself up with effort. Columbina's hands still hovered loosely around her waist.
As she stood, she looked down and was met with a pair of pitiful, pleading eyes.
Sandrone had completely lost track of where this was going.
She didn't understand why Columbina had suddenly sought her out, suddenly said she wanted to drink. Suddenly said she wanted to hug her, suddenly wanted to kiss her. Those violet eyes were piercing; Columbina had opened her eyes right in front of her like that, leaving her utterly at a loss. Sandrone's temples throbbed. She tried to distance herself, the mechanical heart in her chest beating violently, threatening to get swept up as well.
She looked at Columbina's lips with some confusion, a numbness seizing her entire body.
Why...?
She had no more need to hesitate. Columbina suddenly lurched forward, crashing into her lips.
The contact was quick, the withdrawal just as fast. Sandrone didn't get a clear sensation; she only felt a tightening in her chest.
And then she saw Columbina.
Columbina's skin was faintly flushed, glistening with a crystalline sheen under the warm lamplight.
Sandrone cradled Columbina's head, leaning in to exchange a kiss tinged with the taste of sweat.
"Sandrone..." Columbina's gaze was somewhat dazed, and the words that escaped her were even more muddled:
"I've heard some sergeants say that you can tell a person's true character best after they've been drinking."
Sandrone felt a surge of irritation. This woman had come onto her first, yet now she was saying something like that, as if trying to shift all the blame onto her. She abruptly pulled away, withdrawing from that ambiguous atmosphere. She straightened up, smoothing out her skirt.
Pushed away, Columbina stood there in a daze, her head drooping, unconsciously pursing her lips. She had finally spoken those words, and they fit her expectations exactly.
Why?
She just felt a longing. After those two glasses of Fire-Water went down, she suddenly felt a longing, a desire to embrace Sandrone. After the embrace, maybe, even a kiss would be good, anything would.
She had thought Sandrone would kiss her forehead, or cheek, or that she would kiss her in turn.
She saw Sandrone staring at her, first at her eyes, and then... her lips.
---Something was spiraling out of control.---
Columbina had this feeling.
She knew she should say something, but she didn't know what to say.
And then she said that.
Sandrone pushed her away.
Her face flushed red, she said nothing, and directly put the Fire-Water away.
Columbina just watched from there as Sandrone washed the glasses, wiped them dry and put them back in the cabinet, capped the Fire-Water, and tore off a few sheets of scrap paper to wrap it up again.
"Here."
Columbina looked at the bottle as she took it, murmuring softly, "I'm sorry, Sandrone."
Sandrone kept a straight face. She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, her abdomen rising and falling deeply in a cycle.
"If you want to drink again, do it yourself."
She turned and walked alone to her inner bedroom.
"Now, I need to rest."