[SE] Wings of canvas, bones of wood

With his local deliveries from King's End to Torchline made, Tal had taken the following morning to restock the Peregrine so she'd be ready to head out whenever he and Alys were ready to move on from Torchline's sunny shores. Even though the tropical paradise was the currently the safest place on Caido - for a certain definition of 'safe' - He felt... twitchy. Like the violet cracks on the horizon and the purple smudge of Starfall were glowering at him.

Or laughing at hands clad in crimson and violet, bearing gloves that only the courier could see.

He grunted as he hauled at a crate full of spare canvas, trying to maneuver it across the skyport dock. He was plenty strong enough to lift the damn thing, but the size made it awkward and he couldn't get a solid grip on it. Tal swore as it dropped for the third time in as many minutes - but this time it landed on his booted foot. "Fuck! Stupid fuckin'--! Fuckfuckfuck," he hissed through gritted teeth as he hopped on one foot and tried not to fall over the edge of the dock. Sure, there was water down below...

But it was a long way down to it, and Tal's wings were currently furled up against the spar of the Peregrine's mainmast.

Everest

I think I can manage being collateral damage

Everest was no stranger to the docks thanks both to his line of work and his ancillary interests in flying, such that Torchline’s skyport was practically a second home to him—he knew its schedules, its regular crews, the way the air patterns shifted just before takeoff. Which was why he was standing near the dock, idly sipping at a cup of something cold and sweet, watching as a stranger struggled with a crate that was—based on the string of inventive curses currently being hurled at it—giving him far more trouble than it should.

Ever tilted his head slightly, watching as the man hopped on one foot, swearing under his breath as he tried to avoid toppling into the sea below. "Would you like some help?" The words were crisp, polite—offered in the way one might suggest correcting a navigational miscalculation.

Ever took a slow sip of his drink before setting it down, stepping forward with the same quiet confidence he carried everywhere these days. "I can lift one side if you’ve got the other," he added, already reaching for the crate. The words weren’t hesitant (nothing about him really was anymore), but there was an easy-going curiosity to them, the way someone might assist in an experiment just to see what happened.

"You seem rather determined to fight with this thing," he noted dryly, glancing from the crate to the man in front of him. "Should I assume it started it?"

.

"No! ...I mean... maybe?" The refusal was as innate and natural as breathing, but no sooner had it left his mouth than Tal realized that he was getting nowhere fast on his own. A little help would make it go a lot quicker... "...Okay, yeah, I could use a hand," he admitted grudgingly. Definitely not as cool and confident as the other man who slid into place on the other side of the crate. He hadn't expected the guy to be so... well, composed, given how young he looked, but the courier wasn't about to be choosy. Not when the future of his toes was at stake!

"On three," Tal called out from his side. At the end of the count he lifted his side and the crate rose smoothly up with both men to steady it. The heavy contents of the crate slid promptly to one side, pulling the weight off, but with the stranger to balance it the wily container couldn't escape the courier this time!

"Ha! Take that." His brief gloating was all the answer his helper was likely to need, but as Tal began to maneuver them forward again he actually made an effort to respond like a normal human being. 'Yeah, I didn't expect th'shippin' crate on this one t'be this big," he admitted with a grimace that could be heard in his voice. "But they were outta smaller ones, so..." He tried to shrug and the crate bobbled a little. "Didn't want t'waste time an' money trackin' down a stupid box, y'know? Uh, I'm Talyson, by th'way. Tal Seawright, o' Seawright's Delivery Service. An'... thanks." The last was said with a gruff sheepishness as the Messenger angled them towards the Peregrine's berth. The little skyboat was dwarfed by the larger cargo and passenger ships at the port, but she was a trim and sleek little vessel, lovingly maintained

I think I can manage being collateral damage

Everest adjusted his grip on the crate as Tal called out the count, matching his pace with an ease that suggested he had done this a hundred times before. He had, of course—though normally with cargo that had been properly balanced, rather than whatever haphazardly-packed weight shift had just happened inside this one. His arms flexed slightly as he compensated, but his expression didn’t so much as flicker.

At Tal’s triumphant Ha! Take that, Ever let out a quiet, amused hum, one brow lifting in silent acknowledgment of the victory. He let the courier’s gloating stand uncontested, though the glint in his eye suggested he had in fact, noted it. "I do know," he replied smoothly, stepping in tandem with Tal as they maneuvered toward the berth. "A poorly packed crate is one thing, but wasting time on shipping logistics is unforgivable." His voice was dry, but the subtext of understanding was real—the efficiency of transport was something he took seriously.

As Tal introduced himself, Ever inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, filing the name away. Seawright’s Delivery Service. Not a name he had personally worked with, but he made a habit of knowing the major players in transport, and this one had at least a competent enough reputation.

"Everest Hart," he replied, the words measured but easy. "Pilot. Spyglass. Occasionally the man who rescues crates and their owners from imminent disaster." He delivered the last part with the faintest quirk of his lips, a dry kind of humor that had become more second nature since his mind had been… altered.

.

The courier blinked and then an expression of pleasant surprise came over his face at the stranger's intelligence and instinctive understanding of proper priorities. It was so rare to meet someone who was on the same wavelength that Tal felt an uncharacteristic thawing of his usual wariness towards unknown humans (and human adjacents). "Yeah, you get it!" If his reasons for being in Torchline hadn't been so grim he might have dragged the man off for a drink immediately afterwards...

And maybe that wasn't the worst idea? Alys and Boreal were out and Tal could use the distraction from his own spiraling thoughts after LongNight.

"Everest... Hart?" His brow furrowed as they reached the gangplank for the Peregrine and maneuvered the crate over it. "Wait, I know a Spyglass. Finn Rosencrantz! What happened t'him?" Last Tal had seen him, they'd been solving a mystery together and he couldn't remember if Finn had mentioned retiring his government job or not at that point. There was something else nagging at him, though, something about the Hart name that was familiar...

"You're not... crew of, uh..." He scowled in thought as he pulled names together, edging the crate over to rest against the side of the Peregrine's little cabin before straightening to crack his back. It cracked loose some brain cells, too, and he brightened as the synapses snapped together. "La Verbena's pilot, yeah?"

I think I can manage being collateral damage

Everest followed Tal’s glance toward the Peregrine, adjusting the crate’s angle slightly to avoid scuffing the gangplank. He moved in tandem with the courier easily—without needing to speak, his instincts filling in the gaps. It was rare to find someone else who knew how to move like this. Efficient. Practical. Focused. There was something quietly satisfying about it.

As Tal spoke, Ever’s expression didn’t shift much, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes at the mention of his father's name. "He’s not with the council anymore," Everest replied evenly, setting down the crate and straightening with a soft exhale. "Hasn’t been since Cian’s time, actually." The words were carefully chosen—not defensive, not evasive, just… true. "He’s still around, just not in that particular uniform."

He reached up to brush some imagined dust from his sleeve, something precise and absent all at once, before his mouth twitched faintly. "And yes—La Verbena." A slight nod, a touch of warmth brightening his blue eyes. "I fly her for Mateo from time to time." He paused, then glanced sidelong at Tal. "She's a bit temperamental, but she was built by Remi and Mateo years ago and I've been banned from making any changes to her design over the years, so.." He shrugs.

.

The See-Right Goggles were around his neck rather than over his eyes, but even had he been wearing them it wouldn't have helped him catch the hint that something was complicated between Everest and the former Spyglass. It was too swift and subtle a tell and Tal... well. Tal wasn't exactly the best at reading people even when there wasn't a big, stupid box between them. "Yeah? Glad he's gettin' by, though. I should try an' say hi next time I'm in Stormbreak..." He trailed off with the vague good intentions that were so rarely followed through on when there was always so much else to do.

But then the box was dealt with, at least for now. There would be some repacking of crates to balance the weight, but there was no reason to make Everest help with something that Tal was going to be so picky about, and mention of La Verbena had the courier perking up, this time recognizing the pride in his new acquaintance's eyes as something he was intimately familiar with.

"I can see why! Docked a few slips down from 'er in Stormbreak a few times, an' she's stunnin' with all those plants growin' on 'er!" Sure, it probably played hail with her speed and maneuverability, but it made the La Verbena the prettiest skyboat in any harbor she visited.

Something else clicked into place at the mention of those two names in such close proximity and Tal frowned fiercely before blinking. "Wait, her captain's li'l Mateo? Er... not so little anymore, I guess," he added sheepishly, scratching his chin as he cast his mind way, way, way back to the last time he'd run into the ki--uh, young man, drunk or high off his ass in the Greatwood. "How's he doin', anyways?"

I think I can manage being collateral damage

Everest hummed softly, a sound halfway between agreement and amusement as Tal described La Verbena as stunning. "She is," he admitted, the corners of his mouth twitching again—this time something closer to a real smile. "Bit like piloting a very determined jungle." There was no frustration in his voice, only fondness. The vines didn’t behave, the wind didn’t always catch her right, and the ship herself seemed to have moods depending on how Mateo had spoken to her last—but Ever wouldn't have traded her for anything else.

At Tal’s sudden realization, the aviator tilted his head slightly, as though watching a particularly delicate equation resolve itself. The progression from frown to blink to sheepish scratching was easy enough to track, and Everest gave a quiet, nearly soundless chuckle in response. "Not so little anymore, no." He let the words hang in the air for a beat. And he’s doing well. At least," he added, eyes flicking briefly upward as if to consider the accuracy of the statement, "as well as anyone can be when half the world is fracturing and everyone’s looking to you to grow miracles out of the dirt." As a botanist, his friend had been asked almost daily if he was capable of growing roses and lilies, and by gods, Mateo had been trying.

"And you?" he asked after a moment, tilting his head slightly toward Tal. "Still based out of Halo?"

.

"I bet!" Tal snorted at the description of La Verbena proved to be succinct but evocative to a fellow pilot. He at least knew better than to guess at her turning speed when the wind caught her foliage just wrong. A ship like that didn't need raw speed when she had class, and Everest seemed like a calm and confident hand to steer such a temperamental lady through the most flirtatious of breezes with barely a ruffle of her petticoats.

Too bad he wasn't as perceptive when it came to talking about other humans. At least Everest didn't seem to mind the foot that Tal had just managed to put in his mouth, though he'd clearly noticed. Tal had the grace to wince, but his fellow aviator glossed over the slip with more grace than the courier could summon, even if it took him a little longer than it should have to realize what was being implied.

"Huh? ...Oh! Yeah, he's always been into plants, hasn't he? Guess that's a marketable skill these days." Not that Tal had seen so much as a hint of a Rose or a Lily, despite his own attempts to search for them on more than one occasion.

But it wasn't really Mateo that he wanted to talk about. Tal lead the way back to the dock, checking the time by the sun and doing a quick calculation in his head. "Halo, uh... hasn't been my home port for a couple years now," he admitted, mostly hiding the old, tired discomfort of the question. "I'm based out o' King's End these days. Say, how about we get a drink while we're talkin'? Unless you gotta get goin'...?" And somewhat to his surprise, he hoped that Everest didn't have anywhere else to be at the moment. He was easy to chat with, and Tal appreciated the chance to talk shop with a fellow flyer.

I think I can manage being collateral damage

Everest followed Tal’s glance toward the sun, mentally checking his own internal clock against the hour. The skyport wasn’t far, but there were still flight checks to run, manifests to review, and—if his schedule held—at least one conversation he was putting off until just before departure.

Still, he offered a small, genuine nod at the invitation. "I appreciate the offer," he said, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve with unconscious precision. "But I’ve got a flight to prep for and a list of things I should’ve already done."

The words weren’t dismissive—if anything, they were softened by the faint lift of one brow, the unspoken you understand floating in the space between them. "Clear skies, Talyson," he offered with a nod, already half in motion. "And maybe check your crates next time before trying to dance with them."

With that, the aviator moved off with the same quiet precision he’d arrived with, footsteps light, purposeful, and already calculating the wind.

~FIN

.