The characters in the Last Story enable such great banter, I swear one could write a story consisting entirely of dialogue. I really love writing the dynamics between these characters and I think that comes out more in these past sequences. I do hope that anyone who has stumbled upon this story enjoys reading these interactions as much as I enjoy writing them. Here is your first glimpse into the past...

Remembrance

Companionship [past]

All new recruits of the mercenary team were subject to scrutiny by the veterans upon their introduction. Syrenne tended to pass judgment with a glance, immediately determining whether they'd be around for a while or if they'd quit before long, and whether they'd be a reliable ally on the battlefield by day or a compelling drinking buddy by night. With the ice mage Dagran brought back to the inn one day, she did the same: another man, she lamented, and he looks a little too clean to be any fun. That opinion didn't solidify the way it usually did, though. From the afternoon when he arrived straight through to the evening, Syrenne's attitude wavered between interest and animosity. In spite of pegging him as proper, even she had to admit that he was rather dishy... And when she found out he came from a noble family, she could forgive any primness on his part if that meant he had money. But oh, she really did hate the stuffiness of nobility... This back-and-forth turmoil continued until she was a few drinks into her nightly visit to the bar, the best time to reach a definite, well thought-out conclusion.

"He's an arse," Syrenne announced confidently as she watched the new mercenary from behind her pint glass. He was standing at the bar, chatting up a girl. His elbow rested on the counter, hand sitting by his drink which was conveniently set down nearer to the girl than to him such that he had to lean close to her. Oh yes, he was definitely an arse.

Dagran sat across the table from Syrenne, rather disinterested in the recruit's behaviour. "Lowell is a competent fighter," he reasoned. "His personal habits shouldn't matter if you're capable of being professional."

Syrenne saw the way his eyes flicked towards her, gauging her reaction. Unfazed by the criticism, she gave a laugh and nudged Dagran's shoulder. "Don't be like that, you smart aleck." Dagran smirked reservedly as he took a sip of his drink. Some subconscious part of her mind processed Dagran's action and prompted her to mirror it, downing a mouthful of her own ale. But for once, booze was unable to hold Syrenne's attention; the action at the bar was somehow more engaging. Not because of Lowell himself—certainly not—but rather the fascination of watching a person try, fail, and recuperate over and over. "He's resilient," Syrenne scoffed. "I'll give you that."

At last Dagran gave in to that twinge of curiosity and looked towards Lowell, just in time to see the lady he was wooing gather up her things and flee. He eyed her as she rushed past on the way to the exit, her brow furrowed and lips curled downward, unmistakably offended. A quick glance to Lowell revealed that he did not understand, not in the slightest, what had gone wrong. Sometimes a person could look intrigued by or even drawn to the challenge of rejections; Lowell, contrarily, appeared as baffled as he'd be if he were slapped in the face just for saying hello. After taking a moment to process his defeat, he joined his new comrades at their table and ordered himself a drink.

"Not used to being so thoroughly rejected, are you?" Dagran asked. It was a simple question with the motive of prying out more details. Having been the one to invite Lowell to join them, Dagran had learned his credentials and basic background, but he knew better than to delve too deeply into people's personal histories during the 'interview' process. Such things, as well as personality traits on the whole, would be revealed in time with trust earned through candid exchanges.

Lowell shook his head slowly, still battling his disbelief. "Not at all. Not like that. Sure, girls might turn me down after some time, but no one here will even look me in the eye!"

With her distraction now close enough that she could multitask, Syrenne gulped down the remainder of her drink and set the glass down audibly. A smug glare on her face, she leaned over the table slightly towards Lowell. "That's because you ain't a noble lad anymore. You'll only be seen as a mercenary. Scum of the land." She lifted her glass again and held it out as though to give a toast. "Welcome aboard," she said. When she moved to take a sip of her beer, she was disappointed to be reminded that she had already emptied it. Dagran responded to her dejected reaction by sliding his nearly-full glass towards her, he himself rarely one to drink to excess. Syrenne accepted it gratefully.

Slouching in his seat and staring at the ceiling, Lowell's expression was kept hidden as he let it all sink in. Prepared for whichever answer he would receive, Dagran asked in a lighthearted yet appraising tone, "Can you handle it?"

This was Dagran's test, Syrenne realized. There was one for every mercenary he welcomed to the group, but it was always altered. Before she was able to reflect beyond that, Lowell answered, "Of course." He let himself give a short laugh afterwards, straightening his posture and looking pointedly at Dagran. The two locked stares, Lowell deliberately inviting the younger man to read his sincerity. Dagran would like his gumption, Syrenne knew, and he'd like that Lowell was observant enough to know a test when faced with one. Too bad... guess she'd have to put up with the new mage for a while yet. When Syrenne had joined the company of mercenaries, there had been no question as to whether or not she could stomach the lifestyle. Her test had been on the battlefield—not to measure her skills with a sword, but rather her ability to work together with people she may view condescendingly. Admittedly she hadn't noticed it was a test at the time, but she passed it. When Dagran later asked her about her cooperative behaviour during their mission, she plainly reasoned that it went without saying that she would work with her allies despite any shortcomings she suspected them of having. If she didn't, she'd be the deadweight, wouldn't she? Dagran liked the simplicity of her logic.

"I was just considering a new tactic. I don't like giving up," Lowell made a point to add, the truthfulness in his eyes left exposed to Dagran.

With a satisfied grin and a decisively stated, "Good," Dagran ended his assessment. Lowell's attention turned back to his drink.

Being the only one unsatisfied with this tame, short-lived exchange, Syrenne commented, "What? Is that all there is to it? Just because a man refuses to give up skirt-chasing he's accepted as one of us. Honestly, Dagran, I thought you had better judgment than that." Her complaint had more meat to it than the entire chat between Dagran and Lowell.

"Syrenne." It was Lowell who addressed her. She realized upon hearing her name in his voice that this was the first time he had spoken to her directly. Looking towards him, she was struck by his appearance all over again—damn he was fit, and saying her name like that. Syrenne was concerned that she would just nod and agree with whatever he said next. "We should establish some teamwork," he said. "How about you go over to that pretty lass over there and tell her how incredible I am so she'll give me the time of day, okay?"

Fortunately, Syrenne's sense of logic immediately mended itself. "Not okay!" she hollered. Dagran visibly flinched even though he was smiling at the same time, amused. Lowell himself hardly seemed bothered as he tilted his head to the side, feigning bewilderment. "Why don't you just buy yourself a whore if you're so desperate?"

"I prefer buying ladies with my charm," he explained coolly. "I just need a female accomplice to get the trust started, is all."

"You arse. I can't improve your image when there's nothing good about you!"

"That's enough, Syrenne," Dagran interjected. Although she didn't say anything more or swing a punch like she wanted to, Syrenne fixed a glare on Lowell that made her intentions impossible to misinterpret. Too bad she had so much respect for Dagran. When he scolded her like that, she knew he wasn't doing it for the benefit of the person receiving Syrenne's wrath (who often deserved it), but rather for the sake of maintaining a good image for themselves. Her scenes led to spectators, gathered around and judging them, hindering opportunities for better jobs. It could take years to be counted among the decent mercenaries, and yet one lonely incident could lump them in with the crooked types. Her respect for Dagran and his vision of an honourable future for them all kept her in line when Dagran said, That's enough.

Pressing her lips tightly shut lest she let loose the unspoken criticism she'd built up, Syrenne stood and headed to the back of the tavern where there was a doorway leading to the inn's bedrooms. She even forgot what was left of her drink, she left in such a hurry. The sounds of chatter at that hour were so loud that they stifled Dagran's footsteps as he followed Syrenne to her room. Only once they passed the threshold between bar and residence did she notice his presence.

No need to question why he'd followed her, Syrenne simply turned on him and vented: "Dammit Dagran, this is the first time you've invited a handsome bloke into the group, not too old, not too young—from a rich family, to boot!—and he's a total womanizer. You just couldn't find a nice chap, could you?"

"It's better this way," he answered, his voice even and somewhat sympathetic. "Relationships within the group would just complicate things."

He was right, of course. He always thought of all possible outcomes, so he'd probably thought out the arguments long beforehand. Syrenne sighed, resigned. She rested her back against the wall and slumped down. "I just think it'd be swell to marry a decent-looking rich man so I wouldn't have to fight for a living."

"But you like fighting, Syrenne." The way that he had his arms crossed made Dagran appear to be giving her a stern lecture. Maybe he was, even though she did most of the talking.

"Yeah..." She stood upright and stretched her arms upwards. "On my own terms, though! I hate that I'm doing it for lazy bastards who can't take care of their own problems."

Dagran moved to Syrenne's side and propped his back against the wall next to her. The ceremonial blade strapped to his back hit the wall first, forcing him to readjust such that it didn't jab into him. "This lifestyle is just temporary anyway." Whenever Dagran spoke of the future he saw for them all, he always stated his vision as fact. Sometimes Syrenne wondered if he was just really skilled at choosing words like some sort of politician, or if he genuinely believed what he was saying.

Chuckling quietly, Syrenne replied, "Right, right. 'Follow me to a better life! Together, we'll move up in the world!' – I've heard your speech before, so stop selling it to me." Even though she mocked him, she had bought into the fantasy some time ago.

"Will do," Dagran said as he pushed off of the wall. He turned to Syrenne again before stepping back into the bar. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he said, "Rest up. We've got a job tomorrow, fetching something for a lazy bastard who can't do it himself." Syrenne laughed heartily and gave Dagran a salute of acknowledgement. He removed his hand from her shoulder but did not leave right away. "One last thing: do try to work well with Lowell."

Syrenne rolled her eyes and turned towards the small corridor lined by doors. "No promises there," she said as she began walking to her room for the night.