The bluehead finally introduces himself as Marth after Reflet had to follow him from shop to shop for the past half hour, but right now, Reflet's head is on the verge of imploding. Chrom hasn't sent a word yet, his girlfriend's still missing in action, and he keeps crashing into strangers because he keeps staring at his phone the entire time.
Nineteen percent, nineteen percent, nineteen percent— shit, eighteen percent, eighteen percent—
"Staring at the screen for too long is not good for you," Marth says.
"Shopping the day before Christmas isn't good for you either." Reflet starts listing off stores with his fingers. "We've gone through a jewellery shop, a perfume shop, and a lingerie shop. I don't think we're gonna find a sex shop at this rate."
Marth pauses for a moment. "Or you could find someone else to lend you a charger."
Then he continues forward and Reflet groans. If only this Marth guy had a strong Ylissen accent Reflet can make fun of— or was this guy Altean? Crimean? To be fair, all blueheads look the same to him, all under that same Bluasian flag.
And sure, Reflet might as well find someone else to borrow a charger from, but to be honest he has nothing better to do until Chrom or his girlfriend call—if they call. There are too many unknown variables thanks to the storm pushing all his plans back: how long his girlfriend's flight delay will be, how many cars got trapped in traffic by the storm, how far along Chrom's car is… Wonder how lonely Chrom can get without his harem around. Unless Chrom did bring them along.
Maybe that's what's taking him so long, Reflet thinks as he tries to stop any inappropriate images from forming in his head.
This time, Marth and Reflet enter into a shop where plastic luggage bags pile beside the entrance, travel pillows hang on hooks to the right, and postcards of Sakurai City featuring famous Smash Stadium fighters sit on spinning racks to their left. Reflet walks over to the postcards, pulling one of two champions from previous years posing in front of a podium: ex-champ Captain Falcon from three years ago being sat on by Samus Aran in her zero suit, ex-champ from two years, both wearing blue. Stupid blue suits. Must be made in Ylisse or something.
"What's your girlfriend like anyway?" Reflet says, looking through more cards. "Got any hobbies? Interests? Bucket lists?"
"Bucket lists?" Marth creeps up behind him, chuckling. "No buckets, but on her list, she would love for me to listen to what she says. She means well, but enjoys being in charge." He pulls out a couple of cards and snorts when he sees the images. "Don't think she'd want these, but she's always wanted to go to the Smash Stadium like it's a life goal of so. Been years since the last time I went though."
Reflet puts his set of cards back on the rack. "I've always wanted to go there too. Seen matches on TV since I was sixteen, but never in person. Dunno if my girlfriend's interested in that kind of stuff. Would be awesome if someone sprung up tickets for me though."
Reflet peeks over Marth who still has one postcard in his hands. Then his eyes widen, almost ripping the card out of Marth's hands to see it close up. On postcard features Marth himself on a second place podium standing beside this year's champion Meta Knight, another blue body, who even on the first place stand is still at least a few feet shorter than Marth.
"Wait, you've fought in Smash Stadium? I've watched Smash Stadium matches for six years and I haven't seen you in any of them."
"That's because," Marth takes the card back and slides it behind a stack, "I haven't fought for eight years. Time speeds faster than my memories can keep up with."
Reflet follows Marth to a display of stuffed animals sitting near the back of the shop, but he can't help rubbing his chin and scrutinising Marth's features more. As if sensing his gaze, Marth looks back, opening his mouth as if to ask why.
Reflet cuts him off. "How old are you exactly?"
And in the meantime, Reflet searches for any signs of aging; bald spots, wrinkles, or five o'clock shadows. But Marth's skin looks smooth—a little too smooth. Either it's his girlfriend telling him to put on lotion or all blueheads have access to some sort of fountain of youth in their continent.
"In my culture," Marth's voice breaks Reflet's train of thought, "it's rude to ask for age. Though by western standards, I shouldn't be that old yet—late thirties? You Plegians appear your age though—early twenties, I assume? But aren't you a little old to have a Mister Buddy Bear sitting in your backpack? I only know because it matches the one in this shop."
Marth holds up a white teddy bear in a red Christmas sweater with green ribbon bow tie on its neck. Glancing behind his shoulder, Reflet feels his ears burn up as he stares the blue teddy bear with part of a heart sticking out from his bag. Reflet scowls. "It's a gift for my girlfriend—I told you already."
"Why's your bear blue when a holiday one suits the occasion?" Marth shoves the Christmas bear in Reflet's hands, tilting its head up till its beady eyes look ready to cast judgement on him. "Look, he likes you, young little fellow such as yourself."
Unless you like your men young too, bluehead. Reflet tries to smile, but grits his teeth instead. Maybe the gods are also bluehead spawns too. "She doesn't celebrate Christmas, but a friend told me I might as well get her something anyway since a party we were gonna have involves gifts."
"Ahh, is the friend the one you need to contact?"
Reflet nods. "Him, plus waiting to hear back from my girlfriend. She's stuck at Airport FE."
"My friend as well! Wouldn't it be hilariously coincidental if they meet each other the same way we have?" Marth laughs. "Then perhaps we'd be able to introduce each other."
Gods, no. Don't even. Have his girlfriend meet an ex-Smash Stadium champion? Better yet, have her meet another bluehead? She's dated plenty of blueheads in the past. It's lucky enough she chose Reflet this time after her last relationship—
Oh no. What if she elopes? What if she's met someone else during the time they've been apart?
What if blueheads were her type all along?
"Are you alright?" Marth says, placing the back of his hand in Reflet's forehead. "You went awfully pale for a moment."
Reflet slaps his hand away. "Just don't." But seeing Marth freeze up, Reflet groans and buries his face in his palm. "Sorry, forget about that. Go pick a gift so I can borrow your charger, please."
"Ahh, your girlfriend must enjoy dealing with you." Marth takes the bear and walks toward the counter. "How do you say… 'Do not underpay your nannies?' They're the ones taking care of your babies."
"That supposed to mean you're my nanny now?"
Marth shrugs. "It's an expression from my country."
"Great. Here I thought you weren't fresh off the boat." Gods, let this night be over already.
Reflet ignores how Marth's face twitches for a second. Instead, his gaze drifts over to the hair section where small bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and boxes of blue hair dye sit along the shelf rows.
A Christmas gift for himself doesn't sound too bad.
He smirks.
Check the time—8:01.
Check the battery—he clicks his tongue. Ten percent battery life.
ϟ [•–––––––––] ϟ
Definitely a great time to charge right about now.
ϟ [•••––––––––] ϟ
And thank goodness Lucina was nice enough to spare Robin those twenty-five minutes. Her phone's now up to twenty-six percent battery, just enough to last her maybe the next thirty minutes or more if she doesn't use it too much. Hopefully she'll be fine if Robin keeps her phone plugged in for a little longer.
"So what's your boy like?" Robin asks.
Lucina lets out a sigh. "Rich."
Robin nearly spat out. "R-rich?" Is she one of those trophy wife types? Robin's heard rumours of people coming in from different countries for green cards, but she never thought the first cute stranger she'd meet would end up as one.
"But it makes him too lazy," Lucina continues. "Skip school, skip work."
"So… you're not in it for the money?"
"The money is good—how do you say—it is 'secure'? At first I admire him because he must've work hard, but he spends like it's nothing…" She rubs her temples. "Ridiculous. Pays stuff for other people like I only pay half my ticket because he did. Buy gifts. Make me feel," she pauses, "useless, yah? Like foreign housemaid from Hyrule."
Robin chuckles. Lucina sounds more like a mom than a girlfriend to me. "That's so much like my guy. Need to remind him how to limit himself. Have you told him that?"
She shakes her head. "He does work hard, but only when he get something like a profit or—I don't know how you say."
"Something in it for him?"
"Yeah. But he is a good person. When he work, he does too much. Then other women see how nice he is and he is good at talking with people and it's hard for me to be at the same level."
So he's the manipulative, overboard type. Interesting. "Don't worry," Robin says, patting Lucina's back. "I'd say he should be more worried about other people trying to get with you than others pining after him. Even I wouldn't mind asking you out for one date, and we just met."
"You are too kind," Lucina says until her gaze sharpens into a glare, "but if you meet him and act funny, I will show you how Ylissens punish stealers."
Robin swallows, holding her hands up. "Don't worry. He's not even my type anyway." Maybe Lucina's the manipulative one, damn. In an effort to ease off the tension, Robin checks her phone to see how much battery she's gained—now at thirty-three percent. "Has the reception gotten any better for you?" Robin asks.
Lucina checks her own phone. "Not from what I can see— wait." She holds her screen closer to her face. "There's one bar."
"One bar?"
Robin stares closer at her screen now. In the left corner of the screen, it still says [No Data] where the name of her service provider should be, but beside it—
"My gods." Robin's eyes nearly jump out of their sockets. "There is a bar! They must've gotten the towers running again."
"Then the storm is calming down?"
"Maybe." She can't help but feel her grin beaming. "We might be able to get on our flights soon too. Ah, perhaps the gods smile upon us. Our luck is turning already."
Though unfortunately, Robin still has to cancel the Smash Stadium tickets, but at least she should be able to access her emails again. If calling isn't an option, there's always that.
Robin turns to Lucina. "I'm gonna let my guy know I'm alright. Your guy must be worried as well—wanna email him and let him know?"
She nods, letting Robin return to opening her emails up and writing her messages. However, the email syncing doesn't complete itself for the next ten seconds. Then fifteen. Then twenty.
"The wifi signal's no good," Robin mumbles to herself, biting her thumb nail. Check the clock. Twenty minutes left. Check the email. More like the world saying "fuck you" considering it's still trying to sync.
That is, until Lucina, Miss Miracle in an Ugly Christmas Sweater, speaks. "There is more signal bars if you closer toward the airport centre. Should we head over—"
"Yes!" Quickly wrapping her charger wire together and stuffing it back in her bag, Robin grabs both Lucina's and her bags, stampeding her way toward the signal. Lucina stumbles behind in her boots, but after seeing how fast Lucina ran earlier, Robin doesn't bother slowing down.
As Robin charges through the crowd, she holds up her phone to try to catch where the signal is strongest, not bothering to watch where she's going. She trips a kid, an old guy, and four Santa Clauses standing around asking for charity money.
Fifteen minutes left. Robin skids to a stop in the middle of the airport where she stands on top of a cross-shaped pattern in the floor. Robin scans left and right for a wifi signal box. Either it's close to a reception desk, a shop, or a security office full of people who pretend they know how to spot terrorists.
"Lucina, do you still have any—" But Robin cuts herself off. She sees Lucina hovering in front of a shop with a "Christmas Special" sign out.
Robin sighs, but scans the area some more. The closest option in the area—aha!—by the reception desk.
Robin doesn't wait as she runs toward the reception counter. Ten minutes left. Battery drops to seventeen percent. Wow, she hasn't felt this much energy since the day she drank too much coffee and tripped on every crack in the sidewalk.
Nine minutes. The closer she gets, the more bars her phone gains. Two bars. Three bars. Before reaching the spot, she pulls up her email again and starts typing up a response to her ticket seller.
"Can't. Make. It. Today." She almost runs into another fat man standing around a fake fat beard. Eight minutes left. "Fight delayed. Need to. Cancel tickets."
"Wait for me!" Lucina calls out. Seven minutes.
Four bars on the phone. "Thanks for the offer." Six minutes. "Sincerely, Robin."
And Robin crashes into the reception table just as she hits send. Her chin bashes the counter and her phone flies out of her hands, leaving her to wonder how many other times she's had this happen to her in the last year.
The moment her phone clatters on the floor, Robin flinches from the shock. Glance up, and a bug-eyed reception man leans back with his gaze glued to her. No, I don't need any help today, sir. But she lays flat on the counter, arms spread out and feeling too lazy to get them off.
The man picks up Robin's phone off the ground, hands it to her, and tips his green hat all while keeping the same frozen expression on his face.
"Thanks," she says despite her chin both burning and swelling up.
This was not how she wanted to spend Christmas Eve.
Lucina finally catches up to her, panting, and uses the counter to support her weight, feet wobbling. "Are you okay?"
Robin doesn't even need to glance over her shoulder to feel a hundred something other strangers' eyes focus on her pounding stomach and her aching chin. One peek at her phone:
Cracked case. Cracked screen. Right over where her email app is too.
"Could I borrow your phone, Lucina?"
Lucina doesn't argue, handing over her cell, but keeping a distance as if to not accidentally touch Robin. Sighing, Robin starts texting without even bothering to look at the screen.
Yup, today is a fantastic Christmas Eve.
