18 Tokens of Affection:
It was an instinctive decision to enter the tavern immediately. That's what Don told himself as he tried to slink into the dimly lit abode unnoticed.
He twisted the small square of linen in his hand nervously. When Don had purchased it from the merchant in Nasr it had been fresh and stiff, but through incessant wrings of his hand the material had gradually become softer. Maybe she would like it, if not it didn't really matter. He had found a replacement for the soiled handkerchief he now kept in his coat pocket. Pinta was good for many things, scrubbing dried blood from white cotton, however, wasn't one of those things.
She was there behind the counter like he expected she would be. Her sleek black hair brushed over her bird-like shoulders as she hurried from patron to patron in a bizarre sort of timid determination. Don smirked at the thought of her being hollow boned, of her taking flight.
Her face was layered with a sheen of perspiration as she worked her wok with a practiced hand. As she flipped the beef and vegetables, Don caught a whiff of the heavy fats and oils they were cooking in. He sat down at the bar.
"I knew you'd be back." Urala said. "So I made sukiyaki."
"How do you know I like sukiyaki?" Don asked.
"You're one of the only non-Yafutomans who can pronounce 'sukiyaki' correctly." Urala kept her eyes averted. She placed two small cups in front of him, one with soy sauce, the other with raw egg.
"Thank you."
She lowered her head so far while she focused on filling the plate with sukiyaki, that Don could hardly notice her slight smile. He bit back a sigh and concentrated on the intricate dragons in the Arita porcelain. He couldn't recall Urala ever using those dishes before, perhaps, he reflected, he had been too drunk.
He could feel the girl's eyes on him, but when Don looked at her, Urala turned her gaze back down at the plate. It was just as well, Don decided, he found those inky black eyes unsettling.
"You look like you want to say something." he said.
Urala's mouth opened, like a dumbfounded marroca that had found itself in the talons of a roc. She closed her mouth in a slow, controlled effort; her lips formed a plump line of pink.
"Well?" Don asked.
"You look unhappy." Urala said quietly. "Do you not like sukiyaki?"
Don grinned wryly. "No, the sukiyaki's fine." He made a point to shovel a forkful into his mouth.
"Are you not well?" she asked.
"I guess you could say that." Don reflected.
"I could fix you some egg drop soup in koketa broth and some tea." Urala offered.
"No, it's nothing like that." Don muttered.
Urala nodded. "You don't feel like talking."
"There's no point in troubling you with things already done." Don agreed. "But thanks."
"There's no need to thank me." Urala murmured.
"I have something for you." Don said.
Urala blinked. She had stubby lashes, Don noted. They made her look childish.
"Here." He pushed the linen handkerchief over the bar.
Cautiously, as if the cloth would bite her, Urala grazed the material with her fingers. Worry lines creased her forehead.
"Why did you do this?" she asked.
"I owed you one." he replied.
"I said not to bother." Color blossomed in the girl's cheeks and rapidly enveloped the rest of her face.
"I couldn't do that." Don said. "I ruined yours. It'd be rude if I didn't do something about it."
Urala's bottom lip quivered as her fingers traced the expensive embroidery along the handkerchief's hem. "I can't accept this." she murmured.
"Why not?" Don asked. "Did you have your heart set on cotton? I went with linen because I liked the embroidered birds."
Urala smiled warmly and shook her head. "Are you really so naïve?"
"You don't want it?"
"Urala, some warm sake please. I've had a rough day."
As Kirala's voice filtered through the pub's door, Urala's usually placid face was struck with panic. The way she flung her hand out over the bar, Don half expected the girl to grab him by his jacket's collar and throw him over to the other side with her. Instead, she clenched the handkerchief and jerked it behind her back.
Kirala walked over to the bar and eyed her wide-eyed sister suspiciously. "What are you doing?" she asked.
"I was making sukiyaki." Urala blurted out.
Kirala raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Perhaps tomorrow you'll make us something different." she suggested. "You've prepared sukiyaki every night for well over a week now. Some people tire of it."
Urala nodded frantically. "Yes."
Kirala sat at the bar and glanced at Don. She cleared her throat.
"Let me get you your sake." Urala said.
Don ventured a few more bites, before he pushed his plate away. He stood up and gave the sisters a polite nod each.
"I need to speak with Captain Vyse." Don said. "Thank you for the supper, Urala. I enjoyed it." He turned around and left the tavern.
Outside, Don took a deep breath and shook his head. Things didn't exactly go as he had planned. He supposed that he should feel fortunate enough to be able to finish his business; some men never got the chance.
"Well look at this! It looks like someone's been sucking on the backend of a koketa!" The characteristic cackling wheeze was all Don needed to hear to know it was Brabham.
Don glared sourly at the old man, only to earn more laughter. The way Brabham's body convulsed with mirth, Don half expected the other man to gag on the white fluff of his scraggly beard. No such luck. Brabham wiped a tear from his eye and patted Don on his shoulder.
"Now, what's the sense in that haggard look?" Brabham asked.
"My last few moments in this world and I have to put up with this?" Don muttered. "Unbelievable."
"Last few moments in this world?" Brabham cried incredulously. "Son, with the life I've lived even I've managed to stagger to a ripe old age."
"Ripe old age?" Don replied dryly. "I didn't think thirty-two was old."
The jest caused more crowing laughter from the old man. Brabham's slender, leathery limbs made Don think of kindling.
"That's more like it." Brabham encouraged. "Now, what's all this nonsense you're babbling about?"
"I killed a man unjustly." Don said. "I'm going to tell Captain Vyse, let him deal with me."
"If the boy didn't know, it wouldn't hurt him." Brabham replied. "Why are you bothering to put yourself on the line?"
"Because it's my fault." Don explained. "I'm afraid if I let it go, Khazim or Pinta will decide that they're to blame and confess instead. I'm not going to let my crew torture themselves over my decisions."
The old man nodded. "It makes sense." he said. "But what are you doing at the pub if you've made your choice?"
"Oh, that? I gave Urala a new handkerchief to replace one I ruined." Don replied. "I just wanted to tie up old business in case I'm executed."
"How romantic." Brabham rolled his eyes.
"What?" Don demanded.
"Don't insult my intelligence." Brabham had a smarmy grin plastered on his weathered face. "How did the lady react?"
"Now that you mention it, she did act kind of weird." Don admitted. "She got all red faced and tried to refuse it. What's this all about, Brabham?"
Brabham doubled over with guffaws. "You really don't know?"
"Brabham…"
"Alright, alright!" The old man gasped for air. "I can't believe the foolish youth. Haven't you ever heard of exchanging handkerchiefs, boy?"
"What are you talking about, old man?" Don decided that if he lived, he would have to stay away from Brabham. The engineer was going to give him a twitch.
"A token of affection between lovers, you idiot!" More laughter erupted.
"Don't blow a lung…" Don murmured weakly. Already, the sailor could feel his face being overwhelmed by wave after wave of heat.
"Congratulations!" Brabham punched Don's arm lightly.
"I'm going to find Captain Vyse." Don muttered.
He stumbled away from the hysterical Brabham. If Vyse chose to forgive him, Don thought that he might just have to die of embarrassment instead.